Truth and Consequences
There will be blood. At least, there should be. Figuratively, of course.
The tale of Morgan Bettinger is finally being told in its full context, and what it reveals is what so many of us already knew: the activist left has as its goal nothing more than tearing down beauty, grace, and the individual spirit, which it then proposes to replace with ugliness, identity Marxism, and will to power. This desire, which it believes is an existential imperative to fight social ills it itself often plumbs from the dubious liminal spaces it creates and then posits — the racism of coffee! the sexism of laundry baskets! the White supremacy of trad wives! — cannot be forestalled because of the occasional collateral damage. The ends always, always, justifies the means. And it does so un-apologetically.
Zyahna Bryant, a professional race activist and self-styled warrior for Social Justice pedagogy, has lived her best life over her first 22 years, gorging on food, wearing her Blackness as both a shield and a spear, and using the elevation of victimhood — a direct result of sanctifying the queering of norms through a neo-Marxian constructivist lens now in the final stages of battle against the western Enlightenment classical liberalism on which this country’s values were originally predicated and expressed through law — as a way to run roughshod over others. To empower herself and advocate for her purported causes, she plays the role of the mad cow in the China shop, and whatever she destroys — be it other people, traditional social norms, the nuclear family, private property — she does so knowing full well that there will not only be no consequences, but that she’ll in fact be lionized for leaving so much damage and despair in her wide and thunderous wake.
Bryant epitomizes everything that is wrong with contemporary leftist culture as it has oozed out from the academy into the mainstream of society. Strident, decadent, dishonest, illiberal, and growing increasing bulbous having spent so much time lapping up her own self-importance, this mau mau-er of the flak catchers has managed to accrue the prized capital of the current Bizarro social realm — reflected virtue — by dint of being her most un-virtuous, nasty, and immoral self. She is, in the parlance of the mundane, a garbage human — a hole into which refuse gets sucked and from which the offensive odor of things breaking down through ordered decay, emanate.
My reason for writing this morning is not to re-tell Ms Bettinger’s story. It has already been told and, aside from my sincere empathy for her and my disgust at what she’s been put through, I can’t really offer much more than what’s been provided in the linked pieces. No, my motivation this morning is much different, and perhaps even suspect: I am unwilling to forgive her chief tormentor, and unwilling to provide even a modicum of grace to those who attempted to ruin Ms Bettinger’s life.
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