Culture is a conversation. And, like a conversation, cultural evolution spawns from a fractal of distinctions across time. A couple’s disagreement about the quality of pancakes at a newly established small-town diner is a cultural shift in the same manner as one’s disapproval of the September 11 Terrorist Attacks. Whether on a large or small scale, culture changes according to the way we react, and is measured by the difference between reactions. Our reactions are founded upon other reactions—past and present; by ourselves and by others; about events new and old. Thus, the living composition of culture depends upon a continuous chain of reactions, everywhere, all the time.
Before the recent assassination of political activist Charlie Kirk, these patterns were on display for all to witness, reflected in the hasty conversation that was the 2016 American political climate. 2016’s political shift—powerful enough to elevate Donald Trump to the presidency—exemplifies this particularly clearly. Coinciding with large strides in the allegiance of the working class, American youth witnessed a phenomenon that had never before been more consequential: internet virality. Whereas politicians prior were equally loquacious as they were rhetorically impotent, Trump offered words that appeared real, simple, and resonant. His soundbites, such as “the American dream is dead,” or the iconic “make American great again” echoed throughout the political ecosystem, reducing the otherwise strong voices of his competitors to nothing more than a whisper.
But, what would ultimately define this shift was not solely the novel rhetoric of Trump, but the outsized reaction to this rhetoric. Many discontent affiliates of the political left would voice their reactions to Trump or behavior they generally found unacceptable, consequently finding a virality not of approval, but condemnation. A derogatory term was coined for this purportedly loud, sanctimonious, pink-haired group of people: “SJW,” or “social justice warrior.” Reactions to this group—both co-occurring alongside and in dialogue with the increasing popularity of Trump—would give rise to content creators such as Ethan “H3H3” Klein in the YouTube Space, personalities such as Ben Shapiro in the political space, and eventually Trump in the position of Commander in Chief.
As observers of history, it is important we understand what defined this moment. As is the case with all political shifts, 2016 was a neural network of reactions. This is in contradiction with the default mode of political operation, whereby we presuppose the world to be one only of catalyst and reaction, being so focused on the thing to which we are responding that we neglect to consider the impact of our very response. Yet, in a world where any one response can be magnified to an audience of millions in hours, our reactions prove themselves to be a catalyst; a node in the ever-morphing condition of the broader American political climate.
In the wake of the murder of Ukrainian refugee Iryna Zarutska on a Charlotte subway and the assassination of political activist Charlie Kirk at the University of Utah, one may observe, as the very name of Kirk’s organization portends, a “turning point.”
With the popularization of once-fringe right-wing voices such as Nick Fuentes, it is difficult not to notice the rapid movement of a previously rigid Overton window. If we are to learn anything from 2016, the catalysts that will define the next generation of politics are not just these horrific murders, but the way in which we each choose to respond. As a menial glance at the app Bluesky reveals, a non-insignificant portion of the political left is not only minimizing and trivializing these incidents, but even justifying them and making fun of the victims. It is this behavior that is so perfectly encapsulated in the ancient symbol of the Ouroboros; the snake that unknowingly eats its own tail.
The Reactionary Ouroboros is defined by one’s impulsive, indulgent, and/or inappropriate reaction that serves only to further radicalize one’s opposition, thereby undermining one’s very own cause. This encompasses those who cheered in delight as Charlie Kirk was shot in the neck. This also encompasses the disparate reaction of legacy media to Iryna Zarutska, who, unlike George Floyd, did not receive initial mainstream coverage, did not inspire protests, and will not receive a golden casket. For Zarustska, many sympathized more with the murderer who pierced her neck for the “mental illness” he might possess. For Kirk, many sympathized more with the bullet that struck his neck than with him, his wife, or his children.
If the American left cares not for the necks of its brothers and sisters, how then is the right to respond, if not with the same indifference? Never before in an event like this has the art of reaction been so facilitated. Polarization is no longer some abstract feeling, but a true, visible phenomenon, as manifest in the popular, diametrically opposed realities entertained on social media posts. The reaction has never meant more. It is therefore incumbent upon the political left of America—and the right after them—to respond with temperance and reason. To betray even for a moment one’s human dignity is to enliven the wrath of thousands. Lest we accept the inevitability of war, let us respond first as envoys of good.
De Facto Times 