Identity groups I despise

Identity groups are an inescapable part of life. I don’t resist them all. I’m a gun owner, and we’re definitely an oppressed group – or at least a group some people would like to oppress – so I cheerfully identify with oppressed gun owners. That means I need to also have sympathy for others who have similarly banded together. Gays and blacks, for example, before they became special snowflakes in the eyes of the law. If they had sought parity in society and left it there, I’d have been among their strongest advocates.

But there’s another sort of identity group with which I have no sympathy. This is the sort that wants acknowledgement for victimhood when there is no oppressor. Or maybe there once was an oppressor but that was a long time ago and anyway what do they want me to do about it? I’m looking at people who want to go on about how they were abused children. Or, for that matter, people with amputations or chronic pain. I could cry about being in all three of those groups but really, what’s the point of that?

Yeah, this morning I bitched about pain, because I blog about what’s on my mind and I was in pain. And the pain is directly related to the amputation so that was mentioned. And I was afraid I was going to get comments about what a poor put-upon soul I am so I’m just going to go ahead and say this about that:

I am not a victim. Victims annoy me. I am an adult man with some scars. Some of the scars are physical and some are in my head but I am not anybody’s victim. I am a first-class, full-fledged human being and responsible for all my own actions.

The reason I consider this important: “Victims” want to be cut slack for their own bad behavior. That’s contemptible because at bottom it is a demand to be demeaned. We cut children slack for bad behavior because they haven’t learned better and they naturally don’t always have good impulse control. That’s also why we don’t treat children as full human individuals. Adults who demand the same treatment are either admitting to being so badly damaged as to be unable to function as actual adults, or they are simply beneath contempt. Being an adult isn’t that hard – for an adult.

So yeah, I’ve picked up a few scars. I’m a hermit because I have poor people skills, and I limp because of this empty pantsleg, and I ask people to repeat themselves sometimes when the tinnitus gets bad and I’ve got implants in my eyes (thank you very much!) because of the cataracts … none of it means a damn thing in terms of my worth. I’ll never be a sprinter or a scout sniper, but I push on regardless. Most of the time I don’t give it a thought. I wasn’t looking for pity, and I apologize if I gave any other impression. That’s all I wanted to say.

Now please rise for the TUAK anthem.