The Pursuit of Happiness
A little more Taoism, a little less terror
This article is reposted with permission from the author, Redford Greene.
I refuse to be victimized by my daughter’s contrived victimhood.
One of the most mind-boggling parts of Gen Z’s love-affair with socialism, a stepping stone to communism—and we all know how that ends—is that the allure of socialism is its seeming compassion for the marginalized. To be fair, the boomers who teach this stuff in academia started out the same way, even if the current playing field is vastly different.
Carly’s* compassion for the “oppressed,” along with her disdain for the “oppressors” created the need for her current contrivance. Postmodern ideology flipped the script on reality enough for her to believe that she’s a gay man. And with that convenient recipe ingredient, my daughter identified out of the oppressor identity and into the oppressed one.
Instead of questioning the false “class warfare” narrative or appreciating the greatness of her country, she has been fed a lie and led to idolize the so-called oppressed class as heroic. Trans identities drive a knife into the heart of mothers who know and love their children better than the state ever can. It’s the new punk rock, with the very real threat of destruction—bodily, familial, final.
In order to become the heroic underdog, trans is all my daughter has. Being white, Carly can't become black. Being born in the US, she can't become illegal. Being middle class, she can’t become poor. So by capitalizing on a trans identity, along with a handful of otherwise insignificant executive functioning issues, voila! She now wears the glittery star of the oppressed.
So who is her oppressor?
Me. White, middle class heterosexual American MOM.
My strategy to overthrow her regime? It is not to tyrannize her. It is not to censor her. It is not to control her or punish her. It is to love her. To connect with her. To put my trust in her. It sounds crazy maybe. But I’m not taking away her phone, iPad and laptop. I’m not forbidding her to hang out with her trans friends. And I’m not pulling her out of school. That would make everything worse, would actually make me into the oppressor she loathes, and it doesn’t always work. Sometimes it backfires, like Stoic Mom described in her recent interview with Stella and Sasha on the Wider Lens podcast.
If Carly were begging me to take her to the gender clinic, I’d be singing a different tune, but she’s not. And because she’s not, I can find authentic genuine trust for her.
Because, like The Tao Te Ching says,
If you don’t trust the people, you make them untrustworthy.
I yearn to ask my daughter how she came to believe in the simple, over-simplified and false narrative of class warfare. I mean I know it was a combination of school, her friends, entertainment and the internet. But can she articulate the moment she started defining the world this way? Is she conscious of her framing? And how come I don’t ask her? Well, I might one day. But it will take some planning. Some strategizing.
People have suggested I show Carly certain videos or articles to wake her up. But waking up doesn’t work that way. A person has to trust the messenger. A person has to be ready. My hunch is that her awakening to a more robust and complicated world view will come from a friend, or maybe a romance. It might come from realizing that the identity she’s crafted for herself does not make her feel any more powerful or happier, better looking (yes it’s important even if it sounds shallow) or more free.
I keep thinking of the phrase “Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness,” and how the progressive agenda goes against every one of these tenets. Mutilation and sterilization oppose life. (Ditto abortion.) Shutting down dissenting voices opposes liberty. (Ditto big government.) Aligning oneself with a victimized identity opposes the pursuit of happiness diametrically. It bears emphasizing: shutting yourself down from personal growth—proclaiming “I can’t!”—and actively dismantling your very body could not be more antithetical to pursuing your best, most authentic self. How ironic is it that the fruits of our capitalist society—our children’s luxurious privilege—have given rise to such horror? And how horrific is it that the corporations themselves have given these children no establishment to rebel against?
To help my daughter I must help myself, leading by example. I must work vigilantly and constantly to liberate myself in my own life. I am not entitled to happiness, but I am entitled to its pursuit. And that is an honor I will remind myself to be grateful for every day.