We are getting more comfortable with the business of being distressed. Where once we might have surged in a foaming mass toward the palace demanding justice…or at least sat down after dinner to compose a stiff letter to The Times…we are now inclined to sigh and sniff and scroll down. In some cases the sigh and sniff is optional.
I’ve even stopped scrolling down. I just pull the plug out of the socket and go read a book.
The saddest part of either getting older or staying eternally young is the realisation that we cannot fix it. We cannot stop the road from going through or the endangered sacred species that the chap from the university ( the one with the third obscure thesis in for judging ) has just found. We cannot right the wrongs of 1793. If we are honest we realise that we cannot right the wrongs of 2013 and the intervening 220 years are just a backlog of futility…
Some of us give up, and some of us continue the fight – but few of us ever actually acknowledge the fact that whichever role we adopt, we are doing it at the behest, and under to control of others. Let and hindrance, prod and pull. The tools are exerted just as vigorously over the internet social sites as they were when the local village constable came round and whipped us into the fields.
That whip was hard to avoid, given the fact that it was backed up by the bayonets of the local militia, but the goad of the social media site is a little less rigorous. We need not respond like marionettes whenever a political pressure group jerks the strings. We can say no. We need not throw it into their face, but we can throw it into the ditch.