“Belongs in the dumpster of history,” you wrote, under a picture of one of the few things in the world that is beautiful and meaningful.
How could you see something magical, one of the few sources of happiness and joy that actually exist, and think that it belongs in a metaphorical “dumpster”?
But then I realized. You’ve never had to deal with the pain, the shame, of not fitting in. Of not being able to make friends. Of having everything you say, everything you wear, everything you do, criticized. Of being told that if only you changed the way you talked, dressed, stood, sat, moved, felt, thought, spent your time, then you would be healthy, and people would like you. You were never bullied and had your parents respond by telling you that you should stop wearing dresses and stop wearing your hair in pigtails, because then people would be less likely to bully you.
You’re not different. You don’t think for yourself. You follow social norms. You have friends. You fit in. You’re a bland, mundane person who is just like everyone else.
You’ve never suffered. You’ve never felt pain.
In fact, you’re not really a person at all, because if you were, you would have a soul, and if you had a soul, then you too would be filled with awe and wonder at the statue that is being built, rather than claiming that it belongs in a metaphorical “dumpster.”
You’re a lump of flesh and blood with no soul, no mind, and no capacity for independent thought.
God forbid that people who are different from you exist.
God forbid that people who are different from you be honored with monuments.
Can’t have that. Can’t have any diversity allowed to exist in the world. Can’t have anything that actually makes life worth living.
Clearly, in your eyes, only people like you have the right to exist, and anyone who is different deserves to be put into a metaphorical “dumpster.”
Without the Confederacy, history is bland and mundane, just a long tale of mindless, conformist people who are all the same, who all think the same, and who all do the same things. And what is the point of that? What is the point of studying that, honoring that, being interested in that? What is the point of living at all?
There is none.
The Confederacy is my special interest. The Confederacy is what makes my life worth living. The Confederacy is magical to me. It is the most beautiful thing in the world, and nothing else can compare. How could you, how dare you, how could you possibly consider my special interest to be something that belongs in a dumpster?
in conclusion, I hope that you die a slow and painful death, and that once you’re gone no one remembers you. That’s what you deserve for being a mindless bully. That’s what you deserve for having the cruelty, nastiness, and utter moral bankruptcy to claim that my special interest “belongs in the dumpster of history.” In reality, you are the one who belongs in the dumpster of history. You have no empathy, no character, no mind, no capacity for independent thought, and no soul.