Ah, can you hear them? The distant wailing. The cries of those who once lived high off the climate scare—comfortably nestled in conference circuits, subsidized panels, consultancy retainers, and soft-handed activism—now staring down the terrifying prospect of honest work. Imagine the horror: punching a clock, enduring a day of actual labor, receiving little recognition beyond a warm meal—if they’re lucky—and crawling into bed too tired to virtue-signal online.
It’s not a life they love. Frankly, I wouldn’t either if I were in their shoes.
But I’m not. So I’m rather more inclined to shine a bright, unforgiving light on every grubby corner of the grift I can find, in the faint hope that enough exposure might dissolve some of it. Sunlight won’t fix everything, but it makes it harder for parasites to breed.
Those on the losing end of this unraveling will feel the strain. That’s unavoidable. The good years are gone. The cashflow is tightening. Like every Ponzi scheme that’s outlived its usefulness, the lower rungs are the first to feel real pain—and as expected, they’re the ones howling the loudest.
Which is fine. Their loudness only makes the separation clearer.
Because the rest of the population—the actual majority—is in pain too. But their pain didn’t come from some natural disaster or abstract model. It came from policies written by the very grifters now lamenting their loss of status. Real people are living with the consequences of someone else’s ideology, someone else’s luxury belief.And that kind of pain—that betrayal—that burns hotter than your own.