Woke Melodrama

This week, far out in America’s heartland, Lizzo repudiated law and mangled grammar in one easy stroke. The heavyweight singer counseled kids at her recent Nebraska concert, “Don’t let any laws tell you who you not.” She pronounced herself a “safe space” for transgendered children in a state that just banned gender mutilation surgeries. If you’ve seen Lizzo, you know that’s plenty of space.

This morbidly obese entertainer—doubling as the face of body positivity—prances around in lingerie that showcases her flesh in a most appalling fashion. Like all people in the “people in larger bodies” movement, she pretends that her obesity defies the laws of nature; in her shameless universe, extreme overweight is both sexy and healthy.

Her statement supporting transgenderism was no surprise given the unholy consortium of causes that embody the left. A motley crew has gathered under one nasty and ever-expanding tent to champion every illogical idea and sexual proclivity that comes along. Abortion activists, pansexuals, socialists, satanists, transgenders, the proudly obese, and pedophiles—to name just a few— have joined forces against everything good, beautiful, and true.

For a while, the left’s worst ideas were limited to college campuses, seedy “chatrooms” or Hollywood. Eventually, they were camouflaged in social movements appealing to broader, more compassionate impulses—multiculturalism, the war on poverty, women’s rights, and “love is love.” Many imagined that they could spur social englightenment through education, ecumenical unity, or the fictional “better angels of our nature.”

Over time, the unity schtick wore off. More radical ideas found feet through angrier people who stormed our gates from within. We got schooled in social justice—the ultimate Trojan horse. Since then, no orderly beauty—not math, science, or language—has been left unscathed by its “inclusive” slash-and-burn campaign.

Still, it’s worth asking why so many willingly entertain those who advance ludicrous and wicked causes. The Dodgers invited the especially vulgar Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence to its “Pride night” game. Schools allow delusional males to run roughshod over female athletes, abandoning the females to this newly fashionable abuse. Pink-haired teachers post insane rants on social media yet continue their “work” in the classroom. Drag queens with names like “pickle” or “‘lil hot mess” now visit libraries as the literacy mascots of the left.

Our celebrities, CEO’s, intellectuals, and influencers follow the same suicidal script as the masses under their sway. An assortment of far-left constituencies find morbid unity in the magic of transgenderism and abortion. The darker or weirder the idea, the more likely that someone on the political left will defend it as healthcare or basic human rights.

More than their unifying craziness, though, they’re drawn together by their common hatred for a God whose created order and sovereignty will not bend or cave to their wishes. They resent the gnawing shame they feel under his gaze. Rejecting his authority over bodies, they hope to destroy him—finally free to soak in the glory they chased.

Our cultural elites only play supporting roles in a drama that opened long ago. We met its main characters in the garden scene, when Satan led the first image-bearers to rebel against God. As children, we think Satan is a horned devil, but according to scripture, he was beautiful and esteemed among angels. But he would not submit to the kingship of God; it was a glory he craved for himself. His hapless attempts to topple the throne still fuel his rage against the King, and he seethes at the image of God in lowly man.

Today, the drama employs no heavy Biblical language—not even the heavy tones of Charlton Heston. It’s more like a woke remake of Revenge of the Nerds than The Ten Commandments; culture is cheaper and cruder, now—more accessible, you could say. In the plot, yesterday’s miscreants and perverts bask in today’s juvenile culture, where viral limelight brings ultimate glory.

The plot has unfolded nicely. We once regretted abortions, and now we celebrate them. Obesity was a disease, but now it’s a marginalized identity. Transgendered people were mentally ill, but now they direct national policy. As I write, pedophiles are now misunderstood, well on their way to applause. Good is evil, and evil is good, and shameful acts bring glory—the scenes repeat, over and over again.

One of the actors in our woke remake is Will Thomas, a tall male swimmer who pretends to be a swimming champion by cashing in on popularized mental illness. Since then, several other desperate men have trounced their female competition with cycling and track times that would have earned them no prizes among their male peers; so they found a back door to the fame and glory they craved.

What more can be said of Bud Light pretender and profit-destroyer, Dylan Mulvaney? A foolish and mentally unstable young man claws his way to the spotlight by acting like a female spazz—a caricature whose shrill stupidity annoys normal people within two minutes. His recent marketing glory was only possible because an even crazier person thought it was a good idea.

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