I’m fully capable of agreeing to disagree with people on a wide range of areas, continuing to admire and respect someone even if they have different beliefs. Except when it comes to denying people their equal rights as human beings. Yeah, I’m pretty rigid on that.
–Moira J. Moore on the difference.
True story: my husband has a burger joint he really loves in Unnamed U.S. City. He tries to convince me to go there every now and again, because “the burgers are really good”. I flat-out refuse. Why? Because the place is, in his words, “kind of like a Tea Party theme park”.
Yeah, see. Burgers are burgers. I love burgers, don’t get me wrong, but I make pretty good ones at home, and honestly? I’m not really a fan of U.S.-style burgers to begin with.1 Certainly not enough of a fan to provide financial support to a business that publicly proclaims its alliance with a political and social movement that actively works to make the lives of people like me worse. Like as in denying me access to medical care, and social support, and equality under the law for godssakes. These are real, tangible, actual things that make living in the world more difficult and more dangerous for yours truly. No fucking way am I going anywhere near that bullshit.
And particularly not for a fucking hamburger with a “humorously” racist fucking name. No. Just… no.
My husband, bless him, tries very hard but still doesn’t really “get” this. Because, to him, the arguments are academic. It’s not his healthcare people are trying to take away, not his humanity anyone is working to get the government to revoke. The social change wrought by the reactionary right, while he’s ideologically opposed to it, wouldn’t actually make his like measurably worse.2
To him, it’s just a hamburger.
“Can’t you enjoy it ironically?” he asks me. “Be all smug knowing they have to serve you, an Evil Liberal, a burger?”
Yeah… not so much, hey. They have to serve me a burger, but at the end of the day, they still get my money and my patronage.
And me? I’m not so okay with that.
- Too sloppy, not enough salad, and those sweet-soft buns are nasty as fuck. Yes, I know them’s fightin’ words to a lot of you. Come at me, bros! ^
- Well. Sort of. It actually would, but not in a way that’s quite as immediately tangible–and insurmountable with sufficient money–as “oh, an ectopic pregnancy? well I hope you enjoy your death because abortion is wrong, dontchaknow!”. ^