A Hipster’s Guide To Today’s Histrionics:

How the romantification of ‘Murican politics continues to lobotomize today’s political discourse.

I object.

What is evident from the likes of Good Will Hunting, Dances with Wolves, and the rampant popularity of dystopian fiction is not the deliberate “amnesic” disorder referenced by Mr. Mamdani; rather, the “2,350 notes” beneath the above Tumblr post establishes that American nationalism—and its devastating mis-steps—have reached something like “legendary” status in the eyes of pop culture. It is the lynch-pin of everything that is currently problematic with our country:

No medical insurance? Blame ‘Murica.

Not enough $$ in your savings account? Blame ‘Murica.

Gas prices outrageous? Blame ‘Murica.

Go ahead, lay the blame at the foot of this unquantifiable and amorphous machine that is somehow responsible for all capitalistic evils, and if you can do it in a funny redneck accent, all the better.

A couple months ago, I saw a photograph of a young man holding a sign, asking ‘Murica,

Why is there no maximum wage?

The post had garnered, at that point, over 114,000 notes. Am I the only one who got the pretext underlying Animal Farm?

At the risk of simplifying things even further, what I have noticed from my highly scientific survey of Tumblr dashboards and movie-watching is not the wholesale deletion of America’s “criminals” from our consciousness, so much as a disturbing deification of its victims.

To what purpose? And, at what cost?

At some point, it became “cool” to identify with the marginalized, to protest on behalf of the disenfranchised, to stand up for those who were, at least in the earlier annals of our history, the “freaks.” I can think of no better example of this than the hilarious confusion of Channing Tatum’s “Jenko” in the 2012 remake of 21 Jump Street, when he realizes that in 21st century high school, picking on the gay kid is tantamount to social suicide and the “cool kids” are no longer comprised of IQ challenged jocks.

While, at first, it seemed like a “win” for the LGBT community and nerds everywhere, we quickly discover that the ultra-cute green-peacer at the head of this new fangled “cool clique” is, in fact, as douch-ey as all the bigoted assholes from Leave it to Beaver. His so-called polo-wearing agenda for a cleaner and more open-minded planet is ultimately shoved under the rug for a “too good to be true” opportunity (of the narcotic variety) with a gas-guzzling motorcycle gang.

What this film hits right on the proverbial head is the whip-lash inducing speed with which kids are willing to “amend” their loyalties based upon the current direction of the tide.

And for the past 20 years, it’s been really popular to bash on America.

Putting to one side the context in which Mr. Mamdani made his observation regarding the stance of “official America” and focusing exclusively on its reception by “unofficial America”, the cost of romanticizing the victims of ‘Murica is heavy. Not only does such a gloss completely ignore that America—official and unofficial—is made up of both criminals and victims, both the white white-collared account executives and the black blue-collared factory workers, both the self-satisified “boys’ club” and the shrill “girls’ club”,

it severs the limbs and vocal chords of America’s victims, so that they might fit neatly into the box created by the politics of Hollywood, social media, and the internet.

As an Asian American, I remember how wounded I felt when I learned about the internment of Japanese Americans during World War II. However, as equally impressed upon me were the atrocities committed by the Japanese against my family—both my grandmothers were survivors of the Korean War. I then remember that my grandfather, my father’s father, betrayed his country and worked for the Japanese military police during the war, and was forced to flee his village when the Japanese were ousted. Thus, I cannot think of America’s crimes without thinking, almost immediately, of Japan’s crimes. And I cannot think of Japan’s crimes without thinking of my family’s crimes. I cannot think of these things without coming to believe that the “high moral ground” that Mr. Mamdani speaks of is not forged by those who would forget America’s crimes, but those who would forget the shape, color and heart of its victims—just so they can say they read the first few pages of Howard Zinn.

Spare me.