I often hear conversations between two people seemingly so consumed by their own lives that they fail to be concerned with anything beyond themselves. And, all too often, I’m one of them.
Few things are more pathetic than hearing a guy bitch about his girlfriend’s clinginess. Love — even in excess — is hardly a matter of grievance.
Worse yet is hearing a woman complain about her unfulfilled expectations, while failing to consider that she, in fact, could simply be too expectant.
Above all, I don’t recall ever reading (and certainly not writing) anything as self-conflicting as complaining about complaints, as I have just done. Forgive me for the time being.
All of our disappointments derive from the perspectives we take when judging our lives.
And, despite our aptitude for socializing and multitasking, some less becoming qualities plague the “Millennial” generation.
We believe we’re entitled outright to success and happiness. We expect life to be consistently pleasant. We think the difficulties in our lives happen to us, not through us, and we often fail to recognize how fortunate we are compared to others and their trials.
The recent hashtagging of #Kony2012 has left me particularly bitter in this regard.
The solidarity and support that this campaign gained against the Ugandan warlord is surely inspiring. I awoke on March 7 with a newfound appreciation for the effort and empathy that manifests through new media.
Everyone and their pen pals were tweeting and sharing the video, and there was no shortage of teens changing their Facebook profile pictures to the campaign’s default poster in an attempt to make Joseph Kony “famous” (an elementary case of wordplay that belittles the end of the whole campaign). Shouldn’t the goal be to make him infamous?
Regardless, to what effect?
How many of us actually went beyond the hashtag?
I didn’t. I watched the video, thought, “F--k that guy,” and forwarded it to some friends. My bank account went undebited, and, despite some conversation about the complexities of the issue, I effectively did nothing to stop Kony and his caterpillar mustache.
I don’t say this to boast (although, in this particular case, I’m glad I didn’t open my wallet for a trendy wristband and questionably concise action kit). Rather, I see my inaction as a flag signaling the disturbing indifference of the day.
Ugandan citizens have since been shown the 30-minute video that went viral two weeks ago and have responded by hurling rocks and through shouts of disgust and physical anger, rivaled only by director Jason Russell’s recent public display of sexual catharsis.
Why is it that a short, sensational video is able to garner so much empty support for a day or two, while the next week those same supporters can hardly be brought to oppose or even acknowledge the rest of the world’s crises?
My worry is in regard to our apathy and paralysis until we’re confronted with an issue close to home (a cute kid pointing at the “bad man,” a sensationalized Bansky-esque night of postering and a condescendingly simple plan of action).
With the capability to rouse regime-toppling demonstrations, we’ve acted only by changing our profile pictures for a campaign we know nearly nothing about. Our emotions are so entwined with a post-colonial mentality that we think the mere recognition of an issue is an effective elixir, and we feel fulfilled by a single hashtag.
Yet somehow I feel my inactive criticisms are justified, despite my awareness that children are being sold as sex-slaves and soldiers from Houston to Kandahar.
Dyllan Furness is a philosophy and English junior at UF. His column appears on Tuesdays.
