SJ is ten years old today. This might be a post about the joys of blogging, but it’s not going to be. It’s been far less fun doing this than it used to be. It’s not just that the old blawgosphere is largely gone, or that some old friends have been swept up in the mindlessness of social justice or the hysteria of Trump hatred.
It’s that so many have lost their sense of humor, their ability, and even their desire, to reason, their focus. And some, who were never as fascinating as they thought themselves, have proven to be sadly unstable and disreputable. Some friends who offered interesting and thoughtful ideas are no longer with us. Some friends are no longer friends. Some have simply disappeared, and others have reinvented themselves into the phony internet personas they think will make them important people.
My pal, Stephanie West Allen, sent me a link this morning about a Yale history professor who says we have “maybe a year” to defend America from Trump, who is “literally Hitler.” This isn’t a serious point. This is insanity.
It’s not nearly as much fun to write about the law when readers are nuts. It’s even less fun fending off the insane comments, here and by the geniuses on other social media, from reddit to the twitters, as if it’s my duty to explain why they suffer from paranoid delusions and pathological narcissism. I wonder which of you will be the first nutjob to explain to me why “BUT HE IS!!!”
Ten years after I started SJ, the law is as much of a mess as it’s ever been. The ability to have rational discussion is nearly non-existent. The level of hysteria has achieved heights never before imaginable. And mostly, even the smart folks are largely lost in their outrage.
We will survive the current insanity. Trump will be replaced with another president. The republic will survive. But I cannot forget who forfeited their integrity and sanity along the way. I don’t really give a damn why you succumbed to your feelings. You aren’t the center of my universe, and even if you can’t grasp this fairly obvious detail, SJ is my soapbox, not yours.
I don’t come to your house to take a dump on your door step. You came to mine. And reading your thousand of words, your serial comments, your insistence that you’re not a flaming lunatic, doesn’t make me want to invite you to the SJ sleepover party.
There are still thoughtful people out there, the few who have braved the slings and arrows of the deeply passionate. And I will remember who they are as well. These are the people I want standing next to me in a fight, because these are the serious people who will be the ones to continue to do as they’ve always done, stand up for the law, the Constitution, reason and challenge those who would undermine it, whether with the best or worst of intentions.
But they are fewer and farther between these days. In their place, I see fragile, deluded, educated but ignorant people, who have given up on integrity and given in to their worst impulses, their unrestrained irrational emotions. They are certain they’re special. They are angry that I don’t appreciate how special they are. How much fun is it to write to appease their feelz?
No. It’s not fun. Happy birthday to SJ.