Generally, I like to think that though I have little power and agency, I can do small things to make the world a little better. I can introduce students to ideas they didn’t know about, I can try to get my crazy-ass relatives to understand that liberals aren’t as evil as we seem, and I can breed cute little bulldogs (still one for sale!). Occasionally, I even take a foray into worldwide human rights issues. Whoops. Silly me. Here’s what happened this week.

1. Invisible Children decided to raise awareness and money for itself and the work it does, with the goal of getting rid of a horrible human being who has ruined tens of thousands of lives. It put together a video and, through its remarkable marketing efforts, that video went viral. I was apparently the second-to-last person to see it, which makes me feel like we’re in high school all over again and I’m the last one to find out there’s a kick-me sign taped to my back; anyway, I reposted it. I thought the video was powerful, though I recognized the part with the kid as a base attempt at cultivating pathos. Still, I didn’t know who Kony was or that he was No. 1 on the list of international war criminals. What a great effort, I thought. We’ll call that “Tuesday.” It may in fact have been Wednesday because, well, kick me sign and everything, but whatever.

2. The next day, the entire Internet lashed out against Invisible Children, proclaiming its video to be propaganda and its methods manipulative and unhelpful. Anyone who had learned something from the video was made to feel stupid by a lot of smug assholes sitting on their hands doing nothing but smug assholiness, proffering no suggestions, just endless condemnation of sheep and sheepiness and the unwashed, unlearnt masses. We’ll call that “Wednesday.”

3. The next day, the entire Internet erupted in a case of kumbaya, trying to find middle ground: Maybe IC stretched the facts, maybe they needed transparency, maybe they’re pursuing the wrong method, but gosh darn it, folks, aren’t they effective? Didn’t they raise awareness? Isn’t that worth something? Okay, just a little bit? Anything? …We’ll call that “Thursday.”

Well fuck all, but I am tired. I am tired of getting my hopes up that the world is getting better, that people are sitting up and taking notice of atrocities and doing something about it, and I’m tired of having that rug pulled out from under us. Nothing is worth doing anymore because it’s not the right people doing it, or using the right methods, or giving you the right information. This is the message we’re told by millions of people calling us stupid and ignorant.

And they’re right. Or partly right: I didn’t do my due diligence. I didn’t check the charity’s transparency, didn’t fact-check their claims, didn’t research whether that was the right method.

Because you know what? I CAN ONLY DO SO MUCH. I’m sorry that I trusted this charity, and I’m even sorrier that the lesson from it that I and millions of others are learning right now is that, hey, you, over there, with the hopes, dreams, and aspirations of making the world better? POP. There’s your balloon. The world sucks. You can’t change it, so why bother. Come sit on your thumbs like us. Let’s judge people, correct them, sometimes even in very kind and condescending ways, but let’s not offer any alternatives or suggestions.

Everything is so fucking futile.

Yet…last night I was talking to one of my students about what he’ll do when he gets out. He wants to go on for his bachelor’s degree, and he’ll have an HVAC certificate as well, so he’s hoping to work his way through college.

But, he said, I’m competing against people who haven’t been in jail. You’ve got me and a guy without a record, who are you going to hire?

Who, indeed. It’s such a struggle just to avoid getting into a defeatist mentality about life after prison, life as an ex-con. But my students know this, because I tell them all the time: even if life after prison is tough, education is one of (or, as I believe) the only proven ways to reduce recidivism. Line cooking out there, or struggling to start your own business, beats the hell out of coming back here, doesn’t it?

From what I’ve seen and heard, there are some tremendously good guys in my class. I know they could be playing me, so I keep my distance, but these are guys who were doing okay in life until they got sidetracked by drugs and/or drinking, guys who say that they weren’t criminals before they came to prison, but prison made them into the criminals that they now see themselves as. And Internets, I know there has to be a price for crime, but I can’t help but think here in America we’re doing it wrong when we lock them up without treatment. Because when they get out, and they’ve got a record in addition to an untreated disease or addiction, what kind of success can we really expect? I don’t know if that’s something education can fix.

For today’s Opinion, I’ll start with Doug Batchelor‘s recent sermon on women in not in the ministry. This was fucking appalling, and I’m ashamed that people weren’t walking out of his sermon in droves. There is no excuse for misogyny. None. Doug Batchelor needs a restraining order to keep him away from pulpits, and his ovis-audience needs to check their cud before they chew it. (Although I suppose these people seem like the type who blindly swallow, but that may not be the best metaphor….)

Chiefly amongst my uncharitable toughts toward the mallustrous preacher man is that I hope purgatory is real, or that hell is temporary, but I also hope that purgatory/hell is individualized per a person’s sins. My hell, for example, would be full of engineers who dam rivers and that abomination of imitation chocolate, carob. And from that experience, I expect I would learn to respect others’ work and not be so quick to stuff what appears to be chocolate in my mouth. Doug Batchelor’s hell, I hope, would be full of women who are more intelligent than he is, and not only preach but are fucking preachERS. I also believe, in this imaginary purgatory/hell, that close-minded people will take longer to learn their lessons, and in doing so, be there longer. Batchelor’s going to steam for awhile, I think. Though I prefer not to conjecture on the length of my interment.