Ever been in a conversation that even without much exaggeration goes like this?:

“I like dogs!”

“Oh no! Why do you hate cats so much?”

I bring this up because every time I look at modern discussions — around politics, social issues, or even casual ones — it feels like exactly that. You're pressured to pick a side, no matter what, even if the subject is something mundane and milquetoast.

Let’s say you love a book. You recommend it to your friend, and their immediate response is: “But the author is an ist-o-phobic — I don't want to read their crappy propaganda!”
Or it's a musician, actor or a comedian you like — they're bound to have said something “problematic” in the past, which now makes them persona non grata, even if what they said was (and still is, to many) completely normal.

Rules of the Game

Every game has its rules, and they're meant to make play smooth, fair and meaningful. Basically, rules exist to make the game functional, enjoyable and fun.

Now imagine a situation, where you are playing a game of Go, and mid-game, your opponent picks up a golf club, hops on the table and starts swinging at the stones. You protest, and they dismiss you as a fascist for wanting to stick to those old and obsolete rules — “rooted in colonialism and oppression”.

The game has shifted. Or more precisely: It's being actively discredited to avoid the risk of losing. These idealists, they don't think a game is fair, if there is even the slightest chance they could lose, so they will do their best (or worst) to try and make the game an absolute shit-show for everyone else too.

Moral Currency

The fact that this is happening more and more these days points to the sad reality, that the discourse has been taken over by a bunch of cry-bullies, people who seem to thrive on emotional manipulation. They feel euphoric enforcing arbitrary, fictional rules — and they gain status from it.

Victimhood, outrage, and moral high ground are now treated like currency, while restraint, humility, and requests like “wait, let’s see how this plays out” are seen as weakness or complicity.

For them, mere “feeling wronged” is enough to justify bending rules, dodging facts, and rewriting definitions on the fly.

I've seen it even in my own life — people insisting that someone they hate is so evil that even agreeing with him by accident must mean something sinister.
It looks like their deepest fear isn't that he's wrong — but that he might occasionally be right.
(And yes, if you guessed who he is, you would probably be correct.)

But Why Only One Side?

You might wonder why I seem to criticize only one side of the arguments...
Well — it used to be that the other side (if there ever truly were “sides”) made delightfully ridiculous claims like “a banana proves the existence of a creator God”. And we all laughed — rightly so — because the modern banana is basically the result of generations of human-guided breeding. It was ironic proof of intelligent human design, not divine.

But that “side”? It’s now mostly quiet — at least compared to today’s perpetually offended activists who dominate cultural discourse.

So no — I don’t spend time criticizing the ones who already lost their argument. There’s no sport in kicking a player who’s already retired from the game.

The Game within the Game

Modern discourse isn't really about the topic itself. It's about performing allegiance to a side, earning group points and avoiding ideological exile.

Even suggesting that a controversial figure might have a point is treated like treason — not because the point is invalid, but because it came from the wrong mouth.

And if you keep parroting your side's talking points — the more extreme the better you'll survive a little longer in your social tribe. Until you don't. And then? You are out.

Sarcasm as a Mirror

Now — since I often use sarcasm in my own writing (including this one), I want to make something clear: sarcasm isn’t about breaking the rules of discussion — it’s about showing where others already have.

When one side makes an extravagant claim, like “The U.S. Constitution only applies to citizens!”
…and the response is “Of course it applies to everyone!” followed by vague appeals to “we the people” and “on American soil” — while conveniently ignoring the second part of the first phrase: “of the United States”, and the sections that clearly limit certain rights to citizens (like voting, 2nd Amendment, or presidential eligibility)…

That’s not nuance. That’s playing hide-and-seek with the facts.

In such moments, sarcasm isn’t throwing out the rulebook — it’s holding it up and saying, “Are we reading the same thing?”

“The moment you land in the U.S., the Constitution wraps around you like a warm freedom-blanket. Guns, votes, protests, permanent residency — all inclusive. It's practically a theme park pass.”

Time to Think Things Over

Instead of constantly trying to break the rules of the game, we should learn to play well — to concentrate, assess the board, to respect our opponent's moves, and to make better ones ourselves.

If you're in a pinch — like losing a group of stones in the game of Go — you evaluate. You check the score. You ask yourself whether it's worth saving that group, or sacrificing it to gain elsewhere.

And that's how discourse should work too.

If we don’t defend the rules of dialogue, there won’t be a game left to play — just noise. Nobody will win. Nobody will learn, or even enjoy the game. Eventually, nobody will even want to participate. It's truly a dark and rocky path.

I want you all to think about this. It is not rocket science. Think of the games you used to play as a kid. How many fun times would've been lost if each time instead of enjoying the game, someone would've just grabbed the board and send it flying, pawns, dice and all? (Of course it happens. Even I did it when I was a kid and lost something in a silly board game. But eventually you will have to learn to enjoy the game itself.)

My advice: Grow up, we are not kids anymore.