Most of the Left’s obsessions could be cured with the help of a good therapist. When you are unable to tell a man from a woman, you don’t need long debate sessions full of intellectual analysis but to see a specialist, perhaps an oculist, or at the very least to go back to school. The woke universe is becoming an all-encompassing madness, and the worst part is it’s contagious. What has just happened in my country feels like a dark comedy.
Several days ago, a campaign from Spain’s social-communist government sought to promote diversity on the beaches. Under the slogan “Summer is also ours,” a poster brought together five women on the sand: one overweight and white; one overweight and black; one overweight with purple hair; one, topless, who had had a mastectomy; and one who looked like a conventional young woman but with hairy armpits. The organizers forgot to check the “trans” box, but sometimes progressives forget their own identity universe; there are so many fictitiously besieged subgroups that it is impossible to keep them all in mind. The acronym for sexual identities grows ever closer to the size of the Greek alphabet.
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