Milo as Salon's replacement




Milo is Salon's replacement. Salon isn't to be seen as empowering Milo, but rather as shuddering as they sense the limelight passing. Amanda Marcotte noticed that there were many who identified as strongly feminist... who were the sort of people who previously loudly applauded Salon when it went after sexist men, who suddenly revealed themselves as actually not so feminist at all -- and in fact as actually very, very angry at women -- when they became Bernie Bros. It was if they'd finally found a safe space where they could finally speak their minds without feeling like they would be obliterated for it, and they indulged as if previously prisoners humiliated into forced identification. 

They had aligned with people like Marcotte, that is, defensively. By being with her, they couldn't give voice to their prejudices -- and in fact had to experience the constipated discomfort of staunching them -- but they could partake in her being bitchy, arbitrary and dismissive -- buoyed, as Milo correctly argues, on being the cultural wars' victors and having remade their opponents into gutter rats - to versions of themselves they felt a need to deny. 

What's happened is that the nativist sense that our countries are like our dearest mammy has sort of gone live. A bunch of self-interested globalists have -- in this version of seeing things -- let their countries go to rot as they've been spoiling themselves Versailles style. And the ones who are now worthy of the penetrating, angry glare become, not the Hillbilly white boy, who's bad owing to being descendent of colonialism and centuries of exploitation and rape, but rather the like of university-entrenched feminists, who at end of the day are seen as mostly handmaidens of globalist ascension, who willfully couldn't give a damn if their abandonned home countries broke apart in rust and if it turns out the only people they were fighting for were themselves.  

So now people can go Milo rather than Marcotte and feel not so alone and vulnerable for it, but rather like the loyal, parent-cherishing child about to be accosted yet again by the presumptive, parent-dissing sibling... but this time while the club-toting, pissed-off parents are at hand. 

They've hopped over to someone else's shadow, and, just now indulging in its spoils of new permissions and liberties, are gleeful over it. 

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