Masochistic Leftism

Stupid and mad ain't no way to go through life - but unhappiness is the drug of choice for many.

Being a masochist doesn’t necessarily have to involve a cat-o-nine tails, a ball gag, leather harnesses, or chains (not that I would know anything about that stuff). Nor does it require enduring the torture of watching The View or Jen Psaki circle back on MSNBC. Being a masochist simply means being someone who draws pleasure from experiencing pain. In a peculiar twist, this definition seems to fit a certain subset of humanity - those who appear to thrive on unhappiness, particularly within the sphere of leftist activism. Their pursuit of misery, cloaked in righteous indignation, reveals a deeper contradiction: seeking unhappiness as a path to fulfillment.

A few years ago, I wrote about people who are only happy when they are unhappy, observing, “There are clearly segments of humanity that are always at war with, well…something. It does not really matter what that something is, whether it is merely a concocted offense or an actual shooting war, there are people who know nothing but conquest, they are driven by a hatred of a world that does not fit their wants, needs, desires. The world does not give them happiness and peace simply because it does not react to them the way they want it to react. The world does not yield to their will.” These words still ring true today as I watch clips of leftist protests railing against everything from detaining illegal immigrants to affluent white women (AWFLs) and beta males singing (off-key) 1960s-style protest songs about issues that often aren’t even happening.

These protests, a market basket of grievances, share two defining traits: anger and ignorance. Anger fuels the outrage, while ignorance sustains the narrative, often untethered from reality. This volatile combination has historically produced deadly results, from riots to revolutions, and yet it persists as a hallmark of modern leftism. The masochistic impulse lies in the protesters’ apparent need to consume unhappiness as if it were a product essential to their well-being. They seek out conflict, amplify perceived slights, and revel in the pain of a world that refuses to bend to their demands. This is not just a contradiction but a syndrome that presents as a mental illness, where misery becomes the currency of identity.

Consider the absurdity of some protests: chanting against policies that don’t exist, mourning injustices that are more imagined than real, or protesting detention of illegal aliens after having them removed from your neighborhood, for their own good, of course. The ignorance is not merely a lack of facts but a willful rejection of them, as protesters cling to narratives that justify their rage (the complete ignorance of immigration law is a big one). The anger, meanwhile, is not just directed outward but internalized, a self-inflicted wound that they nurse with pride. They are at war with a world that will never fully align with their vision, and yet they find purpose in this perpetual struggle. It’s as if happiness, were it ever achieved, would leave them adrift, without cause or identity.

This masochistic leftism thrives on the illusion of control. By framing every issue as a battle against oppression, protesters believe they can force the world to yield. But the world is not so pliable, and their conquests are often Pyrrhic, leaving them angrier and more alienated. The tragedy is not just in their wasted energy but in the division they sow, fueled by a cycle of pain they mistake for progress. True happiness, it seems, is anathema to their cause - for in misery, they find meaning.

And as they say, stupid, mad and watching The View ain’t no way to go through life.