I dunno… I always got the (possibly mistaken) impression that concern driving trollies is, from the perspective of the concern-trolled, the action of a wet-blanket, stick-in-the-mud killjoy who gets in a high dudgeon about the harmless fun enjoyed by everyone else. No concern trolley would describe his or her own actions that way; either they’re utterly sincere in their beliefs and really want us to “think of the children/victims/whatever,” or their commitment to the role they play within their driving trollies is such that they don’t admit to driving trollies.
I think it’s safe to assume that those who plead for trigger warnings are always sincere, except for those cases where they are self-evidently dicking around with the concept. And I, at least, give a lot of leeway to the sincere. I like a certain sizable dollop of darkness in my life. I think there is much value to be had by the catharsis of violent horror movies and books, and gallows humor, and whistling past the graveyard. Life is a cold, miserable bucket of stale shit much of the time for most people, and just as we need to value and appreciate and cherish the good and beautiful things we see and hear and experience, I think we also need to laugh at the absurdities and depravities whenever and however we can (even as we try to the ends of our endurance to eradicate them) lest we succumb to the despair and hopelessness that reality offers us in double handfuls if we don’t use our imaginations to try to elevate our way out.
At the same time, it’s only decent and humane and sensible to realize that we all have different levels of endurance, and different tastes, and different experiences. I can laugh (at a fairly distant remove) at my ancestor who drowned in an outhouse. She can’t. Maybe her children can’t. If they can’t, it’s not my place to tell them they’re wrong, or oversensitive, or whatever. Though it’s difficult for me to imagine a death more horrific than falling through a rotten outhouse seat and drowning in the cesspool beneath, I also find it difficult to imagine a more hilarious ending for a human life. There’s such an utter lack of dignity there, as if the whole Universe flushed humanity down the loo while muttering, “There! That’s what We think of your oh-so-superior species, ye who fancied yourselves holding dominion over all the beasts and fowls and flora of your puny planet! How does that taste?!”
I guess I don’t really resent most “concern trollies,” unless they’re very obviously and actually driving trollies. I want there to be people to occasionally remind me when I’m forgetting about the larger issues, or when I let my compassion erode a bit too far when the absurdity of someone else’s misfortune tickles my funnybone a tad too much. Decades ago, Stephen King mentioned the fad of “dead baby” jokes that were popular in my circles around the time I was in 6th grade. The example he cited was “What’s the difference between a truckload of bowling balls and a truckload of dead babies? You can’t unload a truckload of bowling balls with a pitchfork.” There’s no sophistication and precious little humor in such a joke; most of the comedy value comes from the listener’s sickened reaction to the punchline. Some people (maybe even some people you know!) might cackle and look forward to hitting some of their buddies with such a zinger. Other people might find the whole thing utterly valueless and reprehensible and beneath preserving even as an archetype for a primitive and obsolete form of proto-humor practiced by underevolved ragamuffins destined to grow up to a life of sociopathy and miscreance. Some people might feel personally offended by such a joke, either due to having recently lost an infant child or possibly due to their own childhood misadventure involving pitchforks and the suffocating pressure of stacked corpses pressing down on them. Who are we to judge them for their reaction?
I don’t know what my point is. Part of me really wants to try to avoid offending anyone, and part of me will be unable to resist slipping a Whoopee Cushion under somebody at a funeral. I guess most of me just needs to remember that there’s a really big and vitally important reason why almost nothing offends me personally: I’ve never been seriously attacked, harmed, molested, oppressed, violated, subjugated, censored, held back, raped, injured, stalked, robbed, overpowered, intimidated, or dropped into a cesspit. And for that I am one seriously fortunate human being.
I’d better remember that.