Social Justice Porn

A bumper sticker that reads “if you’re not outraged, you’re not paying attention,” slightly worn with time (and dedication), clinging to the bumper of a Prius parked in an urban Whole Foods parking lot. The course feel of hemp against your bare skin. The heat that rises within you when you tell people they have a responsibility to use their privilege for good, climaxes with the anticipation of an argument, and rolls swiftly into ecstasy with the opportunity to educate them on their role.

The deep, forgiving cushion of your favorite armchair as you sink in to change the world via the Macbook warming your lap. The inviting “like” button on status updates from area non-profits. A good, hard advocating. Making and selling your own line of granola. The electricity that develops in the air between two people talking about how corporate REI is.

Gooey carob chips melting in the center of a gluten-free cookie. A steaming NPR membership drive mug filled with organic tea. The rhythmic build of tension as you ask, “is this fair-trade?” The deep hit of satisfaction as you realize you are indeed the crunchiest looking person at the farmer’s market. Telling people about your friend who started a farm to make salad dressings for people with soy allergies who want to stand up to Big Dressing. Raising awareness. Informing people. Ohhhh, informing them good.

Playful use of the words ‘cisgender’ and ‘heternormative.’ Telling a woman she is doing feminism wrong. But you can help her do it so very, very right.

The erotic twinge in your groin as you experience the full-body glee of holding the class back so you can ask the professor just one more question about Marx. The silent heat of all the stares from your classmates wondering who this person is that is so fascinated by Marx. The feeling of one-ness with your Marxist brothers from history as you bravely carry that banner. Mmmmmm, so much bravery.