Why do they hate us? A thoughtful reflection on our goodness

We, the Democrats, have always been the party of the people—the champions of the downtrodden, the enlightened shepherds guiding the grubby masses toward a more progressive and culturally sophisticated existence. We have spent decades improving their lives in ways they are simply too unevolved to appreciate, and yet—yet!—the working class hates us.

Frankly, it’s offensive. After all, we have elevated them! We have taken their dreary little lives, their mundane blue-collar existence, and turned them into aesthetic triumphs. Their Carhartt jackets, once covered in sweat and machine grease, are now worn by intellectuals, deep thinkers who spend their days crafting manifestos about the plight of the worker from the comfort of their converted warehouse lofts. Their Dickies work pants, once meant for factory floors, are now high fashion, worn by vegan anarchists and creative directors alike. We have taken their suffering and made it stylish!

And their factories! Their awful, soul-crushing factories! We rescued them from a life of gainful employment and stability, and what did we give them in return? Something better. We transformed those horrid places of labor into $5,000-a-month industrial lofts, brimming with artisanal furniture, experimental theatre spaces, and ethically sourced espresso bars. We even kept the exposed pipes, a touching tribute to the working-class aesthetic—a bit of decorative nostalgia for a people who, let’s face it, never quite understood how to appreciate their surroundings in the first place.

But did they thank us? No. Instead, they whined. Whined! About “job loss” and “economic hardship” and “not being able to afford rent.” As if this was our fault! We even gave them an obvious solution—we said, “Just go to college!” It’s not our problem that tuition now costs as much as a private island, and certainly not our fault that their degrees in Gender-Aligned Basket Weaving and De-Colonialized Interpretive Dance didn’t land them a six-figure job. If anything, they should be grateful we let them borrow money to better themselves!

And still, still, we cared. We knew they’d struggle once we systematically removed all sources of financial independence, so we generously offered them welfare and affordable housing. We made them dependent—sorry, empowered them with government assistance, so they’d never have to worry about burdensome things like owning property or building wealth. And somehow, somehow, they had the audacity to resent us for it! They acted as if relying on us for survival was a bad thing! They muttered nonsense about dignity and self-sufficiency, as if those things ever really worked out for them in the first place!

And then—the ultimate betrayal—they voted against us! Against us! After everything we’ve done! And we, being the benevolent matriarchs that we are, responded with grace and wisdom. We gently explained to them that they were racist, misinformed, and manipulated by propaganda. Instead of thanking us for correcting their thinking, they got angry.

But we knew better than them. We defunded their police, dismantled their military, and threw Molotov cocktails at their institutions of national security, ensuring that when things inevitably collapsed, we could blame the Republicans. And when crime skyrocketed, and their streets became unlivable, we told them they were imagining it, that law enforcement is an oppressive tool of the patriarchy, and that if they really wanted safety, they should just take up kickboxing or call a social worker.

And still, they failed to see the gift we were giving them. We gave them fentanyl to help them cope, and polyamory to dismantle their oppressive nuclear families, because who needs a stable home when you can have a fluid, community-based approach to personal relationships that inevitably ends with someone crying in a group chat?

And still, still, they refuse to acknowledge all we’ve done! Instead, they throw around words like “betrayal” and “economic devastation”, as if their suffering is more important than our personal journey of self-discovery.

At this point, we are forced to conclude that the working class simply doesn’t deserve us. We have appropriated their struggles, worn their clothes, occupied their homes, and taken over their identities, all while making ourselves look incredibly good doing it. And yet, they still dare to resent us?

Well. There’s only one reasonable conclusion to draw from this:

They must be fascists.