How did a generation raised on fantasies of revolution grow to idolize the leisure class?

By GEETIKA MAHAJAN — giamahajan@ucdavis.edu

The start of the 2020s felt like the end of the world as we knew it. Between a global pandemic and constant political upheaval, it seemed like the very pillars of society were collapsing — but nobody was more prepared for this change than Gen Z. 

“We grew up reading ‘The Hunger Games’ / ‘Percy Jackson’ / ‘Divergent,’ what did y’all expect?” read the description of a Spotify playlist from 2021 called “Gen Z’s Political Revolution.” 

When you’re sitting at home and watching the world blow up online, it’s easy to draw comparisons to Katniss Everdeen and other fictional revolutionaries, but when the pandemic ended and it was time to put all this sentiment into action, it dissolved into something much more ironically detached.  

The United States is dragging itself closer to the dystopian worlds we grew up reading about; the staggering wealth inequality in the nation is nothing new, but it’s harder to ignore now than ever before. Social media, and TikTok specifically, have made it so that witnessing the capitalization of America isn’t just easy, it’s entertaining. While rich people flaunt dining sets and cutlery that costs thousands of dollars, those on the other end of the wealth spectrum rely on vitriolic comments for a check. When both extreme poverty and extreme wealth become a spectacle, it’s easy to forget their broader social implications. They’re not two separate realities; they exist as cause and consequence of each other.

If President Snow had a TikTok account, the entire plot of “The Hunger Games” would never have happened. At least, if social media functioned in their reality the way it does in ours. If you’re a rich person who “riches right,” you are above critique. If you, like heiress and influencer Becca Bloom, can look demure while unboxing hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of Hermès, nobody will think about the fact that you spent their entire year’s salary on a bag before liking your video — they’ll be too busy doomscrolling to think about the political and economic state of the world.

The reverse is also true: You can rich right and “poor wrong.” If you are visibly in poverty, you’re not doing enough to help yourself, you just need to work harder. While the wealthier influencers of TikTok can weaponize aesthetics to shield themselves from critique, low-income creators can’t afford similar defenses. Nobody sees Nara Smith’s tripod, ring light or glam team; everybody sees and loudly comments on a messy living room or dirty stove. Two very different streams of content emerge: one for escapism and one for an artificial sense of moral superiority. 

There is a deeper reason why Nara Smith can make her kids cereal from scratch while a working mother-of-three gives them toaster waffles, but that reason exists in real life, and these influencers exist on TikTok. I don’t know why a generation that was so committed to societal change five years ago is now obsessed with platforming these out-of-touch influencers, but the consequences run far deeper than the rich getting richer. The amount of wealth that Becca Bloom or Nara Smith have isn’t just excessive; it’s obscene. Every video emphasizes that they aren’t constrained by the two most limiting resources in our society — time and money. 

I despise an overused social media buzzword as much as the next person, but the normalization of this kind of luxury is truly problematic. It makes abhorrent wealth seem less foreign, warping our perception of what kind of lifestyles are realistic for the average person. Seeing people feed their cats expensive fish prepared by their private chef while other people struggle to provide a healthy dinner for their family should make people angry, but somehow we’ve lost sight of the broader picture. The existence of both extreme wealth and extreme poverty suggests that the persistence of wealth inequality is a choice: There are clearly enough resources for everyone to live a safe life. For some reason, the public believes that this is something people themselves are responsible for, rather than a structural mechanism for preserving wealth concentration.

America today isn’t divided so much as it is stratified. There are people at the very top and the very bottom of the wealth pyramid, but there are also millions of people in between who do the work of preserving the system. This is where the “richfluencers” of the Internet come in — the more we watch and support and validate their existence, the more acclimated we become to this dystopian level of consumption. Desensitizing ourselves to the deliberate inequality that exists in America does nothing to protect the middle class or their relative financial stability, it only further insulates those at the top: the ones standing on everybody’s shoulders. 

Written by: Geetika Mahajan — giamahajan@ucdavis.edu

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed by individual columnists belong to the columnists alone and do not necessarily indicate the views and opinions held by The California Aggie.

How to thrive in the face of indifference 

By JACKSON IVY — jjivy@ucdavis.edu

To be young in today’s world is to struggle. We struggle for calm, justice or some assurance that things are not as bad as they seem, yet so many things are stacked against us. Media reports are rarely good, and it’s too easy to reach a point where you dread the notion of even looking at your phone. 

This is no accident — corporations want you to feel drained, hopeless and eventually apathetic. They want you to feel like there’s no point — that obstacles are insurmountable. That way, you’ll reach for your phone and numb yourself by scrolling. This does not make us bad or weak; all of us know that things ought to change, and every second they don’t is an injustice and a disservice to our generation. But it still feels impossible. 

I believe this feeling is natural. When we look to history for inspiration on how to enact sweeping change, we see revolution, civil unrest, grassroots movement, mass mobilization — all things that feel out of place or “too far” in today’s world. But there’s one lingering question I always have: Where does resistance begin?

In the wake of a world designed to overwhelm, it’s natural to want to shut down or look the other direction. But this does not solve our discord with the problem, nor does it address the problem itself. Instead of shutting down and shutting out the chaos, I propose a strategy I’ve been practicing since I got to college. I like to think of it as a form of compartmentalization, where I can take steps toward effective and meaningful resistance that relieves the strain of inaction and helps me approach the issue, one step at a time.

This compartmentalization strategy starts with expanding the definition of “resistance.” Resistance, as a concept, doesn’t just include protesting the injustices of the world; it includes resisting the feeling that protesting injustice is pointless. It expands to include seeing every word, every step forward and every breath as a form of defiance. 

Think about it: big corporations who contribute the most to climate change, for example, want you to feel hopeless. But if it were truly hopeless, why would we continue to see our friends, drink coffee, go to class or otherwise have fun? It’s not meaningless, and extracting meaning from a life in which you are made to feel that none exists is the very essence of defiance. Every day you thrive without the permission of power-hungry individuals is a day you win. Every time you laugh with your friends is a laugh at their expense. Every time you hug someone you love, that precious moment belongs to you forever. Choosing to thrive in spite of how many terrible things happen every day is a constant state of victory.

Once you can build a foundation of passive resistance, it becomes easier to face the bigger things. Once I started waking up and seeing that defining moment where I finally got out of bed as a step toward positive change, I started feeling like it was easier to think about protest — to write, to advocate, to boycott, to revolt. I believe this happened because I could recall all the times I resisted apathy by getting up anyway, resisted repression by reading a book or resisted consumerism by falling in love. I felt like I was getting the hang of resistance and started to think bigger. 

All this abstract talk is really a means to an end — at the end of the day, tangible change is not caused by breathing without permission; rather, learning what resistance means to you, first and foremost, is what allows us to resist together.

Written by: Jackson Ivy— jjivy@ucdavis.edu

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed by guest contributors belong to the guest contributors alone and do not necessarily indicate the views and opinions held by The California Aggie.

How MAGA Christianity is being used to protect the Trump administration

By SABRINA FIGUEROA — sfigueroaavila@ucdavis.edu

When you grow up in the Catholic church, going to mass with medieval stained glass windows and the Virgin Mary constantly staring you down, you retain a lot of religious guilt about everything you do, especially if your actions go against the word of God. So imagine my surprise when the second Trump administration took office earlier this year, blatantly claiming a man with 34 felony convictions, an anti-immigrantion platform and sexual assault allegations to be “the second coming of Christ.” I shiver at the audacity. 

In all seriousness, Christianity among supporters of the “Make America Great Again” (MAGA) movement — the slogan of Donald Trump’s political party — has been in the media spotlight since the death of Charlie Kirk. However, it’s been a topic of cultural conversation since Trump’s first term, when he first claimed to be “the chosen one.” His claims to be a “savior” only increased in the summer before the 2024 Presidential Election, when he was shot in the ear at a political rally in Pennsylvania. By that point, some of his MAGA supporters saw him as a divine being, with a divine order to rule.

David French, a columnist at the New York Times, recently wrote about how MAGA evangelicals applauded Charlie Kirk’s widow Erika Kirk for her forgiveness of her husband’s murderer, while simultaneously applauding Stephen Miller, White House deputy chief of staff, and Trump’s comments on “hating your enemies.” French argues the misinterpretation of Romans 13 — a biblical passage on the role of authorities — allows MAGA to approve of forgiveness and hate at the same time.

“To look at Romans 13 as excusing Trump is to make what amounts to an astonishing category error… Scripture could not be more clear that a ruler is obligated to do justice and that the sword (to the extent it should be wielded) exists to protect the innocent, not to punish your enemies,” French’s column reads. 

Trump’s speech about “hating his enemy” only served as a confession that his first priority is vengeance on his enemies, while protecting the innocent is his last. Even the way the Trump administration and MAGA supporters framed Kirk’s death as a partisan issue goes to show that they are not concerned with injustices done against constituents — unless it benefits their power as authority figures. We are just pawns in this big political game.

If one does not take into account context and accepts the narrative of Romans 13 as followers of Trump tell it, it would appear as though political authority figures have the God-given right to do anything. It’s a return to the rhetoric of the divine right of kings — a worrisome thought considering the United States was founded on opposing the abuse that manifested from this power and doctrine.

Nonetheless, this newly popular variant of evangelicalism views Trump as an extension of God, which, in itself, makes it a challenge to hold Trump accountable for his actions. The blurred lines between politics and religion in this case make it difficult for people to argue against Trump’s actions — a critique on Trump is unacceptable as it’s a critique on God by extension.

That logic, exacerbated by stalls on judicial and legislative checks through the Supreme Court’s decision on presidential immunity and a loyal Republican majority in Congress, only adds another layer of protection from accountability — a protection from the informal check on power by the public. 

Religion is a knife, and Trump is wielding it as a dangerous weapon, a political tool. The line that separates church and state — fundamental to the foundation of the U.S. —  is being crossed and we cannot fall into the mistake of accepting it as the status quo.

Trump unabashedly calling himself “the chosen one” is not normal. The Trump administration’s recent efforts to deploy the National Guard to Los Angeles, Chicago and Portland is not normal. Selling “God Bless The USA” Bibles plastered with an American flag on the covers and printed with copies of the Constitution and the Bill of Rights — which his presidential actions don’t seem to support either — for $60 to $1000 (the one with his signature in it!) is not normal. Not only do these Bibles merge Christianity with American nationalism, its price point violates a core principle of Christianity: which is to support and be accessible to the poor — a Bible should never cost $60, let alone $1000. 

Faith should not be defined by political ideology — God himself cannot be placed on any given side of the spectrum. It’s not about whether MAGA evangelicals are “real” Christians or not, it’s about leading them in a direction that involves productive education and discussion of faith — without propaganda. It’s easier said than done, but it’s necessary. People should find what faith means to themselves on their own terms, not on anyone else’s, and certainly not on the terms of a man who says “an eye for an eye” is his favorite biblical verse — a line he takes to simply mean “vengeance.”

Written by: Sabrina Figueroa — sfigueroaavila@ucdavis.edu

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed by individual columnists belong to the columnists alone and do not necessarily indicate the views and opinions held by The California Aggie.

What global protests reveal about the state of our nation

By NEVAEH KARRAKER — nakarraker@ucdavis.edu

Immigration is arguably the most prevalent issue in the world right now, and the unease encompassing it isn’t leaving anytime soon.

Japan, the United Kingdom, Australia, Poland and Germany are being swept deep into a wave of anti-immigration protests. Although these conflicts surfaced years prior, they are now thrown into the spotlight.

In Poland, anti-immigration protests took place in more than 80 cities over the summer. In Japan, a recent influx of tourism has fueled resentment among locals, as they battle rising housing prices and pollution. In the U.K., far-right activist Tommy Robinson led 100,000 Londoners in anti-migrant sentiment just a month ago.

While many of these protestors align with extremist factions, their concerns stem from legitimate issues about housing shortages, unemployment, economic instability and the premise that the government favors foreigners over their own citizens. 

Abroad, Russia’s war in Ukraine displaced millions, with over five million Ukrainians seeking refuge in neighboring European countries like Germany and Poland. The U.K., Poland and Germany are accepting numerous more international asylum applications than their resources allow, which compounds the already critical housing shortage. Even in the United States, the “American dream” feels unreachable; the “land of opportunity” is nowhere in sight, especially in the face of political unrest and a fragile economy. 

It is of paramount importance that we understand these global issues, as they indirectly force the U.S. to reconsider its own diplomatic policies. When European countries turn away asylum seekers or war refugees to ease their own domestic affairs, the U.S. is the next place they turn to. This amplifies the pressure on our overwhelmed border system and stretches our thin resources. In July 2024, the Department of Homeland Security declared that asylum centers had hit overcapacity, and, in 2023, they discussed how overloaded borders create vulnerabilities that transnational criminal organizations can exploit for drug and human trafficking.

Similarly, when countries like Japan limit tourism or foreign residency, skilled workers and students migrate to countries that have more lenient customs policies. The U.S., despite the new line of federal immigration policies under the Trump administration, remains a sought-after destination for research and employment. As these influences put even more strain on the borders, it propagates its many existing vulnerabilities.

The U.S., similarly, has experienced its own stream of protests in recent months. In contrast to the far-right demonstrations in countries overseas, pro-migrant protests and demonstrations against Immigrations and Customs Enforcement (ICE) — such as the nationwide “No Kings” protest this past June — were a response to the actions of the Trump administration. Strict regulations on HB-1 visas have sparked tension in universities and organizations, and immigrants continue to live in fear of being one of the two million people deported by Trump’s increasingly severe policies.

Immigration is a delicate topic. Tourism and migration both enrich culture and boost economies with skilled labor and business innovation. To some, anti-immigration sentiments aren’t always rooted in opposition to diversity; instead, they can be a plea for the government to bring balance and structure to a dysregulated population. Expecting immigrants to uphold national laws, values and cultures in the process to gain citizenship is not always inherently xenophobic. Yet, unaddressed fears lapse into anger and become a driving force for violent or exclusionary public outrage.

At the core, people in the U.S. are facing the same dilemma as those abroad: Who should we help first? Should the government prioritize international citizens seeking refuge from war and homelessness, or the welfare of their own struggling people? These rampant protests represent the ongoing skirmish between globalists and nationalists: one values open borders, equity and compassion; the other sovereignty and structure. When does caution become overprotective? 

Today, immigration is extremely salient, so staying informed with foreign affairs is just as vital as with domestic ones. Like the domino effect of World War II, the welfare of one country shapes the welfare of others — and America might be the next domino to fall.

Written by: Nevaeh Karraker—nakarraker@ucdavis.edu

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed by individual columnists belong to the columnists alone and do not necessarily indicate the views and opinions held by The California Aggie.

In defense of puns as a form of highbrow humor

By ABHINAYA KASAGANI — akasagani@ucdavis.edu

I promise the reader that the initial conception of this article did not stem from my being relentlessly mocked for my penchant for puns. My sincerest apologies that we all cannot be absolutely hilarious with the way we turn words on their sides and arrange them with care. 

 Something as trivial as a pun, often dismissed as being a “dad joke” or a type of lowbrow humor, represents a cerebral form of social sport that rewards both parties precisely because of the mental leaps and bounds that they are required to make. 

James Geary, author of “Wit’s End,” notes that “puns are all about exchange and they create an intimacy […] you’re in it together, sharing a secret.” In order to make a pun work, both parties must share a set of references, meanings and cultural associations; the construction of a joke is reliant on shared understanding. Puns collapse two ideas into one sound, imploring the listener to consider the simultaneous existence of both possibilities. They are, in this way, democratic by nature — one must agree on what makes the joke funny in order to derive any satisfaction from it.

Geary also notes that “the pun’s primacy is demonstrated by its strategic use in the oldest sacred stories, texts, and myths.” Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs contained puns with the same persistence as Shakespeare’s plays, the Bible is rife with wordplay that gets represented and misrepresented and even psychiatrist Sigmund Freud appreciated puns because of their capacity to reveal one’s subconscious. President Abraham Lincoln reportedly once received a letter from a priest “asking him to suspend the sentence of a man to be hanged the next day,” to which his response was, “if I don’t suspend it tonight, the man will surely be suspended tomorrow.”

While other forms of humor, in these fraught and tense times, do have their benefits, our current social and political climate calls for the re-evaluation of what we, as a collective, deem funny. While most humor can be weaponized, puns eliminate all attempts to one-up another; you must bring yourself down to the level of the other in order to get the joke. Puns are playful without being divisive and are thus able to much more quickly diffuse any tension they may create.

Apart from democratizing society, puns reward quick thinkers — those thinking on their feet. When one resorts to making puns, they are manipulating the rules of language as we know them, demonstrating their understanding of phonetics, semantics and irony. Words can mean anything: Language is often fickle and malleable. Occasionally, puns serve as cultural tools that reward intelligence, bridging these existing gaps between cultures and languages. Language becomes gamified, reminding one of their ability to conquer the written and spoken word. 

This is not to say that all puns are well-reasoned. I am, admittedly, guilty of making puns that warrant the loudest of groans. Maybe the answer is as simple as puns are fun; maybe the long punchline that you’ve been waiting in for hours wasn’t packed with any punch. Puns will, until the end of time, elicit a groan from their audience; this only means they are doing their job. Speaking as a pundit of sorts, I would claim that to laugh at a pun is to participate in a fleeting moment of collective comprehension where any and all are welcome.

Written by: Abhinaya Kasagani— akasagani@ucdavis.edu

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed by individual columnists belong to the 

columnists alone and do not necessarily indicate the views and opinions held by The California Aggie.

Affective polarization: an affliction with insufferable symptoms

By VIOLET ZANZOT— vmzanzot@ucdavis.edu

History will have its way with the affective polarization that exists in America today. Future textbooks will have headlines that read “The battle between the blue-haired and red-capped raged onward,” and Alligator Alcatraz will be memorialized similar to Manzanar. Much as we may have read about Ronald Reagan’s presidency and the civil rights movement, we can see plainly that we once again exist at a cultural and political inflection point — a moment in time that is producing a shift in our cultural norms.

Affective polarization — defined as “the tendency of Democrats and Republicans to dislike and distrust one another” — has been exacerbated by extremists, who create a feedback loop to push people further apart. The masses seem to be the fuel feeding the fire of the tension we’re seeing emerge between the political left and right: there is no question that there is partisan division in America today. 

In essence, politicians and public figures are feeding off the existing social and political turmoil to gain popularity; they rally their supporters around collective animosity for the opposing side, tightening their allegiance to their party while decreasing their tolerance of the other. 

Oftentimes, when we talk about the problems in our country today, speculatory commentary far outweighs self-reflection. How often do we look in the mirror and ask ourselves why we dislike or distrust people who think differently? How often do we assume we are right, without even considering what it even means to be right in the first place? 

Researchers Jesse Graham, Brian Nosek and Jonathon Haidt studied the accuracy of how political liberals and conservatives stereotype one another. Their results revealed that the differences in how people think are exaggerated relative to the actual differences. It’s not that no differences exist, but rather that people have moved their perceptions of the “other” farther and farther away from their perceptions of themselves. Interestingly, they found that liberals were the least accurate in their stereotyping, while conservatives were more accurate and moderates were the most accurate. But, as a whole, participants demonstrated over-inflated in-group and out-group discrepancies.

When was the last time you asked someone who disagreed with you why they think that  way, especially at a moral or ethical level? As a result of media sensationalism and the tendency for benefactors of polarization to prey on people, our planes of consciousness have been separated. If we could be more compassionate about why people think the way they do, perhaps we could reach more consensus on the grounds of “why,” even if we disagree on “what.” Our goals may be similar in spite of disagreements regarding how to approach them.
In the end, this is a war based on unfounded assumptions. It is not a substantiated distinction, it is a war of perception rather than material reality. Respectful politics have become old fashioned because we’ve allowed rivalry to take over. Maybe blaming the other side relieves us of any personal accountability, but this “othering” is not the smart nor the moral thing to do. 

Written by: Violet Zanzot— vmzanzot@ucdavis.edu

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed by individual columnists belong to the columnists alone and do not necessarily indicate the views and opinions held by The California Aggie.