Given that it’s being blasted on every social media channel and displayed in every store, you’ve doubtless noticed it’s June, and this is Pride Month. It follows hard on the heels of May’s AAPI (Asian-American Pacific Islanders) Month, which itself is the successor to Women’s Heritage Month in March and Black History Month in February. (Apparently, April hasn’t picked a celebration around which to coalesce, although Allergies Month readily suggests itself. But I digress.) July and August are both It’s Too Hot to Have a Month months, but things pick up in September with Hispanic Heritage Month. However, for whatever reason, it doesn’t start until the 15th and runs into October 15th, thereby colliding with Breast Cancer Awareness Month. November and December are each too busy of a month to have, you know, a month.
Back to this month. At present, harried mothers are burning through their monthly budget, dipping into ever-diminishing savings courtesy of stratospheric gas prices, while desperately searching from store to store for baby formula. Based on various corporations’ activities, boardrooms across the land are utterly convinced that said moms take great comfort in seeing that although providing sustenance for their children is well nigh impossible, they have multiple options to clothe them in the latest outfits identifying their sexual preference. This is despite the fact the child in question is many years closer to the time when that icky heterosexual activity brought them into the world than their having even the slightest inkling of what sex might be, let alone their interest in any aspect of same.
Some years back, Canadian prog supergroup Rush released their Signals album which led off with “Subdivisions.” This was back before band drummer and lyricist, the late Neal Peart, succumbed to bitter atheism and viewed societal matters with quite the libertarian eye.
In the song, amid its pure 1980s synthesizer washes, Peart mused on societal conformity and its corresponding pressure on all to submit, adding to this the divide between city and suburb.
Growing up it all seems so one-sided
Opinions all provided
The future pre-decided
Detached and subdivided
In the mass production zone
Nowhere is the dreamer
Or the misfit so alone
Aside from the lyric’s immediate appeal to teen angst, it foretold the contemporary approach to Pride Month and permutations thereof by some forty years.
Modern liberalism is utterly intolerant of dissent. It is forever primed and prepared to go full Alinsky on any and all who dare step away from its dictums. Conformity is mandatory. The new “tradition” is the only tradition.
There is an issue with this, one rising above even liberalism’s omnipresent incorrect nature. The corporation embracing this week’s woke does so at its peril, especially should it give the impression it is neglecting, if not abandoning altogether, its primary mission so it can be one of the Kool Kidz. The aforementioned mother has zero interest in which month this is and which cheap marketing campaign is underway to sell useless junk under the guise of inclusion. She wants to feed her baby. She wants to be able to buy groceries and put gas in her car without wondering which bills she’ll have to skip this month so she can make ends meet. She could care less about Johnny Depp and Amber Heard. Her needs are personal and immediate. If one business can’t meet them but is all over this month’s thing, she understands their priorities. None of them include her. And she will search for a business that makes her priorities their priorities instead of vapid virtue signaling.
Fostering subdivisions in the name of trivial pursuits is no way to run a company.