"Do you hear the people sing, singing the song of angry men-"
"No!" The social justice blogger bursts into the dress rehearsal. "It’s wrong and cissexist and white privileged. ‘Men’ aren’t the only ones singing, take your fucking fedoras off."
"Do you hear the people sing, singing the song of angry…people."
"No! For the love of Non-Binary Gendered Deity, not all people can sing. That’s ableist, you’re destroying the disabled, you’re erasing them and shaming them and raping them or whatever, just a bunch of like really bad stuff. Trust me."
"Do you hear the people…uh…the, the uh…people."
"Still anti-deaf, hearing scum. And what is this thing on people? What about headmates? Otherkin? And let’s just examine the problematic usage of the second person pronoun, the second person pronoun has long been used by first-person scum to shame and appropriate, uh, where did all of xie go?"
But it was too late. The people had left. They had walked behind the ploughshare, they had put away the sword, and all the white cis het abled men had had their reward. They had gone to the movie theater, they had bought their tickets. They sat in silence, watching that terrible thing.
The movie that did not represent fat body types in early 19th century France.