Back then I’d thought social justice drama was a college phenomenon, but here I learned everyone was doing it, politicizing in bad faith what were obviously just bad manners. If you left dishes in the sink you found yourself accused of spoiling the commons or outsourcing labor. If you asked someone to turn down the music at night, you were entertaining carceral logics. I certainly project-managed my share of callouts and their fallouts, and I have to admit that I played the game hard and well. I led the charge on censuring the textile artist for saying that bisexuals in cishet relationships faced less discrimination. I denounced the cishet Israeli sculptor for centering herself and queerbaiting after she made a Facebook post during Pride with a rainbow flag painted on her cheek. I practiced calling people “folx” and got mad when others didn’t. I also ran a tight defense, deflecting accusations of being an elite by pointing out that my Stanford tuition was funded largely by the inheritance from my immigrant father—who committed suicide, by the way. And I straight-up crucified Craig at a picnic for whining about getting zero pussy, lit him up so hard he spiraled and eventually went full blackpill, which just goes to my point that all identarian politics are homologous: even when they represent opposing values, all are engaged in a vigorous pledge to the same principle of belonging.