University of Southern California

At what point does injustice become background noise?

Bloodied black bodies can be "liked" on Instagram. Gunshots in classrooms are easily reposted via Tiktok. My generation's digital environment is so overwhelming we're desensitized. Given the numbing nature of dark humor, youth prefer it over justice. Rape culture is palatable once it's a punchline. Laughter is more socially acceptable than tears.

A recent documentary about Jeffery Dahmer (which his victim's family members did not consent to) has led to several callous jokes about his horrifying devastation of the Black gay community. Tiktok now hosts several trends concerning Dahmer, all spearheaded by Generation Z youth.

Humor is a valid coping mechanism, but it's now a crutch for a generation that needs to start walking on its own.

Why is shock humor desired today? Dark humor was how I grappled with my internalized racism, partly triggered by enduring racial slurs at school. However, the hilarity fizzled out once I realized how counterproductive it was. Now, rather than reposting footage of global tragedies or joking about them, I promote new bills, pro-cause literature, and nonprofits, celebrating the proactivity of our nation.

To begin my conversation, I would address my own desensitization, urging my audience to examine theirs as well. Through my talk, I want individuals to undergo a transformative examination of social media consumption and the role of humor in the face of tragedy. Hopefully, my talk leads them to consider how they can work to alleviate social issues, rather than laughing at them.

"Chill. Out."

Surely my classmates felt annoyed that I had transformed a simple English debate about the existence of the American Dream into a full-on tirade, hands revolving in furious circles, voice emphatically piercing throughout the room. But for me, the slightest mention of a debate, even a minor discussion on the best team in the NFL (Patriots!), unleashes my passionate, borderline bombastic self, determined to conquer the war of words.

Of course, when discussing the merits of pharmaceutical price controls at a debate tournament, my assertive speaking style and quick-thinking become valuable assets. But other times, I find those tendencies to hinder what would otherwise be productive, civilized conversations. Often, a simple discussion about the merits of pineapple on pizza would quickly devolve into a redundant, unproductive squabble. I have to constantly remind myself that not everything needs to be debated endlessly, no matter how much I vehemently disagree (Pineapple on pizza, however, is a TERRIBLE idea).

Yet it is this desire to seek truth and conclusion, to vouch for my beliefs, that drives me to my life endeavors. Whether it be interning at an immigration law firm and fighting for clients' prosperity or volunteering for a local Board of Education candidate, I strive to focus my love for reasoning and dialogue into avenues that benefit those around me. Pointless debates lead nowhere, but insightful, genuine conversations are essential to addressing the key issues that affect our community. And honestly, pineapple on pizza doesn't really matter that much anyway.

"You barely have lunch, and I'm worried that you're not eating enough."

My face burnt bright red. They know.

It was true, of course. Throughout sophomore year, my daily food intake slowly inched below 1,500 calories, barely enough to sustain a toddler. Six months in, my period halted its monthly cycle – hormonal amenorrhea. Tired, anxious, scared. Yet, nothing deterred the voice in my head from telling me that I would never be small enough.

With an already petite stature, my health was never questioned; people seldom criticized my diet or the amount of space I occupied in a room. Skinny was healthy, and I bought into that myth. Until I started to listen. I listened as my friend confronted me with her concerns. For the first time, I was exposed to a new definition of health detached from fear foods and aesthetics. Not immediately convinced but willing to change, her perspective encouraged me to do the research and reflect on my health subjectively. In the following week, dietetic research papers and videos filled my search history; the verdict was glaringly clear. I was wrong.

Today, I exercise for adrenaline. I eat for fuel. I recognize my worth beyond the number on the scale. Listening to a different perspective was all it took for me to unravel the flaws of my own, and that, as I currently eat the rest of the holiday toffee pretzels unabashedly, is something that I am forever thankful for.