Crocodile tears: (n) insincere tears
It’s difficult to determine what ends up making something popular.
I guess most folks would think that some action gains notoriety because it’s so successful.
Yet there are many things we do in our society that are not successful at all.
But we insist on continuing them out of tradition, politics or religion.
No, there’s more to it than that.
For something to be truly popular, everyone who participates needs to feel they’re getting something off of it.
Recently it has become prevalent to share your life story in front of a camera on television and to cry.
Everyone is supposed to feel great empathy.
Therefore, you can win over the favor of an entire audience while simultaneously making them feel generous with their concern.
The hitch in this plan is that ultimately, we all favor winners. Otherwise there would be no need for trophies, awards and accolades. So how is it that we are convinced that a close-up on our face with crocodile tears, sharing the tragedy that has happened to us, is supposed to be powerful enough to place us in a preferred position?
We now have singers who don’t sing for the joy of it or write songs because they feel energized or compelled. Rather, they hope that in singing or writing they can gain enough money to move their poor little family out of the trailer, and the youngest daughter, who was born with a third arm, can finally get that operation which is only performed by one doctor, whose clinic is in the Alps.
The ingredients are all there:
- A sympathetic character
- Crocodile tears
- A nearly unbelievable story
- And a wish that somehow or another, those who are listening will assist by voting this particular singer to the winner’s circle.
It works around this horrible assertion that bad things happen to us:
We are victims.
There were no opportunities to improve our situation to this point.
And there are forces at work to destroy us which we don’t seem able to curtail.
Now, if this is the case—in other words, if there’s truth to the fact that any one of us can be impaled by a mysterious destiny that’s targeting us—then I have to admit, the human life journey seems fruitless.
If I have no say, I’d rather not speak.
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