The greatest threat to the world isn’t chaos.
It’s apathy.
The quiet shrug. The numb scroll. The decision to feel nothing.
And it’s killing us faster than we realize.
🧵
Apathy is not passive.
It’s not neutral.
It’s a choice.
A decision to turn away when people are screaming for help.
A conscious refusal to care because caring costs something.
Look around:
– Genocide in real time
– A pandemic still disabling millions
– Climate collapse accelerating
– Democracies crumbling
– Billionaires getting richer as the rest of us choke on ash and debt
And still… silence.
Apathy says:
“It’s not my problem.”
“It’s too complicated.”
“I don’t want to get political.”
What it means is:
“I am comfortable enough to look away.”
We’ve made numbness a virtue.
We call it “staying sane.”
We call it “setting boundaries.”
But what we’re really doing is building walls between ourselves and our humanity.
They want you apathetic.
They want you distracted, exhausted, overstimulated and under-informed.
Because apathy doesn’t riot.
Apathy doesn’t organize.
Apathy doesn't change anything.
Apathy is the perfect tool of power.
Because when you stop caring,
they stop being accountable.
You become easy to control.
You become quiet.
And the world keeps burning without resistance.
Empathy is painful.
It should be.
You should feel a knot in your gut when children die.
You should lose sleep when your leaders lie.
You should be angry. That anger is sacred.
But instead, we scroll.
We mute.
We unfollow.
We drown truth in aesthetics and call it self-care.
It’s not self-care if it costs someone else their life.
You’re not too sensitive.
The world is too cruel.
And it’s counting on your sensitivity eroding.
They say, “The world’s too far gone.”
But hopelessness is apathy in disguise.
It’s the coward’s retreat.
It’s easier to believe nothing matters than to risk believing it could.
Because if it could, then you’d have to do something.
You’d have to speak up. Show up. Risk something.
And apathy whispers: “Don’t. Just keep scrolling. Stay soft. Stay silent.”
And the status quo is killing us.
It's killing children.
It's killing the disabled.
It's killing the climate.
It’s killing empathy itself.
The world doesn’t need more noise.
It needs conscience.
It needs people willing to give a damn—loudly, inconveniently, relentlessly.
When you say, “I don’t want to get involved,”
you already are involved—on the side of power.
Because silence doesn’t protect the oppressed.
It shields the oppressors.
People say they’re tired.
Tired of hearing about death.
Tired of masks.
Tired of politics.
But they’re not the ones dying.
They’re just tired of being reminded.
End/
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The COVID-conscious community is fracturing — and we need to talk about it.
Because if we don’t, we’re going to lose more than the fight for clean air.
We’re going to lose each other.
We’ve been gaslit by governments, mocked by the media, and abandoned by public health.
We watched the world move on while people are still dying, still getting sick, still becoming disabled — every day.
What does it say about us—
that we are willing to sacrifice children
for the illusion of normal?
A 🧵
Not in some distant country.
Not in history books.
Right here. Right now.
We are watching a society decide, in real time,
that children's lives are expendable.
They get sick.
We say, “They’ll bounce back.”
They struggle.
We say, “They’re just anxious.”
They ask for help.
We say, “You’re fine.”
We move on.
They stay behind.
The world isn’t “in crisis.”
The world is being deliberately destroyed. And the people doing it are counting on you to stay distracted, numb, and exhausted.
Read this. Get angry. Stay awake
🧵
The planet is burning.
They told us climate change was a future problem.
It’s now.
Unbreathable air. Collapsing ecosystems. Heat that kills. Water wars starting.
Fossil fuel execs? Still cashing record checks.
Governments? Still subsidizing the arson.
COVID didn’t go away. It was politically buried.
They just stopped counting.
Mass infection is policy.
Disability is exploding.
Millions are sick, and millions more will be.
They chose profits over people, and they’ll do it again.
There are moments—quiet, stolen ones—where it hits me:
We’re living in a mass casualty event that never ended.
We just stopped counting the bodies.
Stopped caring who got sick.
Stopped asking who never got better
We normalized it.
Gaslit ourselves into thinking it’s just life now.
That a deadly airborne virus is just the cost of doing business.
A few million deaths here. A few billion infections there.
Just don't make it awkward.
You mask and people stare like you’re the problem.
You speak up, and you're dismissed as negative, paranoid, stuck in 2020.
But you’re not.
You’re awake.
And that awareness—it hurts.
The world is breaking in ways we can’t fix.
And we’re all just standing in the rubble, trying to make sense of what’s left. 🧵
Every day, we wake up to more chaos.
Another headline that feels too big to process.
Natural disasters. Political upheaval. Apathy. Grief.
We’re watching the slow-motion collapse of things we thought were certain.
We used to talk about progress.
About how things would get better.
But now, it feels like we’re moving backward—inch by inch, event by event—until the future seems more like a broken promise than something to look forward to.
If you’ve ever loved someone with dementia, you know the grief begins long before death.
It’s a slow-motion erasure.
A vanishing act.
Piece by piece, the person you love slips away.
Now imagine that future being mass-produced—and ignored.
We’re being told COVID is “mild now.”
That we can just keep catching it, over and over.
But repeat COVID infections aren’t just risky for your lungs or heart.
They’re dangerous for your brain.
They may be accelerating cognitive decline.