Hey, Louie,
Most people think
The Happy Prince1 was by Hans Christian Anderson or the Brothers Grimm. It wasn't, of course, it was written by Oscar Wilde, and that alone should be a warning, Louie. The story doesn't end well, even by the standards of the other two authors.
So you're this swallow, right, Louie? No, you're not a swallow. You're a human being. Maybe a prince. Human beings have a dual nature...They have requirements necessary for them to live, but they also have obligations to their fellow humans. If this balance isn't met, a human becomes something else. If the obligations are not met, they turn into monsters, and if the requirements are not met, they die (or, in these easier, modern days, they simply turn from being the swallow or the prince into being the match girl from the story.)
Again, it's all about balance. Extremism is ugly no matter what you're being extreme about, whether that be the extremists hollering inside the capitol building (swallows) or the ugly-faced politicos driving them on (princes). The difference in the prince and the swallow in the story, of course, being that one is a reformed exploiter who is still exploiting, and the other is a person addicted to being exploited. The prince (in the story, for example) doesn't even have to be a
bad guy. Just someone who exploits others to do things in the prince's name to wash away the prince's sin (you're getting the irony right now, I am guessing), even as it loads the prince down with more sin. Extremism in this tale, as in life, always ends badly...Especially if you don't believe there is a god up there to make it all better when you are destroyed.
Another thing about extremism is that it's not only ugly, but it's
boring. People not invested in your extremism don't want to hear it, so they make polite excuses and go do other things, your group of swallows heads to Egypt for the winter, leaving you with a dwindling set of friends until one day it's just you and the prince. Then you want to leave, it's getting really cold, but the prince tells you that escaping the cold excludes BIPOC folks or LGBT folks or whatnot. So you stay. And you die (or just find yourself broke and alone).
And then, in the story, the people you tried to save via logical, concrete assistance find your remains and the remains of your stripped prince and your frozen body, and they call someone to haul the trash away. You performative capacities have been stripped, so there's not much use for you. They won't think of it that way, of course, they're not monsters.
But they'll do it anyway.
Yours Truly,
The drab iron statue of Hamish.
1For those of you barbarians that don't know the story, it can be found here:
https://artpassions.net/wilde/happy_prince.html