We're stuck in this, most weirdest of periods of human civilization, where douchebags roam freely, and have outfitters that are capable of catering to almost any level of taste, and will do exactly that for a buck.
Suburbia seems to grow evermore malignant with each passing decade, and so many assholes are couched in lives of ostentatious comfort without ever having to think deeply about what that means.
There's something about driving an hour to work, being bitched out by middle-management all day, driving an hour home, and having nothing but strip malls, video games, tv and the internet to show for it. A fraction of these people have romantic relationships with a significant other (as parsimonous and avaricious as they), and the rest suffer a solitary existence, but maybe with a circle of familial relations that don't actually help matters.
With that, empathy becomes effaced in the slow acid bath of an eight hour (or longer) work day, and then incinerated by the blow torch of a lifetime wasted on spare time in a place where nothing else can be afforded beyond transportation, processed food, and a boondoggle or two to keep you sane enough that you don't snap and kill any of your peers.
Every now and then one miserable suburbanite proves useful enough to be rewarded with a looser collar and a longer leash. This is where the unapologetic, leering McMansion enters the picture.
Which definitely points to a truth, obvious as it is disquieting: brutal violence lies ahead.
Seriously. Unions have been pretty violent for well over a century, as labor struggles have circulated the force of shockwaves created by obstinate dysfunction on both sides, but because of this, a collective memory of known quantities had built up.
Now, in a sudden bout of amnesia, certain mistakes are primed to repeat themselves. Others not so much, but how to guess which errors boil over first, and why, without understanding the roots of each problem?
Technology and any related social change will augment outcomes, but not always in a good way. On the one hand technology empowers mobility and learning, on the other hand, eavesdropping and misinformation.
Bob, Carol, Eric and Fiona are racists. Alice and Dan are not.
Alice is avoiding the self harm of discomfort and lonliness. A refusal to assimilate, sure, but as much as refusing to go square dancing and wear cowboy boots. Dan is being charitable and productive in his actions without inflicting actual injury or damages. Advocacy for those less fortunate requires operating within the constraints of a role, and he is targeting the path of least harm. Advocacy means choosing sides, although Dan gets a hall pass, since his actions are ethically defensible. These are minor transgressions in each case.
Bob, Carol and Eric are willfully causing harm for personal gain, and favoring paths of least resistance, without exploring (perhaps as a conceit of these framed parables) alternatives.
Fiona, meanwhile, is openly racist. It says so in the text, so no mystery there. Her racism serves as a form of ethical de-escalation of circumstances that Alice and Dan might unwittingly bring about (and the others actively strive for), as "normal" ambient social behavior.
While unsavory in sentiment, Fiona's actions might serve as a means to prevent open violence with a curious form of social lubrication, by bearing the burden of being socially despicable, while refereeing the outcomes of unpolicable realities, with her racist counterparts on the other side of the prison yard (if you will), in a somewhat organized manner.
Suburbia seems to grow evermore malignant with each passing decade, and so many assholes are couched in lives of ostentatious comfort without ever having to think deeply about what that means.
There's something about driving an hour to work, being bitched out by middle-management all day, driving an hour home, and having nothing but strip malls, video games, tv and the internet to show for it. A fraction of these people have romantic relationships with a significant other (as parsimonous and avaricious as they), and the rest suffer a solitary existence, but maybe with a circle of familial relations that don't actually help matters.
With that, empathy becomes effaced in the slow acid bath of an eight hour (or longer) work day, and then incinerated by the blow torch of a lifetime wasted on spare time in a place where nothing else can be afforded beyond transportation, processed food, and a boondoggle or two to keep you sane enough that you don't snap and kill any of your peers.
Every now and then one miserable suburbanite proves useful enough to be rewarded with a looser collar and a longer leash. This is where the unapologetic, leering McMansion enters the picture.