Income Insecurity and Shame

I've been thinking about the roots of shame.

How the shame of poverty can be manifested in myriad fashions. On one hand we have the questioning activists and the other the willful stupidity of the culturally bankrupt. I use willful, stupidity, and bankrupt intentionally.

There is the grinding poverty of the sub-working class. These low-wage, no growth endeavors are exhausting physically and mentally under-stimulating. I am curious about generational under-stimulation. If one's parents ask no questions and their parent's also asked no questions, who are these contemporary 16 year-olds to look to for cultural enlightenment?

Our educational system is void of critical thought and speaks only in terms of standardized testing; the basis of which is the assessment of generalized conformity and adherence to a code of misinformation.

Arts, maths, science, and the ensuing ability to understand their interrelationship is the effect of exposure to many ideas and sources of information. The home life of the youth is based off of a stilted education system and youtube. The product of their experience a false sense of pride as exhibited in the exaltation of ignorance and the rise of the lowest common denominator.

To be certain I do not blame those experiencing this system. Rather, I look to the fractured system of democracy as the root cause. When did we stop valuing education in our society? when did we cease to encourage thought as a preeminent commodity?

Continuously undervalued and shamed for intelligence, bright young thoughtful people half-close their eyes in order to conform to the social norms.

This observation was spurred by a trip to RAYS supermarket and watching a small group of 17 year olds jaunt through the checkout line, snapping their EBT card on the counter as the absolute nicest checker rang them through. I could see every curve of the girl's tight ass as she wore boy-short overwear that spanned about seven inches. Her chatter and body language directed at her pimple faced male counterpoint who followed her with his eyes and semi-chub visible through his basketball shorts. They bought frozen pizza and liters of soda. Neither one spoke to the checker; her instance that his time was valueless to her only more exaggerated by the tap tap tap of her foodstamp benefit card on the counter... faster, hurry, I am not going to engage with you, but look out for me, watch me.

I am at a loss. I want the post-revolutionary awakening.