A mate told me the other day they were spending time with “Reformy friends”. This was not said with excitement, but the way one might announce an incoming storm; a sort of “brace yourself” tone. I recognised it instantly: that creeping dread when people you once trusted start parroting ideas that feel brittle, angry and performed – like they’re auditioning for a low-budget political panto. This piece digs into the psychology of resentment dressed as “concern”, how friendships are strained by it, and the moment you decide to step off the ride and back into daylight.
Fear sold as truth
People don’t get swept up in propaganda because they’re fearless pioneers. They get swept up in it because something inside them is rattling. Fear is a hell of a drug: it tidies the world and turns nuance into villains. The darker the figure offering the answers, the more polished the performance. The instinct is to argue, to factcheck, to pull out charts like you’re doing a surprise Ofsted inspection. But dread doesn’t respond to data, because dread, I suspect, is the whole point. Fear gets packaged, lit and sold back as certainty – which is why in the current political carnival people prefer the ghost train to the speak-your-weight machine.
The ghost train promises screams, shadows and the reassurance of being shown exactly what to fear. The weight machine just gives you the truth – clinically and without flattery. One indulges emotion, the other demands responsibility. But what are these people really scared of? If you ’re afraid of small spaces, we call it claustrophobia. If you’re afraid of spiders, fair enough. But being afraid of other people living their lives? Of sharing space? Of losing unearned advantage? That’s not fear, that’s resentment and at the far end of the track, racism and homophobia are waiting to jump into the carriage.
The propaganda playbook
Much of this “fear” is really anxiety about power slipping – about no longer being the default setting – and having to share a country that once felt like it came with complementary privileges. “Phobia” is sometimes too generous and other people aren’t frightened at all. Rather, they’re hostile and comfortable enough to show it. That’s the truth that holds up this kind of propaganda and the playbook is ancient:
- promise simple solutions to complex problems;
- deliver nothing that improves anyone’s life;
- point at someone else and insist they are the reason it failed.
When reality refuses to play along, the volume rises and the targets multiply. Accountability evaporates, failure becomes sabotage and followers are reassured that their anger was justified all along. It’s an emotionally efficient system with no introspection required. Selective outrage keeps the whole ghost ride running: some rule-breakers become proof of societal collapse, while others are quietly excused. Some newcomers are framed as threats, yet others are waved through without a murmur. The logic is inconsistent but comforting and as long as the story flatters its followers, contradictions are just background noise.
Real friends speak without fear
This piece isn’t here to educate; anyone who wants facts can find them. What matters is what we do with the friendships caught in this gravitational pull. And here’s my line in the sand: friendship does not mean silence. It does not require me to nod politely while people recycle talking points that punch down, or demand gratitude from those they merely tolerate. Nor will I sit quietly while grievances are applied selectively, or entertain lectures on fairness from people who only notice rule-breaking when it chimes with their own prejudices. Tolerance isn’t a moral achievement when you’ve never had to fight for your place.
And I’m done pretending that resentment – dressed up as concern – deserves a respectful debate. If you want to talk about corruption, broken systems or unfairness, fine, but you don’t get to look the other way when the same behaviour appears closer to home. If you keep backing grand promises that dissolve on contact with reality, don’t be shocked when nothing improves. If the explanation is always that someone else ruined it (migrants, minorities, activists, faceless enemies) then eventually the problem isn’t external; it’s intellectual laziness.
Get off the ghost train
So here’s the boundary, without apology: I won’t argue with slogans, I won’t debate caricatures and I won’t perform outrage to keep the peace. You’re entitled to your views, you’re not entitled to my agreement, my silence, or my time. If we’re going to stay friends, the conversation needs to leave the ghost train and survive daylight. That means accepting evidence, owning failure and abandoning the fantasy that everything would work perfectly if only certain people weren’t here. Because that story never delivers. It never has.
The speak-your-weight machine is still there. The number hasn’t changed, and denial will not make it lighter. At some point, the refusal to look stops being fear and becomes a choice – the choice to cling to certainty rather than face consequence. To paraphrase Epicteus, the ancient Greek Stoic philosopher who said some 2000 years ago, “It is impossible for a person to learn what they think they already know.” That, more than anything else, is what keeps the ghost train full. I’m not afraid of the truth and I’m no longer interested in friendships that are.
