Hello there!

It's a flavour of urban fantasy, I guess, if you look at it objectively. It 100% exists in Our World. And it's about an Every Day Person (or small group of every day people) who is Struggling with something, and then they Encounter a weird Supernatural force, one which seems tailor made to teach them a Lesson. Think a genie, or a time-loop, or the ability to read peoples' minds, or something. The situation doesn't/won't resolve until the lesson is internalized.

You see it most often in certain small to middle budget live action movies (e.g. Groundhog Day, Click, Bruce Almighty) but also a certain type of book (e.g. The Midnight Library). It'll crop up occasionally in other mediums, but more rarely, because by design they're single unexpected episodes, not part of a broader narrative.

That's what sets them apart from regular urban fantasy/sci-fi to me. There isn't a Secret Other World hiding real magic from people, or some MiB/SCP-style organization handling it. This incident just sort of Happened. In a way that's almost casual, since there isn't really any broader lore or explanation. Frankly, giving too much of one would probably feel really out-of-place-- this type of story isn't really built for robust worldbuilding.

It's not magical realism, because it clearly is a break from the expected functioning of the world; average people don't know about it or expect it. As I describe it, though, the way the supernatural functions almost seems to overlap with certain horror scenarios. Only, while there can be an element of horror in these stories, the difference is usually that the tone is more upbeat or contemplative (sometimes outright comedic).

The Captain is a leader of a smallish group in a bounded environment; spaceship captain is the canonical version to me, here. The Captain has authority, she is undeniably the authority figure in this space and she expects her commands to be obeyed, but that authority is a contract. It comes with the knowledge that she uses that authority for the good of her crew.

The Captain is dutiful: her duty is to her mission second, and her crew first. Everything else, including her own personal feelings and desires, comes third. The Captain takes her duty as commander seriously and has a strong sense of responsibility. She is responsible for what happens to each one of her crew, responsible for their lives and safety, responsible for their failures and deaths. And she takes the weight of that responsibility seriously too.

The Captain is fair: her expectations may be high but she isn’t capricious. She does not ask her crew to do anything she wouldn’t do herself, and in the case of a crisis The Captain is ready to go down with her ship, making sure that everyone else gets out first.

The problem with claiming the label "ally" is that it subtly shifts the center of gravity from the cause to the self. It turns a verb (supporting) into a noun (an identity).

Once you've adopted the label, the point of the exercise often stops being about the marginalized group and starts being about your own membership in the Good People Club.

What if ally has just become another identity category - a performative merit badge we display to stay in the good graces of our social circles?

I'm not suggesting we should care less. I'm asking if we could care for better reasons. Could we support our moral positions without the expectation of a social reward?

A few years ago, I caught myself carefully drafting a social media post. I realized I wasn't trying to communicate something true, I was trying to communicate something acceptable. I was triangulating. I was checking the direction of the wind in my feed before committing to a stance.

That's...not moral conviction.

That's reputation management with a trompe l’oeil conscience painted on top. It looks like a window into the soul, but it's actually just a flat wall.

I don't think I’m alone in this.

When social reward is the primary driver, you will inevitably bend your principles toward whatever earns the most social approval (likes) from your specific tribe. Consistency goes out the window, because consistency doesn't care about your audience.

I oppose violence against civilians because targeting civilians is wrong - full stop.

Not because of which flag those civilians live under.

Not because of which conflict is currently trending on TikTok.

Not because taking that position will earn me a "yikes" or a "yas" from the people I respect (or the people I'm afraid of).

The principle holds universally, or it doesn't hold at all. If I only apply it when it's socially safe, I'm not operating from ethics, I'm operating from social conditioning.

The (valid) counterargument is that declared allyship has real utility. Public declarations normalize solidarity. They signal safety to vulnerable people. An LGBTQ+ teenager in a hostile town needs to know who the safe adults in the room actually are. Movements need visible bodies, not just private thoughts.

The problem isn't visibility. It's the direction the camera is pointing.

Are you showing up so that the vulnerable community knows you're there...or so your followers know you're one of the good ones?

The former is solidarity, the latter is branding.

I'm suggesting we support vulnerable communities for reasons that would hold even if no one was watching or following.

Moral consistency means opposing attacks on a community not to influence how we are perceived, but because our core principles (human dignity, rejection of collective punishment, the refusal to dehumanize) demand it.

It means the test isn't whether I like the victims or if my social circle thinks the victims are worthy.

If your commitment to a principle relies on a cheering section, a pat on the back or likes, you weren't driven by the principle - you were driven by the behavioral reinforcement - like a rat in Skinner's maze, waiting for the dopamine pellet of a notification.

I've realized I don't actually need anyone else to see me as an ally.