It’s ironic (but not really, it’s the way my life unfolds) that I came South to avoid politics for awhile and yet, found myself right back in the fray at...of all things...my Yoga class!
I gave it a real shot. I wanted to like it. I wanted to believe there was a voice out there that genuinely transcended the noise.
Instead, I found the clearest example yet of something I've been writing about in my book. She is a Spiritual Happiness Hijacker. One of the worst kind, a “hidden” hijacker. She wears the cloak of "I'm here to help you heal" while actually doing the opposite: gently, warmly, spiritually prodding you toward her political beliefs — and hiding the whole operation under moral capture. I’ve included her essay below mine, as well as a link to her work so you can read it and make your own conclusion.
What I was promised:
A spiritual teacher. Someone above the fray. Someone who would help me see my own blind spots, my own capacity for contempt, my own log.
What I got:
A political sermon wearing a meditation shawl.
The signs:
I've learned to recognize the pattern now. It's not subtle once you know what you're looking at. But here's the thing that makes it dangerous: when we're searching for ideas that confirm what we already believe, we discount the warning signs. We want the teacher to be real, so we ignore the tells.
Here's what I look for now:
The universal opening. She starts with something no decent person could disagree with. We shouldn't dehumanize each other. Labels are spells. Grief is real. Everyone nods. Including me.
The pivot. Then comes the hinge — usually a single sentence, easy to miss if you're already nodding. "Of course, the threats are not equal." That's the moment the sermon stops being about all of us and starts being about them. The universal principle just got a carve-out, and the carve-out always benefits the person speaking.
The one-sided diagnosis. From here on, one side gets understood, humanized, given the benefit of the doubt. The other side (the Right) gets diagnosed. The “Rights” grief is "understandable but rooted in exclusion." The Right’s fears are "misplaced." And just like that, she is doing in her essay what she claimed we should stop doing. The right are not people anymore. They're a problem to be managed.
Then we have the absent mirror. This is the biggest tell. In thousands of words about dehumanization, the author never once asks what log is in her own eye. Never once says "here's how I dehumanize my enemies." Never admits to a single thing that costs her. She is always the one who sees clearly, never the one who is seen.
The loaded questions. Same trick my daughters fourth-grade teacher used when trying to coax my daughter into politics and into the democrat party: "Do you think we should protect the vulnerable?" Yes, obviously. "Then you agree with my politics." No — I agreed with basic decency. You just stuffed your platform inside it and handed it back to me like I ordered it.
The hypocrisy:
Here's where it gets almost funny. The entire piece is an argument against dehumanization — and it is, itself, an act of dehumanization.
She tells us not to turn people into categories. Then she spends the essay sorting her opponents into categories.
She tells us to notice the spell of political labels. Then she casts the spell — just with her own labels.
She tells us to ask what fear or grief drives someone to a position we hate. Then she asks that question about her own side, and only about her own side.
She quotes Jesus on the log in the eye. Then she spends three thousand words removing specks from eyes she has never met, while insisting her own vision is already clear.
The piece doesn't fail at its stated goal. It is the thing it warns against. It just does it with better lighting and a softer voice.
Why we fall for it:
This is the part I keep coming back to, because it's the part I'm still working on myself.
We fall for the happiness hijacker because often times, we want to. We want a teacher who tells us we're basically good and the problem is out there. We want our anger blessed. We want our contempt called courage. We want to feel like we're doing spiritual work without having to do the actual work — which is looking at ourselves.
The spiritual happiness hijacker offers that. She offers reassurance dressed as challenge. She makes you feel like you're growing while you're really just being recruited.
What a real teacher would have written:
A real teacher, someone actually doing the work of seeing clearly, would have asked herself the hard questions first.
How do I dehumanize the people whose politics scare me?
What label do I reach for when I want to stop listening?
What would it cost me to admit that some of my opponents are grieving something real?
Where is my log?
She didn't. She couldn't. Because a real answer to any of those questions would have ruined the sermon.
The takeaway:
I'm not saying Rev. Trimble is a bad person. I don't know her. I'm saying she's doing a thing — and that thing is everywhere, in yoga studios and pulpits and wellness newsletters and think pieces, all of it wearing the same gentle, wise, "I'm just here to help" face.
Learn to see it. Not so you can dismiss everyone who disagrees with you. So you can tell the difference between someone who wants to help you think and someone who wants to help you agree.
The first one will make you uncomfortable. The second one will make you feel wonderful.
That's how you know.
Below is Rev. Trimbles essay that I wanted to love but quickly spotted the patterns of cloaked divisiveness.
https://substack.com/@camerontrimble
The Spell of the Enemy
A Meditation by Rev. Cameron Trimble
Rev. Cameron Trimble
Aug 04, 2026
“Why do you see the speck in your neighbor’s eye but do not notice the log in your own eye?” —Matthew 7:3 (NRSVUE)
We are living in a time of frightening words: Fascist. Communist. Socialist. Traitor. Marxist. Nazi.
Some of these words refer to real political ideas. Sometimes, they help us see real threats. The current administration has often pushed the limits of presidential power, challenged democratic institutions, and treated vulnerable people as if they do not matter. We need words that are honest about this. If we avoid calling out authoritarianism, it does not make us kinder. It just makes it easier for others to control us through fear.
But when these words show up in our political debates, they stop describing actions and start defining people completely.
“He is a fascist.”
“She is a communist.”
“They are destroying America.”
After we use these labels, we stop listening. We stop asking what fear, loss, or hope led someone here. By calling them the enemy, we feel allowed to ignore them.
The accusation becomes a kind of spell.
When this happens, we start to see our political opponents as less than human. Everything they do seems to prove what we already think about them. Every election feels like the last chance to save the country. Every compromise feels like giving up. Every loss feels like proof that the system is rigged. We stop being curious, because being curious feels risky. This is how a society becomes trapped inside its own fear.
I want to be careful here. The threats are not equal. The Trump administration holds the enormous power of the federal government and has used that power in ways that threaten democratic institutions and place already vulnerable people in greater danger. The growing democratic socialist movement does not possess comparable power, nor does it pose the same threat. Its calls for health care, housing, worker protections, and a more equitable distribution of wealth emerge from real suffering in a country where millions of people work hard and still cannot afford to live.
Being honest about right and wrong means we have to see that difference. It also means noticing how easily we all fall into the habit of turning others into enemies.
If you listen closely to the accusations, you can hear sadness underneath. Factories have closed. Family farms are gone. Small towns have emptied out. Wages have not kept up with the cost of living. Parents who hoped their children would have better lives now see them struggle to pay for rent, health care, or school. The promise at the heart of the American story, that each generation would do better than the last, has been broken. People feel the breaking, even when they do not have words for it.
Some people who support MAGA are mourning the loss of a world where white Christian identity shaped public life. That world gave some people a sense of belonging and meaning, but it did so by leaving others out. For those who grew up believing this was normal and right, its end can feel unsettling.
Many people on the democratic left feel a different kind of grief. They mourn the promise of a multiracial democracy that has not been fulfilled. They are upset by the huge gap between the very rich and those who have to choose between medicine and food. They grieve for lives hurt by racism, unfair work, environmental harm, and being ignored by politics.
These kinds of grief are not the same, but they are both real. When we cannot talk honestly about our grief, we often look for someone to blame.
That might be where we are today. We face losses that are too big and complex to handle, so we turn them into enemies we think we can fight.
We blame immigrants for struggling towns. We blame billionaires for a broken economy. We call MAGA voters monsters and socialists thieves. We take problems that have built up over generations and put a face on them so we have someone to hate. When we are scared, hating someone can feel powerful.
But hate can also stop us from seeing a deeper truth: many of our problems cannot be fixed just by beating one political group. This country was built on stolen land, enslaved labor, cheap energy, and the idea that growth could go on forever, even though the planet has limits. Both major parties have relied on this system. Both have promised that, with better leaders and policies, things can keep going as they are.
But now, the system is destroying the things we need to live. Our soil is worn out. The climate is changing in dangerous ways. Our communities are tired. Money keeps going to the top, while loneliness, sickness, and sadness spread. No old label can really describe the world we are living in now.
Maybe that is why we are so afraid. We do not know what will happen next. So we turn to old enemies and old stories: fascism versus communism, freedom versus tyranny, real Americans versus those who want to destroy America. Using these old words makes the world feel understandable again. It tells us who we are and who we should fight.
Jesus once asked why we see the small fault in someone else but ignore the big fault in ourselves. He was not saying we should ignore what is wrong. He wanted us to see how judging others can keep us from looking at ourselves.
What is the log in our collective eye? Maybe it is our wish to see ourselves as innocent. We want to believe that only the other side is cruel. We want our own fear to look like virtue, our contempt to look like courage, and our desire for power to look like justice. We hope that if our side wins big enough, we will finally be safe.
But no political victory can heal grief we refuse to grieve. We need to do more than just be polite. We must call out authoritarianism when we see it. We must stand against policies that cause harm. We must protect people who are targeted by the government. We must speak honestly about unfairness and racism.
As we do this, we also need to protect our own humanity. We should not let ourselves enjoy putting the worst label on someone else. We need to be curious about what pain lies behind anger, even our own. We must learn to grieve what is lost without blaming others for it.
This week, pay attention to the words you use for people whose politics scare or upset you. Ask yourself what the word shows, what it hides, and what it lets you ignore.
Then try to speak more precisely. Name the action. Name the harm. Name the history. Protect the person in danger. Oppose what must be opposed…
But do not let yourself be taken over by hatred for the enemy.
We are in this together,
Cameron
