Because This Gets Overlooked (ITP: My Fandom Will Salt And Burn Your Fandom. )

So,  I'm  a fan.

For eleven years,  I've followed a TV show called Supernatural.

And we just had the pleasure of watching the actresses Briana Buckmaster  and Kim Rhodes do a panel at the Minneapolis convention center.

So,  Briana responded to a fan question by saying that her character,  Sheriff Donna Hanscum, is a comic relief character.

Yeah,  that's true.

But that's not the whole story.

One of the conventional narratives in media and fiction,  a trope that gets overused in the wrong ways,  is the damsel in distress.

Supernatural is one of the shows that doesn't do that much, and they usually overturn it when they do.

But it's s huge thing,  that trope.

So Kim Rhodes and Briana Buckmaster play two of the characters Supernatural has used to smash that trope. And even though Briana's  character is usually played for laughs,  she has subtext.

Both Jodi Mills and Donna Hanscum have one major factor in common: when confronted with the existence of supernatural creatures, unlike most other non-hunter characters on the show,  they reacted with acceptance of the situation and assisted in containment.

Most people who found out monsters exist would not be that calm.  Or functional.

So here's the thing.  Donna's funny.

But the character is awesome.

She's girly.  She's Midwestern.  She's a bit flaky.

And she stepped up to the plate when confronted with evil.

I don't think "comic relief" does her justice.

Weapons-Grade Feels (Theory of Persistence Hunting)

I want first to begin with a disclaimer for those among us who are incapable of entertaining any discussion without believing that the act of discussing a behavior entails support for that behavior: it does not. While I am attempting to explain, and shed light on, some human behavior patterns here, that doesn't constitute support for those behaviors. I believe that in order to control an instinctive behavior, one must first accept that the behavior exists; without that, one is left woefully ill equipped to make meaningful change.

I'm going to engage here in somewhat lengthy speculation.

I know, I never do that.

But what I'm going to do is take an established theory - persistence predation - and expand on it, in an attempt to explain some current human social constructs of whose existence we may not even be aware.

So, in order to do that, I must begin by explaining the theory of persistence predation.

First, let's abolish for good the idea that humans aren't a predatory species. It has nothing to do with your teeth; the definitive sign that you are a predator is literally looking you right in the face every time you look into a mirror: only predators, in our biosphere, have binocular forward-oriented vision.

This is to provide depth perception, something not nearly as useful for prey animals; prey animals need peripheral vision far more than they need accurate depth perception, so virtually all terrestrial prey species have eyes facing out to the sides, so as to provide the greatest possible sweep for danger. (The depth perception is so that when we leap at our prey, you see, we tend not to miss.)

The reason we got to the top of the food chain - and since we're NOT on the endangered species list, but most of this planet's large predators other than humans ARE, that's clearly the case - is because we developed evolutionary advantages allowing us to use a specific method of hunting no other species can use as effectively.

I say "as effectively," because there are a few other species that use a lesser version of one form of our primary hunting strategy; some wolves, hyenas, there's this one spider, but none of them are as good at it as we are, and for specific evolutionary reasons.

First, humans perspire. This gives us more efficient thermoregulation than most other species, allowing us to cool off, and survive heat, more easily than many animal species, which have to pant in order to cool off.

Second, we have little body hair; this gives us a more effective surface for sweat to evaporate from, thus increasing its cooling effects.

Third, we walk - and run - upright, in a particular way. Specifically, we run in such a way that our breathing isn't regulated, or tied to, our stride.

What that means is that while we may not be as fast over short distances as any given animal - hell, an alligator can move 40 miles an hour when it's pissed off - we can keep up our pace longer than virtually any other terrestrial animal.

Which leads me to persistence predation, and how humans learned to weaponize emotion.

See, we don't have big fangs, or claws, or poison, or built-in projectile weapons; we can't change our skin color at will for camouflage, we can't generate electricity from our skin - all things other species can do - but we're scary nonetheless. Not because of size, or strength, or speed, but because we're creepy.

Imagine yourself as a woolly mammoth. You're huge, you're on top of the world, you're the rock star of rock stars; you've fought off tigers that have attacked you, and while you have some scars, you are still standing.

One day, you notice that near your herd - not too close, just not far enough away for comfort - there's this little biped.

It's staring at you.

It's not making threatening moves, it's not loud, it's just watching you.

The kind of gaze you can feel. It's like a weight between your shoulders, that gaze, and no matter how you try to ignore it, that weight just grows the longer that little biped stares at you.

So, you trumpet to your herd; you take the lead, and you move away. Moving around at midday is hot work; soon enough, you've gone about as far as you want to go; you're panting, your feet hurt, and it's time for a drink and a rest in the shade.

And as you look around, you see that little biped again.

It's staring at you.

You try to ignore it, drink some water, eat some grass; there's some really nice clover over there, but it doesn't taste right, because the whole time you're trying to relax, there's that little monkey, staring at you.

Edging a little closer every time you turn your back on it.

So you trumpet again, and your herd moves with you; now complaining a little, because they, too, are tired and hot and hungry.

Finally, there's another good spot; you settle down, and look around.

There's the little monkey again.

Staring.

This time, you're not going to settle for it, and you charge, trumpeting furiously.

It scampers away, and you settle back down, satisfied that you've scared it away.

Then you look up from your meal, and it's there again.

By now; you're tired, angry, confused, and afraid. This is not what predators do; they jump right on you, and bite and claw; this thing is tiny, it's no threat to you, but it's also not scared of you.

Which means it knows something you don't.

Which means maybe you should be afraid of it.

So you move away.

And it follows you.

Over.

And over.

Each time you try to stop, there it is.

Each time you try to rest, there it is.

Each time you try to cool off, there it is, and each time you get a little more afraid.

Soon enough, you panic, and try to run.

Maybe you overheat and collapse; you can't pant and run at the same time.

Maybe you sprain an ankle.

Maybe you just trip and fall down.

But soon enough, you're immobilized.

And that's when the spears come out.

We have this romanticized vision of cavemen hunting mammoths with thrown spears that's ultimately completely silly. Mammoths have thick skin, and a fat layer, and are generally huge. How is a human arm going to impart enough force to a spear to throw it through elephant hide?

It's not, that's how. But it can sure impart enough force to drive it in when your feet are braced and you're shoving it into a downed elephant.

Or a predator.

Like, say, a lion.

Or a cheetah.

You may at this point be thinking I'm nuts; after all, a cheetah is way, way faster than you or I.

I'd like to introduce you to a small group of Kenyans, whose domesticated goats were being menaced by a pair of cheetahs; they chased the cheetahs down on foot, captured them alive, using just some rope, and turned them in to the government.

In 2013.

Humans can run down antelopes; cheetahs; mammoths; it doesn't matter.

Because we're creepy.

Now, this behavior in humans took two forms; pursuit persistence predation, which is what I just described, and manipulative persistence predation, in which we lull animals into a false sense of security using bait, stillness, and kindness, to induce trust in the animal, at which point we either kill the animal, or domesticate it. There are animals who use one or the other of these tactics to some degree. There are literally none which use both, aside from humans.

Here's where I'm going to depart from the established theory and strike out on my own.

The evidence is in; humans are the primary evolutionary example of pursuit persistence predation.

But there's more to it than simply running.

Humans are the only species that ever evolved to intentionally manipulate the emotions of others as a hunting strategy.

Fear.

Kindness.

Trust.

Anger.

Humans provoke animals intentionally into displays of violence that leave the animals too exhausted to defend themselves.

Humans use trust as a weapon.

We use anger as a weapon.

We use fear as a weapon.

We use love as a weapon.

Only humans directly weaponize emotion.

And here is where we come to human social structures: even though we no longer, by and large, have to chase down antelopes to have dinner, we still have the instincts that lead to that behavior.

So we've turned it on each other, instead.

As an example, look at the phenomenon of catcalling.

A woman walks down a sidewalk. A man calls out to her. Maybe it's lewd, maybe simply unwanted, but for whatever reason, he persists.

What is he shooting for? There's no context in which this is a valid mating strategy. 

Literally zero times in ever, has a woman turned around, tackled him to the ground, mated with him, and proceeded to get married.

But it is a valid strategy for predation.

It's scary. It unsettles her emotions - he's looking for her to react, watching to see how much it disturbs her.

If it's a strong enough reaction - regardless of what that reaction is - it's a sign that she perceives herself to be in danger, and thus her emotions are upset; she is, for the purposes of this strategy, a valid target.

His level of aggression goes up.

He tries to disturb her more, maybe resorting to outright threats.

As she becomes more afraid, his level of aggression goes up.

Because this isn't a behavior based in mating. Guys, reading this, you may think it is, but it's not. If you do this, you are engaging in a predatory behavior; one prompted by instincts that end with the death of your target, it is effective, it is menacing - it is an attack.

Let me be clear about that.

This is a use of emotion as a direct attack on another human being.

That's not the only one.

Humans use emotional manipulation on each other all the time; catcalling, gaslighting, guilt-tripping, threats, intimidation, emotional blackmail; they're all behaviors intended to manipulate and control the emotions of others, for predatory reasons.

Those instinct packages are a tricky bunch, particularly since, as a human, you aren't necessarily aware that these behaviors come from the same source.

I'll throw out another one; "the friend zone."

The friend zone isn't a thing, guys.

If you're proclaiming to the world that some woman "friendzoned" you, you're really saying that you tried to use the appearance of friendship to get in her pants, and it didn't work.

So, emotional manipulation.

"What do you mean 'good night,' I bought you dinner, now you owe me....."

Nope. Emotional manipulation as a form of predation.

Women do it just as often, although their predation is a bit more subtle; women tend to manipulate with the goal of securing sustenance for their offspring, instead of as a means of creating offspring, although that does happen as well.

"If you break up with me, I'll kill myself!"

Emotional manipulation.

"That's not really what happened, you're just trying to rewrite history to sound like you're right!"

Emotional manipulation.

We're - in most cases - not out to actually eat each other.

But we practice emotional manipulation as a predatory behavior daily, on everyone around us, mostly because we're not aware that that's what we're doing.

So if you didn't know, now you know.

As a species, we're only able to deal honestly with each other - something other animal species do automatically - by stepping outside our instincts. We're designed for emotional dishonesty; we're designed to use emotions as our weapon, instead of teeth, claws, speed, or poison, and we use it on each other - and it is just as deadly to us as to that fictitious mammoth.

Or the utterly real antelope.

We talk a lot about how the human race can improve itself.

One thing we could do as a first step is to recognize our primary hunting strategy for what it is; accept our nature as predators, accept that that is, and always will be, part of our genetic legacy, because without that recognition, we can't address the issue directly or effectively, and never will.

We can never stop hunting each other while we continue to believe we're supposed to be herbivores.