The Disciplined Dissident
What "Dissident Dad" Really Means
The word “dissident” carries a certain edge: evoking images of tinfoil hats, perpetual rage, or the black-pill mindset where everything’s corrupt, conspiratorial, and doomed. It’s the attitude of someone thriving on despair, convinced nothing matters and we’re all headed for collapse. But that’s not me, and it’s not what this show is about. Sure, I enjoy diving into conspiracies with friends; it’s entertaining, sometimes finding myself rolling in laughter, and some even hold real truth, especially when they unfold before our eyes. Yet I try my best steer clear of that downward spiral where every seemingly shadow becomes my default mindset. My dissidence isn’t about hating everything, burning it down, or retreating into isolation. (Though I do live near the woods and appreciate their quiet, as I write about often.) No, what I mean by “dissident dad” is something more purposeful: disciplined dissidence.
This framework clicked for me while reading Ivan Illich’s “Deschooling Society”, a book I recommend to anyone willing to have their assumptions upended. Illich dismantles modern institutions, particularly schooling, in a calm, devastating way that forces you to question: Why do we accept this as normal? As progress? As untouchable? Modernity is riddled with these sacred cows--things we’re not supposed to scrutinize, let alone challenge. Remember COVID and Anthony Fauci’s mantra: “Science is real,” implying it’s beyond reproach. Politics demands blind loyalty to your side; news is narrative spin; money, debt, and retirement schemes are sold as inevitable paths to success. Even language is policed--what words we’re “allowed” to use. We grow up immersed in it, blind to the control, until something like a pandemic cracks the facade. For me, it did just that.
Being a dissident means rejecting modernity’s default settings. But here’s what I think people miss: dissidence without discipline is contrarianism for its own sake, the exhausting “actually” guy addicted to disagreement but offering nothing substantial. Discipline transforms it. It means questioning the world while rigorously interrogating yourself. Unlike the black-pill crowd, who conclude everything’s fake and quit thinking, I refuse that intellectual laziness. As a father, I can’t afford nihilism or despair. “What can you do?” they sigh. Plenty. Start within your home: curate what enters your door, shapes your kids’ minds, defines your family. My dissidence isn’t a personality or brand I’m trying to evoke--it’s a standard I apply to life, from politics (a machine fueling disgust and fear for control) to current events (overwhelming stacks of managed narratives) to social norms (debt, screens, over-scheduled misery leading to anxiety and exhaustion).
We sleepwalk into these traps--processed foods, chronic illness, institutional dependencies--because they’re deemed untouchable. Question the church? You’re unfaithful. The medical system? Anti-science. Education? A bad citizen. Finance? Too complex for non-experts. But as a dad, questioning is my responsibility, not arrogance. And I don’t spare my own beliefs: Why do I hold this? Is it true, useful, grounded? Or just a bid for superiority, fitting in, or flavor-of-the-week thinking? You can be a dissident and still a sheep in a different herd, trapped in ideology while pretending freedom. I fight that daily, through prayer and self-scrutiny, to avoid becoming a narcissistic fanatic.
The black-pill temptations are real: Scan the wrong side of X before breakfast (or worse, the moment you wake up), and you’ll find broken incentives, corrupt institutions, demoralized people, isolated families, targeted kids, an economy on fake money and debt, a sick culture. Fuel for despair abounds. But as a disciplined dissident, I process it differently: What do I know? What am I being pushed to feel? What’s for sale as inevitable? This leads to reading more deeply--books, mostly literature, the Bible seriously--and realizing much despair is manufactured, it’s paralysis by design. Once seen, it loses its grip. My optimism isn’t naive “vote harder” or “trust the plan.” It’s rooted in responsibility: I can build a strong, sane home; raise thinking children who love truth; equip them with skills and standards independent of hostile systems.
I’m human: wrong about plenty, still revising. But disciplined dissidence keeps me honest, grounded, hopeful without gullibility, protective without paranoia. That’s why my handle on X is @dissidntdad and why I call my podcast the Dissident Dad Show. Maneuvering this world is tough. I don’t envy any dad, including myself. Yet fatherhood is man’s most purposeful role, in fact, I love to call it “peak manhood”; those without it miss something profound. Through the difficulty comes clarity and optimism, because ultimately, you’re in control of your family. Just take the first step.
Thanks for being here with us.
Gre
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