Yesterday, I had one of those conversations that stays with you—not because it was insightful, but because of how revealing it was. I was talking with someone who often shares views that lean heavily libertarian-conservative. And as I listened, I started asking myself: Do they even know where these beliefs come from? It turns out they didn’t. Like many, they had picked up political opinions like background noise, never tracing them to any deeper ideological root. They called themselves a “political nihilist” and a “social liberal,” which really just meant they didn’t want to be questioned—someone who hides behind a mask of neutrality and “both-sides” logic when challenged.

But then I brought up the trolley problem.

Suddenly, the puzzle came together. Their answers—cold, utilitarian, mathematical—revealed something deeper than political labels. Their ethics were built around a version of utilitarianism: sacrifice the few for the benefit of the many, even if that “many” excludes people like me. It wasn’t that they were being intentionally cruel. It’s that they had absorbed a moral framework that taught them harm is acceptable, so long as it serves a supposed greater good.

Here’s the thing: this person is trans and poor—someone whose life is regularly put at risk by the very systems they defend. Yet their moral compass still pointed toward justifying capitalism, hierarchy, even genocide and slavery, if it meant preserving the structures that give them a false sense of stability. Utilitarianism gave them a way to make peace with harm, to be okay with letting others suffer so long as they themselves were spared. And because this framework sounds rational, it lets people believe they’re being logical rather than complicit.

But what they don’t see—and what utilitarianism often erases—is that real life isn’t a math problem. You can’t abstract people into numbers. You can’t talk about “the greatest good” while ignoring whose suffering gets deemed acceptable. That mindset is how we get policies that kill the poor, displace the marginalized, and excuse violence, all in the name of “balance” or “progress.” It’s not just theoretical—it’s the ethical spine of capitalism, where exploitation is seen as necessary, even virtuous, if it supports the structure.

What made it worse was how they spoke to me: a Black, poor, trans, nonbinary, furry, therian socialist—as if I’d co-sign any of it. They tried to soften the edges, to people-please their way out of accountability, like they knew something was wrong but couldn’t face the discomfort of actually questioning it. That kind of conversation doesn’t just leave you frustrated—it leaves you emotionally heavy. It lingers. So I’m writing this to get it out of my head and into the open.

Because we need to talk about how ethical frameworks—like utilitarianism—don’t just exist in theory. They shape how people rationalize harm. And too often, they let people justify injustice without ever confronting what that actually means for the rest of us.