The Purge Was Fiction. But It Doesn’t Feel That Way Anymore.
By Arienne Childrey | The Agenda
Back in 2013, The Purge premiered in theaters. I didn’t catch it right away—life was hectic. I had just started a new management job and was still processing the loss of my grandmother. But once it was released on DVD, I made time. I’ve always been drawn to horror films.
If horror isn’t your thing, here’s the short version: The Purge takes place in a dystopian America following a massive economic collapse. A far-right authoritarian political party, calling themselves “The New Founding Fathers,” is voted into power. As part of their platform, they institute a brutal policy: for 12 hours once a year, all crime—including murder—is legal. The justification? To eliminate those they view as a burden on society.
When I first watched it, the concept was disturbing—but also ridiculous. Americans would never support something so violent, so blatantly cruel. Right?
But watching it again recently, it didn’t feel so absurd. It felt uncomfortably familiar.
No, we don’t have a national event where crime is legalized. But we’ve got something that’s starting to feel just as dangerous: a growing comfort with cruelty.
We live in a time when elected officials talk about deporting American citizens for having the “wrong” beliefs. Where masked federal agents pull undocumented people from their homes and detain them without ever identifying themselves. Where immigrants are kidnapped from legal proceedings and shipped to foreign prisons with a history of human rights violations—no trial, no hearing, just gone.
And in one state, officials have built what many are calling a modern-day concentration camp, nicknamed “Alligator Alcatraz,” and then joked publicly about escapees being eaten alive. And while this may currently target immigrants, I’ve read the comments. Some folks—voters, influencers, even people with platforms—have openly suggested sending liberals, Democrats, or LGBTQ+ people there too.
It sounds cartoonishly dystopian. But these things are happening. Right now. In this country.
We’ve seen this playbook before. In fact, American history is full of moments when fear and bigotry made cruelty acceptable. Japanese internment camps during World War II. The Red Scare. Segregation. McCarthyism. Each time, the message was clear: some people don’t deserve rights. And every time, the cruelty didn’t start with violence—it started with language.
That’s the thing about dehumanization. It doesn’t always wear a uniform. Sometimes it shows up as a viral post calling LGBTQ+ people “groomers.” Sometimes it’s a preacher telling his congregation that someone who supported reproductive rights is “in hell.” And sometimes it’s just silence—from people who know better but say nothing.
Even our media ecosystems are built to feed this. Outrage gets clicks. Fear boosts engagement. Social media rewards the most extreme voices in the room, and far-right media outlets know exactly how to keep people angry, divided, and ready to turn on each other.
Authoritarianism rarely kicks down the door—it seeps in through local policy. Through school boards banning books. Through politicians telling you who you should fear. Through sheriffs cooperating with agencies that don’t follow due process. Through jokes that aren’t really jokes.
And when a Democratic politician was murdered in her home, some used the moment not to mourn, but to score points—politically and theologically. Pastors claiming she was demonic. Officials using her death to mock her values. That’s not politics. That’s propaganda. That’s how people learn not to care.
Am I saying we’re on the verge of a real-life purge? No. But I am saying we’ve become far too comfortable with dehumanization. And once that comfort takes hold, history shows us just how dangerous things can get.
But here’s the good news: we still have a choice. We can push back. We can build communities where dignity and compassion aren’t negotiable. People all over the country are organizing, voting, running, resisting—and refusing to buy into the fear.
We stop this slide not with grand gestures, but with everyday courage. By speaking up when someone is being targeted. By rejecting policies rooted in hate. By holding our leaders accountable. And by remembering that disagreement doesn’t make someone your enemy.
The Purge was a horror movie. But the real horror is what happens when we stop seeing each other as human. Let’s make sure we don’t write that script ourselves.