Let’s take a different tack, because it seems like you’re not fully comprehending how much your arguments have not only shifted drastically since the beginning of this exchange, but are crumbling under their own contradictions.

Let’s hold your words side by side, while maintaining context:

You initially claimed: “Acknowledging how systems limit choice isn’t denying moral agency—it’s recognizing its realistic boundaries.” Yet later, you dismissed whistleblowers as exceptions: “Manning and Snowden don’t simply represent ‘rare courage’—they had specific access… that made their actions possible.”

So which is it? If systemic constraints merely ‘bound’ agency, why frame resistance as requiring “extraordinary circumstances”? You can’t simultaneously argue that choice exists within constraints and that dissent is so exceptional it proves nothing.

You insisted: “Responsibility must scale realistically with power, knowledge, and genuine choice.” But when pressed, you narrowed this to: “Nuremberg focused primarily on leadership… distinguishing between architects and participants.”

Except Nuremberg did prosecute mid-tier actors—a fact you ignore to protect your hierarchy of guilt. You demand “proportionality” but define it to absolve all but elites.

You accused me of “mistaking moral absolutism for moral clarity” while arguing: “Effective movements… focus on policies, not individuals.” Yet earlier, you praised the civil rights movement for “strategic targeting”—which included boycotts that shamed individual businesses and exposed specific perpetrators.

You vacillate between “systems matter, not people” and “sometimes people matter” to dodge scrutiny.

You framed enlistment as survival: “The teenager… isn’t making the same ‘choice’ as your philosophical thought experiment assumes.” But when I noted enlistment often involves cultural factors (glory, legacy), you pivoted: “The working class deserves… recognition as moral actors.”

So which is it? Are enlistees helpless victims of circumstance or moral agents capable of questioning systems? You toggle between these to avoid conceding that poverty limits—but doesn’t obliterate—choice.

You cited Nuremberg to argue “accountability requires focus”—yet ignored that the trials explicitly rejected “just following orders” even for low-ranking SS. You cherry-pick history to sanitize complicity.

You claimed: “Real change comes through political organization… not moral gatekeeping.” But later admitted: “The anti-war movement… normalized draft-card burning.” So suddenly, cultural stigma is part of “pragmatism”? Your definition of “practical” shifts to exclude critique when inconvenient.

Conclusion: Your argument isn’t a coherent stance—it’s a series of tactical retreats. When pressed on agency, you cite constraints. When shown resistance, you dismiss it as exceptional. When confronted with history, you cherry-pick. This isn’t systemic analysis—it’s intellectual arbitrage, exploiting ambiguity to evade hard truths. It seems that consistency is the first casualty of your philosophy.

Your argument has shifted dramatically throughout this exchange, revealing inconsistencies that suggest this isn’t about philosophical clarity but about justifying judgment from a safe distance.

You’ve alternately portrayed soldiers as both helpless victims of circumstance and fully accountable moral agents whenever it suits your argument. You dismiss resistance as “exceptional” when it contradicts your determinism, yet cite those same exceptions as proof that everyone should be held to that standard. You cherry-pick historical examples while ignoring their full context.

But let’s set aside the logical contradictions for a moment and address what’s really happening here.

The extreme language about soldiers “enjoying murdering civilians” and “joining up to shoot people” reveals this isn’t about ethical philosophy - it’s about dehumanizing people you’ve never met. Posting these views in spaces where actual veterans are unlikely to respond doesn’t demonstrate philosophical courage - it suggests you’re more interested in judgment than understanding.

Real moral courage would involve speaking directly with veterans about their experiences rather than constructing elaborate theories about their motivations from a distance. It would mean acknowledging the complexity of human choice without surrendering to absolutism or total relativism.

The working-class teenager who enlists because their town offers no economic opportunities deserves neither complete absolution nor blanket condemnation. They deserve the dignity of being seen as a full human navigating impossible choices within systems designed to limit those choices.

Your position offers nothing constructive - no path forward, no vision for change, just judgment without understanding. It creates no space for redemption, growth, or transformation. It simply categorizes people as either morally pure or irredeemably complicit.

True justice requires holding power accountable while creating pathways for healing and change. It demands we recognize both individual responsibility and structural constraints without using either to negate the other.

Instead of crafting elaborate philosophical frameworks to justify hate from a distance, perhaps consider engaging directly with those whose experiences differ from yours. Veterans’ organizations, peace activists who served in combat, community organizers in military towns - these voices might complicate your narrative in ways that lead to greater understanding rather than simplistic judgment.

The path beyond hate isn’t found in philosophical abstraction or moral absolutism. It’s found in the difficult, messy work of seeing others’ humanity, even when their choices differ from what you would make in their position.