sinner

Sinner: The World’s Favorite Scapegoat, Now Available in Multiple Languages
By Dave’s International Affairs Correspondent Who Has Personally Sinned on Three Continents Before Breakfast

PARIS—If you believe the marketing, the term “sinner” has never been more cosmopolitan. Once the exclusive property of medieval flagellants and small-town preachers armed with megaphones and cholesterol, the label is now franchised from Lagos to Los Angeles, translated into forty-three languages, and available in gluten-free, carbon-neutral guilt. Step into any airport bookstore and you’ll find glossy paperbacks promising “Seven Habits of Highly Effective Sinners” next to the Toblerone. Humanity, it seems, has finally democratized damnation.

The global supply chain of sin is remarkably efficient. Vatican LLC still handles premium branding, but regional subsidiaries have flourished. Saudi Arabia exports the word “haram” with the same gusto Texas refines crude; India’s 24-hour devotional channels repackage karma as a subscription service; China’s social-credit algorithms auto-deduct points for moral lapses (jaywalking while spiritually lukewarm, etc.). Meanwhile, Silicon Valley sells confession apps that auto-generate penance push-notifications between Instagram reels of artisanal avocado toast. The penitent never had it so convenient—swipe right for absolution, left for eternal torment.

Consider the geopolitics. When the U.S. President tweets “SINNER!” at a foreign leader at 3 a.m., currency markets flutter like anxious altar boys. The euro dips two-tenths of a cent; Tokyo’s Nikkei wonders if it too has been coveting its neighbor’s ox. In Brussels, EU regulators draft a 900-page directive redefining sin into three risk tiers and a small-plate tapas menu. Everyone agrees the taxonomy is vital—how else will bond traders price moral hazard into sovereign debt?

The developing world, ever the manufacturing hub, supplies raw contrition at scale. In Manila, call-center agents field “guilt outsourcing” from North American megachurches: penitents confess via Zoom while the agents recite prescribed mea culpas for $1.85 an hour, plus dental. The Philippines now exports more remorse than coconuts, though both leave the same aftertaste. Over in Ghana, start-ups mine church donations for blockchain tokens called “GraceCoin,” redeemable at selected pearly gates or participating Starbucks. Nothing says spiritual renewal like a venti indulgence with extra foam.

Environmentalists have discovered sin’s carbon footprint is non-trivial. A single papal encyclical produces 2.3 metric tons of sanctimony, equivalent to twelve private-jet trips to Davos. Greta Thunberg, ever the killjoy, recently asked the UN to label “performative repentance” as Scope 3 emissions. Delegates applauded, then carpooled to an off-menu steakhouse. The Paris Agreement’s newest annex proposes tradable sin credits—Catholics can offset adultery by funding Lutheran composting programs. Somewhere, Luther spins in his grave fast enough to power a small Bavarian village.

Not to be outdone, global finance invented the SINdex, a bourse where investors short virtue and go long on scandal. The index spiked last quarter when a Hollywood actor confessed to tax evasion, insider trading, and once eating a live bat on TikTok. Analysts call it “a diversified vice portfolio”—sin, after all, is recession-proof. Dante, had he possessed an MBA, would’ve structured the Inferno into tranches and sold it to Icelandic pension funds.

And yet, beneath the spreadsheets, the ancient machinery grinds on. Refugees at the Polish border are branded “economic sinners” for wanting dinner; women in Tehran are beaten for the sin of visible hair; in Florida, math textbooks risk eternal damnation for mentioning racism. The algorithmic inquisitors merely swapped Latin for Python; the stake is now a Twitter pile-on. Progress, ladies and gentlemen, smells a lot like burning plastic.

What’s truly universal is the comfort the word provides. Call someone else a sinner and you instantly inherit a moral high ground with river views. It’s the last colonialism—no visas required, just a pointing finger and the certainty that you, obviously, are the exception. The planet may be melting, supply chains snarling, democracies rebooting like Windows 95, but at least we can all agree the other guy is going to hell.

So here’s to the international sinner: scapegoat deluxe, export commodity, clickbait incarnate. Available in every color, creed, and tax bracket, discounted on Black Friday. The world can’t agree on climate targets or Olympic host cities, but give us a good sinner and we’ll form a firing squad that looks like a United Nations family photo—awkward smiles, mismatched uniforms, and the quiet, shared joy of not being the one in the middle.