We are past the point of overwhelm. The knot in my stomach has achieved bodily tenure. Every day arrives as a fresh hell before the last one’s even had time to ripen. And yet, somehow, we’re all still clocking in, sorting our recycling, and trying to drink eight glasses of water a day—as if hydration alone might shield us from the collapse of every institution intended to keep society from unraveling.

It’s easy to get paralyzed by fear, but culture critic Maris Kreizman channels that fear into a reckoning that begins with herself. In I Want to Burn This Place Down, she revisits the myth of individual grit—the idea that determination and hard work alone guarantee success—only to realize that hard work was never compatible with a system rigged like an obstacle course. Now, with healthcare collapsing, the climate in peril, and capitalism devouring itself, getting more conservative with age isn’t just unlikely for her—it’s unthinkable. 

From living with chronic illness to watching workers continue to demand basic fairness and confronting the selective protections of power, Kreizman grows more radical. Conservatism, she argues, serves no one—not even those who embrace it. It’s a luxury we can’t afford. In that radicalization, she finds hope—and reminds us that no one is coming to save us. 

It’s not deliverance that ensures survival, but solidarity. 

Greg Mania: What was the match that sparked the idea for this book?

Maris Kreizman: Over and over I’d see the media pushing this narrative that all of us grow increasingly conservative as we age. I wanted to speak for the rest of us who’ve moved further to the left than ever, and are dreaming bigger now than we did when we were younger. I’ve been so thoroughly disappointed by many of the ideals and institutions I once strove for, and I want to illustrate how that happened. And I want to see better aims and goalposts emerge in their place.

GM: It feels like you’re writing both to other disillusioned progressives and to a past version of yourself—someone who still believed in certain systems or ideals. What was it like holding those two readers in mind?

MK: When I think of that past version of myself, my first impulse is to want to shake her. And then I try to give her some grace—not too much, but some. I think so much of the ideology of that past self had been informed by the information I was given before the internet allowed us to seek out information for ourselves. I was nearly devoid of critical thinking skills as a kid. I trusted whatever was in the newspapers and on TV and assigned at school. We hear a lot about how the internet has radicalized people on the right, but I earnestly believe that Twitter, at least back in the day, was a place where I learned to think more broadly and to question received wisdom. 

GM: Was there a particular moment or piece of information that felt like a turning point for you?

MK: It really hit home when I realized, back in 2017 or 2018, that Type 1 diabetics in the United States were dying because insulin costs were too high. The patent for insulin was sold 100 years ago for a dollar, but between 1999 and 2019, the price of insulin increased more than 1000 percent. Managing diabetes is hard enough under the best of circumstances; I could not imagine what it’s like to wonder if you’re gonna have enough insulin to make it through the week on top of everything else. I always thought we’d be working for a cure, not trying to save people because pharmaceutical companies got too greedy.

GM: The world has never been designed to accommodate disability, visible or invisible. And, like you, I have more faith in mutual aid than government support. Do you feel hopeful that community efforts can lead the way in making life more livable for those of us with chronic illness?

MK: I think I have to have hope in community efforts because I can’t envision a time in this country when our government will have the tools or the wherewithal to make sure those of us with disabilities are adequately cared for. Especially when Democratic leadership seems more likely to tweet about the things they supposedly value rather than acting and fighting for them. No one is coming to save us; we have to save ourselves. 

GM: I have fibromyalgia, so much of what you wrote really hit home—especially how our crumbling, unsustainable systems keep failing us. Over the last decade, with extreme weather and economic instability, has writing about these challenges shifted how you think about your body and your needs within the current political landscape?

MK: One of the main reasons I wanted to write this book is because I know exactly how lucky I am. When I saw a few years ago that GoFundMe was filled with other Type 1 diabetics who were desperate for money because they could not afford the insulin that all of us need to survive each and every day, I began to save insulin in my fridge even long past its expiration date. I started donating it to people in need, via a mutual aid organization. I wanted to do something more. I was hoping that writing about my own body—remember, I’m the lucky one!—in relation to all of this instability might shine a light on how other less fortunate people might be struggling.

GM: In what ways do you hope this book will keep the conversations you’re having going even further?

MK: I hope other people will read the book and maybe see themselves in it. And maybe that glimpse of recognition will make them feel compelled to act as a result. 

GM: For the sake of our delicate mental health, let’s get a bit unserious: You mention that most people get more conservative as they age, but you’re going the other way politically. That said, are there any parts of life where you are becoming more conservative? (For me, it’s developing strong opinions on grocery store layouts.)

MK: I am so deeply ashamed to admit this, but it’s true: I see photos of the food served at Mar-a-Lago and every person I know with good taste is like, “That’s so gross, imagine being filthy rich and wanting to eat that,” but the steak, no matter how well-done, and the potatoes, look pretty tasty to me. I would eat it, and happily. How will I ever live this down?

GM: The feeling of wanting to ‘burn it all down’ has become more common, especially in these troubled times. I sometimes wrestle with that impulse—wanting change but also worrying about what comes after. I also understand that fear can hold people back from invoking change. Still, I’m not sure destruction should be the goal without a clear vision for rebuilding. How do you imagine a world beyond this current hellscape?

MK: I’m not a policy expert. I don’t know what the post-hellscape world looks like, exactly. I just know that there are plenty of people out there who are dissatisfied with the status quo and who want to envision a future that’s more equitable, a future in which caring about the welfare of other people is a primary concern. There are other writers who’ve really envisioned what a better world might look like, like Mariame Kaba and adrienne marie brown and Naomi Klein, to name a few. I include a list of recommended reading at the end of the book both because I love to recommend a book, but also because there are so many better thinkers than I am when it comes to envisioning a more just world. 

GM: These are all such powerful writers—but you also wrote this book, which is doing its own visionary work. Was there a moment while writing when you surprised yourself with a hope or possibility you didn’t know you believed in?

MK: I think it was when I realized that I had changed my goals for myself. I was gonna make peace with being neither a parent nor a careerist and yet still consider myself to have a happy, full life. I was going to give up on fantasizing about that one day when diabetes would ultimately be cured and instead stick to making sure other diabetics have access to drugs and testing tools.  And maybe most importantly, I was going to stop trying to control every single aspect of my life and instead learn to accept help. Learning to accept help might be a new lifelong goal.