This part?
If you’re a conservative, you might not want opinions that differ from your own, especially if they endorse new behaviour or “new ideas”. The conservative mind takes umbrage at the very idea of new ideas and behaviour, everything should be exactly as they are, and the world should be static. Suggesting otherwise is worthy of scorn.
Why is “red-haired” a pejorative? My wife is a redhead and she was constantly teased and tormented about it in elementary school. Is it just because redheads stand out from the crowd?
Attributes that kids can and will use to tease and bully:
Heck, sometimes they don’t even need to go for an attribute, they pick on the victim just because.
there was a left-leaning person who became a meme among some right-leaning social media. her hair was bright red and it kinda stuck.
Teasing and bullying redheads has been around for A LOT longer than that…perhaps even for millennia.
We went to a redhead gathering in the Netherlands last summer. It was cool being in a crowd of 3000 redheads from all over the world.
We should make our own atheist political group with our own rules.
Easy:
You shall never bother others,
you shall be both fair and kind,
and whatever else you do I shall not mind.
What are your thoughts on our own politics though? 
Whose “our” politics is that?
Good point.
@MrDawn , just read the posts on this site by some folks who identify as atheist and you may re-think this idea.
Okay. I’ll just shelf this idea and forget I ever brought it up. No biggie. 
the thing about definitions is that they change according to what a lot of people want them to be defined. The dictionary isn’t always the arbiter of definition.
Example, the word mother. Webster’s Dictionary says:
moth·er ˈmə-t͟hər
Synonyms of mother
1a : a female parent
but you have people saying:
A pregnant woman is not necessarily a mother.
or even the word racist for some reason. here’s a book of mine that got rejected for being “racist”.
This is the chapter they tagged as racist:
I: NOTRE DAME DE VINCI
APRIL 4, 1984. EVENING.
It’s springtime, isn’t it? So why the hell is it so damn cold?
Evening in VINCI and the city awakes to the bells of Notre Dame. The soul of the city comes alive from the big bells as loud as the thunder to the little bells as soft as a psalm. The factories close while the night markets open to the smoke of an arriving tram.
It’s cold today in April. And the clocks were striking thirteen.
Behind walls of gray stone. Behind the tall spires that have been smoothed and polished by years of rain. There lies the convent of Notre Dame. The air inside smells of old limewash and boiled vegetables. The sisters prefer to stay in the cloister. But some are walking on the school wing and its pallid yellow corridors. Others stroll past the infirmaries painted in chalky white.
The ARCHBISHOP wipes the dark oak desk in the parish office. He moves with slow circles using a folded cloth so as not disturb his chain-bound book. The wood deepens to a wet brown shine. Lamplight slides across the surface. The clean table reflects his aging face.
The high convent walls are carved in pale gray stone. The slender arches climb upward like folded hands dedicated to the angels praying in the heavens. Shadows gather along the vertical ribs that run along the high ceiling. Recessed panels hold traces of faded blue and dull red paint between the shingles. They are worn thin by time and smoke.
Tracery of stone sprawls like frozen lace around the tall and narrow windows. The glass stains of deep wine, dusty green, and clouded amber. Paintings of the ANGEL GABRIEL hurl broken colors across the floor. Carved saints line the walls. Their faces are softened. And their fingers are chipped. Yet they stand silently as they pray for the salvation of the mortals below. Their ivory stone robes ripple with careful folds.
Iron sconces cling to the lower bricks. Their blackened metal streaks with old wax. And candlesmoke stains the corners with a soft charcoal gray. Every surface bears small cracks and smoothed edges.
The bell calls Vespers. Its chime echoes down the hallway like a ghost of deep and bronze felt in the marrow of your bones. Sisters stream into the chapel. Black habits brush against stone pillars smudged with smoke-dark stains. White veils frame their faces as they sit in wooden pews that have been rubbed smooth and holy. Old and young alike.
The stone floor’s chill seeps through leather soles. And candles shyly toss gold flames against blue-shadowed walls. The psalms begin. The nuns sing with sweet voices that lift together with breaths timed to the rhythm. The sound sinks into their bones. Time grinds to the pace of the chant.
They move to the refectory after prayers. Here is where servants serve bowls of creamy soup on the mahogany tables. The Older Nuns flinch at such meals. Cream soup? That’s not real food! That’s barely a meal! The younger ones seem to delight in what has been served. It seems God Himself rewarded them with such delicious foodstuffs. A YOUNG NUN arrives first. She picks up a piece of brown bread from a basket and puts it on her plate. The crust feels rough against her fingers as she pairs it with a small wedge of white cheese.
MOTHER SUPERIOR lifts her eyes. Her stare fixes on the YOUNG NUN across the table. The color drains from the nun’s face. It’s like the soul left her body and left a pale husk at the mercy of an abusive parent wanting to beat her with a belt. Then it rushes back into a red blush over her cheeks. It made her look like an embarrassed apple. She pulls her hands away from the wooden table while her fingers curl into her lap away from the untouched brown bread.
Chairs scrape softly against the stone floor. They bow their heads. Close their eyes. And clasp their hands. Together, they pray.
In fide laboramus.
In labore fidimus.
In fiducia honoramus.
In honore laudamus.
In laude speramus.
In spe amamus.
In amore nos tradimus.
In deditione oramus.
Amen.
Work follows after supper. And the room settles into a steady rhythm. A nun in a weaving shed takes a silver needle and slips it in and out of black cloth. The thread tightens with each pull. Some lift and fold exquisite white linens before stacking them into neat piles. Some of the younger nuns write prayers on cream-colored paper using yellow pencils. Their soft scratching blends with the low murmur of breath. Servants with Buckets of water cross the chapel. They slosh gently and leave dark trails that spread and fade along the gray stone floor. The golden lamp flames dance along with the black ladyfinger shadows on the walls as if holding the hour in place.
The bell sounds again. Compline. Short. Quiet. Candles burn low while wax pools in ivory puddles.
Doors open and close along the corridor later in the night. Each cell holds the same shapes. A narrow bed with a gray blanket. A plain wooden desk. A dark crucifix against off-white walls. At the same time, a small window frames a square of night.
Why is it snowing in April?
Luckily, MARY CLAIRE didn’t have to ponder such a question within the warmth of her bedroom.
As the lights fade and the convent settles… the city hums dull beyond the walls.
i have no idea why this was tagged to be
“Targeting real people and minorities”
what? This chapter is what they tagged? i guess the publisher had a different definition for racism. the story is a complete fantasy with magic and guns, but i was not aware it’s racist.
Dictionary definitions reflect common usage, they are what most people imagine a word to mean. I understand this is not universal, and words can and do have more then one definition, I included 2 in my citation. However simply wanting a word to mean something else in order to use it as a pejorative makes no sense, as I said.
However the answer to my question so far, seems to be nothing in the definition is being used as an insult, rather the word is being misrepresented, as I suspected.
Well this would involve subjective claims that classify a developing foetus or even a blastocyst as a human being, or child, and they are demonstrably not, though they are developing into those. Just as with this example of using liberal as an insult, it misrepresents what the words mean.