Have you worked out what you think about Charlie Gilmour's prison sentence yet? Millions have. Newspapers and the internet are teeming with opinions. He got 16 months for throwing a bin at a car and kicking a window. He also swung from one of the flags attached to the Cenotaph, of which someone managed to take a rather striking photo. This monumental discourtesy incurred no criminal charges, but it's that insult to the war dead that has encapsulated for many what a cock he must be and why he deserves 16 months' encapsulation.

Not that swinging off something is necessarily a sign of disrespect, particularly when you're off your face on LSD, Valium and whisky. It may be that the infantilising effect of a cocktail of intoxicants led him to swing off things out of affection, like a boisterous baby gorilla. Perhaps it was an outpouring of warmth for those who made the ultimate sacrifice. We might be a healthier society, in both mind and body, if we showed our approval in this more physical way. The Remembrance Sunday service would be so much more hopeful if, at the core of it, was television footage of the Queen, prime minister and all the senior politicians and generals, twirling round the Cenotaph from brightly coloured flags in a joyous, gyrating orgy of respect, like boozy villagers round a maypole of death.

However, that wasn't Gilmour's defence. He said he was very sorry and hadn't realised the significance of the Cenotaph which, considering he's reading history at Cambridge, the judge deemed unlikely. Well, maybe he started at the beginning and hasn't got to 1918 yet.

But the important thing is: what do we think? Is 16 months too much, too little or just right? Do you agree with the group of Cambridge dons who called it a "travesty of justice", his mother, Polly Samson, who said it was a "terrible waste of taxpayers' money" (when she hears about Trident, she'll go spare) or columnist Amanda Platell who thought it "too lenient, given the acts of violence he perpetrated and the deep offence he caused that day"?

Come on, make up your minds – this is important! It highlights all sorts of vital issues to do with justice and the right to protest, etc. It's not just one posh guy who got a bit unlucky for once. No, this is worth pulling out all the stops for. Let the Cambridge academics and the friends of his parents speak up in his defence because, if we let this pass, then we are lost. Or alternatively, let those who see liberal privilege as a scourge of our country's values draw their line in the sand now, lest we descend into an anarchy where all that we hold most dear – the Cenotaph, the Prince of Wales, Topshop – is covered in graffiti and piss. And semen and shit. And litter. And those little red rubber bands that postmen drop – I've heard that they get used as nooses by down-on-their-luck bumble bees. Everything was fine in society up until now but suddenly something has gone wrong and, you know what they say: all that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.

I've always felt it immodest to interpret that aphorism as a call to action. I intend to do nothing because I don't think this story matters much, other than to Gilmour and his friends and family. I don't blame them for pulling every string they can to reduce his time in prison but I don't see why the rest of us should join in, any more than we should send him books or a cake with a file in it. I agree that the sentence is a bit steep but it's at most a minor injustice: he shouldn't have thrown a bin at a car – most people don't.

Of course, it's interesting because he's the scion of celebrities and some argue that the case is consequently a valuable spur to public discussion of broader issues about our judicial system. Others say that Gilmour has been made an example of because of his privileged life. Well, if the latter is true then it spoils the former because the broader issues of how we treat children from rock-star families when they go off the rails aren't that broad. In the end, someone has been sent to prison for a longer than expected time for a crime he freely admits that he committed. That's not a big deal. I'm sure it's a bit wrong but I find it hard to really care.

I feel much the same about prisoners' voting rights, another issue where a lot of juicy strong views vie for attention. Are we denying them their human rights? Or is Europe interfering with our sovereignty by trying to overrule Parliament? I think it's fine either way. Those incarcerated can hardly claim shock at their disenfranchisement considering that this has always been the rule but, on the other hand, what difference would a few tens of thousands added to the electoral roll make? To be honest, I don't give a damn and I don't think I would if I were in prison, either.

And what about fox hunting? You'd think we were all foxes or chickens by how much we discuss it. Or that it was the final issue that needed to be resolved to complete a perfect civilisation – the cherry on the top of our utopia. Why are millions of us attracted by the contemplation of these peripheral issues? Perhaps because they invoke simple, clear opinions or involve celebrities – or, in the cases of Charlie Gilmour and Otis Ferry, both.

Whatever side you take in these controversies, they're really only donkey sanctuary injustices. Like donkey cruelty, they're simple emotive causes that we can get behind instead of addressing more complex problems, which are also more important. Many people devote their lives to animal charities largely, in my view, because human pain is widespread and complicated and bottomless – it feels like you can never make a difference. But, in a bewildering world, you can cling to the certainty that it's wrong to be cruel to donkeys and nice to look after them properly. And then try to ignore what a small conclusion that is to have drawn.

So, for God's sake, work out what you think about Charlie Gilmour's prison sentence. Do it quickly and then move on.