Saturday, March 21, 2009

Call the thought police


I really struggle with this one. On the one hand, somewhere in my psyche I can really understand where the detractors are coming from. In these PC times, not only are you not allowed to make fun of any "minority", you're not even allowed to let slip anything that remotely sounds like mirth about said minorities. Especially if you're the President of the United States.

But on the other hand, I think this is an example of how dangerously sensitive everyone has become. It is now only permissible to make fun of middle-class, employed, white males. Anybody outside of that demographic is out of bounds.

Minority groups have labels, often derogatory, for those who are not of their own persuasion. Gays can knock straights until the cows come home, but god forbid somebody straight says - or even thinks - anything remotely homophobic. The thought police are on their doorstep quick smart. Ethnic minorities can say whatever they like about whites, no matter how defamatory, and can discuss openly and hatefully their history. But woe betide paleskins who remind Maoris or Asians, or African Americans of their own unsavoury history.

There was a Maori woman, an academic I want to say was Margaret Mutu, on TV ages ago, and I was stunned at her unrestrained re-definition of the word racism. She said it was discrimination based on race by those with enough authority to enforce it. And I thought OMG! She was on Eye to Eye so of course she went unchallenged. How pointless would it be to ever challenge a Maori woman on anything anyway? The race card would be out only slightly quicker than the gender card and then all discussion would halt.

So apparently it is not possible for Maoris to be racist. I wish I had known that when I was growing up in The Block (note the house in this article, number 36, is THE house I used to live in!). I would have felt much better about the daily - hourly - taunts and threats I received simply because I was pakeha. If I had known I was the one with all the authority I'm sure my childhood would have been much less terrifying and dangerous.

And I would have felt much less sensitive about the derogatory remarks I had thrown at me from the State houses as I walked to school or the dairy or my milk run.

Obama has been accused of being out of touch, because of his "special olympics" remark. I think it lets us know how NORMAL he is. He let slip that his thought processes are just like 99% of us who have not been corrupted by the PC virus. I have heard downs syndrome people make fun of "normal" people. But if Mutu's definition can cross demographic boundaries, it's perfectly okay.

Another example. It seems quite legitimate that Christians can be the targets of derision and hate, but don't dare make fun of Muslims.

Poor Obama had to call the Special Olympics guy from Air Force One, even before the Leno show aired. Give him credit for being pro-active on that, I guess.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

If only we could invent a way, if only this were a world when unmet people could say you charm me and I’d like to know who you are. With a code: ‘No thanks,’ if the charm might not be mutual. - Richard Bach

I don’t encounter too many people by whom I am charmed. That is either an indictment on society, or on me.

It seems people are not very connected anymore, or if they ever were they are now not as so. Which is a shame. It seems our default setting is suspicion, or contempt, or cynicism, or anger. We are polite to a point, amicable to a point, connected to a point. Beyond that the claws come out.

We are, by and large, intolerant. We care little for the expressions of others, unless there is some gain for us. We are increasingly aware of the importance of privacy – perhaps, unfortunately, for good reason – and obsessively protective of it. We are increasingly sensitive to the advances of others.

Or has it always been that way?

Perhaps in the “good old days” we were just as sensitive, but more adept at suppressing it because of social conventions no longer in play.

People wear their hearts on their sleeves less now. While honesty used to be the theatre of the discreet, it is now the hostage of the politically correct.

Apparently even in the 70s when Bach wrote A Bridge Across Forever, a confession of charm was not a simple thing. Even now it can be translated a myriad of ways.

I like that skirt.
You have a lovely smile.
Your perfume smells wonderful.
I think you’re beautiful.
I love you.

I think we should be afforded five minutes of confession - isn’t it good for the soul? - at random times during the day. Five minutes of honesty without agenda, and without consequence. An opportunity to bear your soul without fear of rejection and without damaging your future interactions.

I’d love that.