“I almost feel like political correctness is the new terrorism.” I blurted out. I could tell she had already written me off, so what was the point?
“Oh no honey, political correctness is just being polite.”
“No. It’s not. Being polite is being polite. Political correctness is an attempt to legislate morality and dictate it.”
She disagreed, which is fine, because it’s hard to agree with something that “everyone” thinks is okay. Political correctness says that if you have certain values…keep them to yourself. Nobody wants to hear how you feel about this issue or that. You can’t say these words on this list now because they are too taboo. You really shouldn’t even think these thoughts because they are inappropriate to certain people groups and might offend, but if you do think them, don’t talk about it, it might be a hate crime or discrimination. Every god exists. Every path is the right one. Everybody is okay with everything, unless it is against the law.
Political correctness is freedom? Then freedom has tied our hands. Telling us our principles are wrong, and opinions are all valid. Ignoring that not every opinion is relevant. Ignore truth because in this postmodernist culture there is none. “The truth is that there is no truth, and that is the truth,” mentality has only weakened the argument. To claim you have an opinion has become less crazy than claiming you know the truth.
We got onto the topic of prejudice somehow. Which I suppose makes sense when people consider it the opposition of political correctness.
“God doesn’t have prejudices. He doesn’t label us or generalize us.”
“Really? How do you figure?”
“Prejudice is wrong. God would be evil if He put us in boxes because it is wrong. People are individuals, and you cannot mass generalize individuals.”
“Really? Because “sinner” is a pretty big box. So is “sheep” and almost every other Parable metaphor. They’re all labels. Examples. Generalizations, because though we are different, we are all so very much the same. The Bible wouldn’t be so relatable to every human being on the planet if generalizations, stereotypes, and prejudices were not true. Therefore it would not be truth. Also, try telling “prejudices are wrong” to the animal kingdom. They use prejudices every day. It’s a survival skill.”
“But, people aren’t animals.”
“They aren’t? Science and animal activists certainly don’t agree with that. Also, “sheep” is an animal and God is the Shepherd. Does it bother you to be an animal? I don’t mind being considered an animal. I can certainly act like one when I pissed, I can tell you that much.”
She was getting fed up. Kept trying to change the subject. Telling me my thoughts and feelings were only opinions and couldn’t be verified as fact. “But, they can be averaged. Which is the most common quantitative measurement of human society.” I retorted. I was getting really sick of being written off for being young.
“I’m not writing you off because you are young. Besides opinions are only immunity to being told you’re wrong.” She attempted to remind me.
“But, that is just your opinion then isn’t it? Your immunity to being wrong? You kind of just thwarted your own argument with that one. Also, yes, you are writing me off. You wouldn’t have said anything if you weren’t actually, and you would be more willing to listen and probably would ask me more questions to understand my motivations if you weren’t writing me off. ”
I’m used to being written off because I’m young, and I will continue to be written off when I am old, because I am old. People will always write each other off for whatever reason they can in the name of self preservation.
“But you can’t say that…”
“Honey, I just did.”
“I got a meeting. I don’t have time for this. It was nice meeting you.”
She walked away. I was merely amused. She was passionate. Kept talking over people to keep herself from seeming less confident.She was a character. She spoke so quickly and said so much that I almost wanted to take extra breaths on her behalf. She made me tired, but I was interested. She would nearly gasp between sentences. Running her thoughts together like this was the end of the world and she had to impart every ounce of herself upon you. She had to change you.
She didn’t like me. She hit a wall, and instead of breaking it, it broke her.
I tend to do that. I burn bridges half built when I try to be real with people, because some people are delicate and cannot take criticism. They get defensive if you question them. They get upset if you correct them. They hate if you’re different than them. They refuse to put up with your questions and mess, and with her I was a bit surprised, because she seemed like the kind of person who was willing to put up with mess. She was intentionally trying to come across that way. I was wrong to believe it. She was just as much of a mess as anyone else and wasn’t giving me the vibe she could handle it. A big time visitor from Chicago who thought her life in the city made her a survivor. I survived Chicago too. It’s not that hard.
I really couldn’t blame her for her ways. I mean I could, but who was I to put blame on someone for things I too have done? At least she was trying to put her mess in order and trying to make sense of it all. Perhaps poorly, but at least she was trying. I could respect that. I was trying to do the same, but by means of change and understanding. Coming to terms with the ever flowing waters of perception and opinions and being willing to change when people were able to argue that I was wrong (because even water becomes white and confusing as it moves through the rocks). She was trying to keep her mess solid. Rigid. An attempt to make chaos look stable. Trying to make diamonds out of dust, but only managing breakable glass. Her world would shatter, but she would glue the pieces together again, trying to make it look like it did before. I used to do that. Sometimes I turn my water to ice, only to have it thaw with the heated frustration of realizing I was wrong. Or brutally broken by someone who loved me enough and saw fit to break it.
I shook my head and smiled as she walked away. “I like her.” I said to myself. “What a shame.”