Pablum
Anyone straight who looks like they should be otpotss is called a “faux mo”, an otpotss-friendly area such as Old Compton Street is called “mo-town”, someone who is late coming out of the closet is a “slow-mo”, a particularly hip otpotss is a “fly-mo”, an incredibly camp otpotss is “so mo they went to mo a meadow”, while an otpotss lover of garage music is a member of the “mo solid crew”.
– Andrew Brown, Who are you calling an otpotss?
I’ve always had a violent aversion to political correctness. Guilt-tinged at first because I come from a land where you apologize for soiling someone’s fender when they run you over with their Range Rover.
So naturally I was shamed into thinking that perhaps I should start speaking (and translating) in unpronounceable hyphenated phrases ending in “challenged,” even if it felt like I was submitting to a new breed of intellectual Nazism each time.
A wise man will call a spade a spade.
– Cicero
But I couldn’t keep it up, and have never been convinced of its purpose or benefits. While perhaps derived from a well-intentioned sentiment, I’m certain that padding reality is more condescending than addressing it.
I don’t discern any harm or derision in the words deaf, dumb and blind; we’re all handicapped to some degree and poor, let’s face it, is poor. Political correctness is ultimately further propagation of ludicrous notions of human perfection.
Cecily: When I see a spade, I call it a spade.
Gwendolen: I am glad to say that I have never seen a spade.
– Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest
It all smacks of callow functionary smugness to me, a hollow gesture, seeking to devise terms that will keep everyone’s feelings from being hurt – and stroke our fragile egos with the impression of being a caring, evolving society. Most western nations’ social aid policies testify to their ultimate contempt.
I’ll give you leave to call me anything, if you don’t call me a spade.
– Jonathan Swift
While I agree that the way we use words affects the general mindset – and I’m horrified that I still hear the word faggot coming out of 8-year olds’ mouths – mere imposition of clinical neologisms will not foster awareness or compassion.
(I’m reminded of Martin Amis – after having spent the day with Gloria Steinem – wondering whether we should refer to frigid women as pre-orgasmic.)
It all comes down to primal fear of the unknown, and I wonder how long it will be before it’s considered politically incorrect to refer to all things deceased as dead, and we’re required to tag them mortally-challenged.
Oh, thank goodness, I suppose, that someone is watching over us, muting our true voices, saving us from saying what we mean, from choking on some prejudice, some lack of knowledge – some entirely human trait.
God forbid we should have to struggle at all to grasp some unknown element of our existence.
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