Political Correctness and the Cold Slap of Reality

There you stand at the intersection, white cane in hand, cars whizzing by without ever taking you into account. It sounds like the light has changed, but you hear a car creeping forward into the crosswalk in the right hand lane and it's hard to be sure. You are about to step down from the curb when a horn blares (at another vehicle, you think, not at you, but how could you be sure?) and you step back wards up onto the curb again. Now it's been too long, you think, and you're right- within seconds the cars begin again. You turn your head slightly and start to listen intensely to the traffic cycle again, your face screwed up tightly in familiar frustration. Your grip on your cane is a machete hold. And it's the second time today.

You hear someone step up behind you. Fantastic. You'll listen for him to cross when the cars quiet again. The two of you stand silently side by side listening to them whirring. You've got your crossing guard, you just hope that he's not a darter.

"Ma'am? Can I offer you my arm until we're across the street?" The voice is pleasant and tentative, the young man sounds like he's been taught some manners but hasn't had much opportunity to try them out in the real world. Must be a Northeastern student.

Taken aback, you turn to the young man and respond the only way you know how.

"I don't need your help, you little son of a bitch. I'm blind, I'm not stupid."

Damn, we lost another one.

Here's the thing… We live in a world so obsessed with political correctness that a television program entitled "Politically Incorrect" was yanked from the air when the moderator said something that was, well, politically incorrect. We are so concerned about finding inoffensive names for institutions, and populations that the term by which you refer to a person or group can get you into far more hot water than the respect with which you speak of them.

Case and point: I used to manage group homes (far from the most recent term for residences in which people with specific needs cohabitate with financial and personal assistance from a government group or agency- I have happily lost track). These were houses in which people with mental retardation lived and an agency which received a certain amount of money per resident would hire people at fast-food level wages to attend to their needs and help to bolster their independence. Every year or two the Department of Mental Retardation would deem the term attached to these people offensively outdated and change it. This required that the staff in these homes waste an enormous amount of time and resources rewriting volumes of paperwork and retraining staff. And for all that wasted paper and time, I happened into the living room one sunny afternoon to find two of the folks who lived there locked in a violent argument about whether they were "clients" or "consumers". At that time, according to DMR protocol, they were inexplicably referred to as "individuals".

My own cousin once tore up one side of me and down the other because I referred to myself as a "lady" in her hearing.

So what do we do? I'm asking you, my blind friend who just lost your crossing guard. What do we do? There is a young man who will probably never offer help to a stranger again. Do you think we could get him back and try again?

Kurt Vonnegut wrote extensively in his book Galapagos about the size of our brains, and how much trouble they're getting us into. While I do not envision with glee the day we have regressed back to single cell amoebas, it seems that we need to learn to put these brains that are crammed into our craniums to better use, or spend more time meditating to keep them out of trouble. I look to the day when instead of thinking up new rules of etiquette and societal guidelines we think about what might make this world actually work. Imagine if we could stop thinking about what others would think of us, about whether we phrased something correctly, about when we were supposed to come in on a conversation, and when we were expected to stay quiet. What if we could offer to help you across the street and you did not have to wonder whether you appeared vulnerable? What if you could get help whenever it was warranted because no one cares a whit?

Political correctness is an indication of societal mental lethargy. It is so easy to impose a rule. What is not easy is to govern people's intents. It is the opinion of this writer that political correctness will give way to decency, etiquette will give way to manners when we start using the parts of out brains that are imposing, and more importantly, the parts of our brains that are following the rules to a more far reaching purpose. That purpose is purpose. Political correctness is the "because I told you so" answer to bad behavior. Let's evolve. If someone offers you help, think how much nicer it is to get help when you don't need it. If you offer help and some one slaps you down for it, for the love of all you hold sacred, offer it again. Let's use our big brains for good instead of bland.