On the one hand, Republican political commentator Ann Coulter denounces “speech Nazis” at an Iowa rally for GOP presidential candidate Donald Trump, simultaneously drawing the ire of those who are “up to here” with Trump’s grab-bag of sins (xenophobia, jingoism, misogyny … one gets the picture). On the other hand, I get a call from the manager of my gym asking if my instructor’s choice of song was the reason I cut out of class 20 minutes early.
In this corner, we have a vast need for self-editing -- political correctness, even. And in this corner, perhaps a little too PC?
The balance between offensive and inclusive is razor-thin. What is said in jest in the comfort of one’s home is never uttered in polite society (sometimes, with good reasons). Other times, we grasp for that nebulous sweet spot of culturally-sensitive-yet-free-to-express-opinions, blindly, not knowing if a carefully crafted comment on immigration, or the job market, or why certain regions of the world shun pork while others do not, will inadvertently offend someone else.
Google claims that political correctness is “the avoidance, often considered as taken to extremes, of forms of expression or action that are perceived to exclude, marginalise, or insult groups of people who are socially disadvantaged or discriminated against.” On the surface, this effort is laudable. Rarely do people shun a culture of inclusivity, especially in small-town America where locals pride themselves on their sense of community. Yet, the ways in which inclusivity is implemented, especially at an institutional level, fall short of undoing marginalisation.
Wearing a T-shirt that proclaims “COEXIST” will not, sadly, “cut it.” Nor will extreme policing of thought, to the point where a manager goes into his organisation’s data system (and perhaps closed-circuit surveillance footage) to determine which patron left what class at approximately what hour, all the while operating under the impression that the song choice was offensive.
One worries that a cultural “safe space” does not exist at the institutional level. One is so concerned with maintaining inclusivity that genuine dialogue, the kind that promotes cross-cultural understanding, is stamped out. Co-workers who are truly curious, or intrigued, or befuddled, feel awkward addressing their concerns for the fear of “crossing lines.”
To be fair, that degree of concern is not a bad thing. As a person of colour working at a school that’s staffed with predominantly white, middle-class colleagues, I appreciate my co-workers’ efforts to make me feel more welcome. Yet it comes at the cost of us learning from each other, given our mutual lack of insight into each other’s backgrounds compounded by our fear of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.
A culture of “assuming the best” could get us to that sweet spot of culturally-sensitive-yet-insightful-commentary. Comedians Lily Tomlin and Cameron Esposito leverage their spotlight to address, not shirk, uncomfortable questions about their sexual orientation with compassion and humor. Louis CK often addresses the realities of living as a white male in America in his routines, offering up searing critiques en route, while still promoting a culture of inclusivity.
It can be done, and done well, but one must pair compassion with patience, social intelligence with self-control -- and that is where the razor-thin line between inclusivity and offensiveness becomes hard to walk.
