Compassionate reactionism 2
Apr 19th, 2011 by Unamused
“Minorities struggle with racism every single day of their lives,” the sensitivity trainer explains at the start of your mandatory annual Sensitivity Seminar. “You can’t see always it, because it’s so deeply ingrained in our institutions, and your white privilege is blinding you to their suffering. But there’s no denying it: the proof is in the statistics. Minority students are falling behind in school.” Somehow you doubt he’s talking about Asians. “They’re under-represented in science and engineering. They’re being sent to prison instead of college. There’s no other explanation.”
What do you say?
“Homophobes!” Your brother-in-law, the environmentalist lawyer, exclaims over dinner. “They’re just a bunch of right-wing fundamentalist homophobes. Why won’t they give up their hatred and let gay people marry each other, already? Straight people can get married — whatever happened to equal rights? How can they talk about ‘preserving the sanctity of marriage,’ when half of all marriages end in divorce?”
What do you say?
“Why don’t you take an interest in real issues that matter to real people?” Your girlfriend wants to know when you get home. “Did you know that women still make 70 cents for every dollar a man makes? Or was it 80… Anyway, one in four women will get sexually assaulted in her lifetime! Doesn’t that mean anything to you? Do you think it’s okay that cops are telling us we deserve to get raped because of how we dress? Society is afraid of women’s sexuality! Now are you going to drive me to the Slut Walk tomorrow or not? You know I don’t have a car, and I’m afraid to go alone.”
What do you say?
Fellow reactionists (a word I may have invented just now), it has been brought to my attention that
- it’s impossible to have this conversation in the real world, so nothing I write here at Unamusement Park will ever get any further than your computer screen;
- very soon the raging dark masses and government thought-crime enforcers will snuff us out for good; and furthermore
- I am a mangled smelly bug-eyed bum.
Fair enough. I’ve actually been thinking about that a lot lately. Not the fact that I’m a frantic schizoid bum — I came to terms with that long ago. No, I mean I’ve been thinking about ways to take these wonderfully hateful ideas off the Internet, out of my fortified bunker complex in Vermont, and into the light of day. Or rather, into the twilight of Western Civilization.
But it’s cozy in my bunker!
Compassionate reactionism: it’s a thing now. I’m not exactly sure what thing it is, but that’s obviously not going to stop me from talking about it at great length.
It’s like ordinary reactionism, only… slightly less hateful. It’s reactionism you can talk about over tea with Grandma.
By my definition, compassionate reactionism comprises all possible honest answers to the question I posed in the introduction — what do you say? — that will not get you fired by your boss, disowned by your family, or dumped by your hypothetical girlfriend. I’m kidding about the girlfriend — you should just let that one go — but I’m semi-serious about the concept, which is the most serious I ever get about anything.
Really, what can you tell your family, your friends, your co-workers? Having none myself, I am in no position to answer. (I was raised by wolves, learned English from reading cereal boxes, and make a living selling turnips I grow behind my bunker.)
On stranger tides
In my first post on the subject, you’ll find grains of truth, kernels of ideas, mixed nuts of sensible suggestions: it’s nice you’re a feminist, but your ideas about rape are endangering women, for instance, or I understand that you believe you’re a gay woman in a straight man’s body, but you still can’t shower with the “other” girls. That’s the direction we’re heading.
Bear in mind, we’re in uncharted waters here. Already we have sailed into the eye of the feminist storm to battle the
man-hating man-eating Kraken that lurks within. We have resisted the Siren song of the sexy sluts, not to mention their incessant wordplay about “getting wet.” We have even waded through the rank, candiru-infested swamps of gender identity. Tomorrow, reactionary rapier in hand, we turn our cannons of compassion on the rowboat of race relations, fearless even in the face of certain death! By which I mean, someone is certain to brand us with the dreaded R-word.
Or should I say, the dreaded arrrrrrrr-word. Hee hee.