Ever Thought About Respecting Others?

"Political correctness is as exploitable as any other progressive ideal, but its aim is to stifle the incessant noise of those who flap their careless lips without a thought about those they might offend and why that might be important."
~Marcus Brigstocke

The problem with discussing political corectness is that instead of engaging in a conversation where the sorting of words based on circumstance is the entire power which words hold in our society, "Political Corectness" often has a negative connotation that makes it almost impossible to have a well-informed discussion about it. The definition of political corectness is the avoidance of forms of expression or action that are perceived to exclude, marginalize, or insult groups of people who are socially disadvantaged or discriminated against. When people say they wish overt political corectness didn't exist they are basically stating that they wish that the social legislation that allows for people to be treated as equals should be removed from society. Overall, however, being politically correct is a personal choice. It is a personal choice that brings a great deal of power to the speaked who specifically chooses their words to make a point about their views about society. Rather than mask the issues that people who follow political correctness try to fight against, they are making a strong statement of inclusion. These people go out of their way to make certain that every person feels included when discussing topics. Since this IS a blog I am going to take a bit of a personal spin on this so please forgive me if my writing style less mirrors an essay and more mirrors and in-class discussion. Every time a politician is on stage discussing religion they all tie it back to the same basic string of words:

1. "I don't care if you're Muslim or Christian or Buddhist or whatever your religion is, when you listen to a spiritual song and you really open your heart, you can feel it. You can feel the message of it. Just a simple story." Valerie June
2. “It doesn’t matter whether you are Buddhists or Christians, Jews or Gentiles"
3. "All the religions of the world: Christianity, Islam, Judaism, even Buddhism" My Seventh Grade Global Studies teacher.

Do you understand what it feels like to have your religion completely bypassed in almost every religious discussion. People glaze by hinduism almost as if it doesn't exist. The issue isn't that I am some sort of devout hindu who is absolutely offended that these people would dare to not include my religion in their debates, the issue is that despite being the religion that the majority of people on the HUGE Indian subcontinent follow, no one knows anything about it. It is the fact that the moment someone mentions someone who is Indian I can immediately relate to the situation because who I am is never showcased in media or in schools or in my life. When you picture the perfect all american family you never picture an Indian girl with immigrant parents and a chip on her shoulder because of the way she had to push down her culture to have even a single hope of fitting in. So why am I telling you all of this? It is because this is the raw purpose at the heart of the politically correct agenda. Not at all is political correctness about "distract[ing] sttention from the real problems of prejudice and injustice that exist in society at large" (Kakutani) it, at its root, is about inclusion. The choice that an individual makes to include multiple bodies or types of people in their speech is a concious decision by that individual to hold the stake of what their opinions are in society. The argument that PC covers up the problems that we face as a nation rather than solves them is an important piece to the liberal's argument against political corectness. In Mike Lester's political cartoon he displays an NCAA meeting looking angrily at a man who owns a jeep Cherokee, stating that the name itself is an attack on the cherokee people (Lester). This is an important issue because the comic displays that there is a sick sentimentality that comes with holding on to possibly harmful past ways of thinking. The argument to keep the name of the Redskins the same derogatory name is that tradition ought to be upheld. Traditional values that beat down and trivialize entire cultures of people aren't traditions at all. There is a reason why Native American people are not called Red indians anymore, there is a reason why it is not okay to call them savages, or redskins, then why is it considered okay to "uphold the traditions" of the team name when it came from such a derogatory time?I was recently at a slam poetry competition and witnessed what I believed was one of the most creative poems I have ever experienced in regards to the considerations of the feelings of others. The four teenagers went onto the stage and stood in front of their microphones only for the one wearing a men's blazer to shout out, "And welcome to the game show: Your Opinion is Wrong!" The entire poem continued with the host rattling on several scenarios in which people had to decide whether different politically correct terms and arguements were simply ostentatious and over the top or justified. By the end of the poem the four students stood together for their mind-numbingly cool thesis, "you see, you can't defend your argument with that is just my opinion when your opinion is wrong. You can't have the opinion that it is okay to make others suffer

because you do not feel comfortable giving up the priveledge you were granted just by being born as who you are!" To be quite honest this poem rung within me the origin for the hate that the phrase "political correctness" faces. It shows that political corectness is just a term that priveledged people created in order to dismiss the people who have the nerve to ask for respect with a simple wave of the satirical wand. Demanding not to be stereotyped is not political corectness, it is a human right, and it is a sane or by any means morally-correct stance to believe that refusing to respect people's right to be treated like human beings is to time-consuming. When Steven Pinker directed conversation about the interesting phenomenon of the human ability to side-step around the issue when speaking, he was frustrated with our disability to be direct. This in no way has anything to do with selectively choosing our language in order to slowly form a more inclusive society. Even Pinker who so loathes the idea of not being direct recognizes that "words let us say the things that we want to say and also the things we would be better off not having said" (Pinker). He recognizes the difference between being direct and being directly offensive and mean for no other reason that the fact that it is hard to change the way one was brought up. It is important to recognize that you can say "merry christmas" and happy holidays and it doesn't have to create some sort of scandal like the infamous "war on Christmas". It tends to be those very people who are against political corectness that spout in great anger and dramatics that political corectness is a waste of time when it is known by the people who practice the politically correct way of thinking that it is synonymous with respect. 

Politeness is Nothing More Than Bootlicking Subterfuge (A.K.A: B.S.)

"Politeness is half good manners and half good lying. "

~Mary Wilson Little

Poilite behavior has been taught to us from a young age as the supreme virtue one should put above everything else when judging a person. As the long standing "golden rule", kindness, much like many other aspects of our changing society, has been compartmentalized into a few pharses of meaningless jibber-jabber in order to maximize efficiency. In a world where politeness is considered necessary to the point where lies and trivial statements pollute our dialogue, where does the deception finnaly give way to purposefull empathy?

When politeness becomes reduced to simple phrases, true intent or true feelings are hidden from the person recieving that politeness. Once when I recently met a friend of mine that had gone to college she immedietly entreated me that we "absolutely had to go to lunch sometime" and I enthusiastically agreed knowing well that the get together was never going to happen. So why do we continue to whole-heartedly put on displays of kindness when we in fact have no plan on actually living up to the promise? My theory is that all human beings are lazy, people-pleasing realists. Kindness can be shown in a variety of ways that doesn't include falsly promising to a future meal or asking without actually caring about how someone's day went but in terms of efficiency those ways "take too long". Fairytales like Cinderella, especially in the popular reboot spout the advice to "have courage and be kind" as if kindness is this monumentally important characteristic of a person that places them on a pedastel higher than others who don't wish to waste the time lying to others just to make them feel good. Throughout our history, kindness has been always been taught as a necessary trait, however the way to show kindness has been predominatly classified as by exchanging polite niceties. Kindness is a requirement that overall can do only good for a person's character, however, teaching a child that they shouldn't stand up for themselves or yell at another person just because it isn't "kind" is nonsense. There is a time and a place for politeness, it should not be regarded as an expectation for every single event. 

Politeness can clutter up a situation to the the point where the actual point of conversation it almost completely bypassed in the whilwind of civility. Directness can sometimes be seen a turn-off trait in a person, however, it also shows determination and a drive to get things done without having to pander to society's expectation of conversational dialogue. Often those who are naturally more gifted than others at conversing using polite annecdotes or meaningless politeness tend to get favored more than those who do hard work but don't spend time playing politics. This behavior has a name in our society and that name is: suck-up. Of course, being a suck-up is an admonished thing to become right? But if we raise children to believe that politeness is more necessary than hard work and true kindness towards those they actually care about, we as a society are setting them up believing that the void between good and bad consists of a few missed, "how are you"s and "how was your day"s.

Concluding the end of a very unpopular opinion, the clarification that kindness is still important to teach children must be made. It is also necessary to tell them that in our society it is almost impossible to get forward without kissing a few butts, and that is simply the sad truth of the world we live in which is riddled with polite and meaningless discourse. Thomas Jefferson, one of the most skilled politeists (can that be a thing?) of all time who had to write a declaration of war while still being as polite as possible admitted that politeness is nothing more than artificial good humor, it covers the natural want of it, and ends by rendering habitual a substitute nearly equivalent to the real virtue.

An example of a truly raw expression of emotion rather than meaningless, polite, niceties.


(Sorry Miss Valentino, Ricky made me do it)

(Actual) Indian Education

"When I first saw America, I began shirking my Indian-ness and wholly adopting American culture in an attempt to fit in. I spent the better part of my teenage years acting as though my own culture was backwards, primitive, and something worth being ashamed of."

~Nikita Mandhani (freelance writer for Teen Vogue"

                   

First Grade

My hair was too messy and my voice was way too loud and assertive, all that first year at school the other kids didn't really get me. They mispronounced my name on purpose, made fun of the food I brought to lunch and I wondered why kids just like me didn't see me as an equal. 

They put their hands above their heads in an indian dancer pose and asked me, "Raagini! Raagini! is this how you dance?" "Raagini! Raagini! Is this how you talk?"

I was always falling into a trap. Some trap with words that I hadn't yet learned how to manuver around yet. It was because I was too bold, too outspoken, it was far too easy to get me to slip up. It was far too easy to get me to say something that had a double meaning that I didn't intend it to have. I have always said that Satire is the best form of persuasion. Satire ridicules an argument to the point where it cannot even stand up to defend itself because the opposers are too busy laughing. And what was the argument this time? That I was a well-rounded, normal, person who deserved as much respect and friendship as the next one.

Second Grade

John Smith, a classmate, redheaded and so meaty and popular that no one ever dared to cross him made me hate myself for fourteen days straight. 

"I'm sorry", he said.

"Y-you were making fun of India, you don't like me because I'm Indian!".

There. I had layed it all out. The feelings that had been bubbling within me for the past year spewed out of me when I made that accusation. The teacher had been lucky enough to deal with me during the tearstained outburst.

"Honey, what exactly did he say?" Miss Burton asked.

"He wouldn't stop using an indian accent and saying, "I'm Raagini, I'm from Indiana. I eat curry and in my spare time I cheer for the Colts"

John turned red. Funny. One of the only handicaps that white people is the ability of superiors to know when they are lying or embarrassed, yet the little ones always seem to get away with it. They are too sweet, too cute, too much the very pictures of  young all-American boys.

"No!" John cried. "I-I- you see I was just trying to make India BIGGER! By adding Indiana to it".

He put a hand on my shoulder and it felt sick and slimy. If it were me now I would have given him a cold chuckle. What a BS answer: to make India bigger? But the teacher accepted it. And I never realized why he didn't get in trouble until now. Racism is a touchy subject and no one expects a little Indian second-grader to call her white classmates out on it.  Obviously with no punishment he didn't stop poking fun at me, until he got old enough to realize that discounting an entire group of people because of the color of their skin was stupidity in itself. Either way, whatever bond I felt with India was broken that day. 

I said, No, I'm not. I am not Indian. American I am.

Third Grade

My forecasted 7-11 cashier career began with my very first day as cashier of Mrs. Coronado's class shop. I gave the kids soda (a rare delicacy), jewelry, knick-knacks and whatever else they wanted for the points they earned for being good; and I loved it.

As I gleefully picked out what I wanted before all the other kids (as the cashier was allowed to do) I heard someone whisper, "wow! what a teacher's pet". I discounted the comment and went on to pick out a pair of black, heart-shaped earings that I still have today. But that comment bit at me, why was I a teacher's pet, I didn't even particularly like Mrs. Coronodo. In a parent teacher conference, she told my mom and dad that I walked like a penguin in the hallways (Eight years later and I still don't know what this means). I guess it was like when kids asked me sarcastically, "Raagini, do you love school?" 

Well, I didn't hate it? Who doesn't like learning things, and writers workshop: God! I loved writer's workshop. But did that mean I liked getting up everyday early in the morning and doing math problems, hell no! Just because I'm decently smart doesn't mean I loved school. Then they would ask me if I loved math and they seemed genuinely surprised when I replied with a "no". Why did I have to like math? Why couldn't I prefer writing instead? Why did these kids all box me into the same category? I waited in earnest for the generalizations to end.

I'm still waiting.

Epilogue

There are a lot of things I could talk about growing up Indian and going to an American school system. I could talk about the expected friend groups in middle school. I could talk about just this year when my good friend told me she was pleasently surprised to meet me because her first experience with an Indian girl was a weird smelly chipmunk-faced middle-schooler who wouldn't take a shower or a hint. I could talk about that time in fourth grade when we were nine, and dumb and discussing which girl would look cute with which boy and the white boys took one look and my Indian friend and paired her up with the only other Indian guy in the class. They said it "made sense". I don't know. I've grown up a lot since those awful Elementary and Middle School days. I've found people who know how outspoken and loud I am, people who know I occasionally stumble over saying dumb things and don't write off my ideas for it (SHOUTOUT TO VAL'S CLASS). I've found people who not only don't make fun of my culture, but embrace it. Maybe my experience was a lot worse than most other first-generation kids, probably because in addition to being an Indian-American I was pretty darn weird. But I'm growing and I'm learning. And slowly but surely, I'm learning how to love who I am again.

An Exercise in Restraint: Not Political Cartoons

“What would a respectful political cartoon look like?”
― Salman Rushdie

Political cartoons are exactly that, political. There is no way for anything that is political to not be considered biased because the entire basis of the political system is to be biased either to the left or to the right. Political cartoons are staged admist controversy. If life's great social debates took place on a warzone, political cartoons would be right in the middle where the two sides are about to smash into each other. I've said it before and I'll say it again, there is no stronger persuasive technique than satire. By making fun of the opposing argument, satirists essentially dismantle any modicum of respect their opposer might have had at some point. Take this political cartoon for instance, there is probably no better point of controversy than the abortion debate, in order to further push the argument into the danger zone, the author not only dicusses his views on abortion, he also bends the public's comfort zone to a snapping point. By bringing the attacks on abortion clinics into the light he ventures the opposing argument to think about if they agree with the attacks, and if not, why would they not go to the same level of extremism. The hypocrisy in the actions of the man who killed people inside of an abortion clinic comes in the form of this man claiming he is "pro-life" and then taking away the lives of those who opposed his argument. Another argument that mirrors this one is one that I saw on the internet a couple of months back. It stated: Dear transphobic parents, remember when you got asked if you wanted the baby to be a boy or a girl and you said you didn't care? Why do you care now?" By going back to the original argument and satirically pointing out the hypocrisy, political cartoonists and other persuasive authors who do this are easily able to dismantle their opposition's argument by casting doubt on their reliability.

The Clan of First Generation Americans

"Once you are an immigrant, you never forget that you are one."

~ Jorge Ramos

I belong to a clan of First Generation Americans. My mother and father both came to America from India. I recently came across a group of seven people who shared not just this fact but many other traits with me. Four are Indian-Americans. The three who remain are various mixtures of French, Chinese, Australian, Indian, and South African. 

I've had my doubts about being involved in the past. I went through elementary and middle school believing that I was the only girl like me out there. Or, there were others who had the same story, but none of them were as "unique" as I was. 

This is my history.

Most people tell us that racial integration is complete, existing, that it has only risen in this nation which we call the land of the free and the home of the brave. What they don't say is that the feeling of being different because of a color you wish you could scratch off of your hands never really goes away. And being part of an all-Indian friend group doesn't help either.

Is my clan a cultural anomaly? The truth is, I didn't think about it. All I noticed was how at home I felt around people who looked so different than me and yet, spoke the truth that had been screaming in my mind ever since I got on that  first school bus that took me to the beginning of my relationship with the American Public School System. 

Two months ago, I was approached by my public library's librarian and I was asked if I wanted to participate in a spoken word poetry competition. She spoke of the rules and general thesis of the competition and with each word she spoke my eyes lit up in anticipation. I decided to do it. 

During one of the first meetings, we discussed what our group poem would be about. I shared a memory of mine that had been singed into the flesh of my subconscious. I told the group that for years as long as I could remember, people had spoken to me a certain way. A certain way that my family members did not speak to me in and a way that my indian friends didn't. But this condescention that I felt from the white kids took a staggaring toll on me. It all started when that boy in the back of the school bus told me I was going to hell for not being a Christian. The air seemed to vibrate with tension. I was a kid, barely six years old, how was I going to reply to that? The rest of the six year olds didn't know what to make of me either after that.

"He really said that to you?" Zamashenge, the South-African American girl asked.

"Yes" I replied. "It was a common occurrance in my childhood. Several years after, my cousin faced the exact same threat from a neighbor."

At that moment I realized the veil of darkness I had been living under. Children treating me as separate and different felt terrible, but it also felt normal. So normal that going to school everyday I didn't expect to be treated equally by the white kids- I didn't demand it. I didn't realize that there were other like me, people who grew up believing they were different only to know in their brains they were the same, if not better. People who knew the struggle, my struggle- members, years later, of the Clan of First Generation Americans. 

The Death of the Moth and Virginia Woolfe

"My own brain is to me the most unaccountable of machinery - always buzzing, humming, soaring roaring diving, and then buried in mud. And why? What's this passion for?"

~Virginia Woolfe

This woman is quite frankly one of the most badass authors I have ever had the pleasure of analyzing. As an introspective, sharp-tongued, bisexual, feminist in an open-relationship with her husband, Woolfe screams about her contemporary ideals in a world that was not ready for her. If Woolfe were alive today I am confident that she would be a proud spokeswoman for the LGBTQ+ movement. Her bestselling novel Mrs. Dalloway implies several same-sex relationships that really hit home in the way they so rawly they portrayed the experience of realizing one's attraction to the same sex. Being an outspoken and empowered woman it is clear that Woolfe is not exactly hot for humility; she cares more about getting her message out into the world rather than trying to stay humble. In my personal opinion everyone would do well to fondly look back on authors such as Virginia Woolfe, who used her powerful control over the english language to speak truth into the homophobic and patriarchally-driven society of her time. In The Death of a Moth, Woolfe not only documents her thesis: Death has power over all living things, but also reveals to her audience as well as the world key traits that peg her as a potentially suicidal individual. A preoccupation or fascination with death is a key red flag for someone who is considering suicide. The fact that this message was so clearly conveyed in some of Woolfe's final works is a sort of final haiku on her part of making peace with her suicidal decision. Woolfe's publishing of The Death of the Moth and Other Essays was her final hurrah before she went on to kill herself. Hereafter, she decided, there would be no more words, there would only be the Death that eventually came to claim all living

Woolfe's Suicide Note

things and now came to claim herself. Woolfe treats Death like (to use Rowling's words) an old friend, in that she utilizes the rhetorical strategy of personification indirectly. Instead of directly stating that Death is a being, Woolfe implies it through her analysis of the Moth's life and death. By doing this she personifies Death in a way that leaves him with an eerie, ghostly, image that is half-real and half-abstract. Woolfe created for herself a persona of eloquence and confidence. She made the world believe she was a strong-minded woman who did what she wanted to do. Even this woman who is on level with Ghandi in terms of eloquence and revere still was not a perfect human being. This woman who was a brilliant artist of vernacular still committed suicide. I think what makes Woolfe great is not her command of language nor her powerful demeanor, but her rawness. Woolfe's utter realness as a person makes no apologies. She is looked up to because she was a normal person who wasn't afraid to go after what she wanted. She asked for no apologies. She asked for no one's permission, Woolfe did what Woolfe wanted. And Woolfe was absolutely brilliant.

Shrek and the Nacerima-Let your freak flag fly!

“When you're different, sometimes you don't see the millions of people who accept you for what you are. All you notice is the person who doesn't.”
― Jodi Picoult, Change of Heart
There comes a point in Satire when you realize that it is truly a Satire. This can be the most entertaining part about Satire as a whole; the moment is a burst of realization that makes the reader feel like a detective who just cracked the case. In "Body Ritual of the Nacerima", I personally did not realize that the piece was about Americans until after it was pointed out to me by another student. I was halfway appalled at the grotesque "rituals" of the people and halfway disappointed that I did not pick out the irony myself. But no matter, it is irony, and the fact that that is known is the only important thing. All Satire is ironic for a reason; there is always some theme trying to tear itself through the thin fabrication that surrounds it. "Body Ritual of the Nacerima" was meant to poke fun at the sheer amount of trouble Americans take in order to be accepted by the public. It makes a point that there is a damaging quality of American nature that includes a self-disparaging culture. When a woman walks outside without makeup, she feels naked. When a man's hair isn't looking quite right, he feels as if he isn't worthy of being popular with the public. Americans are also notorious for a seeming "fascination" with teeth. We consider braces a dental norm and many of us believe that they are more medical than they are fashionable. However, we never touch on the fact that there is any actual medical reason that braces should be used other than the fact that they improve appearance. Truly, behind the satirical and cynical facade that the author creates, there lies and underlying message of self-acceptance. In highlighting the horrors of not accepting yourself and constantly worrying about what others think of you, the essay touches on the message of self acceptance.

Much like Troy High School's Musical this year: Shrek the Musical. It wraps up with the number
"Freak Flag" where all your favorite fairy tale creatures encourage you to "let your freak flag fly!" and all in all to just accept yourself for who you really are inside. The entire musical has a central theme or self-acceptance and, while portrayed differently than the satirical essay, had the same conclusion about the topic.

p.s. You should totally come to the show this weekend, its AWESOME!

It's okay to have a larger-than-normal nose