A Vulgar Concord
“Don’t you see that the whole aim of Newspeak is to narrow the range of thought? In the end we shall make thoughtcrime literally impossible, because there will be no words in which to express it.”
–Syme to Winston, George Orwell, 1984
I begin with the words of George Orwell, whom my esteemed colleague Michael Shao cited a year ago in an opinion piece titled, “On PC.” Shao began by defining “Political Correctness” as “the belief that language that could be used to offend certain political sensibilities should be omitted.” He concluded his article with the assertion that, although impractical and dysfunctional to the extreme, the modern manifestation of political correctness was in no way synonymous with the dystopia forged under Orwellian newspeak. This is probably true—I dearly hope so, but it remains an imperative that a comparison be drawn between PC culture and totalitarianism for as long as such a line may be deciphered. I write this article not only as an homage to Shao’s piece, but to the enduring principle frequently attributed to Thomas Jefferson, “Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty.”
To be sure, Exeter has changed since Shao penned his article. A year ago, the burden of linguistic sensitivity was one largely borne by the Fourth Estate: the journalists, contributors and editors of The Exonian. This was no great controversy. We are a school newspaper seeking to inform—not inflame—the community. Now, however, the community itself has lent its own flesh to the cancer that is political correctness. The sickness has thereafter permeated our school. And one of the carcinogens, I believe, was a Tuesday assembly hosted nine months ago by Dean Salcedo.
It is a testament to the reflexive susceptibilities of many Exonians that I must now interject to explain that I am not attacking the dean. Frankly, I have no interest in libel. I am not some sadistic cretin hunched over his desk, writing caustic manifestos to flex his cruelty. No, I write for The Exonian so that I may aspire to the best approximation of civic virtue that a student in high school can provide. Such is my creed and my duty as a member of the Academy. And today, in Salcedo’s seemingly compelling rhetoric, I see the erosion of our institution’s freedoms. This erosion is gentle; the face of totalitarianism is not the thunderous goose-stepping of a million soldiers. Rather, it is the bubbly positivity of the well-wishing regime, opening our citadel to a Trojan horse. “Pessimists don’t build gas chambers,” essayist Shalom Auslander wrote, and this maxim resonates presently. Salcedo’s activism is luminescent, but her ideas unwittingly lay a road to darkness. I have no choice but to direct my full attention to thwarting them.
Nine months ago, nestled among the ranks of Exonians sitting in Assembly Hall, I bore witness to history as Dean Salcedo and a troupe of students introduced us to the term “microaggression.” Salcedo began by retelling a sour encounter she’d had with a fellow faculty member. “You know, every time I look at you, I think of that woman from ‘Modern Family,’” the colleague had chirped, innocuously. But Salcedo had in fact taken offense. Lily Hicks and Henrietta Reily of The Exonian reported, “The comparison encapsulated one facet of her identity—her Latina ethnicity—and based the person’s perception of her around it.” Furthermore, the TV character cited by the colleague “portrayed what Salcedo described as the stereotypical Latina woman: loud and unserious.” Although uttered without malicious intent, the comment had been off-handedly insulting; it had been microaggressive.
Aside from the sinister undertones of the term “microaggression” (ungoodtalk), Salcedo’s call for discussion made sense. Surely, good etiquette requires a modicum of tactfulness and sensitivity towards others. Understandably, all forms of political correctness strive to enforce decency. To an extent, language definitely should be regulated. This by itself is not a totalitarian concept. Instead, it is a traditional rule preached by traditional authorities, whether they be our parents or our teachers.
In accordance with tradition, then, we students healthily reacted against this movement. We mocked it, compared it to newspeak and mocked it some more. I believe that Salcedo’s Assembly failed in the sense that the branding of the “faux pas” as a “microaggression” never caught on. Indeed, its failure was such that I cannot with a straight face claim that dialogic control by itself can make Exeter a more draconian campus. The totalitarian “cancer” of political correctness is never its honest effort to govern speech. Besides, as mentioned before, totalitarianism is subtle. It is not inflicted, but invited.
The terrifying aspect of political correctness is its stowaway ethos. Nine months ago, Dean Salcedo’s assembly did more than just lend a stage for political correctness within Exeter. It ingrained within us an idea, the nature of which I have never seen questioned on campus since. This idea is the definition of political correctness as a requisite for social harmony. It resides now as a presupposition in our minds; it tells us that we not only should, but must cleanse our dialogue if we are to attain understanding with one another. We were indoctrinated with a minute fear of inflammatory conversation. Accordingly, we were taught that proximity meant politeness, friendship was sophistication, and humanity was diplomatic. Left to its own devices, this mental reprogramming will not only frame political correctness as the formal way, but the only way in which we may interact with one another.
This is the real Orwellian threat.
When confronted by the possibility that students should be more resistant to microaggressive speech, Salcedo replied that verbal armor, or “thick skin,” would not be conducive to an integrated community, but one “rather more disconnected and suspicious of each other.” The Exonian paraphrased, “Hiding feelings, she [Salcedo] explained, is ultimately unhealthy to individuals and to the community as a whole.” Then-Principal Tom Hassan was reported to have approved of the assembly “as an integral part of his work trying to transform Exeter into ‘an even more caring and connected community.’”
Here is an ominous occurrence. Salcedo and Hassan linked political correctness to communitarianism, packaging it as a utility that must be wielded for optimal interpersonal relations. It is for this reason that the cultural critic Slavoj Žižek, in a recent interview, described political correctness as dangerously totalitarian. In almost every case where an authority has enforced linguistic discipline, it has advertised it as a social ideal, an altruistic notion. Žižek stated, “The formula for totalitarianism is: I know better than you what you really want.” Political correctness is totalitarian because it restricts our dialogic vocabulary while claiming that this is instinctive. It constructs a seemingly paradisiac community devoid of offense—and shames us toward abandoning our humanity in favor of this phantom. Just as indoctrination warps the Thought, political correctness warps the Conversation.
Take a look at the relationships between you and your closest friends. I think my readership comprises many fascinating people; none of you have dull enough lives to describe your friendships as boring. On the contrary, your closest ties are exciting, dynamic and cooperative. What creates this vivid harmony? The totalitarian state would perhaps ascribe it to ritualized political correctness. This would only be true if we were Victorian...and also robotic. The reality is, we humans forge connections through common vulgarity, not suppressed language.
In his interview, Žižek brought up a personal example. “I remember when I was young—when I met with other people from ex-Yugoslavian republics—Serbs, Croatians, Bosnians and so on. We were all the time telling dirty jokes about each other. But not so much against the other. We were in a wonderful way competing who would be able to tell a nastier joke about ourselves. These were obscene, racist jokes, but their effect was a wonderful sense of shared, obscene solidarity.”
Different people will relate to this to different extents. The bottom line is that political correctness is an artificial construct that has been touted as “natural” by the authorities. Politeness is never the organic state of friendship, or any other close bond. The suppressive society suggested by Salcedo may be civil, but it is weak; it crumbles at any hint of offense or controversy. Moreover, when we glorify such a society, and when we see it as an ideal, we inhumanely reject the qualities of fraternity and humor that have evolved in our psychology for the very purpose of social collaboration. For what is the model society? Is it the one that seeks to insulate its constituents from harm? Or is it the one that fosters companionship and congeniality, so that if harm should be done, as it eventually will, the recipient should be defended by feisty compatriots? According to Žižek, the key is recognizing “that little bit of obscene contact which establishes true proximity between us.”
The Inner Party in 1984 perpetuated newspeak for control over individual minds. It diminished one’s thoughts, and sought to eradicate crimethink. Today, our school applies political correctness to our relationships. It limits our conversational immunity, with the goal of protecting us from one another. This is clearly lunacy: friendships were never meant to be overhanged by litigations. We have an innate desire for intimacy, even at the cost of friction. We must never yield to an alien standard that seeks to neuter this desire, lest we begin to “cleanse” ourselves by denying our sociology.
I abhor political correctness because it is Orwellian. And it is Orwellian not because it is a regulatory notion—this is a crude argument—but because its implementation so reminds me of the incalculable coldness of civilian communication under Big Brother. Under a totalitarian regime, the concept of friendship breaks down, and is replaced by a bond between man and state. I cannot explain how friendships can be preserved and saved from this fate. I can, however, say for certain that euphemisms, impartiality and censorship are entirely detrimental to the act of compassionate speech. Have faith in the vulgar concord; it warmed our early ancestors well during their fireless nights. Reject the promises of political correctness, which can only purify dialogue by destroying it.