If there's one skill I've learned- and as a straight, cis, monogamous white guy on the internet, believe me when I tell you it doesn't come naturally- it's when to shut up and to listen. Especially when I'm about to say:
"I don't see how that's (transphobic/racist/homophobic/anti-sex-worker/whatevs)."
And sometimes I want to say it, because I genuinely don't see it. I mean, of course I don't see it! It's designed so I don't see it. It's like that horror movie trope, where the hideous alien hellbeast has some sort of pheromone control that means people see it as a perfectly lovely person, and they interpret its gurgles as meaningful conversation.
"Where's that TPS report, Jackson?" shouts the boss.
GURHURGERKLEGURG, replies the hellbeast.
"Well, I suppose that's fair," concedes the boss. "but I still need it by the end of the day!"
When we watch the movie, we feel sorry for these chumps, for the poor bastards who keep defending Jackson from Marketing even though Jackson's a hellbeast. They just don't see it! Damn, we go. They're just another tool of the gurgling hellbeast. They're probably going to sacrifice themselves to the hellbeast at the beginning of the third act, and they won't even realise they're doing it, because the gurgling hellbeast got to them.
At some point, Tracy from PR is going to try and rise up against the hellbeast, and she's going to go to Human Resources and tell everyone, and they'll be like, "Jackson, a gurgling hellbeast? I just don't see it." and Tracy will point out the weird electronic interference and the slime everywhere and the half-a-corpse on Jackson's desk and everyone will laugh her off, because they really don't see it.
Near the end of the film, when Tracy has to gun everyone from Human Resources down, you won't feel sorry for them at all.
If you're a member of every majority going, you've got to realise- sometimes, what seems like a perfectly reasonable, even a perfectly progressive article or film or comment, is in fact a gurgling hellbeast. And as a hella privileged person, you are really susceptible to the pheromones it throws off to make you think it's not. So sometimes you'll read something that seems completely reasonable, and then an incredibly insulted party goes "that was messed up, why did they insult me so?" in whatever way they see fit, and then you can feel the sentence rising up in the back of your mind:
"I don't see how that's (classist/super-racist/biphobic/heteronormative/whatevs)."
It's a trick! It's a hellbeast ruse. Don't fall for it.
And here's why: in the film, if one of the guys in Human Resources took Tracy half-seriously, and asked her to show him all her evidence, you'd go "hang on. Hang on, he's a spy! He's a hellbeast spy, Tracy, run!" You'd assume he's just going to cover up the evidence and push her down a lift shaft as soon as she's finished laying out her proof.
If white dudes on the internet say "hey, how is this (whatevs)" then it comes across as super defensive of the article, and that's going to get you an argument, not an education. Just keep your mouth shut for an hour, and read the responses of the insulted parties. That'll clue you in, I guarantee it, and you can avoid that entire mess of looking like you're defending the piece by just staying quiet.
When you do keep your mouth shut and you read why something is problematic, then next time it comes up you're better equipped to spot it yourself. You may still sometimes see Jackson from Marketing as a decent dude, but at least you'll know to double-check for a slime trail.
Wednesday, 31 July 2013
Friday, 26 July 2013
Being Polite
"I don't see why you have to swear about it"
"I have been perfectly polite, while you have resorted to dirty language"
"I can't debate with you if you persist in that tone"
I've heard the above, or versions of the above, a whole bundle of times. And it's always an arse to shoot down, because when I do want to shoot it down as a nasty, mean, dismissive thing to say I'm almost always really really angry. So I thought I'd put up a piece here that you or I can just link to whenever someone tells us we are not debating them by the gentleman's set of rules, that explains why we're not. As politely as possible.
Remember, readers- it'd be rude not to read the whole thing.
Here is why I am not being polite:
1) You are not being polite.
That is the entire reason.
But it would of course, be rude not to provide details! Allow me to explain via the magic of metaphor.
Imagine that you have been invited to a fancy dinner party. Not a fun 'fancy dinner party' with your regular friends all having a giggle at how dressed up everyone is, but a genuine high-class dinner party with seven courses and a discreet musician in the corner you are not supposed to speak to. You arrive, and everyone is having a marvellous time. You've remembered all your manners; you are courteous and careful, and your anecdotes are amusing but not crude. The conversation sparkles, as do the aperitifs.The first course is a delicate asparagus pastry, followed by a lemon and ginger salad and then a tangy gazpacho which you neither slurp nor spill. The raspberry sorbet is sharp and clean. The steak on black bean noodles is delicately seared and perfectly flavoured, and you correctly identify and compliment the star anise glaze. Then, as the consommé that will act as the palate cleanser between the steak and the monkfish arrives, you lean over to your host and ask her, if she would be so kind, to discreetly hand you a napkin so you can wipe yourself off after you urinate in her soup.
Some things are aggressively rude no matter how politely you suggest them.
What's likely to have just happened in our conversation is that you have, very politely, asked for something, assumed something, or stated something staggeringly impolite. And then you've had the audacity to demand that I phrase my response to your incredibly insulting actions in a way of which you approve.
Frankly, you might as well just piss in the soup.
If you say something that's a display of extreme bigotry, do not expect politeness in the responses of the people you have insulted. Instead, treat the "fuck you" you've almost certainly received as the shouts of someone whose foot you have just backed over with your car. You've hurt them. You don't get to demand that they express that hurt, that anger, in a way that is acceptable to you.
"I have been perfectly polite, while you have resorted to dirty language"
"I can't debate with you if you persist in that tone"
I've heard the above, or versions of the above, a whole bundle of times. And it's always an arse to shoot down, because when I do want to shoot it down as a nasty, mean, dismissive thing to say I'm almost always really really angry. So I thought I'd put up a piece here that you or I can just link to whenever someone tells us we are not debating them by the gentleman's set of rules, that explains why we're not. As politely as possible.
Remember, readers- it'd be rude not to read the whole thing.
Here is why I am not being polite:
1) You are not being polite.
That is the entire reason.
But it would of course, be rude not to provide details! Allow me to explain via the magic of metaphor.
Imagine that you have been invited to a fancy dinner party. Not a fun 'fancy dinner party' with your regular friends all having a giggle at how dressed up everyone is, but a genuine high-class dinner party with seven courses and a discreet musician in the corner you are not supposed to speak to. You arrive, and everyone is having a marvellous time. You've remembered all your manners; you are courteous and careful, and your anecdotes are amusing but not crude. The conversation sparkles, as do the aperitifs.The first course is a delicate asparagus pastry, followed by a lemon and ginger salad and then a tangy gazpacho which you neither slurp nor spill. The raspberry sorbet is sharp and clean. The steak on black bean noodles is delicately seared and perfectly flavoured, and you correctly identify and compliment the star anise glaze. Then, as the consommé that will act as the palate cleanser between the steak and the monkfish arrives, you lean over to your host and ask her, if she would be so kind, to discreetly hand you a napkin so you can wipe yourself off after you urinate in her soup.
Some things are aggressively rude no matter how politely you suggest them.
What's likely to have just happened in our conversation is that you have, very politely, asked for something, assumed something, or stated something staggeringly impolite. And then you've had the audacity to demand that I phrase my response to your incredibly insulting actions in a way of which you approve.
Frankly, you might as well just piss in the soup.
If you say something that's a display of extreme bigotry, do not expect politeness in the responses of the people you have insulted. Instead, treat the "fuck you" you've almost certainly received as the shouts of someone whose foot you have just backed over with your car. You've hurt them. You don't get to demand that they express that hurt, that anger, in a way that is acceptable to you.
Monday, 22 July 2013
Talking About Porn
I've got a tiny human baby at home. He's a little sweetheart; he's bashful and curious and bangs his heels on the floor so hard I worry he'll hurt himself. He's stubborn and perfect and, yes, innocent.
When he's about ten- maybe even a little bit younger, maybe a lot younger- I'm going to talk to him about pornography.
Because he's going to find pictures of naked ladies and gentlemen far easier to get his grubby wee hands on than I did, and like a lot of children before me, sexual desire fully blossomed in me only after a period of intense curiosity. I wanted to know the truth about boobs, the truth about what women looked like Down There, the truth about doing it. And all I had to go on was the Sunday Sport.
It's not going to be an entirely comfortable conversation for me, but by planning it and not being afraid of it I can at least make it edifying for my son. Here's my plan so far:
1) We watch Die Hard. Die Hard is a fifteen and clearly super inappropriate for my young son, so I figure he'll be on board with this. Die Hard includes:
Shooting a dude in the crotch
Throwing a dude off a building
Liberal use of the term "motherfucker" as well as the term "yippee-ki-yay", which I will claim is an even worse swear than "motherfucker", but that's really for my own amusement
Explosives like crazy
Foot injuries from broken glass
2) Afterwards, I'll ask him if he enjoyed the film, and after I've assumed his answer is yes, I'll ask him whether he thinks real police work is anything like what he's just watched.
3) We'll talk about how real police work is much more about paperwork and about how if you wanted to know exactly what real police work was like, you should probably ask a police officer.
4) We'll talk about how Bruce Willis is an actor and how a lot of the stunts were set up; we'll talk about the setting up, taking shots again and again, and the general process of film.
5) Then we'll talk about pornography. That just like Die Hard is a made up story about a police officer fighting crime and real-world crime fighting is very different, that when people make films about people having sex they don't just film real-world sex. They make up the way they want the sex and the naked people to look and then they film that.
6) I'll tell him if he ever has any questions about sex or about naked bodies then he can ask me, or his mum if he doesn't feel comfortable asking me, or his auntie or his uncle or his godmother. And that we'll always tell him the truth, but that pornography won't always tell the truth. Because, just like Die Hard, it's designed for someone to watch, to entertain them, and that's a bad way to learn how to do it yourself. It's better just to ask.
7) Then we'll watch some Avatar: The Last Airbender and practice our Earthbending moves.
I'm putting this out there because today, David "The Camster" Cameron has said he wants to ban porn by default in the UK, and that's really bad. It's straight-up government censorship. And I've got a horrible feeling that any automated porn-finder will shut off articles like this one a heck of a lot more efficiently than they'll stop ten and eleven-year-olds looking at pictures of bums.
When he's about ten- maybe even a little bit younger, maybe a lot younger- I'm going to talk to him about pornography.
Because he's going to find pictures of naked ladies and gentlemen far easier to get his grubby wee hands on than I did, and like a lot of children before me, sexual desire fully blossomed in me only after a period of intense curiosity. I wanted to know the truth about boobs, the truth about what women looked like Down There, the truth about doing it. And all I had to go on was the Sunday Sport.
It's not going to be an entirely comfortable conversation for me, but by planning it and not being afraid of it I can at least make it edifying for my son. Here's my plan so far:
1) We watch Die Hard. Die Hard is a fifteen and clearly super inappropriate for my young son, so I figure he'll be on board with this. Die Hard includes:
Shooting a dude in the crotch
Throwing a dude off a building
Liberal use of the term "motherfucker" as well as the term "yippee-ki-yay", which I will claim is an even worse swear than "motherfucker", but that's really for my own amusement
Explosives like crazy
Foot injuries from broken glass
2) Afterwards, I'll ask him if he enjoyed the film, and after I've assumed his answer is yes, I'll ask him whether he thinks real police work is anything like what he's just watched.
3) We'll talk about how real police work is much more about paperwork and about how if you wanted to know exactly what real police work was like, you should probably ask a police officer.
4) We'll talk about how Bruce Willis is an actor and how a lot of the stunts were set up; we'll talk about the setting up, taking shots again and again, and the general process of film.
5) Then we'll talk about pornography. That just like Die Hard is a made up story about a police officer fighting crime and real-world crime fighting is very different, that when people make films about people having sex they don't just film real-world sex. They make up the way they want the sex and the naked people to look and then they film that.
6) I'll tell him if he ever has any questions about sex or about naked bodies then he can ask me, or his mum if he doesn't feel comfortable asking me, or his auntie or his uncle or his godmother. And that we'll always tell him the truth, but that pornography won't always tell the truth. Because, just like Die Hard, it's designed for someone to watch, to entertain them, and that's a bad way to learn how to do it yourself. It's better just to ask.
7) Then we'll watch some Avatar: The Last Airbender and practice our Earthbending moves.
I'm putting this out there because today, David "The Camster" Cameron has said he wants to ban porn by default in the UK, and that's really bad. It's straight-up government censorship. And I've got a horrible feeling that any automated porn-finder will shut off articles like this one a heck of a lot more efficiently than they'll stop ten and eleven-year-olds looking at pictures of bums.
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