Recently Suzanne and I were again mired in my favourite fun-loving conversation - the pandemic realpolitik. You know the one - how critical thinking has somehow morphed into group think and how blessed we’ve been to be recently surrounded with such plentiful virology expertise, the pro’s and con’s of the science of isolation and curfew and blah and blah and blah. You’d think we’d worn holes in these subjects long ago but mercifully something just then caused a small dent in the space-time continuum and the conversation pivoted to more of my recent favourites - identity politics, free speech and gender.
Oh goody!
Suzanne argued that being cis-gendered individuals we far too often default to heteronormativity and as I’m a product of generational toxic masculinity and she of white feminism, it’s easy to ignore the totality of the gender spectrum.
I agreed that of course this vast spectrum exists and suggested that we’re all just a product of a number of undefined things - possibly a pinch of objective reality, a dash of biological evolution, a smidge of some obscure spiritual fatalism, possibly a dram of free will or merely just some crafted voodoo combination of a million things. What it really boils down to is semantic as clearly nobody knows, why the hell does it matter and who the fuck is anyone to pre-suppose? Just be kind to everyone and stop having all the answers.
It was at this point that Suzanne noted that our white oppression is intersectional and that no matter how much gas-lighting or how many micro-aggressions I do this was the truth and it was also true that I would be cancelled if my words got out.
I didn’t know what it was that I could possibly be cancelled from but it sounded kind of nice. Just then another humane dent appeared and I remembered that the last quarter of the Rams/Cardinal’s game and the final round of the Sony Open were downstairs waiting on PVR. Maybe I’ve been wrong all this time. Maybe there is some beneficent control-centre floating atop a cloud somewhere.
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