D e s e r t E x p o s u r e
June
2009
Prejudiced Against Bigots?
So much for judging people by the content of their character.
Not too many years ago, a friend of mine in Sierra County thought about running for an elected office. Not motivated by any burning sense of social responsibility or partisan angst, "Frank" is a balding, disenfranchised punk rocker who spends his time making art from scrap metal and raging against the machine. Lacking any particular mandate or purpose, he thought running for office would be fun. Over a bucket of Coronas and a campfire one night, he laid out his campaign strategy for me: guilt and fear.
I was pretty far into my cups by then, so I required further explanation. His entire campaign strategy was built around a simple slogan. "Frank loves Vietnamese babies. Vote for Frank. . . or do you hate Vietnamese babies?" As crusty and jaded as I am, even I was taken aback and shocked by this particularly divisive and tasteless tactic. But Frank was enthusiastic in showing me how adaptable this slogan would be: "Frank loves paraplegic nuns. Vote for Frank. . . or do you hate paraplegic nuns?" This illustrates exactly how cynical embittered old anarchists can be after wasting the best years of their lives wearing leather motorcycle jackets and listening to Johnny Rotten.
Frank is a pretty savvy cat, and although he lost his election bid in a spectacular, Adlai Stevenson-style trouncing, his approach has become quite common in our modern world. Frank's tactic was about as subtle as a diesel Hummer at a Greenpeace convention, but the same approach is being used more and more commonly in polite society. Case in point: the latest "American Idol" showdown.
Disclaimer: I have never watched "American Idol," have never voted for said idols, and would be perfectly happy if the show were cancelled and all those responsible sacked. It is impossible, however, to escape the media hype around the show every year, and, as a news aficionado, I cannot escape the frenzy as America slides towards the edge of their seats (and sanity) in anticipation of the grand finale. This year, the final two contenders were two talented young men who looked like the kid selling me beer at the local Quick Sak, except I read that one of them is widely assumed to be gay. I don't mean "happy-to-be-alive-it's-my-birthday" gay; I mean the other kind, which I thought we weren't supposed to make an issue of anymore.
"Who cares?" I thought, moving on. Well, according to the New York Times, a lot of people cared, and in Times' opinion, ignorant, backwater red-state conservatives were using "American Idol" to vote their prejudices. The paper opined that the gay singer would be unfairly booted by these rednecks because of his sexual orientation because, you know, that's what they do in Kansas.
Unfortunately, that meant viewers who were deciding which way to vote had the added onus of discrimination to consider. Suddenly, participating in "American Idol" wasn't so fun, and viewers were faced with having to defend their decision on criteria other than singing ability.
The same sort of issue crept into the recent presidential election as well. Although I think our nation did a commendable job of considering the candidates on their merits, it was intimated more than a few times that a vote for the white, conservative candidate was a vote for racism. As a considerably open-minded, live-and-let-live kinda redneck, I was painfully aware of the fact that I could be easily stereotyped by an august institution like the New York Times as being an ignorant racist because I voted for the white male conservative. Any defense against such a categorization would only more firmly entrench me in the role I was cast into. Insert big, tired sigh right about here.
I'm not sure when it happened exactly, but we became a nation of knock-kneed fraidy-cats at some point, so worried about social castigation that we allowed just the mere perception of racism and prejudice to alter our actions. I am mystified that the first ones at the prejudicial-accusation buffet scoop the deepest of the sanctimonious macaroni-and-cheese and feel justified to fling it on the rest of us with impunity, knowing that there is no defense against such an accusation that won't sound puling and defensive. Of COURSE we'll all wind up voting for Frank, because to not do so is to vote against Vietnamese babies or paraplegic nuns, and who would support that? It's the no-win situation, the political "kobayashi maru," the question without answer: "Senator, is it true you've stopped beating your wife?"
Of course, I am in an awkward position on this issue. I am the conservative white male, hunkered down in my anachronistic bunker of ignorance and witchcraft, the least likely to offer an intelligent voice to this dialogue. That is apt to comfort the most diehard proponents of this unsavory tactic right up until they find themselves on the sharp end of the stick, at which point the only option will be to enroll in a sensitivity class and sing "Kumbaya" with the aggrieved parties, who are well-served to remind you precisely how aggrieved they actually are. But rest easy, pilgrim — I'll save a folding chair for you in my bunker.
Henry Lightcap hunkers down in Las Cruces.