What the hell can the folks at the New Statesman be thinking? I’m deeply suspicious of any comp that invites us to make fun of “political correctness.” All too often, that translates into an invitation to indulge in racism, sexism, homophobia, etc. while congratulating ourselves on being freethinking dissenters from some prevailing cultural orthodoxy.
I totally get that some self-appointed guardians of righteousness are risible and obnoxious. I roll my eyes as I remember a young actor who scolded me for insensitivity toward people with physical disabilities when I wished her “break a leg.” And there are plenty of racial activists, gender activists, and others who would rather score debating points about style than delve into the nuance and complexity of underlying substance. But the fact remains that people who get all bent out of shape about things you shouldn’t say usually do less harm in the world than people who (carelessly or deliberately) say all those things. Yelling “dyke!” or “pickaninny!” or some comparable epithet in a crowded theatre really is the wrong thing to do, even if some of the people who take offense manage to seem a bit silly.
Golliwogs were not part of my American childhood. But Little Black Sambo picture books were. On one level, there’s no reason to object to those books. Sambo is a brave, quick-thinking hero who is clearly more admirable than that thieving vandal Goldilocks, another protagonist whose name derives from racial characteristics. But all of us who don’t live outside of history (in other words, all of us) should be able to understand why Sambo might be offensive to “black” readers in a “white” American or British context.
I’m going to enter this comp. But I don’t like it, and I’m probably not going to win it.
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