The Pendulum Has Swung Too Far: Cancel Culture & Political Correctness as a Means of Otherizing
CONTENT WARNING: use of profanity
It’s not politically correct to assume someone’s gender. It’s not politically correct to ask where someone is from if they don’t look white. It’s not politically correct to think something is cultural appreciation over appropriation. It’s not politically correct to celebrate forms of religion in situations where not everyone identifies.
In the past decade, the European Parliament introduced proposals to outlaw titles stating marital status such as “Miss” and “Mrs” to avoid causing offense. A school in Seattle renamed its Easter eggs “spring spheres” to avoid upsetting people who did not celebrate Easter. A UK council banned the term “brainstorming” and replaced it with “thought showers,” as lawmakers believed the term would offend epileptics.
Political correctness is defined by Oxford Dictionary as “the avoidance, often considered as taken to extremes, of forms of expression or action that are perceived to exclude, marginalize, or insult groups of people who are socially disadvantaged or discriminated against.” It’s synonymous with some sort of modern-day McCarthyism and is contingent upon subtle discriminatory meanings behind harmless comments (most of the time). McCarthyism in the 1950s was a period of vociferous campaigning against alleged communists in the US government. Yet today, people continue to persecute non-conformists, and anyone who fails to adhere to politically correct ideals risks alienation. This is an element of emotional hypersensitivity in the world of PC which leads to emotional hyper-reactivity.
As a result of today’s toxic, overly-PC culture, the term political correctness has transformed into a mechanism to label genuine questions or harmless comments as microaggressions. It’s not that people are not educated enough to see potentially offensive meanings behind their comments, but rather, it’s that society has brainwashed us into literally making up offensive meanings behind innocuous phrases. I understand how people want to appear sensitive, but there’s way too much overthinking happening. Over-calculating and overly judgmental societal views have painted simple comments or questions absent of any underlying microaggressive meaning into malicious race- and gender-based comments.
When I was first made aware of the concept of political correctness, I was at my music teacher’s house. A few weeks had passed since the 2016 election, and I, a naïve eighth-grader, was unaware of how I felt about Trump’s election or even politics in general: I was completely and dangerously oblivious to my political surroundings. My teacher and I were talking about her situation as a white, upper-class woman in her orchestra and she mentioned how she had to be PC in front of her colleagues. I asked her what that meant, and she proceeded to explain to me—in the simplest way possible—how she had to be cognizant of her surroundings to avoid unintentionally offending people of other races or social classes. I asked her, “Aren’t presidents supposed to do that? Trump doesn’t seem very PC.” Everything I knew about him was from snippets of conversations in what is very much an anti-Trumpist, liberal Lexington: people made him out to be an un-PC monster (years later, as I write this article, I do in fact believe Trump is intentionally offensive, which is a whole different story). She responded that everyone thought differently about Trump and that I should try to think about how I really felt about politics and myself.
I started reading the news after that. I decided it would be beneficial to understand what was going on outside of my Lexington bubble. After stumbling upon news platforms besides the New York Times—which was the primary source of news in my house—I began to gain different perspectives from news outlets of varying degrees of liberalism, and I began to develop complex opinions regarding certain news events, like the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, Trump’s involvement in North Korea, the Mueller investigation, school shootings, etc. I dove into the world of politics and political correctness, and I gained a sense of what was deemed PC and what was not. But soon, my fascination morphed into an obsession, which became quite controlling: I was obsessed with identifying a possible underlying, malevolent meaning behind what I was attempting to communicate; I was consistently self-conscious and over-analytical of how I presented myself; I was afraid that people would misinterpret what I was saying and label me an oblivious, pretentious, spoiled, upper-class, white bitch. It felt like I was walking on eggshells. This constant fear of potential misinterpretations of innocuous comments led me to the conclusion that there would always be someone offended by a comment—with no intentionally offensive meaning—that came across a certain way.
I know I’m not alone. Sometimes, people do take offense to the things we say. And perhaps they'll be angry about it. What do we do then? Obviously, nobody can be perfect and we are not totally at fault for an innocuous ignorant comment. We'll feel bad about it, and often we react defensively with these talking points. The internet destroys nuance, and in “cancel culture,” people are socially ostracized for one comment, no matter how egregious. Instead of spiraling into feeling like we’re walking on eggshells and everyone hates us for something we didn't intend, I now think it’s a good opportunity to respond respectfully and reflect upon why we said what we said and why it was considered offensive—were we perpetuating stereotypes that we’ve been exposed to in society our entire lives? Without withholding our true beliefs, how can we educate ourselves and strive to be anti-bigoted rather than simply not bigoted? We all have to deal with criticism at some point, whether it's justified or unjustified, who's to say?
I’m not xenephobic. I’m not sexist. I’m not racist. I know it’s not enough to simply proclaim these things, but I just swear I’m telling the truth! I sometimes wish people were colorblind because then differences could be put aside, which isn’t a politically correct statement because colorblindness would leave out the uncomfortable histories of certain races. I understand that we as a society cannot be colorblind as we must recognize each other’s differences, whether that’s celebrating blackness or criticizing whiteness (and their histories).
To put it simply, I just don’t like labels. Toxic PC culture depends on labels. I am socially and fiscally liberal, and I can credit this way of thinking to how I was raised in Lexington, but I personally refuse to identify with political party—I am not succumbing to the norms that go along with each party; I am not defining myself with a label. But I’m white and I was born into an upper-class family, so let’s face it: I’m privileged. Yet given my white privilege, I sometimes feel embarrassed about my situation, as people could potentially believe that I’m just a spoiled white girl, incapable of understanding situations belonging to people of other races and social classes. And what I despise is that there seems to be nothing I can do to change this stereotype. I try—sometimes too hard—to come across as accepting and open to everyone, no matter their race, gender, etc., but I am not always accepted with open arms. I have to remain hyper-aware of any unintentional, underlying meanings that a comment of mine may have because I absolutely do not want to be labeled as ignorant or uneducated. What if a comment I said was compared with Trump’s comments?
On another note, statistically, more African Americans inhabit Southern regions of the US compared to Northern regions such as New England. I was once in downtown Atlanta, Georgia, and it was unlike anything I have ever seen in Lexington: it was a cultural melting pot, and I was absolutely awestruck by the blurred cultural lines I saw. During my time there, I had an Uber driver named Daniel who I came to learn was African American, and I asked if it was okay to discuss with him the treatment of people belonging to his race. In the hour I spent in the car, we talked the entire time about the injustices he faced, the unfair assumptions that people had about him, and his overall view of life. It was the first time I was ever part of a conversation such as this; I wasn’t able to talk about these taboo subjects at Lexington High School, as friend groups generally consist of those of the same race, although there are exceptions. It’s not like I could just walk up to one of my African American peers and ask them to talk with me about what challenges they faced—that would be un-PC. But after this conversation, I felt incredibly open, like I had gained a better understanding of race-based assumptions, not just the white-girl-using-daddy’s-money-to-pay-for-college stereotype that I was so accustomed to since it was once with which I was sometimes labeled.
But I love to break this stereotype. I do countless things to educate myself on race; on political policies; on candidates who aim to end income-inequality and give everyone the same access to education that I’ve been afforded simply because of my family's privilege and race. I fight back against the stereotypes that have consistently harmed people of color by attending protests and using social media as an outlet for awareness and change. As I’ve grown, rather than worrying about how others perceive me because of your privilege, I am starting to use my privilege to advocate for the lives of those without it.
This is a challenge in my life, and it seems quite pathetic compared to what some people have to deal with. This isn’t me replacing “Black Lives Matter” with “All Lives Matter”—I’m just sharing my story. I know I haven’t experienced the harrowing story of mistreatment in African American communities or the injustices that homeless families face. But I can share my challenge through writing and discussion; my white-privilege challenge—what some would label as an oxymoron. But this internal conflict defines my principles and how I conduct myself. There is still a persistent, never-ceasing awareness I have regarding what I say and how I say it. I still over-scrutinize potentially offensive meanings of my comments. Before I end, I must say this isn’t my internal insecurity overanalyzing the things I say or think; it’s my whiteness and my fear of being “canceled” as as representing white American ignorance.
We are all part of one race—the human race (this statement is actually labeled as a microaggression because it allegedly demonstrates “color evasiveness” and its message is to deny a POC’s racial and ethnic experiences, assimilate or acculturate to the dominant culture, and deny the individual as a racial and cultural being.) I believe that statements like this one—along with “America is a melting pot” and “Where were you born"?”—are not microaggressions. Can we please throw out the term “microaggression”? Instead, they are an harmless questions or comments with no malicious intention whatsoever. They’re not racist, nor do they demonstrate white American ignorance. Rather, their reactions show our society’s hyper-sensitive, toxic PC, reactionary culture. How am I supposed to talk about “touchy” subjects like race and gender when I’m white? How can I not offend anyone?
This needs to change, and to begin, we need to start questioning why things are the way they are. There is not one correct set of paths to follow when it comes to making change or spreading awareness. But, anyone can start, like I did, with sharing their story.
by ANONYMOUS