Aweh dearly beloved fellow ruminants & groupies
This week I received the sage advice that we old white men need to tread very carefully. This set me to ruminating. As a species, we are obsessed with classifying ourselves. It comforts us.
Let’s dissect this grumpy old bastard, shall we? First things first: ticking the obligatory boxes. Turning 63 this month, so by some definitions and those pesky retirement ages, I’m practically ancient. Fine, fine, I’m old. Race? Gotta check the “white” box, apparently the latest in social justice bingo. No race, no racism, right? Easy peasy.
Genders are multiplying faster than rabbits these days, but I’m good with plain old “male.” Cisgender too, for those keeping score. And no, pronoun announcements are not part of my grumpy old man package. Figure it out. Wrong pronouns won’t break me.
Now, to complete the picture: grumpy, anxious, and on the autism spectrum. Trendy, right? For the classification enthusiasts, feel free to add more labels. I’m practically a walking barcode.
Take South Africa, for example. Apartheid’s shadow still looms large, and everyone gets a fancy new label: PAA (Previously Advantaged by Apartheid, that’s me), PDASD (Previously Disadvantaged by Apartheid, Still Disadvantaged – yikes!), and PDACA (Previously Disadvantaged by Apartheid, Currently Advantaged – those tricky devils). Confusing acronyms? Don’t worry, they’re not on the quiz.
Turns out being PAA is a genetic disease. We pass it down to our children, who then unleash it on their unsuspecting offspring. There’s even a “cure” – and it involves a one-way ticket on a long-haul flight. But let’s face it, most of us grumpy old PAAs are stuck with this chronic condition. The only treatment? Treading very, very carefully.
Now, let’s untangle the mess between the haves and have-nots. South Africa takes the cake for income inequality – a real banner we can all be proud of. Here, the PDASDs, those perennially screwed-over folks, make up a sizeable chunk of the population. The ruling party? Fancy PDACAs, living large thanks to apartheid’s legacy. But guess who keeps them in power? Yep, the very people they haven’t exactly delivered for.
Do these PDACA politicians actually care? A jury’s out on that one. Lots of promises get tossed around, like free healthcare confetti at a parade. But the PDASDs are getting a little tired of the empty promises act. No surprise then, that the winds of change are blowing. The PDACAs might lose their grip for the first time in three decades. Feeling grumpy? You bet they are. And guess what’s the new political tactic? More promises, of course! This time with extra sprinkles of free stuff.
But who gets blamed for all this mess? Can you guess? The PAAs, naturally. We’re the convenient scapegoats, the leftover stink from a bygone era.
PAAs come in two flavours: those who play nice and those who, well, don’t. Let’s just say the currently advantaged folks aren’t exactly fans of the unruly ones. And guess which category I fall into? Been a bit too disobedient for comfort today, so it’s time to heed the eggshell warning before I cause an international incident.
It is not only in South Africa that you need to tread carefully. Let me add atheist as a further classifier for me. What can a grumpy old white atheist man say about Gaza? I have many Muslim and Jewish friends and acquaintances and things are very heated. Tread very carefully. What can I say about Trump? He is a moron.
When should you tread carefully and when can you call someone a moron? I guess it depends on how high the stakes are. Calling Trump a moron has limited consequences for me. If you live in the USA and you call the future president a moron that could potentially end your career. Here in South Africa calling a PDACA a moron could get very ugly for me. Perhaps now is not the time to poke wounded PDACAs.
Sometimes when things get extremely heated pressing the pause button and treading very carefully is perhaps the best option.
How good am I at treading carefully? Not very good as it turns out. My feet are too big. Fortunately, I have Nerine my wife with dainty feet to guide me. Perhaps one day I can add ballerina to my classifications. Then again perhaps not.
Dearly beloved readers how do you classify yourself? How do others classify you? Do these classifications matter? How big are your feet?
In this messed-up world, what can we blast out loud, and what gets sealed with duct tape? Spit it out, but make it savage.
I want to express my gratitude for all the ideas and comments received. I genuinely appreciate them, and please continue to share your thoughts.
Regards
Bruce
Ruminant Pink Friday 