Political Correctness and Compassion

The country I live in is changing.

Gay marriage rights, the Black Lives Matter movement, Confederate flag removal, and non-gendered Target toy aisles are only a few of the visible shifts in American ideology that make progressives sigh with relief and think, It's about time. But where we find change and threat to privilege, we find resistance as well. Right now that resistance seems to be named "anti-political correctness."

The term "political correctness" apparently has no clear origin, but it has been used in a variety of contexts for the last hundred years. The linked article suggests that in contemporary times, "PC" has become a proud label of liberals who associate language intentionality with social liberation, while those on the right have proudly asserted themselves as "anti-PC" (which Donald Trump is re-popularizing as of late) to show their disagreement with more progressive ideology (see Target toys). On my social media feeds, I usually see "politically correct" used synonymously with inauthentic labeling ("Why call it a holiday party if we know most of us celebrate Christmas?") or used demeaningly to say someone is being overly sensitive (the Alpha Phi recruitment video).

When I used to see someone brag about being "anti-PC," I'd roll my eyes and remind myself that some people still just don't get it, and before long they'll have no choice but to hop on the social change bus or get left behind in a sea of exhaust fumes. But in the same way people with privilege are often blind to it and perpetuate anti-PC culture, I had to acknowledge my own privilege of knowing better. I'm educated enough to know about oppression, discrimination, and human rights; my social network consists of people who are committed to the same kind of work as I am; and social change is not only an interest of mine, but a lifelong career commitment. Knowing better is privilege. I know I'm not supposed to feel empathy for people like Kim Davis, but I have to wonder: To what extent should the progressive community show compassion for (but not give free passes to) people like Kim for the simple reason that someone along the way--probably many people in her life--did her wrong by teaching her what they did, and she is simply the product of it? And what factors should determine the expiration date for that compassion?

I understand this narrative of not knowing what you don't know; it's my own story. I grew up in a well-meaning family that knew little about social justice until I learned about it at college, and it seems I gave them a new progressive perspective or inclusive vocabulary lesson every time I visited home for the weekend. They didn't know what they didn't know, but they were willing to learn it--one of the key differences between people like my family and people like Kim Davis. And though I was thriving in my new identities five hours away, I had to teach my family about them in a way that acknowledged their "newness" to this world, yet held them accountable to join me there in time. Rather than bursting into my family's living room, guns blazing, asserting I was a gay, non-Catholic, liberal, tattoo-wearing vegan now and they better get used to it, I slowly weaned them off the bottle of Christian heteronormity they raised me on. I was patient, but it wasn't always easy; I answered a lot of questions progressive communities would shudder at and survived a few epic shouting matches, but most importantly, I didn't give up on their ability to become more educated than they were, even if it was scary for them to learn it and scarier for me to teach it.

I don't know if Kim Davis is open to learning, but I do know that many people are reasonable and will do their best if someone is kind enough to teach them rather than shame them. Instead of transforming into PC police and handing out tickets for every slip of the ignorant tongue, social justice educators should be having compassionate conversations that encourage inquiry and practice patience for people who haven't been taught yet, all while flexing the underrated muscle of restraint. This excellent article outlines ten counterproductive behaviors of social justice educators. In the circles I've been part of, I've seen many of these behaviors in practice, and those practices do everything but invite people to the table to talk and learn--and one of those practices, #6, warns us against being surprised that people don't know what we know.

If we believe systems can change, then people must change, too--and everyone is worth a try.