Self-censorship and the Left

Jonathan Chait set off a predictable internet firestorm with his piece this week in New York Magazine decrying “political correctness”. His article isn’t a masterpiece by any stretch of the imagination, but Chait’s a grownup with institutional support and can defend himself. However, I would like to touch on one point that he made—the concept of self-censorship. My forum here isn’t large at all; at the moment, I consider it a really good day if a post I’ve written gets more than a dozen views. Still, I find myself hesitant to write about certain topics or reluctant to pursue certain trains of thought out of fear that the post will be noticed by someone inclined to outrage, and that before I know it my inbox will be full of hate mail, and that someone may even decide to go beyond my digital presence and attack me in meatspace. I suppose one of the things that bothers me is that I really have no way of knowing what the potential trip wires are. I mean, I consider myself a solid progressive/liberal/Democrat (whatever terminology we’re using this week), but the concept of micro-aggressions and triggers are so amorphous that it’s impossible to know when you’ve committed an offense until you already have, and I’m starting to think that is part of the point.

Full disclosure—yep, I’m a cis white male, which, if you listen to some online rhetoric, means that I am the source of all of the world’s problems. Whatever good I may have done in this world, it still pales in comparison to the crime of my identity, with some folks. That may be a bit of an exaggeration, but on some days I’m not sure of how much of one it is. So, I suppose here would be a decent place to tell you at least a part of my story. I’ve been profiled. I’ve been yanked out of my car, handcuffed and had my forehead bounced off of the hood for the crime of forgetting my driver’s license in my work pants while having a person of color in my vehicle. I’ve been in the parking lot holding a baseball bat at the ready, along with my teammates, when a riot almost broke out after winning a game in a rural district, which resulted in the opposing team’s parents hurling racial slurs onto the field. I’ve been the kid that was mocked and looked down on for having an accent after transferring in from a minority majority school district. I’ve had teachers at that school subtlety accuse me of plagiarism until I was able to demonstrate that the thoughts in my essays were my own ideas. I’ve watched a reasonably comfortable middle-class existence crumble after both of my parents fell ill. I’ve had the social worker at the Department of Human Services look at me suspiciously, and have been forced to repeatedly verify my lack of resources when the social worker noticed that my clothes weren’t sufficiently tattered after I was compelled to apply for aid following their illness. I’ve had a gun brandished at me for attempting to object to a male verbally abusing their partner. I’ve been credibly threatened with violence for daring to defend the idea of female body autonomy in an online discussion. I’ve been ex-communicated from portions of my extended family for having the nerve to call out their racism when they displayed it in my presence. And after all of that, I’m still more afraid of what you think, rather than what they can do to me. I suppose that, in and of itself, is a form of privilege, but from where I’m standing it sure doesn’t feel that way. I imagine that’s why the arbiters of political correctness are more successful on the left, because we actually care. I'm invested in the idea of social justice, and the idea that my commitment to it could all be somehow nullified for crossing an invisible line is frightening. 

I’m not so blind that I don’t see that the fear I’ve described isn’t experienced even more intensely by members of groups that have been (and continue to be) systematically oppressed, and that their fear is often at more than simply having their identity called into question. What I am curious about, though, is where does that leave me? There’s no way that I’m switching sides, but at times I feel like a man without a country. Is it my role to sit quietly, to be a cheerleader, and at times a convenient rhetorical punching bag? Is it heresy to state that I think the constant self-policing that occurs on the left comes at a real cost? Am I guilty of “whitesplaining” or “mansplaining” if I remind people that there’s a well-funded, highly organized movement dedicated to the opposite of what any of us desire? I don’t know, and I’m quickly approaching a point where I don’t care.