It Is Correct to be Politically Correct

Following the killing of 49 and the serious injury of 50 others in Orlando, Donald Trump has once again risen to his drunken soapbox to proclaim that Americans continue to be mowed down – occasionally by crazy Muslims but more often by nuts of a more Christian stripe – solely because Obama and Crooked Hillary refuse to call the killers “Islamic Terrorists.”

This bemuses me.

It is worth noting , though Donald fails to do so, that Obama continues sending out drones to drop explosives on the heads of every Islamic Terrorist (or wedding party) he can find. He threw bin Laden’s corpse into the sea. He commands air strikes on ISIS every day. He has kept troops—advisory and otherwise—in both Iraq and Afghanistan in order to keep trying to quell the Muslim creeps who won’t say “Uncle.” There is, it seems, ample evidence that Obama recognizes the threat of Islamic Terrorism.

Yes, Obama does avoid the term. He is “politically correct” in that he cares about the political impacts of the words he chooses to use. (How careless and vapid he must be.)

The President explains that he doesn’t want to use any expression that suggests Islam and terrorism are somehow inextricably or inevitably linked. He does not want to hint at disparagement of a whole religion, even though he clearly knows there is a sect of that religion that is devoted to raining down horror on those who don’t share their twisted love of Allah. He does not, as he makes clear, want to give the terrorists any other tools with which to recruit more lost and frantic martyrs.

One can question that political calculation. Some might, for instance, decide that in their own speeches, press releases, interviews, or tweets, they will indeed use the term “Islamic Terrorism”; and they might do so without claiming that Obama and Clinton’s diction causes that terrorism to spread.

What one might do, it’s clear, is not what Donald does.

Because Donald wants to stomp his feet. He wants to get attention. He wants to make the mob swoon in ecstasies of righteousness. He’s hot to get the guys fired up. They’re set on rushing into the streets, eager to search for beaners to beat , rag-heads to roust. The shithead in robes? Who cares if he claims he’s Buddhist?

I know. Donald hasn’t called for attacks on those in saffron robes. But once the mob is all het up, they’ll settle for any Other.

The point is this: the hatred of “political correctness” boils down to a contempt for diplomacy, for any effort to take a stand without bloodying toes you never meant to crush. But the stomp and crush is what Trump lovers love. “Wipe away the niceties,“ they cry. “Fuck the sensitivities.”

And somewhere, Muslims hear that cry. As Mexicans do.

And so do I.

A 100-Word Rant (re. Trump)

I’m befuddled by and afraid of Donald Trump—and especially by his legion of fans who caterwaul at his rallies, who pummel the black and brown and young protesters gathered there, and who troll his opponents with death threats, racial slurs, and the grossest misogyny. Are they the economically and culturally dispossessed, made obnoxious only by their understandable insecurity, their sense that everything that once made sense is slipping away? Or are they merely the same old lunatic fringe that has always feared and despised the other? Are they now crawling out of the cracks when Trump turns out the lights?

I discovered a very clever web site: My students found it inspirational, and it left me with yet another way of expressing my considerable Trumphobia. There’s no practical, political use in spilling my predictable guts this way, but I need the therapy.