The Galleon - Portsmouth's Student Newspaper

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Art

When (and how) highfalutin becomes a rubber dinghy

Be it in the leafy suburbs of Princeton or the glassy structures of Imperial College London, a conversation is happening. The subject is moral philosophy or political correctness or the patriarchy.

Communicators are clever, elite, even. But their professors are ex-hippies from the 70s. “Peace, love, hope, man”. As such, critical analysis pricks. Furthermore, if it is toward a ‘subjugated’ group, not least the intersectional. “Ouch, their feelings, man.”  Like a blood sample – little does the pain matter when you receive a diagnosis that will save you.

What do they know of their feelings anyway? Such ‘oppressed’ groups rarely make it to such pricey institutions like Harvard, Yale or Stanford. And yet, when opponents put forward an alternative perspective, disregard for this, is expressed in the name of, “You’re not trans, you wouldn’t know, man”. As if one cannot acquire empathy. As if that part of the brain never evolved.

Highfalutin loses the red carpet when the students graduate. Highfalutin becomes a rubber dinghy when the graduates work for Google, Twitter or Facebook. The Titanic sinks into the ocean of ordinary life – despite its experience of what it is to be ordinary. This, per se, is not wrong. But it is when ordinary men are voicing themselves and it is like talking to a marble stone wall.

Precipitating in everybody’s pockets is over-compassion, over-sensitivity and over-protection.
Better is it not to suit up with your armour than it is to slump in the dumps (like a rat) waiting for the storm to halt?

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