If you were new to the world of occupations, you might think that social work involved handing around devils on horseback at cocktail parties and assisting with small-talk, lubricating conversations with a little bubbly. You might imagine innovative social workers developing new ways with bacon and prunes. But the reality is that there is more emphasis on the ‘work’ than the ‘social’. It’s not so social, except in the lunch-room, sharing stories of people’s devastating hardships over a gluten-free salad. I’ve been hanging about the lunch-room and this is the healthiest lunch-eating workforce I’ve ever seen.
Social workers are often criticised as ‘do-gooders’, but I’d rather be around them than do-badders. My experience is that social workers’ hearts are in the right place (which is literally a bit to the left). What’s wrong with a do-gooder? Why is the road to hell paved with good intentions? If I were to predict who might be going to hell at the cocktail party I’d say it isn’t going to be the do-gooders but the canapé eaters. The do-gooders just lay the paving because they need the extra money. That’s why they’re handing out those canapés. Do-gooders often aren’t high-earners.
I’ve recently been involved in two workplaces: Odyssey House and the Asylum Seekers Resource Centre (ASRC). Both places are full of do-gooders and I have to say there are fewer wankers per capita than any other workplaces I’ve ever been in. When you walk in their doors you can assume that you will be surrounded by people who are driven by compassion.
In fact when I first walked into the ASRC at lunchtime, where they prepare and serve a meal for 200 people every day, I was moved to tears by the palpable feelings of kindness and safety. No-one is ramming their political canapés down anyone’s throat, although everyone enjoys any opportunity to stick it up Peter Dutton.
It’s probably the same critics of do-gooders that use ‘PC’ as an insult. I find it hilarious that various politicians dismissively and disparagingly use the term ‘politically correct’ when they’ve been caught out being racist, sexist, homophobic, selfishly non-inclusive and obliviously privileged. I find it even more hilarious to discover that Tony Abbot and Alan Jones launched a book last year by Kevin Donnelly, called ‘How Political Correctness is Destroying Australia.’ Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. I have to laugh out loud, like the humorous feminist that I am. A whole bunch of guys got together at the Sofitel Hotel last year to talk about it. I imagine that launch to be populated by lots of men in beige shorts with long socks and Brylcreem in their hair. The kinds of chaps who, if they do any cooking it’d be at the BBQ and if they’re super cheeky they’d have a BBQ apron with breasts on the front. That sort of thing isn’t offensive, is it? It’s all a bit of a lark. The kind of humour that makes Australia GREAT and that Political Correctness is destroying. Alan Jones apparently said, ‘It’s a crisis.’
These guys use the term Politically Correct to imply zealous over-policing, censorship and humourlessness when it comes to bigoted, hurtful and dangerous language – the kind of language that hairy-legged, humourless feminists won’t stand for. But actually nor will the ones that wax and laugh often and loudly til they piss themselves (the smooth-shinned, humorous but slightly incontinent feminists).
Don’t you think these long-socked, shorts-wearing dudes are making a mistake to put themselves in opposition to ‘correctness’? A semantic, metaphorical and political mistake? What’s the opposite of politically correct? Surely it’s politically INcorrect? Are these Brylcreemed fuddy duddies unwittingly setting themselves up as the bad guys? It often comes down to their inflexible, unthinking, insensitive, old-fashioned use of language and, perhaps, a lack of the smarts in understanding that language changes. I can’t believe this old Kevin is still employed as an educator in a university (albeit a Catholic university).
Language evolves. I’m old enough to remember when we struggled to call the person who ran a meeting anything other than a chairman. And we couldn’t even think of the people who put out fires as anything other than firemen. Maybe these wallies don’t need to remember that far back because they’re still stuck in time. They tend to be associated with political parties that are still debating quotas. They possibly think of women as a minority group (because in those parties, they are).
At his book launch, Kev told them all a story, that he said was true, about a school banning the great Aussie song, ‘Kookaburra Sits in the Old Gum Tree’ because of the last line, ‘Gay your life must be.’ If his story is true, then that would, of course, be ridiculous. I suspect that story is an urban myth of their own making because the only people who’d think of banning the song would be people who are uptight about the word ‘gay’ which probably wouldn’t be the PC people that are making Kevin, Alan and Tony so unhappy, but maybe some hard-done-by kookaburras who need to explain that life is neither merry, merry, nor gay and that they’re not really laughing. The humourless feminists of the bird world.
It brings to mind the extraordinary over-reaction of the un-PC community last year when people spoke up to say that they found Mark Knight’s cartoon of Serena Williams offensive. The thing is, dear entitled white wallies, no matter how much you protest that the intention wasn’t racist and no matter how much you feel the need to band together to protect your journo, cartoonist club buddies, you simply can’t deny that someone felt upset by that image. A whole community of people. Not PC people. People with a long history of being oppressed and derided. The grown-up, kind, compassionate thing would be to say, ‘Oh, that wasn’t my intention, but I’m sorry to upset you.’ Instead of, ‘I’m not racist.’ ‘He’s not racist.’ ‘Australia isn’t racist.’ Oh, please. Put on your big-boy pants and act your age.
Entitled people don’t get it. They haven’t had to. But the louder the previously silenced voices are, the more they’ll be heard. They’ll have to get it eventually, because the tides are turning. We are evolving. Humans are choosing to be kind and compassionate. People are realising that everyone can be do-gooders. Even right wing humans. Not just social workers. Social workers have a lot to do, patching up the damage of the patriarchy and everyone’s realising they need to pitch in. Women are calling out the behaviour of men in their own political parties and leaving them to quibble about quotas and merit in their echo-chambers. There will be no-one left in, or at, their parties. No-one left for them to re-produce with, so the species will have to evolve. Survival of the fittest and all that. Survival of the kindest. Survival of the most flexible. The only female-like company they’ll have will be the guy with the BBQ tongs and the boob apron.
Anyone can be PC with their language if they want to be. Even entitled, right wing people. And everyone’s going to want to be PC when the witty, shiny-shinned-but-slightly-incontinent feminists take over the world. It’s just a matter of time. At Kevin’s launch party they stood around talking about the crisis, the zealots who are imposing ‘groupthink’, the march of the left. They cited feminism, gender and marriage equality as destroying our great country while omitting to mention the destruction of patriarchy, capitalism and colonialism and the values that perpetuate violence against women, drug and alcohol addictions, homelessness and the stuff that social workers deal with every day. The Kevins, Alans and Tonies of the anti-PC ilk, unashamedly professing their white, male superiority seem unbelievably naïve and childishly petulant yet old enough to know better. They’re clearly floundering with change. It’s no march, old chaps. It’s evolution. It’s intelligent people speaking up. It’s long-oppressed people having a voice. And it’s going to make Australia greater though it will upset your status quo. It’s going to poop your parties. The canapés are changing. Finger food is diverse and delicious. Devils on horseback have galloped away.