wokeness
Many of you are too young to know what rough tones prevailed in the heated, revolutionary sixties and seventies. We saw ourselves as street fighting men or women, we were part of the student movement or the underground and, unfortunately, some turned to terrorism. All this in the name of a revolution that didn’t happen the way it was planned. That it had been cultural in nature only surfaced a decade later. In psychology, encounter groups were popular, where people yelled at each other and called each names. Anything went if it was confrontative and brought one’s feelings out in the open: to abandon the social masks imposed by the stifling social norms of afterwar society.
When I compare this hostility with what I heard at my dentist’s, it makes me laugh. Said one assistant to the other, “Would you feel comfortable coming to work an hour early tomorrow?” These are sensitivities we simply couldn’t afford.
It must be possible to put others through unpleasantness and communicate directly without attacking them or striking the demanding tone common in offices and factories in the old days. And these others must be willing to accept criticism without running off to sulk. Since the wild hippie & revolutionary years, we’ve turned within and become more considerate of each other and increasingly also of other religions, races, ethnicities, and cultures. These have long become part of the mainstream and populate even the smallest villages, as I am always interested to note. I like multicultural society, it enriches our lives, and if we travel abroad for the most diverse purposes, I see no reason why other nationalities shouldn’t do the same.
There have always been people who believe they have risen above others. Aware, enlightened, woke, they know what is right and what is wrong, what one should believe, what is proper, and what good taste is. Jokes about other nationalities or religions? Fie! Barefaced in any way? Oh My God! Everything must be veiled, except for Moslem women. Adopt values and expressions of other cultures? Certainly not! We keep our values pure here. No mixing please or you will be canceled! If I tell my Sicilian neighbour an Italian joke with a wink, it can no longer be banter, because I am insulting his values, his country, his integrity. The same goes for the tiresome dreadlocks debate, and who should wear them. And what about old movies and books giving an incorrect view of Native Americans, Black Americans, and Asian Americans? Of course, I’m for the representation of minorities in cinematography and elsewhere. But to throw out the baby with the bath water seems unwise to me. Children should still be allowed to read Tom Sawyer (some Dr. Seuss books less so). Negro used to be a common word. But, for reasons of segregation and racism, black people feel hurt by this designation, let alone the n-word. Calling people names is always out. That’s what our children need to be told.
Common sense is the order of the day, you choose what works and what you can’t expect your neighbors and fellow citizens to understand or suffer. Or would you rather stick to self-appointed moralizers or form your opinion in the social media, where a bunch of losers and haters troll themselves to sad celebrity?
By the way, I am looking for 2.2 million Swiss francs for the narrow house on Spalenberg in Basel, where Dieter Hagenbach, who started the Gaia Media Foundation, lived for many years. We would like to turn it into an LSD museum. Is anyone out there willing and able to help us out?
Yours
Susanne G. Seiler
P.S. You’ll find us at the Gaia Lounge, Hochstrasse 70 in Basel (near Basel SBB main station, tram stop Peter Merian) every Thursday afternoon from 14 – 18 h. Welcome!
i was surviving
into my hand, the click of a tongue in the dark
was the sound of a mountain crumbling in my fist, the sand
settling between my teeth came with no instructions,
I was quiet for months on end, waltzed backwards
into the city and played dead, holding hands with myself
while lying in the intersection, violins which stopped me abruptly,
the new coming too late, O, my god, I don’t want to be funny
about it, but I don’t want it to be sad, I just want people
to stop looking at me like a broken plate, like O,
here’s some bubble gum, go glue yourself together, O,
here’s a severed hand to pat yourself with
when no-one’s watching, here’s my watch, here’s my shirt, here’s
my heart, it’s bloody, taste it.
Jarrett Moseley