The Explicit Truth

The truth, I have always believed, will out. All right, at least some of the truth will sometimes out.

A tsunami of self-loathing has washed over the progressives of Jesustan after a new psychological test revealed that they are not as free of bias as they chose to believe. Available online at https://implicit.harvard.edu, the Project Implicit shows that the overwhelming majority of people, black and white, gay and straight, male and female, rich and poor, harbour racist, sexist and homophobic sentiments (as well as every other conceivable form of bigotry – anti-Muslim hatred, for example, or disdain for people who like sex with small, furry animals).

I find three aspects of the tamasha particularly entertaining. First, the uproar seems confined to over-educated liberals alone. Either garden-variety Jesustanis do not read the Sunday supplements of The Washington Post (in general, a wise move), or, in the alternate, do not need a test to tell them they are racist, sexist and homophobic. Second, Jesustani progressives seem desperately desirous of self-flagellation. Flooded with traffic generated by self-hating Jesustanis, Project Implicit’s website has had to suspend offering all but a few basic options.

Most important of all, though, the carnage inflicted by the tests suggests an alarming disregard of the self-evident among liberal Jesustanis. To anyone with their eyes open – and to even those like me, who have under-powered spectacles – it should be clear that prejudice is a central part of the prevailing culture of Jesustan. Washington DC metro train lines heading south-east at rush hour are full of black people; those heading north-west full of white people. White people head to one set of nightclubs; black people to another. A publicly-funded office I frequent, set up with the purpose of bringing democracy and tolerance to the benighted heathen of the world, has precisely three habshis working at it – the receptionist, the odd-jobs-man, and the resident flunkey.

Self delusion is more than simply a human failing, though; it is a core part of the Jesustani ideological project. It is called political correctness. We live in colonial times, and political correctness has, like Coca Cola, McDonalds and Hollywood, now been exported to each corner of the world. It has created a most peculiar form of dementia. As long as you call churas Dalits, invite your slaves to the household Diwali party, insist bundus are exercising a sexual choice, or dignify randis by renaming them commercial sex workers, it doesn’t matter how you treat them. Extreme variants of this disease are also evident. An acquaintance in Hindustan, for example, married a Muslim, not because she loved her spouse, but because she was striking a blow for religious coexistence.

Its all about labels: a triumph of brand over content, of text over truth.

A post-script: this week’s racist-sexist-homophobic joke award, bearing a grand prize of US$ 0.99, goes to my friend Dr. A. A newly-wed Pathan gazes longingly at his wife, sighing intermittently. “What are you thinking, sahib”, she finally asks? “You are so, so, beautiful”, he replies, quietly, “as beautiful as the stars and the skies. How beautiful your brother must be”.

A malicious slur? Ask the little boys paraded through certain bazaars near Peshawar, their eyes lined with kohl and their cheeks covered with rouge, while the bidders lining the streets cheer.