Freedom and Personal Pronouns
Recently I saw a desk sign that said “my personal pronouns are ‘she’ and ‘her.’” When I asked the woman why in the world she would feel compelled to state what was readily obvious, she said that a supervisor had insisted on these signs in order to ensure that a person with gender dysphoria was not “disrespected.” Stop shaking your head, this is real.
In this country, within certain limits, you can feel free to express yourself openly on almost any subject (unless you’re a conservative, and then you’re just a nazi). If you want to paint your body green and stand in the public square and tell people you identify as an evergreen, as fir as I can tell that’s permitted. You can’t be obsence, you can’t put public safety at risk, but within the borders of those boundaries public discourse is pretty open. It means we have to tolerate certain unwelcome ideas, but by and large its a good deal for everyone.
So, while I think it’s just fine that a person who is confused about what’s in their shorts has every right to use personal pronounds like xe, xer, xim, and the like, and for people of Hispanic heritage to refer to themselves as Latinx (or Latiny, or Latinz), the really great thing about freedom is that I don’t have to care. I don’t have to call you by your preferred label: I’d rather call you by your name.
The Buy In
Essentially what the left wants normal people like you and me to do is buy into their craziness. They want you to care about their personal mental disease that says that even though they have an “innie” and were named Kate at birth, they can by force of will grow an “outie” and call themselves Jake. If they can normalize their sickness, then they can demand special rights. People often think that gender determines hiring decisions. Rarely is that the case. It’s more likely you didn’t get hired because you have pieces of metal sticking out of your face that make it look like you were standing in front of the jewelry counter when it exploded, and ink up and down your arms making you look like a a scratch-pad for a tattoo artist. Yep. That could be the reason!
Gays & Lesbians Are Not Gender-Confused
Now, let me step back a moment and suggest that there are people who, whether it is a matter of personal preference or a predisposition from birth, like having sex with the person of the same gender. In an older, darker time, we referred to these folks as “queer” and that was indeed a hateful term. I know of no one who actually uses that term commonly today. What turned the tables for the gay community in gaining acceptance and the right to marry a person of the same gender was the dignified and lawful approach they took to gaining the rights they sought to achieve. One of my doctors is gay. I have a pair of friends who live on the coast who are gay. I could call any of these guys and say I had a problem, and help would be on the way in an instant, because irrespective of whom they choose to have sex with, they are great people. The same goes for a former sister-in-law who is lesbian. She’s a terrific person, and a great nurse. Her whole life is about helping people. They don’t worry about personal pronouns, they instead worry about personal relationships. I am not suggesting any animus in any way toward people who honestly and openly declare that this is their lifestyle. I say more power to them. And, I think the Supreme Court got the marriage issue absolutely right.
Look in Your Shorts, Dude
But, honestly, I can’t understand the whole idea of gender identity. To me it’s pretty simple. You look down in your underwear and if you’re carrying a load out front that swings when you walk, it’s pretty clear your gender identity is “male.” The idea that you could choose to be anything else, is like water believing it could choose to be air. If you believe this is possible, let me suggest you don’t stick your head in a bucket of water and try taking a breath.
Moreover, if you believe that you should in some way attempt to self-mutilate your genetalia to “become” a woman (and here I’m thinking of Wheaties-boy Jenner) then pay attention: no matter how much you want it, you are still going to be a man. You may have certain organs carved into different shapes by charlatans masquerading as physicians, but at the end of the day you’re still a guy. Likewise, if you have a piece of rubber transplanted to where your vagina used to be, your slipadictomy surgery doesn’t make you a man, it just means you’ll bounce if you fall forward.
But, hey, if that’s your thing, freedom means you can do it. You can do it here. You can’t do it in Saudi Arabia, Iran, Turkey, Afghanistan, Malaysia and in certain parts of the Philippines because in those places you’d take a long fall off a tall building. But here in America you can do it.
You Can’t Make Me..
Here’s what you can’t do. You can’t make me care. You cannot force me to respect your craziness because craziness is not something I respect. You can’t make me endorse your craziness; hell, I don’t even endorse my own craziness! You can’t demand under pain of imprisonment that I use your preferred pronoun. You see, while you have every right to claim to be Xerxes from planet Gombo and insist on the pronoun “Uytr,” I have every right to think you’re a nutcase who needs to get his meds refilled. You cannot legislate morality, and you cannot criminalize “misgendering” a person because about half the time fools dress in a way to make it unclear what they are (because let’s face it, they don’t know themselves or so they say). Back when judges used to enforce the constitution and the rule of law instead of sticking up for liberal ideas, the First Amendment protected my ability to choose what to call you.
So, when someone tells me their preferred pronoun is Xe, my response is going to be I don’t care what you prefer, I will call you what you are: crazy.
Now, that’s fairly simple, isn’t it?