NATIONAL REVIEW: FLORENCE KING: THE MISANTHROPE'S CORNER March 6, 2000

John McCain got stuck in a verbal tar pit in his recent attempt to paint himself as a blasé man of the world. Ironically, it began on his campaign bus, the "Straight Talk Express," and continued in a store selling extra-sharp cheese.

Asked about gays in the military, he stated in his modestly boastful way that he had served with many in the Navy, though he had never discussed the subject with them. He probably thought this proved that "don't ask, don't tell" works, but there was a slight problem: McCain was in the Navy back when gays were barred from the military and faced instant dismissal if exposed. Naturally they never discussed it with him.

That being the case, the reporter shot back, how did McCain know they were gay?

It was a Biblical moment, recalling the world's first Gotcha! question: "Who told you that you were naked?" It's not hard to imagine the sensation that must have slammed through him. Since we're recalling notable moments in gardens, we can go with Emily Dickinson's "zero at the bone" on seeing a snake in hers.

McCain had three choices: He could say his gay shipmates told him they were gay, which would have contradicted his original statement; he could say he found them in flagrante and failed to report them; or he could say he "just knew."

With no choice but the last, he lumbered into a wordy answer about recognizing "by behavior and by attitudes," whereupon gay spokesmen issued their usual condemnation of stereotyping. Their reaction was fairly tepid as these things go, but McCain panicked and made another statement, explaining that he had merely had "suspicions" about certain shipmates, and that someone else had told him they were gay.

Two days later, he went before Katie Couric in the obligatory clarification rite, explaining that a fellow officer had indeed confessed his homosexuality to him, but only after leaving the Navy.

For some reason I have trouble visualizing this heart-to-heart. I think he made the whole thing up and never served with any gays, real or suspected, and furthermore I don't care.

What bothers me about this incident is what our fear of stereotyping is doing to the qualities of insight, perception, and subtlety of mind. The whole country is turning into Scarlett O'Hara. You heard me, Scarlett O'Hara:

But Scarlett intended to marry—and marry Ashley—and she was willing to appear demure, pliable, and scatterbrained if those were the qualities that attracted men. Just why men should be this way, she did not know. She only knew that such methods worked. It never interested her enough to try to think out the reason for it, for she knew nothing of the inner workings of any human being's mind, not even her own. She knew only that if she did or said thus-and-so, men would unerringly respond with the complementary thus-and-so. It was like a mathematical formula and no more difficult, for mathematics was the one subject that had come easy to Scarlett in her schooldays.

Every American is expected to be a "people person," yet we dare not go from A to B in assessing them, on pain of death from our internal censor. Instead we must judge each person we meet "as an individual," a parlor version of reinventing the wheel that precludes drawing conclusions, playing hunches, or learning anything at all that might come in handy the next time we meet an individual.

Like John McCain, we pass insight around like a hot potato, and palm perception off on "someone else" so we will not be suspected of putting two and two together. Our goal is nothing less than willful obtuseness, a condition that was displayed in all its glory by a woman on Hardball who illustrated the pitfalls of gay stereotyping by drawing what passes these days for an analogy.

Suppose, she said, you entered a room and saw there a man in a kilt. You would assume he was a Scotsman, wouldn't you? But he could be "an extra from Braveheart, [or] it might be Halloween."

Our rejection of wide-ranging ruminative thinking is a key factor in many of our woes, such as the "crisis in relationships." Men who don't generalize about women will be even more dumbfounded than those who do, while women who generalize about men will be somewhat less furious than those who don't. Every little bit helps.

Public confessions of personal behavior are deemed offensive by many, but they may serve as R&R leave in our war against stereotyping. Someone who knows himself to be an incestuous foot-fetishist might well find it a strain to be judged "as an individual" and pursued by the blockheaded furies of equality. Going on Jerry Springer with the other incestuous foot-fetishists is a way of saying, "Now do you get it?"

Gays especially are made uncomfortable by unanalytical people and often confess to them for reasons unrelated to braggadocio. They may simply be tired of waiting for the truth to sink in, or they may find it necessary to clear things up when a determined tabula rasa mistakes them for extras from Deliverance. Gays prefer heterosexuals who are worldly, raffish, nonconformist, and eccentric, not out of snobbery or decadence but because these types never meet a thought they cannot entertain—royally.

The worst damage inflicted by our fear of stereotyping is in the arts. A creative artist "just knows" things. When this river flows unimpeded the result is a Shakespeare, but when it's dammed up we get the eighth wonder of the American global village, the nonjudgmental novelist.

They're a lot like politicians. Afraid to exclude, they throw in so many characters that they end up with the big tent of Republican dreams. Afraid to differentiate, they make everybody talk alike. Afraid to dominate, they refuse to plot. Afraid to instruct, they dumb down their language.

And afraid to think, they display the insight of Scarlett O'Hara.

THE MISANTHROPE'S CORNER
March 6, 2000 by Florence King John McCain got stuck in a verbal tar pit in his recent attempt to paint himself as a blasé man of the world. Ironically, it began on his campaign bus, the "Straight Talk Express," and continued in a store selling extra-sharp cheese. Asked about gays in the military, he stated in his modestly boastful way that he had served with many in the Navy, though he had never discussed the subject with them. He probably thought this proved that "don't ask, don't tell" works, but there was a slight problem: McCain was in the Navy back when gays were barred from the military and faced instant dismissal if exposed. Naturally they never discussed it with him. That being the case, the reporter shot back, how did McCain know they were gay? It was a Biblical moment, recalling the world's first Gotcha! question: "Who told you that you were naked?" It's not hard to imagine the sensation that must have slammed through him. Since we're recalling notable moments in gardens, we can go with Emily Dickinson's "zero at the bone" on seeing a snake in hers. McCain had three choices: He could say his gay shipmates told him they were gay, which would have contradicted his original statement; he could say he found them in flagrante and failed to report them; or he could say he "just knew." With no choice but the last, he lumbered into a wordy answer about recognizing "by behavior and by attitudes," whereupon gay spokesmen issued their usual condemnation of stereotyping. Their reaction was fairly tepid as these things go, but McCain panicked and made another statement, explaining that he had merely had "suspicions" about certain shipmates, and that someone else had told him they were gay. Two days later, he went before Katie Couric in the obligatory clarification rite, explaining that a fellow officer had indeed confessed his homosexuality to him, but only after leaving the Navy. For some reason I have trouble visualizing this heart-to-heart. I think he made the whole thing up and never served with any gays, real or suspected, and furthermore I don't care. What bothers me about this incident is what our fear of stereotyping is doing to the qualities of insight, perception, and subtlety of mind. The whole country is turning into Scarlett O'Hara. You heard me, Scarlett O'Hara: But Scarlett intended to marry—and marry Ashley—and she was willing to appear demure, pliable, and scatterbrained if those were the qualities that attracted men. Just why men should be this way, she did not know. She only knew that such methods worked. It never interested her enough to try to think out the reason for it, for she knew nothing of the inner workings of any human being's mind, not even her own. She knew only that if she did or said thus-and-so, men would unerringly respond with the complementary thus-and-so. It was like a mathematical formula and no more difficult, for mathematics was the one subject that had come easy to Scarlett in her schooldays. Every American is expected to be a "people person," yet we dare not go from A to B in assessing them, on pain of death from our internal censor. Instead we must judge each person we meet "as an individual," a parlor version of reinventing the wheel that precludes drawing conclusions, playing hunches, or learning anything at all that might come in handy the next time we meet an individual. Like John McCain, we pass insight around like a hot potato, and palm perception off on "someone else" so we will not be suspected of putting two and two together. Our goal is nothing less than willful obtuseness, a condition that was displayed in all its glory by a woman on Hardball who illustrated the pitfalls of gay stereotyping by drawing what passes these days for an analogy. Suppose, she said, you entered a room and saw there a man in a kilt. You would assume he was a Scotsman, wouldn't you? But he could be "an extra from Braveheart, [or] it might be Halloween." Our rejection of wide-ranging ruminative thinking is a key factor in many of our woes, such as the "crisis in relationships." Men who don't generalize about women will be even more dumbfounded than those who do, while women who generalize about men will be somewhat less furious than those who don't. Every little bit helps. Public confessions of personal behavior are deemed offensive by many, but they may serve as R&R leave in our war against stereotyping. Someone who knows himself to be an incestuous foot-fetishist might well find it a strain to be judged "as an individual" and pursued by the blockheaded furies of equality. Going on Jerry Springer with the other incestuous foot-fetishists is a way of saying, "Now do you get it?" Gays especially are made uncomfortable by unanalytical people and often confess to them for reasons unrelated to braggadocio. They may simply be tired of waiting for the truth to sink in, or they may find it necessary to clear things up when a determined tabula rasa mistakes them for extras from Deliverance. Gays prefer heterosexuals who are worldly, raffish, nonconformist, and eccentric, not out of snobbery or decadence but because these types never meet a thought they cannot entertain—royally. The worst damage inflicted by our fear of stereotyping is in the arts. A creative artist "just knows" things. When this river flows unimpeded the result is a Shakespeare, but when it's dammed up we get the eighth wonder of the American global village, the nonjudgmental novelist. They're a lot like politicians. Afraid to exclude, they throw in so many characters that they end up with the big tent of Republican dreams. Afraid to differentiate, they make everybody talk alike. Afraid to dominate, they refuse to plot. Afraid to instruct, they dumb down their language. And afraid to think, they display the insight of Scarlett O'Hara.