Idiotarians Abound
Vegard Valberg’s excellent MiSTing of a true blue idiotarian brought back fond memories of meeting a group of adolescent idiotarians a few years back. Not that I believe my encounter with them changed their minds, but if nothing else I showed them that they didn’t know as much as they thought they did.
This is a mostly true story – though one name has been changed to protect the innocent and some of the actual dialog has been compressed for brevity and ‘enhanced’ for clarity.
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My friends and I were out on our motorcycles on one of those spur of the moment “Hey let’s go riding!” kind of day trips. Not that we had any particular destination in mind, but chance brought us to the campus of Dartmouth College on that late summer Saturday afternoon.
The fall semester had started, so there was no lack of students walking here and there, doing whatever students do on a day off.
Our group of seven stopped not to far from the quad, parking our bikes in such a fashion as to minimize the number of parking spaces we’d take up. Kickstands were down, engines were silent, and a few of us, including me, pulled of our jackets to enjoy the warm sun.
It was a few moments later that I realized that a couple, looking like Dartmouth students, was looking our way, talking to each other and gesturing in our direction. It wasn’t until they started walking toward us that I realized that they had been looking at one particular person.
Me.
Their interest in me puzzled me until one of them approached and asked a question.
“Do you really believe what the slogan says?” asked the girl, pointing to my tee shirt.
Blazoned across the front of my tee was this rather provocative phrase:
“Politically incorrect, and right!”
Not that I had worn that particular shirt deliberately, but it was rather serendipitous.
“Darn tootin’,” I replied. “Do you have a problem with that?”
Her demeanor soured at that point.
“How can you believe that? How can you be so unfeeling?”
“Unfeeling? What makes you believe I’m unfeeling? You don’t even know me!”
It was at this point that she launched into her diatribe, telling me that other people have feelings and that I shouldn’t offend people with my uncaring attitude. She went on to imply that probably ate babies, tripped blind people, drowned kittens, and committed other horrifying acts just because I proclaimed my insensitivity by admitting that I was politically incorrect. How could I be allowed to continue offending all right-thinking people? I listened to this for three or four minutes, my friends looking on in amusement, knowing what was coming.
As she was taking a breath to continue her polemic discourse, I struck with a barb of my own.
“As I live and breathe, a real live fascist! Your parents must be so proud!”
It took her a second to realize what I had just said. She had trouble breathing, obviously confused about what to do. It was then that her boyfriend (at least I assumed he was) jumped in to the fray.
“Who are you calling a fascist, you pig!”
“Why this young lady right here! After all, she was espousing the fascist line. She wants to silence anyone who disagrees with her. She wants complete loyalty to a bankrupt and morally reprehensible ideology. I’d say that pretty well defines a fascist, wouldn’t you?”
The invective that followed would have made the proverbial longshoreman blush. The fellow recited a rather inaccurate lineage of my family (my parents are married), denigrated my education, my politics, my religion (how he knew I even had one I’ll never know), and my profession (ditto). In the mean time a group of other students had gathered around, drawn to the confrontation.
Then he made a big mistake.
He started going on about how Big Oil had wanted the Gulf War to get all of the Iraqi oil, how we had no business in the Persian Gulf, and that we had vilified Saddam Hussein to justify it. It was then that one of my friends with the group started yelling at this clueless fellow…in Arabic.
Ramzi was an Iraqi exile.
When he finally calmed down enough to start speaking English again, he cross-examined the clueless idiotarian.
“If America is so evil, let me ask you this: Has your family ever been dragged out of their home in the middle of the night by the police?”
No answer.
“Well, have they?” demanded Ramzi.
“Uh, no. What’s this got to do with anything?”
“It’s got everything to do with it! Now, has anyone in your family been imprisoned and tortured for standing up for their political beliefs?” Ramzi asked.
“Of course not!”
“Has anyone in your family ever been executed as an enemy of the state because they spoke out against their government and their leader?”
“Well…uh, no.”
“No? NO?! Then what right have you got to tell me or anyone else about how misunderstood Saddam is or how America is bad? You don’t know shit!” Ramzi turned away and went back to his bike.
It was then that the clueless one finally realized the mistake he’d made.
Ramzi had made it out of Iraq just ahead of the secret police. His father, mother, sister, and two brothers were all dead, executed by the Iraqi regime. Ramzi’s youngest brother had managed to get a warning to him before being arrested, allowing him to escape. The only family he had left was an elderly uncle and aunt in Boston. Everyone else was gone.
“Well, boy, I’d say you put your foot in it this time,” I said. “There’s a difference between the crap they shovel out here in the halls of academia and what happens out there in the real world. Once you get out there yourself, you’ll realize that everything isn’t so cut and dried. It’s easy, being nice and safe back here in the U.S., to be able to denounce everything you think is an injustice. It’s a different thing to be someplace where the things that you’re used to don’t exist. Little things like freedom of speech.”
It was at this point that we decided to get back on our motorcycles and continue on our way. We’d all had enough of the idiotarian indoctrinated know-nothings. It was time to hit the road and clear our minds.
It was time to re-enter the real world.