I would like to be Charlie

David Brooks wrote up a thoughtful column on issues surrounding Charlie Hebdo. His title is a reversal of the popular symbol of solidarity.

His piece is titled “I am Not Charlie Hebdo,” and it opens by pointing out that many places in America would shut down a magazine like Charlie Hebdo – he specifically calls out college campuses. Campuses like the one where I work and study.

Brooks’ title and introduction, I think, are more provocative than the rest of the piece, which goes on to demonstrate the delicate balance we must observe to maintain the vital role of satirists.

But that introduction did hit home for me.

I work with people who, as Brooks puts it, “would have accused [Charlie Hebdo] of hate speech.”

Working in a university environment, I’ve become a person who is quick to empathize with a small group deeply offended by something I would otherwise judge to be harmless thanks to my white bread Midwestern upbringing.

I like having that level of empathy, but I often find myself privately rolling my eyes as I defend the righteous indignation of yet another person who has found yet another reason to be offended.

It does get to be a bit much.

We’re upset about pop songs. We’re upset about Obama making fun of Art History degrees. We’re upset because our university invited an alumnus who we disagree with politically. We’re upset about Weird Al poking fun at bad grammar.

We get upset a lot on college campuses.

Each of those cases I just listed is a real example I’ve encountered, and in each case I simultaneously get it and find it absurd.

And I think Brooks’ column deals with that conflict effectively, especially here: 

Most of us do try to show a modicum of respect for people of different creeds and faiths. We do try to open conversations with listening rather than insult.

Yet, at the same time, most of us know that provocateurs and other outlandish figures serve useful public roles. Satirists and ridiculers expose our weakness and vanity when we are feeling proud. They puncture the self-puffery of the successful. They level social inequality by bringing the mighty low. When they are effective they help us address our foibles communally, since laughter is one of the ultimate bonding experiences.

And I am a firm believer in bringing the mighty low for a laugh – a thing I think folks on college campuses could work on. I am often frustrated by a humorless assertion that grad students and professors speak with the underprivileged. Sure, the best of us might speak for the underprivileged, but if you’re up for an advanced degree or working on tenure at an American university, then you enjoy privilege on a scale that few in the world can comprehend.  

And if pointing that out makes people uncomfortable or offends, well, all the better.

That makes me think of the work of a different Brooks. I remember watching Blazing Saddles and not knowing how to react to the word nigger. I was too young to see that Brooks was exposing how

firmly racism was entrenched in the Western genre. So I just uncomfortably waited for the fart jokes. But now that I get what that is all about, the entire movie is changed… well, except the fart jokes. The fart jokes retain the same value they had when I was a teenager.

But there is no question, that discomfort and the fart jokes make for biting social commentary you can watch with your racist uncle. And that’s no small thing.

I think David Brooks nails this when he writes:

In short, in thinking about provocateurs and insulters, we want to maintain standards of civility and respect while at the same time allowing room for those creative and challenging folks who are uninhibited by good manners and taste.

So, here’s to bad manners and poor taste. May they always have a seat at the table – even if it is the kids table.