How Many Fingers Am I Holding Up?

Asked Mr. Orwell’s Thought Policeman, holding up four fingers.

“Four.” Winston Smith said.

“No Winston. Five. Now, how many fingers am I holding up?” Holding up the same four fingers.

“Four.” Winston said, a little confused.

The Thought Police knew what terrified Winston: rats. He put Winston’s head in a cage and put rates in it. They like to start with the eyes. Winston, freaking, finally says “Five.” But that’s not good enough to get the rats away. It wasn’t enough to agree that four was five. He had to actually believe it was so. The next time Winston said ‘Five” he did believe it. The Thought Policeman removed the rats….

Political Correctness is the triumph of politics over truth.

It’s the victory of the Thought Police over the free. It’s how assassins get in. It’s how ghettos survive. It’s how we lie to each other in approved, polite ways. It’s how the poor stay poor. It’s how we put up with what’s fucked up. It’s how we get along with what’s wrong.

It’s here. It grows. It has grown so much it’s hard to see it; pervasive as Kudzu. It is how this Republic will die.

The only thing that triumphs over truth is fear, if you let it.

How do you stop it? Extirpate it? Make certain it doesn’t grow back?

It takes courage.

Got any?

When we asked the Constitution about political correctness how many fingers did it hold up?

Just the one.

The Job 10.8.16