The echo chambers of Facebook, Twitter and YouTube have been rife with narratives that both challenge and galvanise the question of political correctness. If there has ever been a period of history defined by this distinctively social question, it is surely the 21st century; a point in the trajectory of civilisation tightly woven together by the firm stitches of technology, postmodernism, internationalisation, globalisation and freedom of speech. Indeed, much of the contention we are witnessing in the realm of the politically correct can be allied with the expansive, ubiquitous phenomenon of social media and interconnectedness on a global scale, the likes of which we have never previously experienced. The inevitable catalyst that this has become for participation in global dialogue has necessarily posed multifarious questions on the fundamentals of free speech, cultural diversity, ethnic sensitivities and perhaps most pertinently, religious plurality.
Everyone has an opinion to voice nowadays, and with the accelerated, perpetual spread of information technology, it seems that unprecedented numbers of us can voice this opinion. The interesting dynamic that this trend has facilitated is complex, to say the least; in some respects, the ability and opportunity to voice our thoughts, feelings and opinions has become widely emblematic of the modern dialectic, yet we have also seen the threat to freedom of speech and pluralistic dialogue growing hand in hand with the felicitous symptoms of technology. The relationship is in fact rather paradoxical; pluralism and opportunity of debate have become bastions of 21st century democratic inclusion, however, this has only given rise to increased divide and concerns over offending one another. What are we allowed to say and what are we not allowed to say?
The central organisms of importance - judging by the recurring themes that reverberate around internet sites, newspapers and mobile apps - are gender issues, race, religion, nationality, class and sexuality. The first of these is distinctly modern in terms of its reception, popularity and circulation; the emergence of that now frequently employed term ‘non-binary’ when broaching the gender debate has symbolised the foundations of a contemporary dialogue that would have been scarcely imaginable or possible 60 years ago. The need or desire to transcend the biological dichotomies of male and female has manifested itself in a completely new language, the coinage of which has responded to newly-expressed concerns over traditional circumscriptions of male and female, man and woman. Many of us would agree that the individual has sovereignty over her mind and body, and should thus logically have the liberty to identify how he/she wishes. Indeed, much of this libertarian cultural vein can be traced to de jure provisions in the Human Rights Act 1998 and the ECHR. However, to what point do we extend the logic of the trend? Must we all now refer to those identifying as non-binary in terms of ‘they’, ‘them’ and ‘their’ (grammatically contentious as this is)? Is it now standard political correctness to alter our own use of speech to accommodate for someone else’s perception of themselves in terms of gender?
These are, of course, simultaneously complex and controversial questions. On the one hand, you have the hard-lined sceptics and cynics who hold the champions of the non-binary label in deep disdain, disapproving firstly of their desire to tear apart gender binaries that have defined what is – to them at least – the fundamental cornerstones of a functional society. On the other hand, you have the pluralist, open-minded liberals who are happy to respect whatever gender identification an individual choose to shape themselves around. Again, there is a deeply paradoxical dynamic here; the more one proposes a pluralist view of gender identity and social construction, the more they risk being confronted by contrary opinions.
Issues of race, religion and ethnicity - unlike the highly contested modern emergence of non-binary gender categories - have been at the forefront of social dialogue for decades now. For many years, questions of nationality and citizenship have compelled scholars and politicians to frame this dialectic at the heart of their debates. As multiculturalism, migration and internationalism have become the essential symptoms of wide-scale globalisation, the politics of race, religion and ethnicity have become more pressing than ever before. The historiography of race has risen to the surface of the dialogue when thinking about ethnocentric perspectives and perceptions of minority ethnics. Many of us will have read the recent Guardian piece on Christopher Nolan’s Dunkirk, critiquing the lack of ethnic minority actors playing the roles of the soldiers, framing it as deeply problematic in terms of racial equality and representation. The article builds on a well-established modern dialogue surrounding eurocentrism, one that has become particularly rife amongst university curriculum debates and student politics at institutions like the London School of Economics.
Once again, opinion is deeply divided over the legitimacy and credibility of such a critique; some argue that a film should be able to be produced and publicized without it coming under rapid fire from politically correct spectators and the so-called ‘liberal elite’, whilst others argue that a film of such scope is inextricably linked to the trajectory of British imperialism in the context of factual evidence of minority ethnic fighters during such battles as Dunkirk. It is perfectly acceptable to ask that a film be made for purely artistic and entertainment purposes without it coming under the watchful eyes of p.c. liberalism; yet it is also perfectly acceptable to ask that the depiction of a historical event of such importance is at least accurate from a racial standpoint.
The constantly evolving narrative of religion attracts equal attention; as is the case with a majority of contemporary contested arguments, the breeding ground of controversy tends to be Facebook. Constant surveillance of oneself and others concerning the generalizations we make about religion, especially in the case of Islam, is something that has become solidified in our social media psyches. Unsurprisingly, the debate is stubbornly split between left and right, traditionalists and pluralists; many of us would now avoid critiquing Islam at all given the fear that has materialized from such recent tragedies. Where one does decide to air their thoughts, it is overwhelmingly done in a censored manner, revealing only partially what one believes to be the case. Tip-toeing around the issue for fear of offending or flouting the status quo has become symbolic of political correctness spreading underneath the roots of debate, like a long-lasting sedative neutralizing and mitigating against the risk of offence. Perhaps amongst all the myriad debates that attract controversy and contention, religion is the most obvious; it has become evident – not least from the aftermath of such incidents as the Charlie Hebdo attacks in Paris – that freedom of speech is by no means a given.
The danger of allowing political correctness to extend to extremes has been regularly raised on university campuses; the crucial need for an open debate where freedom of speech is paramount and a multitude of voices can be heard is fundamental to understanding the roots of an issue and encouraging a solution. Where political correctness imposes fetters on freedom of expression and the right to voice one’s disagreements, it risks becoming a stifling toxic that gives rise to a sociocultural regression towards censorship, coercion and muted debate. As is the case with the subjective sphere of human affairs and sociality, the prevailing modus operandi should be one of common sense and balance; let us continue to promote openness, sensitivity, respect and pluralism, but let us simultaneously allow for the unpopular and the dissenting to voice their views without coming under attack from the fixated glare of political correctness gone mad.