Thursday, October 3, 1991
The crossfire of ignorance
by Andrew Festa
During a heated debate,
my dad made a rather valid
point. The heart of that point
was "rights are not
absolutes."
With rights being tossed
around like a hacky-sack
among drunks, I decided to
create some characters with
whom I could present both
sides.
Mr. Shoriz Big: "1 want
the right to smoke anything I
want, any time I choose, and
any place I desire. I shouldn't
have to freeze my butt off in
the the middle of a snow
storm."
Mrs. Sheez Big: "But what
about me? Don't I have the
right to breathe fresh air?"
Mr. Big: "Sure, babe. Just
go in the other room if ya
don't wanna smell the
smoke."
Mrs. Big: "Read my lips, -
---head."
Mrs. Raiza Flippin: "It's
my body, bub. If I wanna
have an abortion, I should
have that right."
Mr. Izza Flippin: "Don't I
have a say in this? I should
have some input. It's my kid
too."
The Unborn Flippin:
"Hey! Waita minute, folks!
Don't blow smoke -- just get even
by Mike Royko
I rode a cab the other day that
had a hand-drawn sign on the
dashboard that said, "No
Smoking."
Although I smoke, complying
with the sign wasn't a problem.
I'm not the kind of smoker who
makes a fuss about being
deprived. If somebody doesn't
want me to smoke in his
presence, I don't. As nonsmokers
everywhere are angrily saying,
why should they be subjected to
somebody else's smoke?
After we had gone about a
block, I said, "Will you please
turn off the noise?"
The cabdriver, a shaggy-haired
man in his 30s, looked in his
mirror and said, "The what?"
"The noise."
"You mean my radio?"
"Yes, the radio."
"What's wrong with it?" he
said.
"It's giving me a headache.
The music is bad and there's
static. You ever hear of the
problem of noise pollution?
That's noise pollution."
He shook his head and turned
it down.
"I can still hear it," I said
"You want a different station?
Some other kind of music?"
"No. I hate music. I haven't
liked any music since Spike
Jones' band."
He shook his head again but
First, I'm not an IT. Second,
what about my rights?"
Mr. and Mrs. Flippin:
"Shaddap, kid. Ya ain't livin
yet."
Mr. Gotta Deal: "I should
be able to say what I want,
whenever I want. If I see a
cute babe, I should be able to
tell her what I'm thinking; it's
freedom of speech. And, if I
say something to my
secretary, that's OK; she
works for me anyhow."
Mrs. Hadda Deal: "You
do, and I'll use my rights to
file for a divorce--babe."
The Deal's daughter: "It's
not babe, pop. Me and Mom
are ladies or women, not
chicks, babes, or any of those
other politically incorrect
labels you like to use so
often."
Is there something wrong
with this picture? What ever
happened to caring about
others? This is too much like
a "goose the world, I wanna
get off' attitude.
The Unborn Flippin: "Just
let me out, I'll show ya. I'll
protect my rights and then,
I'll shaft all of ya!"
At one time, there was a
fear that computers would
alienate people from one
another. That fear has not
been borne out. Instead, we
snapped the radio off. We rode in
silence for less than a minute,
when he said:
"You know, it's a funny thing
about music. Some people, they
like..."
I interrupted. "Say, no offense
meant, but do you mind if we
don't talk?"
"You don't want me to talk?"
he said, sounding incredulous.
"Right."
"All right," he said, obviously
offended. "Then I won't talk."
He probably thought I was
rude or worse. Maybe you do,
too. And maybe I sounded that
way.
But just as he didn't want to
be exposed to my smoke, why
should I be exposed to his lousy
taste in music, his radio's static
and the sound of his voice?
Now, I have to admit that if
the no•smoking sign hadn't been
there, I might have felt
differently. I would have opened
the window a couple of inches so
the smoke could escape, had a
cigarette and listened to his music
or his views on life.
But it's now my policy to
meet intolerance with intolerance.
I don't know if that's fair, but
when it's over, I feel better.
It began a while ago with one
of two women at the next table
in a restaurant. She was my first
exposure to the antismoking
crusaders.
I was having dinner with a
The Collegian
are becoming remote simply
because of our own
selfishness.
Mr. Yu Who: "I want the
right to do this or that or the
other, and I don't want
anyone else's ideas to get in
my way."
Miss Lotsa Cares: "You're
just a male chauvinistic gas
release."
Mr. Yu Who: "And you're
just a feminist multiple
fornicator!"
Miss Lotsa Cares: "Oh
yeah?"
Reality Check-Anyway
"FREEZE FRAME!"
Everyone is so concerned
with their RIGHTS, no one's
examining the consequences.
The headlines are filled these
pal. We hadn't even ordered when
she turned toward me and said
very firmly, "I'd appreciate it if
you didn't smoke."
Before I could do anything but
look surprised, she launched a
California-style lecture.
"Respecting rights of
others...menace to the
environment...intruding on my
space..."
Before she was finished, I had
squashed my cigarette and said,
"OK, OK."
Because I'm a fair person, I
could see her point. A little of
my smoke might have drifted in
her direction, although the place
seemed well ventilated. About
half way through the meal, I
turned to her and said, "Excuse
me, but could I tell you
something?"
"Yes?" she said, glaring at me
days with cries for protection
of rights. Seldom discussed,
however, are the effects those
protections produce.
If a smoker smokes
indoors, others suffer, if they
are shoved outside, as they
are, they suffer. Big deal, say
the non-smokers, at least our
rights are protected.
If an abortion is
performed, fetuses suffer, but
if abortions are made illegal,
women suffer. If people are
censored by the PC "hit
squad," they suffer
restrictions on their freedom
of speech; but full freedom of
speech would have casualties
as well. One person's rights
protected can prove to be
another's pains.
How do we deal with all
the rights of Political
Correctness versus its
antithesis?
Heck, ya got me on that
one.
In a world where
everything must be put into a
finite model (good-bad,
beautiful-ugly, right-wrong),
it's hard not to view the
extremes.
Because we don't debate,
rather tending to argue, we
push ourselves or others into
opposing corners. No one
wants to be the first to make
in anticipation of the request she
knew would come: Could I have
just one cigarette?
But I fooled her. I didn't
mention smoking at all. I just
said: "I really don't care about
your neighbor's medical
problems. Or your job. Or your
vacation plans. Would you lower
your voices so your conversation
doesn't intrude on my space?"
She knew exactly what I was
up to. She gave me a look of
contempt and said: "Really. The
tables here are so close together
that we'd have to whisper."
"Try." I said. "I'd appreciate
it."
But they didn't. She said,
loudly and clearly: "Oh, he just
thinks he's being clever. Oh, he's
so" -- and she dragged the word
out -- "so clevvverrr." And they
went on talking just as loudly.
That was it. War. I attacked
on two fronts.
First, I told my friend a dirty
joke. No, it wasn't dirty, it was
filthy. It had no swearing or
gutter language. But a really
good, filthy joke is even filthier
if told in clinical terms.
Then I told another. And their
nostrils quivered and they ate
faster.
It seemed only fair. If I had to
hear about their neighbor's
intestinal malfunctions, why
shouldn't they hear my filthy
jokes?
When I told the jokes, I took
Page
concessions. Few want to
admit the existence of a
middle ground, but it's there,
waiting in the cross-fire of
our ignorances.
America, for the most part,
is divided into two main
camps: those who want to
protect rights, each person
with his or her own motive
and with little regard to the
consequences; and those at
the other end, the apathetic
corner where efforts are not
made nor energies spent.
One group looks at the
issues and says, "We need to
make changes so rights are
protected." The other group
is too busy sucking down
yogurt or watching the
butterflies whiz by.
One should not be
insistent on smacking a ball
with full force without
considering where that ball
might go, who it might hit, or
the resulting damages. But
then, where would the fun be
in playing the game?
Someone: "Big flippin
deal."
Someone else: "Who cares
anyway?"
Andrew Festa is a ninth
semester English major. His
column appears every other
week in The Collegian.
out my cigarettes and lighter and
put them on the edge of the table.
When my last bite was gone,
and the coffee cups filled, I picked
up the cigarette package and sort
of fondled it. I could see them
watching.
Then I slowly slid out a
cigarette and tapped it on the
table. And tapped and tapped it.
Then I put it between my lips.
She was not only watching, she
was starting to look homicidal.
I just kept it there for a
minute. I took it out while I said
something. Then napped it some
more.
I picked up the lighter. But I
just held lighter and cigarette in
my hand, as if distracted by
conversation.
Finally, I snapped the lighter
a couple of times. She snapped
under the pressure.
"Waiter," she said. "Check."
And they hadn't even had
coffee and dessert
As they rose, she glared at me
and said, "Do you know what
you are?"
I smiled, put down the unlit
cigarette and said: "Thanks to
you, much healthier."
So, you see, we can all coexist,
if we just try.
Mike Royko is a Chicago
based, nationally syndicated
columnist. His column appears
weekly in The Collegian.