Status Quo
Written October 16, 2004

If there’s one thing that I’ve learnt from my liberal arts education, it’s that English people are bad. English people who also happen to be white, upper-middle class, heterosexual males are evil incarnate; slathering servants of the empire who travel the globe, spreading a cloak of dark oppression wherever they go. I didn’t think that I was evil until I came to Wilfrid Laurier – now I know better.

You see, I am what is known as the Status Quo. I am apparently “the man”, the bourgeoisie fatcat, the straightline breeder and the inherent misogynist. I am socially faceless, the unfortunate standard by which others are categorized, systematically criticized and inevitably judged as an inferior Other by the governing board of English Whitey Manly-Men Who Aren’t Poor. I am, regardless of my will, the prescribed Norm. Rumours have it that I just might eat babies, barbequing them to perfection in a tasty A-1 steak sauce.

I’m not quite sure how this happened. I used to be just Chris, plain and simple, once upon a time when I was still innocent. I wasn’t devouring infants or oppressing indigenous peoples with the biting whip of British imperialism. I didn’t harvest the organs of the homeless, bash homosexuals with rakes or order random women to get in the kitchen and make me a sandwich. From what I remember, I mostly played Mario Brothers 3 and worked at the YMCA.

My oblivious Eden of giganticizing mushrooms and flying raccoons was abruptly and unceremoniously drowned by a flood of social criticism within months of arriving at university. The English, I was solemnly told, are responsible for the wanton destruction and theft of many unique and beautiful cultures across the globe. Postcolonialism. Males conspire to hold women in an inferior position. Gender theory. And so on and so forth, until it began to dawn on me that I, personally, was a member of every single oppressive social category in modern society.

Well shit, I thought, as soon as the gravity of my situation had sunk in. Maybe I should just wear a Darth Vader cape and helmet around the school, attempting to Force-choke anyone who looks poor (no Abercrombie & Fitch) or female (three-quarters of the campus). Maybe I should take the complete opposite route and beg prostrate forgiveness from everyone in the Concourse for the sins of my demographic. I was at a very unpleasant crossroads of understanding. It’s not easy learning that you’re the devil.

I write about this now because I am, in part, still at these crossroads. I am still – and will probably always be – the Status Quo. Just as those of Native descent feel indignant when they learn about the abuse of their ancestors, I feel shame at the manipulative nature of mine. Injustice pains me, and when I am unwittingly placed in direct opposition to the betrodden, that pain becomes a very complex beast indeed.

Still, with knowledge comes wisdom. I have since realized that absorbing the burdens of a headstrong and close-minded lineage is as stupid as this fad of hideous pink golf shirts on fashion-sensitive males. Just like pink shirts, accepting personal blame is unnecessary and detrimental. I am no saint, but I am also no Vader.

The reconciliation process continues, however. I can only hope to learn from the past, to draw lessons in equality and understanding from these theorists who constantly assail me. It’s a relatively discomforting feeling to be evil by proxy, but some might say that it’s only fair. These are the tribulations of an educated world. These are the laments of the Status Quo.

This column was somewhat based on my second year Postcolonialism class that I took with the most-excellent prof Michelle Kramer. My final response paper in the class was somewhat similar to what appears above, albeit without any swearing or humour.

I wonder if anyone else has written about the psychological repercussions of all this theory on someone who has no oppressive regime to rage against except their own.