No offence, but you’re hysterical!

My mate was sat in a café in Hanoi the other day, reading a book, slurping coffee in that annoying way that only a man on holiday can manage and periodically surveying the scene. He’s an artist (the oil on canvass kind, as opposed to the fashioning vomit into semi-recognisable body parts and labelling it something like ‘Freud’s First Dream’ kind), a teacher and a thoroughly decent human being.

Anyway, there he is, clad in a Napalm Death t-shirt and shorts, when an, at first tentative but increasingly confident address arrowed its way into his lug-hole.

‘Excuse me, that’s not very nice, is it?’

‘I’m sorry, what?’

‘Round here, ya know? They died and that.’

‘Sorry, can you explain to me what you’re talking about?’

‘Your t-shirt. Napalm Death. That’s what the Americans used to kill the Vietnamese with.’

‘Yes, I know they used napalm. This is a metal band from England though.’

‘But it’s, er, insence, no, I mean, it’s incessan…it’s rude!

You should cover it up.’

‘Are you suggesting that I advocate the use of napalm, or condone the actions of the Americans during the conflict?’

‘I just think that they don’t deserve to be reminded, that’s all.’

‘Actually, they’re quite proud of the fact that they won and have built museums gloating over their victory. Most of them aren’t able to read it, but even if they did, I’m sure that they wouldn’t take it personally, or worse, beat me up. Well done for being so concerned though.’

How long did it take her to pluck up the courage to say something, I wonder?

She no doubt hesitated, flapped her silly gob open several times without omitting any sound, before finally succumbing to her righteous indignation, and more specifically, her chance to experience the tingly, warm feelings of superiority in her stomach.

She was compelled, not so much out of a genuine desire to protect the local people from painful memories, but from a deep seated drive to feel good about herself.

Unfortunately, this overly simplistic and misguided moral stance has become de rigeur in many quarters.

Luckily, my friend wasn’t outnumbered in the aforementioned story. It was one-on-one, and his calmer demeanor and wider knowledge managed to fend off her gently vitriolic attack.

To be fair, I’m sure he enjoyed not relenting to her plebeian request as much as she enjoyed attempting to school him.

I don’t want to sound like a snob here; the young lady is a product of her environment and is prone to the warped policies of the British government. She’s been bullied, like we all have to some extent, into thinking a certain way.

I guess her heart was in the right place, but her basic instincts took over. The culture in which she grew up in has pumped up her outrage glands whilst simultaneously deflating her ability to be circumspect.

Like most issues, this one is nuanced. It’s not black and white; there are shades of grey. But shades of grey take time to discuss, and these days who’s got the time? Much easier to label someone or something ‘appalling’ and swiftly move on to another issue. It’s akin to a game-show challenge:

“OK Steve, so far, so good. We’re all really proud of you. There’s your wife Jane. Ohh, she looks nervous!

Steve, I want you to listen carefully now; in order to win the car, you’ve got one last hurdle to overcome:

First, you must dash over there and throw hot tea in the face of an alleged pedophile. Next you have to pop a big balloon near the ears of a bloke who wore a Napalm Death t-shirt in Hanoi last year, before sprinting over to the rifle range in order to pump live ammunition into a man who once failed to agree with an obese, mole-covered woman who insisted that she was beautiful and that he ‘couldn’t handle all of this.’”

People seem like racing cars in the red: there’s no room left for outrage.

The merest glimpse of the headline in the Daily Mail will surely make their heads explode, like that scene in Scanners.

But there are plenty of things to get genuinely angry about in this world: the plight of persecuted, voiceless people, Coldplay’s continued success and the fact that Bono avoids paying tax in the same way as porky people avoid consuming vegetables.

Next time you see something that initially offends you, consider whether there is a better way to make yourself feel better rather than attempting to make someone else feel bad.

Why not calmly mull over the fact that the vast majority of people don’t think that dropping fire-bombs on innocent people is a hilarious wheeze.

As Alan Hansen has frequently pointed out, you’ve got to play the percentages.

Bill is an English chap and has been living and teaching in East Asia for 5 years. He used to like people but now finds them rather tedious.

View all articles by Bill Morris

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