The pathetic case of the poor Princeton freshman with the problematic regional accent

Princeton UniversityLet me begin by saying that, whatever Princeton once was, it isn’t any longer. Any university that has both the execrable Paul Krugman and and the even more execrable Peter Singer on its roster has long ago parted ways with decency, intelligence, and data. Should we be surprised, then, when its admissions process, aided by its  — ahem — “education” process, results in people like Newby Parton, a Princeton freshman who shot to unexpected fame by complaining that he’s the victim of microagression because he pronounces “wh” as “hw”?

Parton’s article, which appears in the Daily Princetonian, is either a pitch-perfect satire of every Leftist attempt to claim victimhood, or it is an honest piece that represents the nadir of higher education in America. Either way, this is what you need to know about: Parton introduces himself as a young man who comes from a small region in America that still pronounces “wh” the old-fashioned way, as “hw.”

I actually found Parton’s discussion about this regionalism an interesting bit of linguistic history, one that could, in a sane world, have led to a light-hearted an educational look at lingering speech differences across America despite television’s homogenizing influence. Parton, though, had bigger things on his mind.

You see, poor Parton is picked on:

There is a town in that band that I call home, so I say my “wh”-words in the traditional way. I never thought twice about it before coming to New Jersey. Here, my peers make a spectacle of it. “Say Cool Whip,” they’ll tell me, in reference to the Family Guy gag in which one character pokes fun at another for his /hw/ pronunciations. I’ll say “Cool Whip.” They’ll repeat it back to me with exaggerated emphasis on the /h/. I’ve been pulled into this conversation several times now, and each time I grow a bit more self-conscious. Very few people like to have their speech mocked.

Poor Parton knew what was happening to him.  He had become a victim of microaggression.  

Micro aggression, you ask? Here’s the story: Having successfully used political correctness to stifle all overt speech that disagrees with Leftist precepts, Lefties have had to go to the next level, which is to argue that unstated anti-Leftist premises still linger in American speech and these too must be stifled.   (Daniel Hannan provides a helpful updated dictionary for those struggling to avoid microaggression in their own speech.)

Growing up, I was constantly picked on about my speech patterns, which were (and still are) a confusing amalgam of American, San Francisco, Jewish, and vaguely European.  I countered by teasing my own friends, all of whom brought an Asian touch to their English.  We all thought it was funny.  Parton, as I said, gets what was (and is) really going on when people get teased about regionalisms or other speech variations.  It’s hate.  Hate pure and simple:

A friend of mine whom I quite like had put me through the “Cool Whip” routine, so I waited awhile and texted her this: “Making fun of regional speech is a microaggression.”

But don’t cry for Parton, please. His indocrination, er education has taught him that, although he’s clearly a victim of hatred, he’s so privileged he has no right to complain.  Apparently the 21st century white man’s burden is that you’re not allowed to whine when your friends tease you:

[T]is is not very important to me. I am a male and I am white, so I get less than my fair share of discrimination. I am ashamed to say that I have complained when I have had such fortune, but I must confess that I did.

Moreover, Parton celebrates the fact that his intense emotional anguish nevertheless serves as a teaching opportunity (or do I mean a learning opportunity?) for young Parton and one, moreover, that allows him to abase himself completely before those Lefties whose cool victimhood he wishes he could emulate:

She [the friend to whom he complained] really did not understand that she had caused any offense, even after I had plainly told her so. That is fine with me, and I don’t blame her one bit. If I were her, I am afraid I would not have understood either.

I mean it when I say I am afraid. I am afraid that I have spent eighteen years not understanding when I have said something offensive. I am afraid that I have unwittingly hurt the feelings of people so accustomed to microaggression that they did not bother to speak up. I am afraid that I would not have taken those people seriously if they had made a stand. And I am afraid I will do it all again. I am afraid because microaggressions aren’t harmless — there’s research to show that they cause anxiety and binge drinking among the minority students who are targeted.

I’m sure you know that expression, “Pardon me, but I just spit up a little in my mouth.”  I find that weak.  For things such as Parton’s pathos, I really feel like going the full vomit.

Keep in mind that Parton is one of the few and the proud who makes it into America’s Ivy Leagues. After all, these universities, deservedly or not, get to troll amongst the top, top graduates of American high schools — and Parton is what they picked. Not only did the admissions office see promise in the boy, the student newspaper quite obviously felt that Parton had something worthwhile to say.  (Or alternatively, the editors hate him and saw this as the perfect opportunity to hold him up to nationwide opprobrium.)

A friend of mine, who was trained in a harsher school of life than the emotionally fragile Parton, summed up nicely what I would have said in a dozen bloviating paragraphs:

Especially like the fact he is a freshman. Self-flagellating, mewling worms with zero life experience need to stop their micro-aggressive assault on my senses. Only sissies deal in so called micro aggression. When I do it, it’s on purpose and there’s nothing micro about it. As I went to bed last night it dawned on me that our popular culture has so glamorized victimization that this poor sap had to dig deep to manufacture a way for him to be in the club with the cool kids. He has to blame someone. That would be as opposed to seeking responsibility

Yeah! What my friend said.

(Oh, and while I’m on the subject of personal responsibility, here’s a different take, and one with which I wholeheartedly agree.)

Too often the world’s “elite” aren’t as special as they think they are

Clark RockefellerWhile I was waiting for my smog check yesterday, I whiled away the time listening to an NPR interview with Walter Kirn, a novelist, journalist (writing frequently for the usual suspects:  New York Times, New Yorker, New Republic, Atlantic, etc.), and Princeton grad.  He most recently wrote, Blood Will Out: The True Story of a Murder, a Mystery, and a Masquerade, a book about his friendship with, Christian Karl Gerhartsreiter, a con artist and murderer.  Kirn did not befriend Gerhartsreiter because the latter was a murderer and a con artist.  Instead, Kirn was one of Gerhartsreiter’s victims, believing that the con man was Clark Rockefeller, a wealthy, eccentric member of the Rockefeller clan.

Listening to the interview, it seemed to me that Kirn had two goals when he wrote the book.  One, of course, was to tell a fascinating story.  The other, however, was to confess his shame at being so grossly misled, and to offer something by way of an explanation for his credulity.  And oh my!  Was he credulous:

On how Rockefeller manipulated people

Here is the secret of a master manipulator and liar: They leave lots of blanks for you to fill in. For example, when he was living in San Marino and pretending to be a British aristocrat — and this came out of the trial — he told one young woman, “Oh, you know, I have an aunt in England, her name is Elizabeth.” Then at another point he said, “I have to go visit my family in Windsor.” This person thought, “Oh my lord, he’s related to the queen! The queen is named Elizabeth and she lives in Windsor.”

He was always doing that. He was always dropping breadcrumbs because he knew that if you put the story together in your own mind you’d be more convinced by it than if he told you the whole story …

When I first met him, he took me out to a very fancy dinner atop a skyscraper in Midtown Manhattan. We looked down on Rockefeller Center. At one point he said, “Let’s go take a private tour of it, I have the key in my pocket.” … I think I said “Oh, sure,” but … he said it in a way that’s like how people say, “You must come and stay at my house for a week.” And you say, “I’d love to,” but you don’t ever take them up on it? He’s making a social gesture here, but do I really want to go through the sub-basements of Rockefeller Center with this character at 10 o’clock at night? He made a lot of offers he knew you wouldn’t accept.

On his elaborate lies, including that he was a freelance central banker for Thailand

He said he had a model on his computer that allowed him to set the money supply and interest rates for these third-world countries because they couldn’t afford their own Alan Greenspans.

It didn’t make sense, but then again I didn’t have time to go into it. He had another stunner already in the chamber. I think the next [lie] that he told me was that he could put the words of Gilligan’s Island to any tune that I could mention, then he told me that he had never eaten in a restaurant, then he told me that he had gone to Yale at 14. So the minute that I was trying to figure out one riddle, another one was presented. It stops the mind after a while.

I’m not saying I wouldn’t have been equally credulous.  Most of us assume that the people we’re dealing with are telling the truth.  If they imply that they’re a Rockefeller . . . well, it’s probably true.  And yes, the rich are different and, no, we don’t want to confess our ignorance when someone says he’s a “freelance central banker.”  That’s how cons work.  I’d like to say that Gerhartsreiter couldn’t have fooled me, but I’d be fooling both you and myself if I were to say that.

So the fascinating thing about Kirn isn’t that he was credulous; instead, it’s the reason he gives for his credulity:  he went to Princeton.  In the first 20 minutes of the interview, he mentions his Princeton background at least three times.  The most fascinating is when he says that having gone to Princeton, he knew fabulously wealthy, well-connected people, so he was fully aware of their behaviors.  That’s why, when Gerhartsreiter gives voice to bizarre conspiracy theories about the economic end of the world, that doesn’t set off alarms.  Really rich people are given to nutsy conspiracy theories, he says.

Indeed, as the interview drew to a close, admitted that Gerhartsreiter was a successful con artist because he fully understood the insular, self-referential, unquestioning world of America’s self-styled “elite”:

On how Rockefeller exploited the social contract

This book is a meditation to a large degree on the social contract and how so much of what people appear to be is based on what they say they are, or what other people say they are.

He’d go to a party at a yacht club, say, in Connecticut. Somehow he’d get to the party and no one would bar him at the door. He’d be dressed right; he’d tell people he was a Rockefeller; he’d make friends with them; he’d get in that club. And then he’d get reciprocity at other clubs because other clubs trusted that clubs like them had good members. And basically, through this series of references, he would expand his circle larger and larger and soon have access to everything. He was on the board of directors of one of the most exclusive private clubs in Boston. His name was on the wall…

An accent sounding kind of like Katharine Hepburn’s cousin … a monogrammed shirt and the right shoes will get you everywhere, apparently.

Funnily enough, just the other night I watched a 60 Minutes segment about the man who may be the most successful forger in history (and, interestingly, he, like Gerhartsreiter, is also German).  Wolfgang Beltracchi can copy any artist’s style.  But he’s an artist himself.  He wasn’t crude enough simply to copy famous artists’ paintings.  Instead, he painted entirely new paintings as he imagined that the original artist would have painted, if he had the opportunity.  He and his wife then faked provenances for the paintings (they had been hidden by  his wife’s family during the war), and these two talented scammers were off and running.

Beltracchi’s pictures now grace museums world wide, fill the pages of art books, and are in private homes everywhere.  Some of the forgeries haven’t been discovered; some will not be discovered because it would be too disruptive to out them for what they are.  The only experts left are the scientists, who can subject the paint used for historic anomalies.  All the hoity-toity, elitist, highly paid art experts have been rendered moot.  They now claim that they can spot forgeries but are scared to speak, but everyone must remember that they too fell for the scam.

Both of the above stories have a common thread:  Wealthy, entitled people being easily conned precisely because of all the biases that are inherent in their educations and lifestyles.  They are so certain of their superiority that it’s easy to manipulate those certainties.  One could argue that this precisely what Barack Obama did.  Indeed, looking back on the Obama con, it’s like the living version of that old movie Six Degrees of Separation:

Fifth Avenue socialite Ouisa Kittredge (Stockard Channing) and her art dealer husband Flan (Donald Sutherland), are parents of “two at Harvard and one at Groton“. But the narrow world inhabited by the Kittredges and their public status as people interested in the arts make them easy prey for Paul (Will Smith). Paul is a skilful con-artist, who mysteriously appears at their door one night – injured and bleeding – and claiming to be a close college friend of their Ivy League kids, as well as the son of Sidney Poitier. Ouisa and Flan are much impressed by Paul’s fine taste, keen wit, articulate literary expositions and surprising culinary skill. His appealing facade soon has the Kittredges putting him up, lending him money and taking satisfaction in his praise for their posh lifestyle. Paul’s scheme continues until he brings home a hustler, and his actual indigence is revealed. The shocked Kittredges kick him out when it is revealed that they are but the most recent victims of the duplicity with which Paul has charmed his way into many upper-crust homes along the Upper East Side. Paul’s schemes become highbrow legend – anecdotal accounts of which are bantered about at their cocktail parties. In the end, Paul has a profound effect on the many individuals who encounter him, linking them in their shared experience.

For people vulnerable to cons, these “elites” have also managed to run a very big con on the American people, the one that has too many Americans believing that, because they’ve got an Ivy League pedigree and a Katherine Hepburn accent, that they are smarter, wiser, or more decent than the guy who runs a valet service, the secretary at the insurance company, or the mechanic with his head buried under the hood of your car.

The New York Times touts a flawed study on ageism

I may have mentioned that just about the only news I have access to on this trip is the New York Times. I have Internet, but it’s so expensive that I write things offline (such as emails to family or posts to the blog) and then sign on just long enough to email or post. No leisurely online reading for me.

What the cruise ship does provide though is a six page leaflet that can be described as “the best of the day’s New York Times.” (Am I the only one who thinks that sounds like an oxymoron, with the emphasis on the “moron” part?).

In today’s “best of,” the New York Times reported on a Princeton sociology study that purported to show age discrimination. The deal was that three different actors representing three different age sets (young adult, middle aged, and old) were each given two identical scripts and videotaped performing those scripts. In half the scripts, the men compliantly said they’d share their wealth with relatives; in the other scripts, the three actors assertively said that they would not share their wealth.

The researchers than showed the various videos to 137 undergraduates (that is, there were six different videos of three different actors that were shown to 137 people under 22). At the end, the researchers proved to themselves that most of the people were neutral about the young and middle-aged men whether they were compliant or assertive, but didn’t like the old guy being assertive. The researchers’ conclusion, which they’ve bravely announced to the world is that ageism means nobody likes a mouthy old guy. Age discrimination is REAL.

My conclusion is that this research once again shows that there’s nothing scientific about either “social science” or university level psychology. Can you spot what’s wrong with the study? I can count a bunch of problems.

First, the study has too many variables. The study thinks that because the three actors spoke off of identical scripts, the only variable is age. In fact, the researchers completely discounted the fact that different people are more likable than others. The mere fact that they relied upon three actors, rather than putting aging makeup on one actor, means that the study doesn’t just have age variables. It also has personality variables. You only have to watch Laurence Olivier’s Hamlet and Kenneth Branaugh’s (spelling?) to realize that the same words make a very different impression depending on who speaks them.

Second, the sample is too small. As best I can tell without either a calculator or scratch paper (and based upon the NYT’s slightly muddled description of the study) an average of slightly more than 21 people saw each of the six videos. That means that the study reached its ageism conclusion based upon only twenty people’s opinions of the assertive old guy.

Finally, the study didn’t get the reactions of hundreds of people of varying ages. Instead, it was looking at UNDERGRADUATES. These are the same kids who, in the 1960 chanted “Never trust anybody over 30.” In other words, in a culture that a general matter doesn’t explicitly value age (unlike, say, traditional Asian cultures), this is a population that is very specifically predisposed to view old people somewhat negatively.

Ultimately, this study proves nothing about ageism in the workplace. All it proves is that, if you’re a 70 something guy in a roomful of 20-somethings, they’re probably not going to be your best buds. I could have told you that for free, without the need for an expensive Ivy League study.

I’m not claiming ageism doesn’t exist. For example, in a heavily computerized environment, it’s reasonable to believe that the old guy or gal who just can’t master the computer is going to be viewed negatively. I’m just saying that this stupid little study, boldly touted in a newspaper always looking for fresh victims in need of newly created government “rights,” is a testament to foolishness, credulity, and institutional bias, not to mention lousy science.