Larry Summer resigns as president of Harvard University.
I baited the hook and dropped it in the water. It was swallowed hook, line and sinker, rod and reel, up to the elbow, in a piranha-like feeding frenzy.
All I did was pen a bit of light extemporanea for this blog on the statistically demonstrable differences between the sexes when it comes to matters political. OK, I might’ve thrown a little chum in the water by flippantly suggesting the repeal of the 19th Amendment, the one granting suffrage to women. It was just a bit of free hyperbole.
The reaction was painfully predictable, swift and voluble. With a boarding house reach, umbrage was taken.
They bit on the Larry Summers lure.
Before Larry Summers was an adviser to the president, he was the president of Harvard University, until one day he committed a cardinal sin. He offered an off-the-cuff conjecture that the reason women might be underrepresented in math and science at elite universities just might be because there is an “innate” difference between men and women.
Whether there was even a grain of statistical, scientific or logical evidence to support such a statement was irrelevant. Also, never mind that during the same speech he promised to try to rectify this underrepresentation at Harvard. Never mind how he described attempting to be gender-neutral with his own daughter by giving her toy trucks to play with — though she named one “daddy truck” and another “baby truck.” Never mind that he said gender differences needed further study.
Summers spake heresy in the chapel of political correctness. There was no study needed. The learned academics of Harvard had read their inerrant bibles of political correctness and could quote the dogma chapter and verse. He was tarred, feathered and ridden out of town on rail. The Salem witch trials took longer and were more civilized. At least they put on a show of calling witnesses.
Thus it was when I went trolling with the tried-and-true, never-fail Larry Summers lure. I caught my limit. My stringer was full.
Just as I had anticipated, and in fact spelled out in a veiled reference in the second paragraph, my posting was judged by almost every commenter and e-mailer, not on any merits or demerits of facts in evidence or syllogism used, but on the basis of my age, race, creed, color, sex, sexual orientation, gender identity, national origin, religion, disability, weight, sartorial choices, facial hair, writing ability, mental capacity, sobriety, sanity, political leanings and perversity — the very appellations the politically correct find so jaw-droppingly offensive.
The level of rhetoric was, to be kind, bombastic. Several of the several dozen writers and one caller suggested various means by which I might be dispatched from this earthly plane, sooner rather than later.
Without once addressing the fundamental postulate that men and women are delightfully different, I was called an idiot, an (expletive deleted) moron, an ignorant redneck male chauvinist, a racist, a sexist, a narrow minded and crude douchebag, unsophisticated, ignorant, a flat earther, a fool, a Neanderthal and a misogynist.
You’d’ve thought I had drawn a cartoon of Muhammad the way the torches and pitchforks came out. They went from zero to high dudgeon in 2.5 seconds. And you thought the Tea Party crowd was growling mad?
For a bunch that claims to embrace the concept of diversity, they sure are quick to sling a load of identity epithets, such as the one by someone going by the name of marko: “Clearly Tom’s hat is too tight and squeezed what once may have passed as his brain out his nose to settle on his upper lip.” Diversity of thought is unacceptable if you don’t look like them? (You know, you can’t find wax for this anachronistic ’stache in the stores any more.)
Without a hint of irony, one person called for a 28th Amendment taking the suffrage from males, because, “Men are idiots and shouldn’t be allowed the privilege of selecting the town dog catcher, let alone an important office like US Senator.”
The only legitimate argument was that I’m not a good enough writer to attempt satire. Apparently.
Thanks for playing the game. Here is a lovely parting gift: a mirror. Hold it up. Take a look.
By the way, somebody thought it was funny: