On identifying as a schmuck.

Identity politics. Half the time I don’t know what’s meant by a term wielded like a Star Wars lightsabre.

I do, though, have a guesstimation that nowadays: a) some people feel better by being able to call themselves what they individually feel themselves to primarily be, and; b) some people feel worse cos they think that undermines us as a social whole. The two ‘some people’ don’t appear to like each other very much.

All of which seems a bit upside down to me cos the people in the first group tend to also think of themselves as ‘progressives’ and promote greater collectivism; the people in the second group tend to also think of themselves as ‘conservatives’ and promote greater individualism. It’s kinda upside down.

That’s no biggie cos my world is often upside down these days — and that’s not a comment on my geographic location in Australia. Rather, I regularly get knocked tits over ass by various modern dogmas and the self-righteous and censorious people who walk around with them on their ideological leads. I fail to understand stuff. I fail to fit in.

Example. Last week, I Tweeted out the ABC’s statement about the Porter legal outcome a few times to a couple of strings. Didn’t really look who was or wasn’t on the string cos it didn’t really matter. That’s it – just sharing the broadcaster’s own authorised text with no real commentary and no taking sides about whose right or wrong in that matter, as I ain’t no lawyer for one.

For that, I got directly called a misogynist, a troll, a bully, misleading and wrong. I was told I needed to look at my pattern of behaviour as other’s were noticing it!

I did. For two seconds. And then I decided it’s in my best interest to avoid contact with the (certainly) motivated, and (arguably) mean.

I’m not those things I’m accused of by a random. (Except wrong, which I am a lot of the time.) Nor am I a partisan of any single point of view. Hilariously, the political team I’ve barracked for and pledged allegiance to for 25 years currently reckons I’m not eligible to join a local branch (even though I used to be eligible to advise it’s Premiers).

So, they’ve kinda made it easier for me to just continue to be, well, me. To cling to my mast of values and trusted relationships in a swelling sea of cyber swill. To identify as I wish to.

And I identify as schmuck. A schmuck’s chips-on-the-shoulder is as big as bowling bowls, but that same attitude makes one good at calling bullshit especially on elite orthodoxies.

This particular schmuck is a product of a place and time called Briarwood, Queens, New York in the 60s, 70s and 80s.

So, here’s a few excerpts from The Code of the Schmuck.

Humility. The Mets are important. You are not. Also important are the Constitution, the Statue of Liberty, the Working Schmo doing a double shift to get you home on the subway, and the priest, imam or rabbi who wants you to appropriately behave. In the grand sweep of history and society and millions of previous actions and decisions, you, sweetheart, ain’t a blip on the radar. Your house looks like everybody’s house in Queens. Your education was the same as everybody’s give or take the number of your public school — mine was PS 117Q — and you actually really don’t know a pinch of shit. So suck it up and play your small part.

Open-mindedness. Live and let live, aka, who gives a fuck. You come from perhaps the most multicultural place on the planet. People from hundreds of places all trying to share the F train and sticky summer days at Rockaway. So, if you’re gonna survive and thrive, embrace the complexity and diversity of cultures, views, habits, appearances, lifestyle choices, orientations, you name it’s. If you show respect to others and to common and common-sense rules, you get respect. If you want to stand on difference all the time, you get run over by the bus. Queens invented tolerance and inclusion even though schmucks mostly laugh at words like that.

Loyalty. Stay friends with your friends forever. Remember those guys from Entourage? They did ‘pick and stick’ with each other, no matter their ambitions, ego’s or credit card color. They were schmucks from Queens. Remember about the world being complex? What keeps it simple and survivable are the people you are friends with and your family. They are real, tangible, flawed, and perfect; they are not a screen or a creed or a political promise. Count on them and they will count you in for the long haul of these fucked up trips around the sun. (In my case, I’m blessed with an ongoing, daily friendship with eight of the boys I went to 1st Grade with at PS117Q.)

Persistence. Shit happens. D’uh. Queens people come from awful places in history and geography. From genocides, from wars, from famines, from countless tragedy. They know just how bad humans can be to each other — and how lucky they are to have arrived at some better, more peaceful place. So, when they get stuck in traffic on the LIE, they ride their horns as a celebration of liberty not an act of frustration. They give each other the finger out of love and solidarity for a world where not everything is about ‘living my best life’. They know that when shit happens, just get in the line, wait your turn, order your bagel and coffee, and keep moving forward.