By Chris Hernandez
Thursday, March 26, 2015
[Editor’s note: It came to our attention on the afternoon
of Thursday, March 26, that Facebook had decided to block the story below
(original link here) from appearing on the social network site. Even though the
story had been shared over 1,600 times during the previous two days, Facebook
for whatever reason decided the link was “unsafe.” Well, we checked every image
and every link in the story, including those that appeared in the comments, and
there was nothing unsafe, obscene, or malicious. There’s no malware and no spyware.
We’re left only to assume that fragile progressives who
can’t bear the indignity of being informed of the absurdity of “trigger
warnings and “microagressions” decided to use Facebook’s reporting system to
have this article banned from the site. As a result, we’ve moved the exact same
article to a new URL. Share it early and share it often. And when they try to
block this one, we’ll just post the same article again with a different URL,
because that’s how we roll.]
‘Microaggressions’ And ‘Trigger Warnings,’ Meet Real
Trauma
When I joined the Marines, I met a man who had survived a
helicopter crash during a training exercise. The first time I saw him his head
and face were covered in burn scars. A balloon filled with saline, that looked
like a dinosaur’s crest, was implanted in his scalp to stretch the skin so hair
could grow. Something that looked exactly like the checkered buttstock of an
M16A2 was imprinted on one side of his head.
He greeted me when I checked in to my unit, and totally
ignored the shocked expression I must have had when he approached. He shook my
hand, asked a few questions, then left with a friendly “See you later, PFC.”
His demeanor left me with the absurd thought, Maybe he doesn’t know how strange
he looks.
He had been assigned to my reserve unit while undergoing
treatment at a nearby military burn unit. I wound up becoming friends with him
later, and eventually worked up the nerve to ask him about the crash. Of
course, I quickly followed my question with, “But if you don’t want to talk
about it, never mind. Sorry.”
He brushed off my concerns. “Nah, no problem. The day I
can’t talk about it is the day it starts to haunt me.”
He told me about loading up with his platoon in the
helicopter that day. He described what it was like to see the ground coming
through the window and realize they were about to crash. He talked about
grabbing his seat belt release, being knocked unconscious on impact by his
rifle butt slamming into his temple, and waking up on the floor with his head
on fire.
He told me how he had crawled toward the exit, in flames,
past screaming, burning Marines trapped in their seats. He recounted his memory
of shouting that he would come back to help them. He told me how he managed to
drag himself over the edge of the helicopter’s ramp and fall into a rice paddy.
He told me about other Marines who saw the crash and ran to save him and some
others. He talked about all the friends he lost that day, more than a dozen. He
talked about how much he missed being an infantryman, and how he had made peace
with the fact that he could never be one again.
Yes, People Can Rise above Trauma
What struck me was how easily he was able to tell the
story. I had never heard of someone deciding not to let trauma affect his or
her life. I had a great uncle, still alive then, who had been a Marine in the
Korean War. He came back traumatized, took years to get back to normal, and to
his dying day never told anyone in the family what he experienced. Even after I
became a Marine, he gave me only the barest details of his service. As far as I
know, he never told his Marine son, either. Unlike my friend, my uncle couldn’t
talk about his trauma.
I’ve experienced trauma myself. I don’t know how many
murder scenes I’ve worked as a police officer. I remember the shock I felt when
I walked up to a car after a seemingly minor accident and saw a two-year-old’s
head lying on the floorboard. I stood helplessly outside a burning house as a
92-year-old woman died inside, while her son screamed hysterically beside me.
For years after my time as a soldier in Iraq, I’d have a startle response if I
unexpectedly saw a flash, like from a camera, in my peripheral vision (it
reminded me of flashes from roadside bombs). Soldiers near me were shot,
burned, or killed by weather in Afghanistan.
My childhood wasn’t rosy either; early, one morning when
I was eight I heard pounding on our kitchen door, then was terrified to see a
family member stumble into the house covered in blood after being attacked by a
neighbor. Even today, after 35 years, I still sometimes tense up when I hear a
knock at the door. When I was ten, my 11-year-old best friend committed suicide
because of a minor sibling dispute. He wrote a note, left a will, snuck his
father’s pistol from a drawer and shot himself. I was severely affected by his
death, and ten years later got a copy of his suicide note from the city morgue.
After I read it, I finally felt I could heal from that horrible event.
Trauma Versus Microaggressions and Trigger Warnings
I’m no stranger to trauma, and I’ve dealt with it by
writing and talking about it. I suppose I’ve always defined “trauma” the
traditional way: a terrible experience, usually involving significant loss or
mortal danger, which left a lasting scar. However, I’ve recently discovered my
definition of trauma is wrong. Trauma now seems to be pretty much anything that
bothers anyone, in any way, ever. And the worst “trauma” seems to come not from
horrible brushes with death like I described above; instead, they’re the result
of racism and discrimination.
Over the last year, I’ve heard references to
“microaggressions” and “trigger warnings.” Trigger warnings tell trauma victims
that certain material may “contain disturbing themes that may trigger traumatic
memories for sufferers”; it’s a way for them to continue avoiding what bothers
them, rather than facing it (and the memories that get triggered often seem to
be about discrimination, rather than mortal danger). Microaggressions are
minor, seemingly innocuous statements that are actually stereotype-reinforcing
trauma, even if the person making the statement meant nothing negative.
Here are two examples of “trauma” from the
“Microaggression Project”:
My dad jokes with my younger sister that he remembers selling Girl Scout Cookies when he was a Girl Scout. She laughs, understanding the fact that since he’s a boy means that he could not have been a Girl Scout. Thanks, Dad. I’m a boy and a formal Girl Scout.
The assumption that Girl Scouts will be girls. That
causes trauma.
24, female-bodied, in a relationship – so Facebook shows me ads with babies, wedding dresses, and engagement rings. Change gender on Facebook to male – suddenly I get ads pertaining to things I actually care about.
Facebook thinking a woman might be interested in marriage
and children. That causes trauma.
A horrible example of microaggression: asking someone if
she’s been to Europe.
Of Course, Universities Adore Fake Trauma
As one might expect, “microaggressions” and “trigger
warnings” are most popular in our universities. In late 2013, a group of
University of California-Los Angeles students staged a “sit-in” protest against
a professor for—no joke—correcting their papers.
These “Graduate Students of Color” began an online
petition stating, “Students consistently report hostile classroom environments
in which the effects of white supremacy, patriarchy, heteronormativity, and
other forms of institutionalized oppression have manifested within the
department and deride our intellectual capacity, methodological rigor, and
ideological legitimacy. Empirical evidence indicates that these structural and
interpersonal microaggressions wreak havoc on the psychophysiological health
and retention rates of People of Color. The traumatic experiences of GSE&IS
students and alumni confirm this reality.”
A college professor expecting graduate students to write
grammatically correct papers. That causes trauma.
In addition to correcting grammar, this professor insulted
the “Graduate Students of Color” by changing “Indigenous” to the proper
“indigenous” in their papers, thus reinforcing white colonial oppression of
indigenous people. Oh, and he shook a black student’s arm during a discussion.
“Making physical contact with a student is inappropriate, [the aggrieved
Graduate Student of Color] added, and there are additional implications when an
older white man does so with a younger black man.”
A white professor gently touching a black student’s arm.
That causes trauma.
More trauma-producing microaggression: asking someone
about his or her ethnic background. “Typically, microaggressions are associated
with subtle forms of racism, but they do go beyond race. For instance, ‘You
throw like a girl,’ is a verbal microaggression, and the action of a White
individual clutching his/her bag because a Latino is approaching, is a
behavioral microaggression.”
Here’s What to Do With Your Trauma
I’ve reviewed these reports of “trauma”, and have reached
a conclusion about them. I’m going to make a brief statement summarizing my
conclusion. While I mean this in the nicest way possible, I don’t want victims
of microaggressions or supporters of trigger warnings to doubt my sincerity.
F*** your trauma.
Yes, f*** your trauma. My sympathy for your suffering,
whether that suffering was real or imaginary, ended when you demanded I change
my life to avoid bringing up your bad memories. You don’t seem to have figured
this out, but there is no “I must never be reminded of a negative experience”
expectation in any culture anywhere on earth.
If your psyche is so fragile you fall apart when someone
inadvertently reminds you of “trauma,” especially if that trauma consisted of
you overreacting to a self-interpreted racial slur, you need therapy. You
belong on a psychiatrist’s couch, not in college dictating what the rest of
society can’t do, say, or think. Get your own head right before you try to run
other people’s lives. If you expect everyone around you to cater to your
neurosis, forever, you’re what I’d call a “failure at life,” doomed to
perpetual disappointment.
Oh, I should add: f** my trauma, too. I must be
old-fashioned, but I always thought coming to terms with pain was part of
growing up. I’ve never expected anyone to not knock on my door because it
reminds me of that terrifying morning decades ago. I’ve never blown up at
anyone for startling me with a camera flash (I’ve never even mentioned it to
anyone who did). I’ve never expected anyone to not talk about Iraq or
Afghanistan around me, even though some memories still hurt. I don’t need
trigger warnings because a book might remind me of a murder victim I’ve seen.
And before anyone says it; being Hispanic doesn’t make me
any more sympathetic to people who experience nonexistent, discriminatory
“trauma.” Discrimination didn’t break me (or my parents or grandparents). I’ve
been discriminated against by whites for being Hispanic. I’ve been threatened
by blacks for being white. I’ve been insulted by Hispanics for not being
Hispanic enough. Big deal. None of that stopped me from doing anything I wanted
to do. It wasn’t “trauma.” It was life.
Generations of Americans experienced actual trauma. Our
greatest generation survived the Depression, then fought the worst war in
humanity’s history, then built the United States into the most successful
nation that has ever existed. They didn’t accomplish any of that by being
crystal eggshells that would shatter at the slightest provocation, they didn’t
demand society change to protect their tender feelings. They simply dealt with
the hardships of their past and moved on. Even my great uncle, the Korea
Marine, never expected us to tiptoe around him. He wouldn’t talk about his
experience, but he didn’t order us not to.
So again, f*** your trauma. If your past bothers you that
much, get help. I honestly hope you come to terms with it. I hope you manage to
move forward. I won’t say anything meant to dredge up bad memories, and don’t
think anyone should intentionally try to harm your feelings.
But nobody, nobody, should censor themselves to protect
you from your pathological, and pathologically stupid, sensitivities.
