The social media mob that tries to promote progress by negating that we evolve, keeps trying to rewrite history
Originally published Feb, 2022.
I miss the rains down in Africa.
That’s the line I remember, even though it’s incorrect. The actual lyric is “I blessed the rains down in Africa,” which makes no sense. It’s a song that’s been accused of being colonial, paternalistic, slightly racist, and geographically inept, but that’s really not the point — at least not for me.
I liked the song because it came out in 1982, I was young, and music was exciting. Essentially, I like it now because it reminds me of that time when I was young, and music was exciting.
I’m fifty-three now, and until a few years ago, when everyone decided we had to go back in time and retroactively shame all songwriters, filmmakers, and authors because they hadn’t evolved as quickly as we would have liked — after the fact . I had never even really paid attention to the lyrics of the song, but now they were a problem.
Who knew what the hell these over-privileged dopes were singing about? Who cared? We didn’t know that Kilimanjaro doesn’t rise over the Serengeti. We just knew it was a lot of syllables to throw into the end of a verse. It might not have been the best song, but they played it at least twice an hour on MTV, and it became embedded in our collective memories, if not our actual DNA.
What’s ironic, is that it’s arguably not a very good song. If music videos hadn’t been such a potent cultural cocktail at the time, maybe it wouldn’t have become a generational anthem. We didn’t do protest songs back then, as that was the purview of our parents and teachers. We pleaded with Eileen to come on. We missed the rains down in Africa. We refused to speak with her friends because her friends didn’t dance, and if they didn’t dance — well, you get the idea. We couldn’t touch this. It wasn’t a great time for intellectual curiosity and deep introspection. We just wanted to have fun and dance the night away.
I blame the hippies. They were the ones in charge.
I hate lingo. I barely tolerate slang. Woke. Cancel Culture. PC. All of it is annoying and sometimes troubling, especially in a workplace environment. They’re meant to be a shorthand of sorts, but in reality, they become buzzwords that sound important and mean nothing. Or worse, they become co-opted to mean something entirely different from what was originally intended.
Woke began as an English adjective meaning “alert to racial prejudice and discrimination” that originated in African-American Vernacular English (AAVE) among millennials. Now it’s mostly used by old white men to decry progressive attitudes towards change.
The problem with culturally inflammatory words and phrases is that it stops the conversation dead in its tracks and make it a binary argument. Either you’re for it, or you’re against it. It’s a way of throwing down the gauntlet and expressing that this is not a topic worth discussing until we know which tribe you represent.
The idea of being awake to the horrors of racial prejudice is profound and a real sign of our times. White culture has been asleep for far too long, and it was long past due for some sort of reconciliation for our past sins and current delusions of a post-racial society. But what we so often do in our culture is gloss over the actual conversation and go right to the argument about using the word. We didn’t discuss being awake, let alone aware; we complained that we were being asked to have the conversation at all. But that doesn’t mean that the “mob” is always right.
My problem with activist types, especially younger generations, is that they seem to have lost sight of the fact that for society to evolve and change over time, things have to get better, and when they do, we will look back and recognize our previous shortcomings. Calling out our past sins is good, if for no other reason than to remind us of our progress, but it’s not the goal.
I read a post the other day lamenting the use of before pictures for weight loss. The complaint was that people who show what they looked like before the weight loss are inadvertently shaming fat people. Now, even your own personal progress isn’t your own; it’s someone else’s shame as well. You can’t be proud of your success because that means someone else has to admit their own failure. That’s pathetic.
It’s easy to ridicule progressive culture as sometimes overly sensitive and reactive. So easy, in fact, that we can lose sight of the real goal, which is to alert us to ways in which ignorance can adversely affect marginalized communities. But sometimes, the deplorables have a point. Some of it really is just outrage culture — having a hissy fit as a means to virtue signal and feel superior. The race to see who can be most offended the easiest is very real, but it’s exhausting and counterproductive.
Mostly, I’m bothered by the revisionist historians who want to overlay what they feel should be progressive norms on past cultural exploits. The expectation being that we can no longer enjoy this song, movie, or book, because it doesn’t live up to their current standard of what constitutes tolerance, equality, cultural sovereignty, or bigotry.
The thing about art is that it’s reflective of the time in which it was created. For decades, no one thought twice about singing along to “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” at Christmastime. But now we have to treat it as an ode to rapist culture. It’s fine to point it out, and it does come off a little creepy in today’s hyper-sensitive environment, but we can’t just erase everything that happened in the past as evil and without value.
Do I think we should keep Confederate statues erected to intimidate Black voters and reinforce an atmosphere of white supremacy? I do not. Many cartoons with questionably racist themes and stereotypes have been quietly shelved. Even the people who handle the Dr. Seuss estate decided to put a few of his less palatable works out to pasture.
We don’t have to continue to glorify our ignorant past, but maybe it’s a question of harm. White, European attitudes toward Africa have long been a problem and should be addressed. Does that need to start with criticizing an 80s pop tune that vaguely references the continent and isn’t intentionally critical or negative?
When a group of artists came together in 1984 to raise money and awareness for a famine that had devastated parts of Africa, the result was certainly cringe-inducing today. It was patently offensive, paternalistic, and condescending. But that was not their intention. They were trying to do something good. They didn’t know what we know now. No one would do that today, and we should recognize as much.
Nostalgia is a powerful drug. It can be a wonderful reminder of a simpler time that we view through rose-colored lenses. But it can also be used to propagate the great lie that progress has ruined what was once good, proper, and wholesome. I would be interested to see what it looks like three or four decades from now, when the youth of today have reached middle age. What will the young people think of what they have done? Of course, the younger generations today are quite self-assured that they will be looked on as pioneers in equality and social justice, but that’s not typically how these things pan out.
No, despite their best intentions, the youth of tomorrow will look back on the efforts of the youth of today with ridicule and disdain, just like always. The difference will be that the historical record won’t just be some scratchy records and VHS tapes. It will be trillions of images, writings, videos, and music, all in high definition and horrendous detail. Everything you ever thought or said out loud will come back to haunt you.
Unless, of course, we figure out a way, as a culture, to deal with the massive explosion of documentation that social media and the internet have given us. We will need some social statute of limitations on bad ideas, or no one will survive.
One thing I’ve learned as a creative artist is that there is no way to innovate and improve without making mistakes. The minute you begin to fear failure, you’re toast. If we start operating cautiously, afraid to make a mistake, who will be the next innovator to break new ground?
The other day I was in the car, and a familiar tune came on. It’s a fun song, full of the sort of nostalgia I am talking about. It was a mashup of old tunes, recreated for a backyard party vibe. And then I remembered all the reasons I wasn’t supposed to like it. First, it was by Kid Rock, an artist I disagree with politically and culturally. Second, he was singing a rip-off of “Sweet Home Alabama,” an unfortunate song about Southern pride in white supremacy.
I made a conscious choice and turned it off, but the question remains. Can we enjoy artistic endeavors by people we disagree with? What about if it’s more complicated? Do I have to boycott “Good Will Hunting” because it was produced by Harvey Weinstein? Am I still allowed to think that Louis CK bit is funny? Can we watch a Woody Allen movie?
I miss the rains down in Africa, or at least my innocence before I knew what it all meant. I miss not knowing, even as I aim to expand my knowledge. Not everything that happened in the past was good, just as not everything that happened in the past was bad. It’s all a mixed bag, and we do our best to navigate each day. Maybe we’re gonna have to take some time to do the things we never had — ooh, ooh.
I bless the rains.