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If ever I needed proof that the U.S. is full of whiny, liberal, entitlement whores, I got it today. In accordance with legislation that mandates every classroom and public building have an American flag on display, we students filed into our classroom to find an American flag hung on the back wall. It wasn't gaudy, wasn't five feet long with bells and horns blatting "God Bless the USA". It was just a regulation American flag tucked unobtrusively into the back corner, the same flag I have seen every day of my life and the one I pledged allegiance to daily until I graduated high school.
The hysteria it caused was unbelievable. One girl immediately declared that its presence in the classroom-a classroom paid for in part by federal grants-was an encroachment upon her liberty. A fellow I like very much and who had heretofore displayed reasonable intelligence said that the flag was offensive and had no right to be there. Everyone else eyed the offending piece of cloth with mild curiosity or bland indifference.
I began to wonder if the CIA had spiked the Coke machine to vend LSD-laced soda and was now crouching in a van across the street with a telephoto lens and listening equipment, on the lookout for dissidents or merely conducting a sociological experiment. The hippie of the class, Jerry Garcia meets sensible diet, settled in for a good fight.
Well, it got going soon enough. The bug-eyed waif who had kicked off the festivities in the first place resumed bewailing her liberties, so cruelly trammeled by the red, white, and blue. The fellow, J, nodded vigorous agreement and suggested that if the flag was offensive to one, it should be removed.
I thought about pointing out that removing it would accomplish diddly except riling The Man and getting dragged to the hooscow, but held my tongue. Bolder souls than I wondered why the presence of the American flag in an American classroom and federal building was anathema. Waif helpfully banged the tired drum of OMG!Goverment!Oppression!!!! "What if we're not all American?" she asked.
So? We're not all Floridians, and I don't see a Virginian in a high dudgeon demanding that the Florida State Flag be lowered in deference to her wishes. And what about American students overseas? Should they demand an American flag be placed in the halls of Oxford to offset the memories of lobsterbacks and tea tariffs that the Union Jack inspires? This is a federally-funded state university in the United States. You pay to attend. When you pay your tuition, you are agreeing to its rules. If you don't like them, speak with your money and your feet.
J continued to natter about the offensive nature of the flag. I finally pointed out that some people are offended to be taught in the same room as blacks and cripples. Should I leave? I also pointed out that pompous stupidity offends me, and therefore, the room should empty forthwith.
I was ignored.
J continued to belabor his point. In his argument, two people constitute half the class, despite the presence of twenty-five people. His math was called into question, sotto voce, by L, who was also duly ignored.
"The Iraqis have more freedom than we do," moaned Waif.
I wished I had feces to hurl in her direction, but I was civilized and deposited my reeking bullshit into the proper receptacle.
The professor entered the room. Finally. Sanity.
He looked at the flag. "Bullshit," he said flatly.
I need a drink.
The bomb can't fall fast enough.
Welcome,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ergie, to the flist.
The hysteria it caused was unbelievable. One girl immediately declared that its presence in the classroom-a classroom paid for in part by federal grants-was an encroachment upon her liberty. A fellow I like very much and who had heretofore displayed reasonable intelligence said that the flag was offensive and had no right to be there. Everyone else eyed the offending piece of cloth with mild curiosity or bland indifference.
I began to wonder if the CIA had spiked the Coke machine to vend LSD-laced soda and was now crouching in a van across the street with a telephoto lens and listening equipment, on the lookout for dissidents or merely conducting a sociological experiment. The hippie of the class, Jerry Garcia meets sensible diet, settled in for a good fight.
Well, it got going soon enough. The bug-eyed waif who had kicked off the festivities in the first place resumed bewailing her liberties, so cruelly trammeled by the red, white, and blue. The fellow, J, nodded vigorous agreement and suggested that if the flag was offensive to one, it should be removed.
I thought about pointing out that removing it would accomplish diddly except riling The Man and getting dragged to the hooscow, but held my tongue. Bolder souls than I wondered why the presence of the American flag in an American classroom and federal building was anathema. Waif helpfully banged the tired drum of OMG!Goverment!Oppression!!!! "What if we're not all American?" she asked.
So? We're not all Floridians, and I don't see a Virginian in a high dudgeon demanding that the Florida State Flag be lowered in deference to her wishes. And what about American students overseas? Should they demand an American flag be placed in the halls of Oxford to offset the memories of lobsterbacks and tea tariffs that the Union Jack inspires? This is a federally-funded state university in the United States. You pay to attend. When you pay your tuition, you are agreeing to its rules. If you don't like them, speak with your money and your feet.
J continued to natter about the offensive nature of the flag. I finally pointed out that some people are offended to be taught in the same room as blacks and cripples. Should I leave? I also pointed out that pompous stupidity offends me, and therefore, the room should empty forthwith.
I was ignored.
J continued to belabor his point. In his argument, two people constitute half the class, despite the presence of twenty-five people. His math was called into question, sotto voce, by L, who was also duly ignored.
"The Iraqis have more freedom than we do," moaned Waif.
I wished I had feces to hurl in her direction, but I was civilized and deposited my reeking bullshit into the proper receptacle.
The professor entered the room. Finally. Sanity.
He looked at the flag. "Bullshit," he said flatly.
I need a drink.
The bomb can't fall fast enough.
Welcome,
ergie, to the flist.