Those of us who were around when the Cold War got underway find it easy to see Political Correctness as a religion. Catholic countries like France and Italy had giant Communist Parties. The Red vote was minuscule in Protestant countries.
Europeans are naturally obedient. Catholics look to Authority. Catholic working class people gave up their priests but they naturally went straight to another set of Authorities, the professors.
The same phenomenon took a different form in Protestant countries. In Britain, those who had always cited the Uppah Clahss and His Majesty as the basis of their lives switched over to citing Intellectuals in precisely the same way.
No workers elected a single delegate to the British Labor Party. Each union leader cast all the votes for all the members of his union in the same way a nobleman or burgher in earlier parliaments spoke for all the people in the area he came from.
Bishops in parliament were replaced by union heads at the convention. But the principle was the same.
One thing that Politically Correct people do not allow is a sense of humor about their doctrine. This is a direct result of it being a religion. Our ancestors were shushed when they mentioned things like “damn.” If you want to see the look on the faces of the religious who did the shushing, you can see the same look on the faces of those who are shocked when you refer to “midget” instead of a “little person.”
You will see that look on the face of someone when you use the 499th consecutive word that is the latest ONLY way to refer to African-Americans.
I was raised in the Bible Belt. I know the symptoms.
Even at age sixteen when I first got to college I recognized the symptoms. Real rubes who had BELIEVED in what their parents and neighbors in their small towns and were finally exposed to Real Intellectual had exactly the same expression on their faces as the ones I had so often seen on somebody who had just been Saved at a Revival.
The guys who had been through Basic were convinced that only a Tough Guy knew how to truly grovel at Mommy Professor’s feet. I watched Mommy Professor become the hick’s camp meeting Revivalist and the ex-soldier’s unquestioned hero and master, the sergeant.
So it did not surprise me at all to see the Italian peasant’s priest being replaced by the local Communist Intellectual.
But trying to explain this obvious fact was damned near impossible with people who thought Mommy Professor and religion were absolute opposites.
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