I didn’t know Princess Diana had dandruff….
…. until they found her head and shoulders on the dashboard.
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A highlight of last year that I failed to mention was being invited to take part on a debate podcast. Invitations like those have always been rare, and I always appreciate them. However, for me, this would be more of a “debate” as I had no intention, nor desire, to actually debate my opponent.
A Swedish podcast, I was faced against a Trump supporter. Well, Trump fan is more accurate as, being Swedish, there was little in the way of actual support he could provide, not even a vote, so even there a debate felt pointless. As if being a Swedish Trump fan wasn’t rare enough, he is also a Christian Evangelical, a true unicorn on these shores. Being someone who believes in an omnipotent being who loves us unconditionally, who gave us free will to accept that love, who will send us to burn in Hell for eternity should we decide to not accept that unconditional love… what was I going to do, appeal to his reason? As long as Trump is anti-abortion and pushes for Israel to have full ownership of the Promised Land, leading to Armageddon and the Second Coming, Evangelicals will overlook everything else about him.
Being as it was a debate I had no interest in winning, I’m sure I lost it. The guy came with notes. His gotcha question for me was, could I name something from Harris’s record I support? I had nothing, since I openly had no passion for her. In a debate against a Flat Earther I’d lose as well, because they have passionate beliefs, and I know what’s right.
At some point (ironically, it would turn out) I was asked about free speech rights on social media, and I said I agreed that everyone should be able to say whatever they want, but free speech isn’t consequence-free speech. The latter, though, is what people are usually whining that they don’t have, saying cancel culture comes for you when you speak your mind. The point is, you can speak your mind. That’s your right. I have the right to walk the streets of Harlem, screaming the N-word. And when I get punched in the face, that’s the consequence.
Anyway, at some point on the podcast, I referred to myself as a blatte. Blatte is not a nice word, but it’s one I have a particular interest in. That word refers to an immigrant, skin a shade of brown, or “non-European.” Okay, technically I’m not a blatte, but Swedes don’t even think of me as an immigrant, or invandrare in Swedish. An incident forever burned into my psyche was talking to my then wife’s well-to-do cousin a few months after moving here, telling him I was taking the government-provided Swedish courses, or Swedish for Invandrare, only for him to reply, “Oh, don’t ever call yourself invandrare. You are not invandrare.”
I knew immediately what he meant. I’m white. English is my first language. I’m not one of them immigrants. I’m an ex-pat.
One of co-workers is an Afghan who spent a few years living in Greece before moving to Sweden. We talked about the difference between immigrant and ex-pat. He is brown, living in a predominately white country, he is an immigrant. I am white, I am an ex-pat. Okay, he asked, what if I moved to Dubai, to be a white person in a predominately brown country? Oh, I replied, then I would… still be an ex-pat, because I am white. Look, I don’t make the rules, I just enjoy the benefits.
I’ve always been hyperaware of the gulf between Swedes and immigrants, long before I ever started performing, and it’s always been a burning topic for me, on stage and off. I call myself a blatte because no one in Sweden would ever look at me and think that, they wouldn’t even look at me and think the word immigrant. I am, though, and my wife is a blattelover.
As it would turn out, YouTube demonetized the video of the podcast, thanks, at least in part, to me saying blatte. One of the guys who runs the pod was very annoyed by this, because, when you’re an artist, your chief motivation behind creating content is so that commercials can be attached. Ahem. Nah, in all seriousness, I get it. Making a living by creating content certainly seems a more attractive way to make a living than, say, being fifty and renting out cars.
That said, I can’t say I’m shedding much of a tear over it, at least not as an advocate of free speech. Social media give us platforms to reach hundreds, thousands, potentially millions of people, and it costs us no money at all. We do pay, of course, but with our personal information. I heard Zuckerberg on Joe Rogan’s podcast (or at least maybe forty-five minutes before I turned it off out of boredom, which is more often the case than not these days), and several times Rogan, a champion of free speech, said that social media should give people the ability to post anonymously, only for Zuckerberg to not respond at all. Why would they do that? The whole point is to get all our data, to then sell to advertisers.
Rogan thinks these social media companies should provide their services for free. Rogan, who said recently that the McCarthy Era wasn’t so bad, since there actually were Communists in Hollywood. Seems to me that Comrade Rogan is a fucking pinko commie himself.
YouTube lets us post anything we want and doesn’t charge for it. There are rules, though, and breaking the rules has consequences. Imagine you invite me over to your house for dinner and you expect nothing from me for it but my company. Imagine that I walk inside and pull my dick out. You tell me to put that thing back in my pants, I scream, “Fuck you, you woke fascist! It’s a free country!” Imagine punching me in the face.
As a guest in your house, I would follow your rules. I wouldn’t complain about the quality of the food you’ve provided at no cost. I would offer to help clean up, hoping you’ll insist that I don’t need to lift a finger.
