In
Praise of Apartheid
Mykel's
Post MRR Column #53
by
Mykel Board
I
write this sitting at a table in a library in Wellington New
Zealand.. There are three chairs at the table: The one I sit in, one
holding my coat and hat.,the other empty. Two tables away, a young
man with blond hair and sunburned cheeks pecks at his cellphone.
It's
the day after Roy Moore lost his senate bid. Why? A pre-election
accusation of touching a 14 year old... Forty years ago. Meanwhile,
a congressman resigns for, among other things... hugging and “bumping
hips” with his secretary. Elsewhere, Danny Ray Johnson,
a Kentucky legislator puts a
bullet through his brain in response to harassment accusations.
I'm
happy to be away from the lunacy as actors, legislators and TV
personalities are targeted by (mostly) women... coming out of the
woodwork like ants from a log tossed onto the fire. Like a bout of
beer-induced diarrhea, I know it will pass. But like that same bout,
I'm glad not to be in the middle of it.
In
a take-no-prisoners assault... everyone from Roy Moore, to Al Franken
to that most banal of characters, Charlie Rose, are thrown into the
vaginally charged meat-grinder and spit out as landfill. From a
distance of 12,000 miles, this finger pointing assault looks more
terrorist than any NY Bangladeshi with a pipe bomb strapped to his
chest. I have that to go home to? Maybe I should stay here and milk
Kiwibirds.
What's
the way out? There's got to be some insurance that will guarantee
that this can't happen again. That the smudged finger of harassment
can never again touch the pristine white robes of womenhood. The
answer hits me like a beershit stomach cramp: APARTHEID.
I
know. Apartheid has gotten a bad name over the last 70 years or so.
The word comes from Dutch.. and is clearly related to the word APART
or separate. It originated in South Africa and legislated in two
parts: Petty Apartheid and Grand Apartheid.
Petty
Apartheid was day to day separation of the races. Separate
drinking fountains. White and Colored restrooms... Different sides of
the bus station waiting room. Grand Apartheid was more
sweeping. It defined neighborhoods and employment opportunities by
race. It required a special pass for when low status groups
(“natives” and “coloured”) entered areas designated as high
status (white) areas.
Apartheid in South Africa kicked
the bucket in 1990. But the word's bad rep struck again in 2006 with
Jimmy Carter's book, Palestine:
Peace Not Apartheid. Here,
Carter argued against the growing power of Israel in separating
conquered lands into Jewish
and
Muslim
Areas, with
the Israelis building a wall to create Palestinian ghettos. Like in
South Africa, low status groups (Muslims) needed a pass to enter the
territory of the high-status group (Jews).
Israeli
apartheid continues today. Most of the world condemns it. Again, the
world uses the word apartheid
in a negative way. As if it were synonymous
with
“discrimination” or “exploitation.”
But
Apartheid
is like a hammer. It can be used to break a window or build a
house... to mug an old woman or to save her bare feet from a
protruding nail. Here's my vision of how apartheid can stop the
scourge of sexual harassment.
FLASH
TO New York City 2020 in Apartheid America: I walk down fifth avenue.
The depressing grayness of the city is gone. Everywhere is a splash
of color. Two colors especially: Pink and Blue.
First
a bit of orientation. If you stand at the southern end of Fifth
Avenue, you'll be at Washington Square Park. Famous in movies and
literature for Avant Garde, hippies, and small drug deals.
Looking
North, I can see the avenue divided. On the right, the sidewalk is as
pink as a cherub cheek. The buildings too are pink... at least the
sides facing the street. Women and girls walk on this side. On the
left, the sidewalk is as blue as the sky on a clear spring day. It's
the men and boys side.
When the screen comes on I press the SHORT button and the variable height wallhole opens up. It's about an inch too high for me, but I can reach it standing on tip-toe. The vacuum pump whirs. In a second or two I feel its pull on my hardening flesh. Deposit made, I zip up and return to the street.
Across
the street, on the pink side, I spot a young girl with her mother.
They wear matching yellow dresses... pink ribbons tied around the
waist. Everyone on that side of the street wears a pink ribbon. It's
the law.
The
ribbon can be tied around the waist... worn in the hair... as a
bracelet... even daintily bowed on top of a shoe. The only
requirement is that it's easily visible. No question... no reason to
be pulled over by the gendercops. Men and boys, or course, wear blue
ribbons.
It's
3PM. The sun is in the west. That means the blue side of the street
is sunny. In front of each of the crowded cafes and bars is a big
bouncer checking ribbon colors on entrance. I stop into
Knickerbockers for a Kingfisher. Luckily this old bar landed on the
blue side after the division.
Sitting
outside, I watch the street traffic. Since this place is near a
gender-crossing, there's always a chance to see an attractive newbie
making the transition from one side of the street to the other.
On
the pink side, I watch an “office lady” looking woman enter the
SEPARATE-BUT-EQUAL Employment Agency. I've seen their ads on
late-night TV and know they specialize in executive head-hunting for
pink-oriented companies. And on my side, I can just see the
avant-garde entrance to The Museum of Degenerate Sex Mixing.
With old photos and videos of mixed-sex couples... and trios... doing
everything from hand-holding to kissing to The DEED itself.
On
the walls hang pictures of politicians, actors, directors, all those
early twenty-first century-ites felled by the horrors of misexgyny.
One popular gasp-inducing display shows a video of children... some
as young as five or six-- forced to hold hands with any gender...
forming a big circle... chanting about “pockets full of posies”
and... ALL FALL DOWN. Yes! They fall in a heap... child on child...
before they were old enough to shave or protest the patriarchy. That
was the old days where the perils of sex-mixing were long
known... but unacknowledged... when people were afraid to propose the
obvious solution.
Things
are better now-- both petty and grand. There is peace in the
once-troubled land. People are happy. Not like in the old days.
-end-
for my travel blog, checkout mykelsdiary.blogspot.com
