Every ten years or so, I visit a curious corner of Clio’s realm, a Fiddlers’ Green that, while inherently pleasant, abuts, nonetheless, the Abode of the Damned. This decennial experience, which I enjoyed earlier this month, allows me to renew old friendships, discover new books, and observe, from a safe distance, the crumbling of the Ivory Tower.
I am happy to report that, of the six panels I attended, four proved to be entirely free of wokery. That is, the panelists managed to discuss such matters as the history of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization without gratuitous reference to ‘lived experience’ or the use of ‘construct’ as a noun.
In one instance, alas, a soi-disant ‘Amazon' turned what should have been a three-minute summary into a twenty-minute screed, thereby sacrificing, on the altar of Michel Foucault, time set aside for questions. There was also a moment in which, upon mention of ‘diversity, equity, and inclusion’, all members of a panel doffed their hats (so to speak) and made suitably deferential noises. That done, however, they returned to the business at hand.
Happily, both the latter-day Hippolyta and the tie-dyed avatar of DEI left the conference as soon as they had done their duty to the World of Wokecraft. This fact, I suspect, reminded all concerned of the essentially colonial character of their enterprise. That is, while eager to exercise dominion over the natives, they took pains to avoid mixing with them.
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I have not been to one in years. If I do again, I shall go a bit drunk and dressed as garish as I can.