Molly Ivins September 15

AUSTIN, Texas — As politics increasingly becomes a game of "gotcha" — almost the only reason anyone watches political debates anymore is to see if one of the candidates will say something spectacularly stupid — we invariably get a crop of controversies over "racial insensitivity."

Among these flapettes was Jesse Jackson's mid-'80s reference to New York City as "Hymietown," which was supposed to convince us that Jackson's lifetime struggle against racism did not apply to Jews. Then, there was Candidate Bill Clinton's dissing of Sister Souljah, which supposedly meant that he had no respect for black culture, or maybe it was that he was playing to white racists (always a big voting group for him) — I forget.

Remember the time President Bush referred to some of his grandchildren as "the little brown ones," and we had to hear about that for a week? It may not have come out right (Bush's thoughts often didn't), but did anyone really doubt that in his inarticulate way he was trying to say how much he loved those grandchildren?

In 1992, Rick Perry — who's now the Republican candidate for lieutenant governor — was speaking against South Texas trial lawyers who bring frivolous lawsuits. He said, "Every Jose in town wants to come along and sue you for something" — a faux pas that is now the source of flak from Democratic activists who have resurrected it.

Well, now, I grant you that using "Jose" rather than "Joe Bob" or "Bubba" was not the brightest thing that Perry ever did. In fact, if he had used "Joe Bob" or "Bubba," we probably would have heard a few yowls from those dedicated to defending the honor of the white race.

Nevertheless, it seems to me that this is insufficient evidence with which to charge Perry with conscious racism. It may have been a stupid thing to say, but if all the people who have never said anything stupid in their lives (or, for that matter, in the last week) would stand up, y'all can go caucus in the nearest phone booth. Politicians talk a lot more than the rest of us, particularly in public, so it stands to reason that they have a higher batting average than the rest of us in the I Didn't Really Mean That Department.

Political correctness — a term that started as an inside joke among liberals about our excessively genteel language (we're the ones who used to make up those absurd lists to amuse ourselves calling bald people "follicly challenged") is really just about thoughtfulness or kindness. Why offend people unnecessarily? Why not demonstrate just a smidgen of sensitivity, otherwise known as good manners?

The right wing then elevated this occasionally laughable tendency to the level of a serious threat to the First Amendment, which is patently absurd.

If you think political language in this country has been gelded, you haven't listened to talk radio lately.

Nor do I think it is too much to ask of the white majority that we recognize that our racial and ethnic minorities are peculiarly sensitive to dumb remarks like Perry's. In itself, that crack is not so offensive that it qualifies as racism, but it comes on top of a long, bad history of racism that has made people sensitive even to unintended slights. It's like being hit on a bruise — or, perhaps more accurately, on a broken leg. Is that so hard to understand?

One can take the sensible position that where there is no offense intended, none should be taken. Fair enough, but it still seems to me that a slight effort to understand other people's sensitivities is not too much to ask. Or as Rodney King said, "Can't we all just get along?"

Speaking of free speech, here's an item for you irony buffs. Defenders of the First Amendment nearly had a cow last year when Congress passed the repellently named Communications Decency Act (the name is one of those masterpieces of public relations cleverly disguising the law's real impact). Fortunately, the Supremes threw it out, nine-zip. Had it been allowed to stand, Congress would now have to prosecute itself for having put the Starr report on the Internet.

And speaking of Texas politics, I hope you noticed that little election-year shuffle when Health Commissioner Reyn Archer decided to cut funding for school-based health clinics. The Christian Coalition, among others, spread the erroneous claim that "these health clinics in many cases offer 'reproductive advice' to children and possibly duplicate health services already provided for under state law." The American Family Association, Focus on the Family and Texans United for Life also joined the fray.

A dandy little political firestorm broke out over this major cave to the demands of the theocratic right. These clinics provide the only health care available to about 250,000 Texas children; they deal with matters including immunizations, ear, nose and throat problems, asthma, eye disorders, respiratory infections, etc. Despite the misinformation spread by the theocratic right, not one of the 125 school-based clinics in Texas provides family planning services.

Were it not for the clinics, many vision and hearing problems among children would never even be diagnosed. As you know, there are millions of children in this state with no medical insurance; in many cases, the school clinics are their primary care facility.

After vigorous protest, Gov. George W. Bush, with an eye on the impending election, told Archer to back down, and the funding was restored. Now there's accountability.

Molly Ivins is a columnist for the Fort Worth Star-Telegram. To find out more about Molly Ivins and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate web page at www.creators.com.

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