A Fireside Story
Instead of deconstructing a dazzlingly presented bad idea in several thousand words no one will read... let me explain in a story.
The Gates of The Garden
There was a great city. It was, perhaps, a little overcrowded but that was because there were people of every sort working at every kind of job.
Around the city, scattered like jewels, were a handful of beautiful public parks that made the views from the tower blocks and offices less grey. In this way, many people enjoyed the parks from a distance, but because there were lots of people in the city they couldn't all go and walk the twisty paths or sit on the painted benches.
To keep the gardens from being trampled into dust, they had high walls around them, and each had a decorative wrought iron gate with a sign above which had the name of the garden and the words 'for public use' picked out in bright gold leaf. Beside each gate was a smaller sign, which stated that only people who were well kempt, appropriately dressed, and had no contagious illnesses, would be admitted.
Beside each gate stood the gatekeepers, in uniforms with brightly polished buttons, who opened the gate for those who were being allowed inside and turned away those who were not suitable.
There was always a long queue of people outside the gates of every park, hoping that they would be allowed in, but only a very few could be allowed to enter, or the gardens would not be as wonderful any more.
One morning Eric, the supervisor of one of the beautiful parks, was sitting on one of the brightly painted benches, when he realised that all the people in the park that morning were men who looked rather alike - they were all white, all tall, all handsome, all in sober suits and carrying briefcases. They all had hats.
Eric stood, and walked around his garden, but of the few dozen people allowed in the garden that morning all were the much the same as the men he had already noticed, apart from one woman in a suit and a shorter man with a dark complexion - or possibly a suntan.
Now he had noticed, Eric worried that perhaps other people would notice.
The first thing he did was to go and visit all the other gardens. He was able to visit each one without fuss by using the little service gates, and so thankfully didn't have to explain what he was about to his fellow supervisors or their gatekeepers.
He was relieved to find that the people in all the other gardens were like the people in his garden; perhaps in this park there were a few more women in sober suits, or there was a dark skinned young man holding hands with a boyfriend, but Eric was satisfied that none of the gardens were very different from his own.
Still, that didn't make him any more comfortable about other people noticing how very much the same the people allowed in the gardens were. He sat and thought for a while, and wondered if perhaps the kinds of people he had seen walking in the gardens were actually the only ones interested in walking in the gardens.
So he visited the gates of each of the other parks, and while he couldn't count exactly how many of those outside were not handsome white men in sober suits and hats, he could see that the queues held as many different kinds of people as the city itself did. For some reason, although many different kinds of people queued at the gates, many different kinds of people were not granted admission.
The next day Eric stood beside the gate of his garden and watched the gatekeepers going about their work. He watched the gatekeepers turn away people who were homeless, or drunk, or had brought a football. He watched the gatekeepers turn away women in bikinis and men with no trousers. And then he saw a gatekeeper turn away a pretty young black woman in a sober suit.
At that point he crossed to the gatekeeper and asked him why he had turned the young woman away.
The gatekeeper answered that he had turned the woman away because his job was to enforce the rules on the small sign beside the gate - that those allowed in must be well kempt, appropriately dressed, and have no contagious illnesses. The black woman, he said, had tight wiry curls and he felt they weren't properly combed. She had sandals without heels, which were far too casual to be appropriate. And her skin was so dark the gatekeeper could not tell if she was healthy.
[alt ending starts here]
Eric considered what the gatekeeper had said. It was true, he believed, that wiry hair didn't look combed, and that sandals were overly casual, and that you couldn't see dark spots on dark skin. He could not fault the gatekeeper for turning the black woman away.
But still, the people walking in his garden all looked the same and it was possible, that if the wrong people noticed this, the city council would cut funding to his park because it did not serve all the people of the city.
So Eric put a sign over the service gate saying 'Blacks only' and had a gatekeeper with a personal radio stand beside it. In this way, for every half dozen tall handsome white men the gatekeepers ushered in through the big front gate, the gatekeeper at the side gate selected one black person to go through into the garden.
For the next month Eric was happy, because when he sat in the garden he could always see someone walking the twisty paths or sitting on the painted benches who didn't look like everyone else.
But after a while he noticed that every morning, when he came through the front gate to go to his office, the pretty young black woman was in the queue outside the front gate. He noticed this particularly, perhaps, because the queue at the front gate had far more tall handsome white men then it used to have, since all the other kinds of people knew to queue where they had a slim chance of getting in the park and not no chance at all.
Once Eric noticed the pretty young black woman, he couldn't stop noticing, and it annoyed him more and more that she hadn't understood she was wasting her time standing in the queue by the front gate and that going to the side gate would mean she might be allowed into the garden.
Finally, after seeing her queue every day for another month, he walked up to the young black woman and asked her why she didn't go to the side gate with all the other black people.
And she said 'I have to queue here, so that when you sit in the park congratulating yourself that you see just enough different kinds of people not to have to worry that you'll lose council funding, you remember that you and your gatekeepers still think only tall handsome white men in sober suits truly belong in the park.'
....
Alternate Ending...
Eric looked at the pretty young black woman as she walked away, and he forced himself to see that although her hair was wiry it was shining and clean, and perhaps she was wearing sandals but they were a designer brand with diamonds shining in the soles, and her skin might be dark but her eyes were bright and she seemed in no way unhealthy.
So Eric arranged for his gatekeepers to go on a training course, and wrote memos to redefine what kempt and appropriate and healthy should mean. He stood with them by the gate, challenging his first impressions of the people who were not tall handsome white men, and overruled the gatekeepers to let more of the many kinds of people of the city enter the park.
From then on when Eric sat in the park there were some days on which there were a lot of handsome white men, with and without hats, and some days everyone he saw would have dark skin, but most days the kinds of people you met in the park would be the same kinds of people you'd meet in the queue outside its gates.
And the garden was more beautiful than ever.
....
The Gates of The Garden
There was a great city. It was, perhaps, a little overcrowded but that was because there were people of every sort working at every kind of job.
Around the city, scattered like jewels, were a handful of beautiful public parks that made the views from the tower blocks and offices less grey. In this way, many people enjoyed the parks from a distance, but because there were lots of people in the city they couldn't all go and walk the twisty paths or sit on the painted benches.
To keep the gardens from being trampled into dust, they had high walls around them, and each had a decorative wrought iron gate with a sign above which had the name of the garden and the words 'for public use' picked out in bright gold leaf. Beside each gate was a smaller sign, which stated that only people who were well kempt, appropriately dressed, and had no contagious illnesses, would be admitted.
Beside each gate stood the gatekeepers, in uniforms with brightly polished buttons, who opened the gate for those who were being allowed inside and turned away those who were not suitable.
There was always a long queue of people outside the gates of every park, hoping that they would be allowed in, but only a very few could be allowed to enter, or the gardens would not be as wonderful any more.
One morning Eric, the supervisor of one of the beautiful parks, was sitting on one of the brightly painted benches, when he realised that all the people in the park that morning were men who looked rather alike - they were all white, all tall, all handsome, all in sober suits and carrying briefcases. They all had hats.
Eric stood, and walked around his garden, but of the few dozen people allowed in the garden that morning all were the much the same as the men he had already noticed, apart from one woman in a suit and a shorter man with a dark complexion - or possibly a suntan.
Now he had noticed, Eric worried that perhaps other people would notice.
The first thing he did was to go and visit all the other gardens. He was able to visit each one without fuss by using the little service gates, and so thankfully didn't have to explain what he was about to his fellow supervisors or their gatekeepers.
He was relieved to find that the people in all the other gardens were like the people in his garden; perhaps in this park there were a few more women in sober suits, or there was a dark skinned young man holding hands with a boyfriend, but Eric was satisfied that none of the gardens were very different from his own.
Still, that didn't make him any more comfortable about other people noticing how very much the same the people allowed in the gardens were. He sat and thought for a while, and wondered if perhaps the kinds of people he had seen walking in the gardens were actually the only ones interested in walking in the gardens.
So he visited the gates of each of the other parks, and while he couldn't count exactly how many of those outside were not handsome white men in sober suits and hats, he could see that the queues held as many different kinds of people as the city itself did. For some reason, although many different kinds of people queued at the gates, many different kinds of people were not granted admission.
The next day Eric stood beside the gate of his garden and watched the gatekeepers going about their work. He watched the gatekeepers turn away people who were homeless, or drunk, or had brought a football. He watched the gatekeepers turn away women in bikinis and men with no trousers. And then he saw a gatekeeper turn away a pretty young black woman in a sober suit.
At that point he crossed to the gatekeeper and asked him why he had turned the young woman away.
The gatekeeper answered that he had turned the woman away because his job was to enforce the rules on the small sign beside the gate - that those allowed in must be well kempt, appropriately dressed, and have no contagious illnesses. The black woman, he said, had tight wiry curls and he felt they weren't properly combed. She had sandals without heels, which were far too casual to be appropriate. And her skin was so dark the gatekeeper could not tell if she was healthy.
[alt ending starts here]
Eric considered what the gatekeeper had said. It was true, he believed, that wiry hair didn't look combed, and that sandals were overly casual, and that you couldn't see dark spots on dark skin. He could not fault the gatekeeper for turning the black woman away.
But still, the people walking in his garden all looked the same and it was possible, that if the wrong people noticed this, the city council would cut funding to his park because it did not serve all the people of the city.
So Eric put a sign over the service gate saying 'Blacks only' and had a gatekeeper with a personal radio stand beside it. In this way, for every half dozen tall handsome white men the gatekeepers ushered in through the big front gate, the gatekeeper at the side gate selected one black person to go through into the garden.
For the next month Eric was happy, because when he sat in the garden he could always see someone walking the twisty paths or sitting on the painted benches who didn't look like everyone else.
But after a while he noticed that every morning, when he came through the front gate to go to his office, the pretty young black woman was in the queue outside the front gate. He noticed this particularly, perhaps, because the queue at the front gate had far more tall handsome white men then it used to have, since all the other kinds of people knew to queue where they had a slim chance of getting in the park and not no chance at all.
Once Eric noticed the pretty young black woman, he couldn't stop noticing, and it annoyed him more and more that she hadn't understood she was wasting her time standing in the queue by the front gate and that going to the side gate would mean she might be allowed into the garden.
Finally, after seeing her queue every day for another month, he walked up to the young black woman and asked her why she didn't go to the side gate with all the other black people.
And she said 'I have to queue here, so that when you sit in the park congratulating yourself that you see just enough different kinds of people not to have to worry that you'll lose council funding, you remember that you and your gatekeepers still think only tall handsome white men in sober suits truly belong in the park.'
....
Alternate Ending...
Eric looked at the pretty young black woman as she walked away, and he forced himself to see that although her hair was wiry it was shining and clean, and perhaps she was wearing sandals but they were a designer brand with diamonds shining in the soles, and her skin might be dark but her eyes were bright and she seemed in no way unhealthy.
So Eric arranged for his gatekeepers to go on a training course, and wrote memos to redefine what kempt and appropriate and healthy should mean. He stood with them by the gate, challenging his first impressions of the people who were not tall handsome white men, and overruled the gatekeepers to let more of the many kinds of people of the city enter the park.
From then on when Eric sat in the park there were some days on which there were a lot of handsome white men, with and without hats, and some days everyone he saw would have dark skin, but most days the kinds of people you met in the park would be the same kinds of people you'd meet in the queue outside its gates.
And the garden was more beautiful than ever.
....