Media Matters: Millennials, Political Correctness, and Yada Yada Yada

“I am absolutely opposed to political correctness. You cannot confront hate speech until you’ve experienced it.” - Jane Elliot

 â€œBless his heart.” That’s the expression my beloved grandmother would often trot out whenever a younger family member or benign simpleton would do or say something with the best of intentions, but get it horribly, painfully, cringe-inducingly wrong. Be it an overly enthusiastic grandchild on a quixotic quest to build a turbo charged go-cart out of shrubbery trimmings, or the town drunk spinning an elaborate yarn in explanation of his request for a modest sum of money that just so happened to coincide with the price of a bottle of Boone’s Farm at the local liquor store, if the object of her slow head shake was deemed sufficiently well meaning, but hopelessly clueless, they would likely find themselves at the receiving end of that gentle request for divine intervention.

Well, bless Anthony Berteaux’s heart. Berteaux is the San Diego State University sophomore who penned a 1200 word open letter to Jerry Seinfeld last week, in which the 19 year-old earnestly and enthusiastically attempted to explain the art of comedy to the man whose comedic sensibilities have earned him nearly a billion dollars and a reputation as perhaps the greatest technical comedian of his generation. Berteaux’s screed was supposedly in response to Seinfeld’s recent statement that many of his peers no longer play college campuses due to the stifling political correctness of such environments.

While Berteaux’s letter has about as much chance of sparking the sort of culture altering epiphany among comedians for which the ambitious young writer seems to be aiming as Seinfeld’s former colleague, Michael Richards, has of hosting the NAACP Image Awards, it is instructional nonetheless. In a time when the aging Baby Boomer power brokers of Seinfeld’s generation find themselves grappling to understand the cultural rhythms of the Millennial generation that is suddenly flooding the workforce, Berteaux’s words effectively capture the best and the worst, the truly unique, and the mundanely typical of the largest (and most self-aggrandizing) generation to come of age since the Boomers themselves.

Perhaps most powerfully, Millennials are defined by an earnestness that was largely absent from their Generation X predecessors, who cultivated a culture of detachment in which sarcasm and irony were the currency of the day, the overarching philosophy of which was best defined as “whatever.” Gen X may not have done much to save the world, but it was primarily because they simply weren’t that interested in doing so.

 Through the lens of their nihilistic cynicism, the world was beyond saving, and probably not worth the effort anyway. Whatever. While the very concept of political correctness rose to prominence with the emergence of Gen X, they only truly embraced it for a couple of years in the early ‘90s, then spent the next 20 derisively mocking it. Seinfeld, 61, may be a Boomer by birthdate, but the sensibility of his eponymous sitcom was distinctly Gen X, from the self-centered neurosis of its characters, to its creators’ mantra of “no hugs, no lessons.”

Millennials, by contrast, love hugs, and they love lessons. If you are reading this in public, at least one Millennial will likely attempt to hug you before you reach the Mumford & Sons reference. Their worldview is better captured by How I Met Your Mother, a show defined by its life-affirming outlook on love, friendship and community. The engine that powered the entire nine seasons was protagonist Ted’s dogged search for true love. Ted and his best friend Marshal both passed on lucrative career opportunities to indulge more fulfilling pursuits - Marshal in environmental law, no less. Barney, the lone cynic in the group, was ultimately revealed to be a damaged product of a dysfunctional childhood with a latent heart of gold. The characters of HIMYM spent their young adulthood continually striving to better themselves, their friends and their world, while the Seinfeld gang drifted into middle age swiping cinnamon babkas, competing to be “master of their domain,” and generally yada-yada-yadaing over any potential moments of genuine human connection or worldly import.

Berteaux comes across more than a little Ted-like as he lectures Seinfeld that “comedy today in our progressive society can no longer afford to be crass, or provocative for the sake of being offensive. Sexist humor and racist humor can no longer exist in comedy because these concepts are based on archaic ideals that have perpetrated injustice against minorities in the past.”

If your first response upon reading the above quote was, “Gee, bet that killed in your Peace Studies 101 discussion group,” then congratulations, you might be a Gen-Xer. But, the truth is, Millennials are paying more than lip service to the ideals espoused by Berteaux. Statistically, Millennials are the most diverse generation in history, with only 57 percent of those between the ages of 18 and 33 identifying as non-Hispanc whites. More than half of Millennials have dated outside of their race, and even a cursory scan of your local indie-rock haven or college-aged cousin’s Facebook page will reveal an array of social circles resembling Benetton ads. With social media facilitating connections with like-minded peers from literally across the globe, Millennials seem to be legitimately more interested in uniting through commonalities than segregating through differences. Thus, it is a natural cultural evolution that the average Millennial wouldn’t find the simple contrast humor (“women hail a cab like this, and men hail it like thiiiiis”) that was so prevalent in the ‘90s to be particularly relevant to their life experience.

At the same time, there is a fine line between a refusal to be defined by differences, and a blanket denial of them. To that end Berteaux’s letter reveals his generation’s potentially crippling affinity for group-think. The very nature of the viral content that has come to drive social media traffic speaks to this phenomenon. Increasingly, web surfers are relying on the “likes” and “shares” of their social network to determine the content they consume. Within a matter of minutes, an entire generation can be listening to the leak of the same Kendrick Lamar album, binge watching the same just released season of Orange is the New Black, or reading the latest article about what makes their generation special. (Millennials love reading about how special they are. It reminds them of the affirmational lullabies with which their Boomer helicopter parents sang them to sleep through their first semester of college.)

Sure, this brand of communal consumption can lead to some passionate and revelatory real time dialog. But, it can also leave a lot of equal worthy content buried under the mounds of litter strewn along the information super off-ramp. Kendrick and Orange delivered the goods, but so did Big K.R.I.T.’s Cadillactica album, and Amazon Prime’s Mozart in the Jungle. How many took time to venture down the road less traveled to those lesser trending gems. 

At what point does communal dialog simply become homogeneity in experience, and more importantly, in thought? “If you’re going to come to my college and perform in front of me,” Berteaux chides Seinfeld, "be prepared to write up a set that doesn’t just offend me, but has something to say.”

Really?

Jerry Seinfeld, who has honed his award winning routine over the course of decades in front of a diverse array of audiences the world over, who has changed television with his unique comedic perspective, should re-write his entire act so it aligns sufficiently with the delicate Millennial sensibilities of a college sophomore whose greatest, and quite possibly only real world accomplishment is getting his letter to Seinfeld published on Huffington Post?

When Mumford and Sons play the San Diego State campus, are they supposed to re-work “I Will Wait” into a lament on the drudgery of the cafeteria Sloppy Joe line, so as to better connect with the personal life experiences of Anthony Berteaux?

Perhaps the single most captivating component of stand-up comedy as an art form is that behind the clever turns of phrase and provocative punchlines, it offers an unfiltered look at the world from another person’s point of view. It may not spark a serious dialog about the weightiest issues of the day, as Berteaux seems to think all humor must. But, if done well, it will invite an audience aboard a train of thought previously unridden. That’s how, bit by bit, outlooks are expanded.

In the 2011 HBO special Talking Funny, Seinfeld himself credits the comedy of his friend Chris Rock with leading him to the epiphany that “black people live in a different world than white people… and they’re not that thrilled with it.” Seinfeld’s somewhat awkward phrasing aside, it’s that’s a powerful realization that many Americans may not have had until last year’s events in Ferguson and Long Island hijacked the news cycle. Rock, long known for his daring takes on social issues, has expressed sentiments similar to Seinfeld’s regarding the chilly responses he has received from recent college audiences.

“While I do agree with you that college students today are more sensitive to issues of race and gender politics,” Berteaux offers by way of explanation for the increasingly stern-faced campus crowds, “it’s simply because that’s our job as learners.”

 In the socratic spirit with which Berteaux is likely accustomed to dialoging during his identity epistemology seminars, I respectfully disagree. It is absolutely not our job as learners to be sensitive. On the contrary, it is our job as learners to be open; to suck in the full array of philosophies, perspectives, experiences, and emotions with which this vast world presents us. (And I say "us," because I reject the notion that leaning ends on commencement day.) Such engagement demands quite the opposite of sensitivity. A true learners must have the thickest of skins, because the broader the swath of humanity we experience, the more we will find that offends, enrages, befuddles and unnerves us. And, guess what? That anger, fear and confusion, born from processing the infinite spectrum of intellectual and emotional stimuli offered by our world, is all part of the learning experience.

We certainly won’t like or agree with all of the ideas that penetrate our cranial space. That doesn’t mean they have nothing to contribute to our development as learners. As a semi-public figure never shy with an opinion while attending a historic bastion of civic engagement, my college years were littered with battles. At various times, I was called a wimp and a bully, a Communist and a Republican. I was accused of chauvinism and pandering to feminists. I was even called an insipidly failed satirist, and that was from one of my most strident defenders!

Yet, sparring with my critics was unquestionably one of the most valuable parts of the first rate education I received during those years. Sometimes, they flat out knew more than I did, and I was summarily schooled. Other times, their impassioned arguments didn’t budge me one inch, and the learning came instead through refining my rhetoric and solidifying my positions against rigorous challenge. But, most commonly, the dialog would culminate in the reminder that there is often more than one truth, each achieved through radically divergent, but equally valid life experiences. Ultimately, isn’t that what college and learning in general is all about? Exposure to as many truths as we can wrap our mere mortal minds around?

So, bless Anthony Berteaux’s heart. Truly. He was fervent and bold enough to share his truth with the world, and as a result, we’re all talking about such weighty issues as inclusiveness, cultural sensitivity, generational paradigm shifts, and cafeteria Sloppy Joe lines. Hopefully he will absorb the myriad truths being volleyed back at him, and when the hubbub dies down, take a moment to ponder just how stringently inclusiveness can be enforce before it becomes exclusionary.

Media Matters is a look at the week’s top news stories, and what they can teach us about communications, business and life.

 About the Author

Jeffrey Harvey is a Washington, DC based communications professional with experience in broadcasting, strategic communications, public relations, marketing and media analysis. He has written prolifically on subjects including technology, healthcare and arts and entertainment. His original one act play, Coffee won a staged reading at the Kennedy Center in the Source Theater Festival.