Human beings are a race of discriminators. Almost by definition. Oh, I’m well aware that animals in the wild have their own form of discriminatory practices too. I’ve never heard of a home for visually impaired lion in the far north region of the Kruger National Park. We humans discriminate against each other on the basis of skin colour, gender, metabolism, age, dental structure and so on. Of course we use teeth as a discriminator alright. Hands up anyone whose partner has a passion gap. I thought so.
Most forms of discrimination are bad — a way for narrow-minded people to exclude those they don’t like. Some discrimination is actually positive. Let’s all agree that we probably do not desire graduates of the Carl Niehaus school of financial management anywhere near the Reserve Bank.
But what fascinates me is the phenomenon of socially acceptable and non-acceptable forms of discrimination. Even though we’re not too eager about it, we practise healthy levels of discrimination on a daily basis. We don’t allow people with IQ’s of 70 into our universities. It’s a matter of time before they make a movie based on Winnie Madikizela-Mandela’s life. As accomplished an actor as Robert Whitehead is, I doubt that the HRC’s Jody Kollapen would be moved by cries of “discrimination” if Whitehead’s audition was unsuccessful on the basis of wrong skin colour and gender. And I doubt that the Miss World organisers would face any action if they turned my application down despite my breathtaking good looks and firm grasp of world issues (rolls eyes).
We even have cases where groups of people practise self-discrimination. The residents of Lenasia are particularly passionate about Manchester United, Liverpool and Arsenal (when they used to be good). Yet strangely enough, one is not likely to see the headline, “Patel’s hat trick seals it for Bafana”. No, it’s not because our countrymen of Indian extraction cannot play football. In fact, I’ve played against some mean footie players from Shallcross, Pinetown. As a matter of fact, back in the 80s, Moroka Swallows used to have a brilliant midfielder called Sulie Bhamjee. No man, not the slippery Bhamjee. This one was a player with an educated left foot. So one has to assume that our Indian brethren are otherwise occupied, hence the absence of a prop called Govender in the Super 14.
I like things in neat boxes, including my discriminations. Refusing to serve a man in a restaurant because he is black is an unacceptable form of discrimination. Period. Refusing to field Terror Lekota in the Bafana starting line-up in this month’s Mandela Challenge is good in my books. But then there are those irritating situations where one has to make borderline calls. An aesthetically … wanting applicant for the position of receptionist at L’Oreal. L’Oreal is in the business of selling beauty and the receptionist is the face of the company. What do you do?
I had this thought this past weekend at my local paediatrician’s office. My (now) 15-month-old contracted some respiratory infection from the 4-year-old walking germ factory. Kindergarten has a way of ensuring he is perpetually snotful. His chest was so clogged up the doctor insisted on him being nebulised by the nurse on duty. I took one look at her and almost started ovulating on the spot. And I don’t even have eggs. It’s not so much that this wonderful person has an advanced case of grimness. It’s just that she is very scary to look at. Her face looks like it was compressed dorsoventrally, squeezing her cheekbones out — such that her eyes face in opposite directions.
Let me stop right there and say I have no problem with how people look. Plus, a nurse’s job is to help all of us back into health. And I found her to be quite efficient at her job. However, where does one draw the line? My 4-year-old looked at her, darted behind my leg and clutched it the whole time. The normally fearless 15-month-old Zulu Warrior sunk his nails into my nails and then emitted a bloodcurdling scream. The whole nebulisation process took 10 minutes longer than was necessary because the boy would look at her, then close his eyes and wail some more. The receptionist woman gave me a strange look — the best description is mirthful pity.
Now it is possible that it’s just me — and my yellow-bellied offspring. But I don’t think so. The look that the receptionist gave me was a dead giveaway. The nurse must be new because I have never seen her before. I’m thinking there’s been an interesting conversation:
Concerned receptionist: Doc, it’s about the new nurse.
Blind doctor: Isn’t she just efficient and qualified?
CR: The patients are starting to talk.
BD: What’s their concern?
CR: Have you looked at her eyes?
BD: Yeah, they’re bluish, with a greyish tinge …
CR: I don’t suppose you have watched The Lord of the Rings, have you? Smigel?
Look, I find the idea of discriminating against people on the basis of their looks as disgusting and as grossly unfair as you do. But as we have already established, we do it every day. I will personally take the Zulu Warrior back there. Familiarity sometimes breeds lack of fear. But the question is not so much about what I’ll do. Not everyone is as nonchalant as I am about these things. I’m thinking about the doctor’s business.
What if a few of his patients draw to his attention that … well, the new nurse scares kids? What if, indeed, the numbers start dwindling? The nature of human beings is such that we say one thing but tend to do the opposite. It’s easy to say you wouldn’t let a qualified, efficient employee go because patients were unhappy with her looks. I’d hate to be in that situation.
I will watch this space keenly and report back.
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