Don't Go There

Back in the days when I was trying to keep animal products out of my diet, I was once subjected to an interrogation that went something like this:

"Why don't you eat meat?"

"It's a moral choice."

"Why? Because meat used to be alive? Well, plants are alive, so you shouldn't be eating those either."

Having scored the point, my interrogator moved onto other matters. The quick change of subject didn't give me an opportunity to explore my end of the argument, which would have gone something like this:

"Why do you eat only some kinds of meat? If you eat a pig or a cow, why don't you eat a dog?"

It may be generally true that people are more comfortable challenging other people's taboos than they are comfortable exploring their own, but that's not my point.

My point is something I've been calling all week "rhetorical boundaries" - those inexpressible, voice-lowering, face averting, shoulder-hunching, eye-contact-avoiding zones in human conversation where sometimes you just can't go; rhetorical boundaries like "the sanctity of marriage" or "there'll always be an England" or "freedom of expression."

I've bumped into these boundaries a lot of times this past week, and not just because I had my performance review. 

And when I hear a rhetorical barrier (again cleverly disguised to honour my oaths to the Crown) - something like "we'll always have to manufacture ice cream in southern Ontario, because it would be a shame not to," that's when I want to start asking questions. "Why not? What is it about ice cream that makes a future without it unthinkable? Couldn't there be something better than ice cream in the future? What would a world without ice cream look like? Would it be a bad thing?" 

But asking people to explore their own taboos is rude, so I don't. At least not right away.

Here's a pretty, leafless tree on Toronto Island

Have a great week!

Karen