By I Bismuth

September 5: I am hung over from the flu, or a flu, or a flu-like illness, or a viral infection, or a don’t-bother-to-bother-an-overworked-medical-professional-self-limiting-mystery-malady. Whatever it was, it utterly prostrated me. I was flat on my back for a week. And even to an overworked non-medical professional, a bandying of words with an unsavoury brother-in-law does not seem indicated in the latter stages of convalescence.

But I have a sister who was irresponsible enough to graft herself on to a skin specialist (that is to say, an SS man) and who lives just around the corner, so bandyings of the kind I had this afternoon are an all too frequently paid price for my not disowning my relatives.

While Rose and Meg and a cross-section of my nephews and nieces amused themselves in the garden by worrying worms, Walter amused himself in the sitting-room by worrying me.

“Now, Bizzy,” he said, his fingers closing on a wine glass belonging to me filled with wine belonging to me, “you are very hot in your rejection of discrimination on the grounds of race, and yet you admit you are not in principle opposed to discrimination.”

“I’m not opposed to discrimination against evil. Are you?”

“I think you mean you are in favour of all the laws and codes of practice we have in these disenchanted isles that discriminate on the grounds of opinion.”

“On the grounds of repugnant opinion. Yours, Walter. Yes, you badly need to be discriminated against. I’m only sorry that circumstances, by which I mean my sister, forbid me from being the man to do the deed. Discrimination against holders of a repugnant opinion is entirely justifiable.”

“But if discrimination on the grounds of opinion is justifiable, why do you oppose discrimination on the grounds of race?”

“Only you are warped enough to ask such a question.”

“Humour me, Bizzy. Here, let me offer you some more of your excellent wine. Don’t let it all disappear down my odious gullet.”

“That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said.”

As he topped up my glass, he became excruciatingly bonhomous. “Never let it be said that I treat my host ungenerously,” he quipped, and I was in fear of being slapped on the back. “You’ve saved a good few fluid ounces from your bigot-in-law there.” He paused to allow me to take a sip and to drop my guard a little more, and then started worrying me again.

“Right, Bizzy. So why do you oppose discrimination on the grounds of race?”

“That’s easy. Discrimination on the grounds of race is wrong because our race is something we are given, not something we take.”

“Well, I am reluctant to put words into the mouth of an Anti-Racist, but since the ones you put there yourself are so inadequate, the temptation is irresistible. So let me suggest that what you are saying is that discrimination on the grounds of race is wrong because we can’t change our race by an act of will. We are stuck with what we are. Is that right?”

Even through the fog of grape I could see that a rhetorical trap was being set for me, but I heard some fool who was giving a passable imitation of my voice saying, “Yes, that’s right.”

“But that won’t do, because we are, in fact, stuck with our opinions until they change, not until we change them. As individuals, we are no more free to change our opinions by an act of will than we are free to change our race by an act of will. Our opinions, as much as our race, are what we are given, not what we take. It’s true that our opinions can change in a way that our race can’t, but it’s a change we passively observe happening in ourselves, not that we can will to happen. We are simply aware of having one opinion at one time and another opinion at another time. When we look back on the process of how it happened that one opinion gave way to another, we see that at no point in the process did any part of the old opinion give way to any part of the new opinion because of an act of will, at any rate, not because of an act of our own will.”

He paused to take stock, I am sure, of the effect of his line of attack.  But only paused.

“So if discrimination is wrong against whatever aspect of ourselves we can’t change by an act of will, it is no more justifiable to discriminate on the grounds of opinion than on the grounds of race; or else if discrimination is justifiable against one aspect ourselves we can’t change by an act of will, such as our opinions, then discrimination against other aspects of ourselves we can’t change by an act of will, such as our race, must also be justifiable.”

Ever the smug fuse-lighter, he settled back in his chair, in MY chair, confident he was about to witness a detonation. Instead, I sizzled with quiet dignity. I pointed out that the bottle was empty. I looked at my watch. I looked at the floor. I looked at the ceiling. Given the degree of provocation, I was proud of keeping up the social subtleties.

And I managed to refrain from bellowing about his provocation until he had removed himself and the troop of victims he calls his wife and family. The trouble with Walter is that whenever I explain patiently to him that he is Nazi scum, he has a deplorable habit of falling about laughing.