WHERE IS THE RESPECT?

 

 

I’ve noticed a lot of talk recently about a lack of respect. Maybe it’s just a coincidence but ‘respect’ seems to be at a premium at the moment and I’m not sure why. There’s been stuff on the television and radio, some friends have been talking about it and it’s even left its mark on the print media.

The topics that highlight ‘respect’ as missing in action concerning social capital appear to centre on institutions, traditions, other people, family relationships, punter-focussed jobs and property. In fact, any vessel where respect might play an important role appears to be rudderless if you believe the commentaries I’m seeing and hearing.

What confuses me about respect being buried somewhere in a shallow bush grave (forgive me, I love clichés) is that society couldn’t hope to function on any level without respect grinding its gears to a significant extent. As I travel around Sin City I see it every day……….. walking on the streets, sitting in trains and, believe it or not, dragging down the roads (on most occasions). I was almost conked on the head with a golf ball the other day when it ricocheted off a nearby tree. The citizen who clouted the ball in the first place raced over to see if I was still breathing. Isn’t that respect in some basic form? Anarchy and chaos don’t normally reveal their sinister silhouettes to me out here on the grand Cumberland plain……… at least on week days.

I reckon that the ‘no respect’ war cries mask other things which we might not be too willing to admit. For instance, when I was on the government tick I’d occasionally (and I stress ‘occasionally’) hear the odd colleagues complain bitterly about a lack of respect for teachers. The underlying rationale- if you can call it that- was that respect should be telegraphed to them because they were teachers………… automatically and with no questions asked! The fact that no questions were ever asked of them was irrelevant. Any issues or problems which confronted these co-workers were relegated to the ‘no respect’ carry-all. They certainly didn’t acknowledge that respect had to be earned rather than assigned and, I’m sorry to say, such colleagues were routinely duds at the teaching game. Thankfully, they were an insignificant minority. Position doesn’t attract respect but practice does and that has always been the case.

Then again, there’s that almost tangible feeling that respect in society has waned within our own lifetimes. Critical to this idea is that there was a golden age where everyone knew what to do, how to act and when to give up one’s seat on the bus to an old crock. All this has been cast aside with succeeding generations and we’re the poorer for it. Nowhere is this view better displayed than in the following commentary I came across the other day-

I see no hope for the future of our people if they are dependent on the frivolous youth of today, for certainly all youth are reckless beyond words…….. When I was young, we were taught to be discreet and respectful of elders, but the present youth are exceedingly disrespectful and impatient of restraint.

Eloquent words from an articulate citizen with his (or her) finger on the social pulse, you’d think! The fact that they were written over two thousand years ago by the Greek poet Hesiod is just an irritating red herring.

The nefarious arguments of the ‘no respect’ mobs are reflected in two of my favourite comedians, namely, Rodney Dangerfield and Sacha Baron Cohen (in Ali G mode). These performers played to very different audiences and generations but both targeted respect as a central pillar of their comedic routines. The recognition that the concept of respect was something that could be played around with and understood by paying punters points more to respect’s tenacity than its demise. If respect is on the way out, then those two guys would never have made as much money as they did.

As a sort of post scriptum, here’s a take-home activity. The next time you hear a commentator or an acquaintance initiate the ‘no respect’ dirge, locate and activate the nearest stopwatch. I guarantee that within five minutes they will be displaying the very thing they’re complaining about. Now you can take that to the bank. Me? I’m heading to the Lapstone monocline to search for that grave.