Political Correctness or Madness?

By Dorothea Shefer-Vanson

I left my homeland of England about 60 years ago and came to live in Israel for a variety of reasons, one of them being the weather.

The England that I left behind was a fairly stable country with regard to the composition of its population, which was largely white. There were, of course, some colored people, or should I call them black people? In these days of political correctness, I never know what is the acceptable term. Anyway, there were people who came originally from Africa or India or somewhere in the Caribbean and had made their home in England. As the daughter of refugees from Germany I had no claim to being a native of the British isles, but having been born and brought up there I felt an affinity with its culture and history. Fortunately for me, my skin was white (pink), so I was not subjected to discrimination on those grounds.

After making my home in Israel I continued to interest myself in British culture, and even made a living through the use of the English language (translation and writing). My knowledge of Hebrew gave me the ability to read and speak it, but I never felt confident enough to write in it. All through my years in Israel I would return to England, mainly London, for a week or two most years to visit friends and family, as well as to enjoy the theatre, the ambience of the big city and feast my eyes on its familiar sights and scenes. Together with my husband, we took our children and grandchildren to visit the place where I had grown up and to which I still owe some kind of allegiance.

During one visit, Yigal and I attended a performance of Oscar Wilde’s classic and much-loved play ‘The Importance of Being Earnest.’ The play is replete with Wilde’s inimical brand of quips and witticisms, and rests on the concept of the unique brand of ineptness displayed by some members of the English upper classes. As usual, we got to the theatre, took our places and prepared to enjoy the play.

Imagine our shock when the curtain rose to reveal the main character, the eponymous Earnest of the play, speaking faultless English, seated in a comfortable armchair, expounding on various aspects of life, played by an admirable actor of African origin. This completely undermined any iota of trust or belief we might have had in the veracity of his representation of a typical upper-class twit, and nothing in the rest of the play – not the magic of Wilde’s linguistic and plot quirks, not the brilliance of the rest of the cast, not the convincing period costumes – could dispel the sense of disbelief and disappointment we felt.

I try to tell myself I’m not racist. I honestly don’t think I am. But I don’t see how anyone can think that casting a black person as the principal character in a play representing the English upper classes is a good idea and can in any way be convincing.

Something similar happened last week, as I tried to watch a TV version of Charles Dickens’ classic, “David Copperfield.” Blow me down if the film didn’t start by showing the principal character, young David himself, running along the sandy beach to meet the family which takes him in, as a young Indian boy. Indian? David Copperfield? Never! However literate, enchanting, endearing and cute the little Indian boy, later replaced by an adult Indian actor, might be, they do not represent the David Copperfield of Dickens’s imagination, or mine. I wonder what Dickens himself would have to say about it.

I accept that English society has changed and that this should be represented in the arts, but please stop expecting us to consent to these travesties of English literature.

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