Label You, Label Me

Today is the day we in the West commemorate "D-Day", the invasion of Normandy by the Allies leading to a string of defeats by and subsequent fall of the Reich in Germany. Today, I want to discuss labels - I've been meaning to do this all week, but other duties prompted me to wait until now; perhaps there is some sort of divine reason why I'm writing this on "D-Day".

I recently read a study investigating labels and their associated stereotypes. It found that using the noun form of a descriptor rather than its adjective to define an individual prompts the user to automatically associate this person with the stereotypes that correspond to said descriptor; for example, I am more likely to use stereotypes if I label someone "a blonde" or "a Jew" rather than describing that person as "having blonde hair" or "being Jewish". When you ponder it for a moment, it makes sense: if I am labeled this or that, I become that label and everything that is attached to it, though I suppose the "scientific proof" is necessary to put our minds at ease - I'll get to deference to authority soon enough. In the context of war, labels detach us from others (and also ourselves): during World War II, we were the "Allies", the "Krauts" and the "Japs"; afterwards, we were the freedom-loving, God-fearing (notice the paradox?), decent hard-working people and the "Godless Communists"; today, we are the same and they are the "terrorists". If you want the perspective of the other side, we are the "Capitalist pigs" and the "Great Satan".

See what a mess this is? Wouldn't it be easier if we just considered each other as people? As living creatures held to Mother Earth's bosom?

Another funny thing about these labels is their capacity to determine the voices to whom we listen. If I have the label "General" or "Senator" or "Scientist" or "Scholar" or "Guru", chances are you're going to listen to what I have to say. Studies have shown (because we seem to need studies to show us) that by wearing an expensive suit, people will start taking me seriously, moreso than they would if I'm clad in a t-shirt and jeans. Do I suddenly become different by donning the suit? Does the suit provide some magical link between myself and the vast ocean of knowledge? My friend once told me a fable of a wise man who spoke to the masses and was unsuccessfull because they sneered at his garb, but when he returned wearing a business suit, the masses started to take his words seriously. My friend said the moral of this story is, sometimes, you have to adorn yourself with certain garments in order for people to listen to you; my concern is, what does that say about us? that we listen to the image and not the message?

Everything we experience has to have a label as well. Music is classified as this genre or that genre, each containing several sub-genres (and, of course, we end up defining ourselves and each other by our musical tastes), and some musical acts find these lines cutting right through them. We label certain experiences as "pleasant" or "unpleasant", "deviant" or "good", based on the most salient criteria in our minds at the time. We seek "fulfillment" in our lives but aren't quite sure what that means. Some of us claim to be "enlightened" or "aware".

Diagnoses are yet another example. My mother thinks I may have Asperger's syndrome, and she may be right, but should I then be defined by it? Must I carry the weight of another label? Will people see me differently with this diagnosis branded to my forehead? The amount of overlap between labels on the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual for Mental Disorders (commonly known as the DSM) is astounding, and there seems to be a label for just about everyone. I still don't know why the course I took was called "Abnormal Psychology": with a label for everyone, who can really be deemed "normal"? who decides what "normal" is? Do I have to be defined as "bipolar" or "autistic" until my dying day?

I don't know about you, but all these labels leave me confused.

Do these labels really define who we are? Each one of us has more dimensions than we can count, so how do we come to define each other by a single attribute? Do we love convenience that much? Are we afraid to delve deeper? By branding everything and everyone, do we lose sight of them? Do we lose sight of ourselves? So what if I'm a White male? So what if I was raised Greek Orthodox? I'm a lot of other things, too, all of which interact with one another. I am also you, and you, and you, and you.

Why was this day labeled "D-Day"? Because "we" beat "them"? What does it mean to be "we" and "them"? Were we not assisted by the Soviet Union in our triumph over Nazi Germany? If they had lost the battle of Stalingrad, would we be having this conversation? Do we disregard their contribution because "they" are not "us", because "their" values differ from "ours"? Perhaps these wars might be avoided if we ceased classifying ourselves as "us" and "them".

Do we really need to be slaves to these labels we create arbitrarily?