Other times, other mores: old precept to resuscitate. He would help a lot of people to build a tougher rind under the affront felt. Do you always have to fall out of your chair when a book chapter, a puppet or a movie scene scratches the dictates of the day? Perhaps it would be enough to put things in perspective, to practice mental gymnastics by weighing the pros and cons, by questioning the context. After all, mentalities require time to mutate elsewhere. You might as well choose your targets and vary your methods. Let us rehabilitate discernment, in short.
The censorship of works in the name of extremist ideologies whips the world of the arts in defiance of common sense. The cleaver slashing in England of Roald Dahl’s youth novels, scratches the real prejudices of James Bond. Sensitivities have changed, and that’s often good. Still, transforming the works of the past means remaking history, losing track of its glories and setbacks. What slippery ground! By the way, could we please leave an artistic acquired right to the foraging of fantasy? Creation needs so much air.
Take the continuation of The little life in six episodes in the fall. The iconic series of Claude Meunier played, 25-30 years ago, with social stereotypes served in derision mode. Will its screenwriters now walk on eggshells so as not to shock anyone by filing their fangs? Already in 2020, an episode of The little life featuring a parody African played by Normand Brathwaite had been censored on ICI Tou.tv. Then after a national outcry, duly replaced with public warning. It turns with the wind. Spectators will end up judging this series downright offensive for French-speaking Quebecers. How dare Meunier depict us buried under waste and prejudice? Down with the traitor!
When a black Martinican comedian cannot go on certain stages with a puppet that caricatures him without being accused of anti-black racism, it is because creative irony hits a wall on the other side of the mirror. Producers and spectators can no longer decode second-degree humor, which is faltering by the side of the road. They should be encouraged to mentally juggle several concepts at the same time. But the brains, under the polarization of time, are out of savvy and agility. Already half burned by the curses of social media, their ability to respond to the incredible challenges of tomorrow is fraying galore.
Who caters so much to people’s gray cells? Media, populist creators and politicians aim at their affect, without resorting too much to the art of reasoning. Everyone infantilizes them. As for real children, by dint of being pampered and reassured at school, they no longer learn much. Too tiring! Brains are atrophied by asking computers for the key to all knowledge as links to be woven between them. A laziness overtakes us.
The accelerated thrust of artificial intelligence, which forms and misinforms, suddenly falls on fertile ground. This fascinating toy helps to create sophisticated works, solve complex problems. Yes, but why would humans learn a trade best performed by robots? The labor crisis is accentuating
already the mechanization of the world of work. So many jobs are looming over the horizon. Replaced by what? Mystery ! We stare with haggard eyes at the direction the train is taking us, without really imagining its destination.
Once landed in Absurdistan, why learn, why teach? A chatbot like ChatGPT can design courses and answer exam questions, without forcing anyone to worry about anything. Future models will erase the defects of the machines, soon to be equipped with super cars. Anticipation film? Not that much.
And why create, exactly? Books written by ChatGPT, based on keywords and plagiarized works, often aimed at children and lovers of genre novels, land on free sale on Amazon. For the moment, not very brilliant, full of manufacturing tics, tomorrow better equipped for the marathon. Science fiction publishers and writers see a part of the market slipping away from them more and more. Forget the white page syndrome in heartless authors. Their laying speed dethrones all the aces of the soap opera.
All the same, all the same… We have many resources in our senses and in our heads. Numb, but ready to serve. Enough to keep an eye out for the bots before they beat us to the finish line. Enough to want to preserve poetry, discernment and inspiration in the tray of humanity. Let’s call it a wish. So soft to caress…