Please, stop condemning my nickname as ‘extremely derogatory’ on my behalf

Not in a month of Sundays did I think I’d find myself cheerleading for the “political correctness gone mad” brigade, yet here we are.

Political correctness, I often thought, was synonymous with politeness. The etiquette that steers you away from (sometimes accidental) demeaning language that stigmatises or entrenches prejudice.

Gary Nunn.

I’ve often found it a helpful way of communicating clearly and inclusively. But I’ve finally found my line in the sand. And it has been drawn on the beaches of the Gold Coast.

Recently, in a light-hearted exchange, Gold Coast Mayor Tom Tate affectionately called his ginger-haired colleague, Councillor Joe Wilkinson a “ranga”.

The mayor was talking about Wilkinson replacing outgoing councillor William Owen-Jones, who also happens to be a redhead. Tate joked, “You know, lose one ranga, get another ranga. What the hell. That’s what the Gold Coast is all about.”

Incredibly, the comment resulted in an official complaint, a full-blown investigation by the Office of the Independent Assessor and, consequently, Tate facing disciplinary action and being forced to apologise.

The OIA deemed the comments to be “not funny” and “extremely derogatory”, despite the jovial warmth evident in Tate’s tone, and found that the mayor broke standards requiring councillors to respect “people’s cultural differences … safety, health and welfare”.

Come on. We all know what terms are “extremely derogatory.” They’re words my editor would literally omit or asterisk if I were to write them here. Ranga is not one of them.

What’s most incredible about this overblown storm in a teacup though, is that the complaint didn’t come from Wilkinson. This was someone, bizarrely, taking offence on Wilkinson’s behalf, even though he said he wasn’t at all offended. Following the furore, Wilkinson went so far as to declare himself a “proud ranga”.

Sure, it’s a good rule of thumb to avoid commenting about someone’s personal appearance (especially when they’re your colleagues). And maybe the complainant was red-headed. But on this point, I have (notoriously pasty) skin in the game.

For those linguistically unacquainted with the uniquely Australian term, “ranga” is one of my favourite inventive pieces of Aussie dingo lingo – a colloquialism for red-heads; an abbreviation of orangutan, and I say this as a “ranga” myself.

It’s a term I adore being called (which is often). I only learnt it when I came to Australia (sadly, it wasn’t widely used in the UK when I was growing up), and it speaks to the Aussie tradition of nicknaming people as a sign of affection. Sometimes, these nicknames aren’t very imaginative, like simply adding the letter “y” or “o” to someone’s surname. But often, they are funny and inventive, such as another popular nickname for redheads like me, “Blue”.

Ever since school, I’ve heard slang synonyms for ginger hair used in a mocking way. Ranga is by far the most affectionate.

What a wanton waste of taxpayer money it was to have the OIA conduct an investigation into something that could have been solved with a ten-second conversation with the mayor before we all moved onto far more pressing matters.

Migrants, refugees and people of colour face real discrimination; people with white skin and red hair like me don’t – not beyond school, anyway, and not in anywhere near the same way. We’ve had a “ranga” prime minister, for example, but never one of colour. Putting these so-called slurs on equal footing undermines the very real impacts of actual discrimination which need addressing far more urgently.

As good as the intentions of the complainant may have been, I don’t need someone to take offence for me. And yet, this demand for atonement and censorship on my behalf is creeping into our lives more.

In roughly nine weeks’ time, I’ll start getting phone calls from radio producers who want to know if, as a gay man living in 2024, I’m offended by The Pogues’ Christmas classic, Fairytale of New York. What’s the issue, you might ask? The song includes the word “f––––t”, a term published in this masthead with strikeouts due to its power, in some contexts, to cause offence.

Radio DJs will be advised to bleep out the word or, worse, stop playing the song altogether, which has happened for the past six years and is what has led to me getting annual phone calls from radio stations and being asked to weigh in.

For the record, no gay man I know is offended by the use of that word within the context of that song because it speaks of two drunken brawlers hurling insults at each other, not at the gay community. Anyone actually offended by it is overlooking two crucial elements: context and characterisation.

By jumping to offence on behalf of others too quickly and removing context and characterisation, we bankrupt ourselves on occasions when we’re actually insulted or when true discrimination actually occurs.

So, do you know what offends me? Ridiculous censorship. Cancel culture. Unimaginative prudes who need to get a life and get out more.

Gary Nunn is a freelance writer and author based in Sydney.

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