Damned Indecision And Cursed Pride

BY Natasha Ludowyk

For all that there are human traits I admire and adore, there are also those I despise and scorn. And, much as I like to think of myself as a sunshine-and-lollipops kinda girl, there is one particular trait I simply loathe: a person’s denial and reversal of their own statements after they have already been proven wrong. I call these people Revisionist Historians.

We’ve all been Revisionist Historians. We learn it innately as children when we revise our preference for the yellow cup to the blue cup the instant we discover that the blue cup is indeed the chosen cup of our older brother (I knew what I was doing all along, Tristan!). As children, our egos and wills are so marvellously potent that they make us believe in the elasticity of truth – and we think we can convince others as well. Kinda pathetic in a grown person, though, huh?

An adult Revisionist Historian might be the husband or wife who insists to their partner that they left the utensil in its usual drawer. Yet when confronted with the discovery that it had in fact been left in the garage, they declare with a straight face, “Yeah, I that’s what I said…” Usually this will precipitate an argument about how their partner doesn’t ever listen to them. Or then there’s the friend who proclaims to you with practiced flippancy, “It’s not a big deal, I was never serious about it. I wasn’t even that interested in him,” despite the fact that you spent the entire previous week listening to her moon about the very same guy. And then of course we have the divorce. Divorce can sometimes be necessary. I get it. Still, knowing it’s there as an escape clause definitely makes that whole lifelong oath thing much easier to swear.

I’ve been thinking long and hard about why this behaviour should bother me quite so much, because it’s not like these people are beating up children or stealing from charities. The crime of the Revisionist Historian is much less harmful and much more sneaky. And maybe that’s part of it; I just don’t like sneaks. I’m probably also extra sensitive because of Australia’s long, not-so-proud history of official bullshit, and the ‘history wars’ that have turned our nation’s past into an ideological battleground. “History is not social justice awareness week,” Education Minister Julie Bishop bluntly told the National History Summit in 2006. Thanks for that, Julie.

Even on a personal level it’s complex. There are lots of reasons why someone might become a Revisionist Historian, from the innocent to the offensive: lapses of memory, stubbornness or pride. I am even willing to grant that sometimes a little revisionism can be necessary and constructive. A wise friend once said to me that in order to get over an old lover, you need to learn to dislike them a little. And should this happen, you will inevitably cast your mind back over the important events of your shared history and colour them anew with this brush of dislike, or mistrust, contempt or whatever it is that you’ve learned or conjured in order to recover with your self-esteem intact.

But even in its best incarnation, the revising treads a fine and blurry line that only the most scrupulous honesty and self-awareness can negotiate. And heaven knows it’s hard to dredge those up when you’re living in your pyjamas and a puddle of your own tears, eating ice cream for breakfast and wine for lunch. Far more often, Revising History is a failure to take responsibility for the statements you utter – and that’s just not good enough. Or to put it more harshly, it’s a subset of lying. Perhaps less intentionally destructive, but also more insidious. I would prefer to be told a bald-faced fabrication of extraordinary proportions than be forced into accepting a petty contradiction. Okay, that’s probably not strictly true, I would hate an enormous lie too… but still, marks for narrative and chutzpah at least.

I know that none of us will ever get it right all the time. But I want people to own up. I want them to think more carefully, and perhaps more honestly, before they speak in the first place. If you’re going to declaim to me, then make sure you can stick to it, or else turn around and tell me with equal presence of mind that you got it wrong. Because not only will I be less likely to trust you the next time around (remember the Boy Who Cried Wolf?) but you’re doing something much worse as well. You’re not just offending me, you’re also devaluing the very words that you speak. You see, we value written words so much. We imbue them with weight and authority. We accept them and are bound to them. And I think that’s good. But why just the written ones? Spoken words are ephemeral (unless you have a dictaphone), but that doesn’t mean we should get to use that to twist and contort and blatantly deny them.

I love words. I love them so much that perhaps the greatest lesson of my life so far has been learning when and just how much to shut up – and anyone who knows me will know that it’s an ongoing educational project! Nevertheless, when I say something I want it to mean something. I want other people to think it means something. So if you ever should think I’m being a Revisionist Historian, please tell me. I’ll thank you for it. And if you have some great statement to make, don’t worry; I’ll willingly believe you. Or else ask for it in writing.