Playing the race card has jumped the shark

Maybe by now the echoes of "Racism!" have receded from the hollowed halls of the Consecrated Cathedral known as Congress where the knee-jerk jeer of "You lie" stayed the tongue of His Majesty Obama in mid political pontification.

Perhaps the accusations of "Racism!" against the Tea Party protestors and 9/12 demonstrators and anti-tax activists and libertarian dissenters for their audacity in milling around the National Mall instead of timidly lapping the crumbs of received policy wisdom from the curative hands of Messiah Obama have finally faded to murmurs.

It may now be possible to calmly consider whether the people who call people racists who are not racists have finally jumped the shark.

For those not in the know due to youth or lack of caring, "jumping the shark" is a phrase inspired by an episode of the 70s high school high jinx TV series, "Happy Days."

As the story goes, the show was shedding viewers, ratings were slipping, and writers were desperate for storylines. So they put the program's most popular player, Henry Winkler's leather-wearing motorcycle-riding 50s juvenile delinquent Arthur "Fonzie" Fonzarelli on water-skis and had him jump over a shark. After that episode, fans of the show avow, it was all downhill from there. Thus, by extension, at the point in a show or event where plots grow progressively preposterous or actors veer wildly out of character has become known generically as "jumping the shark."

So when someone says that something has jumped the shark it means that the thing has been in the game too long. The thing is passé. Its shelf life is way past its sell by date, the dust and cobwebs are collecting on its brand name, and mold is beginning to appear around its edges.

It means that while the curtain hasn't rung down on The Boy Who Cried Racist quite yet, the fat lady is definitely clearing her throat.

It means, like, that's, you know, so last election, dude.

Instead of pondering whether white man Joe Wilson's outburst of "He lied" during a black president's speech had any debatable merit he was simply shouted down as a racist.

Instead of asking why people actually traveled miles to the capital to protest a black president's policies they were simply shouted down as racists.

The purpose of ranting "Racism!" is simply to make opposition shut up so debate can be shut down.

There was a time when "male chauvinist sexist pig" was a highly effective conversation killer. But shouting sexist at a man today will likely cause him to stare, shrug, and walk away because he's a gated community dwelling light rail riding moisturizing metrosexual information systems specialist from exurbia who doesn't know what you're talking about. And neither does his neo-liberal enviro-chic macrobiotic dieting palates training PETA supporting social services professional vegan girlfriend walking beside him with her tattooed wrist wrapped around his glutes.

As for the porcine part of that pejorative, call a cop a pig these days and he'll likely laugh at you. "What decade did you crawl out from under? Are you stoned, buddy? Can you count to 1 for me?"

The male chauvinist shout-down is dead and cremated and moldering in the bottom of an urn sitting on Kate Millet's mantelpiece.

And calling a queer a queer will likely get you a shrug and a walkaway too, seeing as how the queer jeer was co-opted by cable shows like "Queer as Folk" and "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" while the new broadcast series "Modern Family" throws around "drama queen" and "creampuff" double entendres like party favors.

Maybe chanting "We're queer, we're here, get used to it" over and over finally got a lot of people over it.

So anyone playing the "Racist!" card today had better get it right. With all the DNA swapping through interracial marriages and interethnic couplings and proliferating cross-pollinated pregnancies going on it's hard to tell the target from the targeter.

Even "America's First Black President" is only half black so calling his Caucasian critics racists can never be more than half right.

In the not very distant future railing "Racist!" at a man will likely cause him to stare, shrug, and walk away because he's an Irish Armenian Guatemalan with a Ghanaian grandfather and a Syrian-American half-sister who doesn't know what you're talking about. And neither does his German Indonesian Peruvian wife with her Romanian nose and her Jamaican corn rolls walking beside him with her French fingertips tickling his glutes.

So the next time someone wrongly calls you a racist, just laugh and ask, "Who am I racists against, the black lady married to my son or my Anglo-Asian Hispanic grandchild or the sweet little baby from Mumbai my daughter just adopted?"

Of course racism still exists. But milking the meaning of racism for political gain is a slap in the face of real people who endured real racism.

The race card is frayed and dog-eared. It's gone from an ace to a joker, and politically misplaying it has jumped the shark.