Ho! Ho! Ho! Yes, it’s that time of year again, when political correctness rears its ugly head and the majority of us are gifted the opportunity for a little righteous indignation with our eggnog.

Except nobody told new Victorian Premier Ted Baillieu. In a bold and somewhat surprising display of common sense for a politician, he has made an effort to bring the spirit of the season back into Australian schools, insisting children “have the opportunity to enjoy the simple pleasures of Christmas”.
Praise the Lord indeed.
Yet while the schoolchildren of Victoria celebrate, for the first time in my life I was faced with political correctness gone wrong. At least, so I thought.
In the run up to Christmas I was asked to amend something I had written. For a writer, this is nothing new. Our work is usually changed by everyone with an opinion and everyone has opinions. We deal with it with a smile (usually) and bitch about it later.
In this particular case, however, it was only a minor amendment: changing the word “Christmas” to “Holiday”.
I know what you’re thinking. I was thinking the same thing.
We’ve all heard similar stories, usually from the UK where seeds of political correctness and an overbearing need not to offend, rather than furnish society with just the right amount of cultural tact, have instead created a tangled mess we can’t escape.
Nowhere is this more apparent than at Christmas, where traditional symbols and even the word itself have become something of a burden to overzealous officials trying to do the ‘right thing’ by everyone.
In this case I was advised that I needed to tread carefully, as what I was writing would be read by a variety of people with a variety of faiths.
But it’s Christmas, I thought with that righteous indignation we talked about earlier. What the hell does faith matter?
And then it struck me, like a fat man falling down a chimney.
I’d forgotten the true meaning of Christmas.
For me, it has become something else altogether. Stemming from a wonderful childhood of cold days and long nights, carol singing, snowmen, reindeer, jolly old men and a (nut) roast dinner.
Everyone is a little nicer to each other. The TV networks rerun Star Wars or some other great family movie. And if you’ve been good, you might just be lucky enough to find a few presents in your pillowcase on Christmas morning (we couldn’t put them under the tree because the dog would’ve eaten them).
We still remembered why we celebrated, for the most part, but I think it soon got lost in the mix of friends, family, toys, decorative paraphernalia and marketing. It became a holiday in itself.
Do I feel bad about this? Not too much. A couple of years ago I spent Christmas in New York and it was an amazing experience. Those guys really know how to put a Christmas together and I would imagine even those not of a Christian faith enjoyed the colour, spectacle and good cheer. I certainly did.
Yet perhaps we do need to occasionally remind ourselves of the true meaning of Christmas—that it is, at its heart, a celebration of the birth of a kind and compassionate man, and of an entire faith.
And part of this reminder should be not to forget to be kind and compassionate ourselves in recognising that, for many different reasons, Christmas may not be a time for celebration for all.
The news that Victorian principals and schools are being asked to take a “reasonable and common sense approach” in bringing back festivities, in which no child is forced to partake, seems to be a step in the right direction.
Hopefully the idea catches on. It would be nice for people everywhere, of any faith, to simply enjoy the season, whatever Christmas may mean to them.
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