"Our society is not perfect and this will come as no surprise to many of you"
About this Quote
A line this bland is rarely innocent. When Barbara Amiel says, "Our society is not perfect and this will come as no surprise to many of you", she’s staging a ritual of agreement before the argument even begins. The phrasing is a preemptive truce: it concedes a widely shared premise (things are flawed) so the writer can’t be dismissed as complacent or out of touch. It’s also a quiet act of audience management. By telling you it’s "no surprise", Amiel flatters the reader’s sophistication: you’re not naive, you’ve noticed the cracks, you belong to the knowing class.
The subtext is strategic: yes, problems exist, but let’s not get melodramatic about them. "Not perfect" is a throttle on indignation. It scales down the language of crisis and, in doing so, subtly polices what counts as a reasonable response. This is the kind of opening that often precedes an argument against sweeping reforms, radical critique, or moral panic. It signals: I acknowledge the charges, but I won’t accept the prosecution’s framing.
Contextually, it fits a columnist’s toolkit: build common ground, then pivot to a sharper claim about responsibility, tradeoffs, or the perils of utopian thinking. Amiel, known for combative, contrarian commentary, often writes in a register that prizes hard-edged realism over sentiment. The sentence reads like a door held open just long enough to usher the reader into her preferred room: skepticism about grand solutions, impatience with performative outrage, and a belief that admitting imperfection shouldn’t become a license to torch the whole house.
The subtext is strategic: yes, problems exist, but let’s not get melodramatic about them. "Not perfect" is a throttle on indignation. It scales down the language of crisis and, in doing so, subtly polices what counts as a reasonable response. This is the kind of opening that often precedes an argument against sweeping reforms, radical critique, or moral panic. It signals: I acknowledge the charges, but I won’t accept the prosecution’s framing.
Contextually, it fits a columnist’s toolkit: build common ground, then pivot to a sharper claim about responsibility, tradeoffs, or the perils of utopian thinking. Amiel, known for combative, contrarian commentary, often writes in a register that prizes hard-edged realism over sentiment. The sentence reads like a door held open just long enough to usher the reader into her preferred room: skepticism about grand solutions, impatience with performative outrage, and a belief that admitting imperfection shouldn’t become a license to torch the whole house.
Quote Details
| Topic | Truth |
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