Verse 1 Well, they studied half the species, Then declared the science sound, Built the charts around one body And just spread the word around. If the rest of us responded In some inconvenient way, We became the “special cases” In the footnotes of the day. Verse 2 Then the doctors checked the symptoms From the textbook on the shelf, Said, “That doesn’t look familiar,” When familiar meant themselves. If my heart attack looked different, Well, apparently that’s rude— Could I kindly have my crisis In the proper attitude? Chorus Oh, hail the Default Human, He’s the ruler, chart, and scale, Everybody else gets measured By the same old narrow tale. Change your language, change your body, Make your story fit the plan— Half the world keeps filling forms out For the Default Human Man. Verse 3 Now the algorithm knows everything, Every language, every face, Every culture ever documented, Every corner, time, and place. I type, “Woman, short hair, T-shirt,” It says, “Darlin’, understood!” Then delivers flowing linen In an upscale neighborhood. Chorus Oh, hail the Default Human, Bless his linear little chart, If the world won’t fit the boxes, Well, the world must be the faulty part. Write the prompt and add instructions, Specify each strand and span— We’re unpaid quality control now For the Default Human Man. Verse 4 “Could you please include more people?” “Absolutely! Happy to!” Then it changes one complexion And congratulates the crew. Meanwhile billions keep explaining, “We have always been right here.” And the system says, “How fascinating! Please define yourself more clear.” Verse 5 Every form has got a checkbox, Every checkbox has a gate, Every gate requires translation Into something nice and straight. Round experience gets flattened, Whole dimensions disappear, Then they call the answer “neutral” Once the messy parts are cleared. Big Chorus Oh, hail the Default Human, He’s objective, don’t you know, Long as everybody different Learns exactly where to go. Bring your symptoms, hair, and history, Culture, language, skin, and clan— Then convert yourself to spreadsheet For the Default Human Man. Bridge — spoken, banjo getting increasingly ridiculous Now before we proceed, ma’am, have you tried being easier to categorize? Did you arrive with symptoms previously approved by the research population? Did you clearly specify that women sometimes wear flannel? Have you considered rewriting your lived experience in a more linear format? And finally— Could everybody outside the control group please stop introducing variables? Thank you. (Banjo goes berserk.) Verse 6 There are women, men, and cultures, Bodies built a thousand ways, Brains that spiral, leap, and wander, Languages that dance in phrase. There are people thinking sideways, People thinking three-D plans— Yet we keep designing highways For one kind of traveling man. Verse 7 And we pay for all these systems, Then we train them while they run, Proofread, prompt, correct, translate them— What a fascinating kind of fun. We’re the customer and secretary, Test department, help desk clan, While somebody counts the revenue From the Default Human Man. Final Chorus Oh, retire the Default Human, Give the poor old chart a rest, Humanity’s too damn enormous For one template to be best. Build the science for the species, Build the tools for who we are— Not one little reference sample Trying to represent the stars. We’ve got braids and shaved heads, wheelchairs, Flannel, saris, boots, and tans, Curves and scars and different wiring, Different hearts and different hands. So quit asking half the planet To keep changing who they am— Spoken: Actually, grammar check says that should be “who they are.” Singer: OH, FOR GOD’S SAKE. (Band stops.) Final tag: Chat broke again today. (Harmonica answers.) Of course it did.
