For my weekly writing spot on this site, see the One-Minute Mystic, with a new meditation posted every Monday. Also see The Village, the story of Misty Longings, England's most beautiful village, posted episode by episode earlier this year.       Dostoyevsky defines man as a being who can get used to anything, and as if to prove his point, we have somehow all got used to the idiocy of labels. Here we are, celebrating the first black president of the United States. Wonderful! But as a comedian recently pointed out, "Has anyone noticed that he isn't actually black?" Barack Obama has a white mother, and has himself made much of his dual heritage. But for the rest of the world, the label on the tin is definitely "black". It's why millions voted for him, and why millions more imagine heaven on the way. It's also the label on Lewis Hamilton. Like Obama, he has a black father and a white mother. But in the media's eyes, he's the first "black" Formula One champion. He may be a rather pale black – but somehow, he's still black. He's certainly black in the eyes of the racist websites that sprang up before the final race in Brazil. Ironically, Lewis is probably whiter than these web bigots, since they are largely Spanish or South American, with olive skin – white, not quite. But then here's a thing: the label on Ryan Giggs is "white" – and not "black". The Manchester United footballer has never been troubled by racist chanting, despite the fact that one of his grandparents was black. So where on the continuum is he? When exactly is black white, and white black? We label-merchants need to know! I had coffee with a friend the other day. He too has a black father and white mother. He grew up believing he was white, but around the age of 18 decided he was black. This significantly affected paths taken and attitudes adopted. He chose a different label – and that made all the difference. Now many years on, he is suspicious of the whole label thing. All labels. "When exactly did be we become used to all this?" he asked. A poignant question. I then remembered another: "Can anything good come out of Nazareth?" It was a rather superior and amused remark at the time – drawing a smug chuckle from listeners, no doubt. Yet no one chuckles now, for it is a comment which stands naked in its stupidity – an icon of foolish labelling. And often comedy is the only bulwark against such madness. I remember the bleak joke doing the rounds when the Protestant and Catholic labels fought in Northern Ireland. A shopper is stopped by a hooded gunman. "Are you Protestant or Catholic?" asks the gunman. The shopper has to think quickly. "I'm Jewish," he says. "Then I must be the luckiest Arab in Belfast," says the gunman. When exactly did we become used to all this? When was concern for quality of soul exchanged for stupid label? Concentration camp survivors report that it took about six weeks. Initially, they averted their eyes from the routine savagery – but not for long. Soon, they could watch anything – and not care. As Dostoyevsky said, the human is one who can get used to anything. Even labels, apparently. More writings © Simon Parke