Abusive Race Relationships

Sullied Soapbox: What’s the worst n-word you can call a black person? Necrophiliac, but that’s true for almost anyone. Well, except for the Swedish. Bunch of perverts…

I am another white guy throwing in a bespoke hat. The twist is that I have lived as a minority for extended periods of time in other countries. In my case, I spent 2 years in Korea and 5 in Japan in an effort to be a minority. (No, this was not my sole goal.)

Halfway through its 94th annual black history month, America continues to make slow strides toward basic human respect for a large portion of society it primarily imported for purchase for an integral period. In an episode of Mr. Show with Bob and David, fictional company Globo-Chem recalls its initial motto: “People Selling People To People.” A reasonable person can see the dark humor (pardon the terminology) behind this truth-based concept, yet Americans continue to falter in bids of self-awareness.

Race in America involves a panoply of presumptions both benign and malignant, but they remain damaging:

Asians are good at math, right? They’re good at martial arts but are non-combative, right? They are physically weak, right? They’re prone to sticking to their own cliques, right? They’re universally ideal minorities, right? Asia is a country with universal beliefs, right? Asian women are sexually subservient and therefore worth being conquered, right?

Black people are violent and distrust authority, right? They also make better athletes than lawmakers - their idols reflect that, right? They constantly defy mainstream America to sow discord, right? Society should fear their sexual prowess and anatomy, right? It’s okay because they have lower intellectual capacities, right? Black people deserve to be profiled because of their propensity to commit crimes, right? It’s best to make sure your doors are locked if you see a black person, right?

Hispanics do the work that Real Americans are above, right? Migrant workers deserve disdain for being unable to contribute to the upper echelons of society, right? If someone speaks Spanish, that person is beyond reprieve, right? Speaking a non-English language defies American mores concerning the obvious and established National Language, right? Latinx representation pushes America closer to being a third world country, right?

Native Americans deserved to be subjected to Manifest Destiny, right? They exist solely to reinforce White Guilt, right? They have no real culture (or moreover have a mono culture despite regional identities before colonization), right? They were savages who needed Christ, right? They had no written language and thus had no viable record of their history, right?

Everything’s fine because we support minority comedians, right? Not speaking English is inexcusable, right? Speaking a second language insults the very foundation of what has constructed America, right? Xenophobia is acceptable despite America’s purported identity as a nation of native-slaughtering-and-then-bandage-placing immigrants, right? English is America’s language because of decrees from God, right? White is right, right?

In July, a friend of mine posted a photo with the caption of “Finally got a confederate flag for the pickup.” It depicted a white flag attached to a scrap wood pole placed at the rear of the truck’s bed. Perfect. Chuffed, I sent the image to one of my best friends, intending for him to find the humor. His reply? “Well, actually, if you knew the history of the Civil War [...]” I anticipated this retort and postulated that it was about states’ rights. But what were those states’ rights? This was the start of the end of our friendship. He doubled down, further stating his intentions of supporting the South when it rises again, if only to antagonize liberals. In the following days, he exposed himself as a person spiraling into the alt-right mindset. Discussions turned into fixed-minded chicanery, ad hominem attacks, and rampant interruptions on his part: “I love America.” “You’ve always had a problem with America.” “You don’t know how to debate.” “I know I’m right.” "Goodbye, loser." Truly, these statements belied trenchant ripostes inconceivable for a dullard such as me.

That in 2019, people still clung to the belief that the Confederacy had any moral high ground baffled me.

In 2020, it continues.

It is a point of contention in the States that we remove Confederate monuments: advocates claim that liberals are trying to erase history. OKKK. One can recognize history without glorifying its ugliest figures. Germans are aware of their country’s atrocities without blaspheming town squares with bronze statues of Himmler.

Bonus points: Noting that the Democratic Party was one of oppression and slavery while ignoring the evolution of both the Democratic and Republican Parties and how they essentially switched sides over time grants one congratulations for being technically correct.

Zero points awarded. Good try.

Southern Pride too often places rebellion over principles. Claiming to be a rebel for the sole sake of defying the hegemony roots itself in teenage punk ethos and wanes in both vigor and purpose with age and experience. Sometimes, there is inherent value to be considered when explicating mores of the status quo. Sometimes, perspectives deserve critical analyses.

To bring this back to Black History Month, I ask readers to question themselves. I analyze myself. Growing up in a lower-middle-class household, I was raised to value my family’s utterly microcosmic Irish Catholic constructs. I consciously removed myself from this little world.

Here’s a joke: Some people get bitten by the travel bug; I was mauled by the “Get The Fuck Out Of The Poconos” black bear.

Readers, may you notice your own defiled reflections and grow from there.