The Scene: A local coffee shop, this past Thursday morning.
Your favorite Lunatic has just sat down to read the menu, knowing full well that no matter what is on it he will order his "usual" -- two over easy, sausage and bacon, home fries, wheat toast, orange juice and coffee -- when he becomes aware of a conversation at another table not 5 feet away.
"Becomes aware" is a polite way to put it. Actually, the two young men engaged in this conversation (it was more like a monologue with one man haranguing the other who could do little more than shake his head, occasionally mutter "word!", "I heard that!" or "I feel you, Brother!") were speaking loud enough to wake the dead.
It became apparent, from both the tone of the conversation and it's subject matter, that this was done on purpose -- that is to say, that the subject was being brought up loudly and obnoxiously so that others in the coffee shop would be made to feel uncomfortable.
That's because the two men speaking were black, and the majority of the clientele was white.
This is the established modus operandi when it comes to all things racial in America. Black people believe that they have the high moral ground in any conversation regarding race, poverty, and inequality, and that this entitles them to not only say things that white people wouldn't even dream of saying out loud, but to be egregiously rude, obnoxious and downright mean about it, too.
The point (if there ever really is one because to judge from the gap between rhetoric and meaningful action, there doesn't seem to be one besides wasting air) mostly seems to revolve around creating an atmosphere of guilt and fear which can then be exploited in some way. I've seen this phenomenon at work in American Society for my entire 46 years.
If Blacks are poor it can only be because of the legacy of slavery.
If Blacks are largely uneducated it's because cheap white people won't spend enough money on inner-city schools.
If Blacks are underrepresented in some field, or don't get jobs they believe they deserve, it's because of racism.
If Blacks are more likely to chose criminal activity as a career, rather than meaningful work, it's because the economic system is unfairly tilted in favor of whites.
I could go on, but you get the point. Whatever the failings of the individual, or the group, the cause is always something external, or more likely, someone external. Individuals don't fail because they lack a work ethic and an education, they don't falter because they aren't quite as smart as they may think they are, their circumstances don't improve because they make no effort to improve them for themselves, it's always some variation of "It's Whitey's Fault".
But, back to my two obstreperous and pestiferous coffee shop debaters...
The subject was, as it seems it always is these days, the Trayvon Martin case...Still...Again.
There was some of the worst conspiracy theories I've ever heard being regurgitated at this table, vis-a-vis the Martin Case. It is supposedly a false-flag operation to pit Hispanics and Blacks against one another for the benefit of Whitey. The case indicates the first step in the eventual government plan for a genocide that will make the Nazi Holocaust look like a day at Disneyland. It's the opening salvo in a legal and political war that will eventually give every gun-toting white person in America a license to kill black men. Trayvon is a victim of the corporate greed of Exxon, or maybe it was Monsanto, or perhaps even Pitney-Boes, but who gives a shit? They're all the same, anyway; fat corporations, run by fat white men, who got fat on the slave labor of an oppressed people.
These two guys wanted a soapbox, and a captive audience. But, this is Staten Island, not the Upper West Side. On the UWS, white people are actually afraid of Black People, especially angry Black people, and practically piss in their pants after the old "I voted for Obama, Twice" refrain doesn't seem to defuse the situation.
They drew attention for about 2 seconds. And even that attention was of the reflexive sort; someone heard a loud noise, it might have been a bull farting, the screech of a laboring engine, a jet falling in a death spiral to the ground, anything but actual human voices saying something intelligible, that drew a subconscious, reflexive response. A head is raised from a newspaper. Someone looks over their shoulder on the off-chance that sound might be the rarely-heard death keening of a landed narwhal.
It's a reflex. An animal-type response that one would expect from, say, a herd of deer momentarily alarmed by the sound of a snapping twig, or a far-away bird call. No sooner does it occur, then it is over, and men and women of all stripes return to the mundane activities one finds taking place inside a coffee shop: licking a finger to turn the page of the Post, slurping the spilled coffee out of the saucer, stuffing your face with home fries. It registered for perhaps a fraction of a microsecond, and then it was forgotten. Mostly because here in New York City we've all heard this routine and listened to this sort of person carry on in exactly the same way forever.
We've become immune to this sort of thing. It's background noise.
Well, except for one person.. And that would be me. If there's anything this Lunatic loves more than bacon double cheeseburgers and receiving oral sex, it's an opportunity to jump up and down pointing at the obvious stupidity of others. Especially those all full of themselves for no apparent reason.
My response was to simply laugh. Great big belly laughs. After every sentence Mr. Monologue uttered. And not only was I genuinely amused by the strident display of mental diarrhea emanating from his pie hole, I made sure I was staring directly at him every time I let out with laughter. Just so he would take the hint without me having to either write him a note in Ebonics, or whisper into his ear just what an asshole I thought he was.
The man had wanted a white, captive audience. He had wanted to pick a fight with a Devil, just so that he could overwhelm his opponent with the ultimate guilt weapon of mass destruction -- The Race Card -- which entitles him to hurl the sort of racially- and politically-charged invective which would see Whitey fired from his job, hounded out of elected office, or vilified in the Press for ever using against a black man, himself.
It would seem that this poor asshole finally met the wrong white guy.
A discussion, of sorts, ensued. There was quite a bit of anger, there was quite a bit of tit-for-tat, there was an awful lot of stupidity (none of it mine, I assure you), all about the issues surrounding the death of Trayvon Martin and the acquittal of George Zimmerman. Suffice to say, my opponent came to this battle of wits completely unarmed. For all he had in his arsenal was liberal boilerplate and the ridiculous arguments of Al Sharpton and Je$$e Jackass...errr...Jackson.
I, on the other hand, had The Great Equalizer in my hip pocket; the ability to hoist my opponent upon his own petard,using his own standards. Oh, it was beautiful.
Racist Motormouth tries to convince me, through force of his own passion and personal belief, that Trayvon Martin would be alive today if only he hadn't been racially profiled. White people in America don't believe there is racial profiling because they have never been subject to it, and that's why they don't understand why the Black Community is all up in arms and on the edge of violence over this Martin fiasco.
Au contraire, mon frere (I had to translate this for him, because he told me he didn't understand Spanish) I told him: I know exactly what it is like to be racially profiled, and every goddamned day, too. In fact, being a White, Heterosexual, Conservative,(nominally) Christian Taxpaying Male, I'm profiled in a variety of ways, all the time. I began to explain.
* According to the American Media and Academia, my white skin makes me responsible for every evil that has ever been perpetrated in the history of Planet Earth. My ancestors, so they tell me, were the most repugnant and rapacious predators ever cataloged, what with all the slavery, and colonialism, and gender oppression we're supposed to be responsible for. Although I have never personally enslaved anyone, stolen anything from anyone, invaded and conquered any nation, slaughtered any racial or ethnic category of fellow human beings, I'm still somehow responsible for every catastrophe that ever befell anyone. There are entire libraries of books that say so. There are light years of video tape that say the same. There's entire fields of so-called academic studies and psychological gobbledygook that purport to prove it.
Despite the fact that my people came to America from Sicily at the turn of the last century -- the old stomping grounds of the slave-based economy of the Roman Empire, the most conquered island in history, which means there are probably more slaves in my lineage than there ever were in Mr. Boisterous Douchebag's, and that we settled in New York AFTER slavery had been abolished in the entire Western World -- cuts me no slack.
Someone has to be held responsible for the deplorable state that most American Blacks, and Asians, and Africans, and Arabs and Muslims live in, and it might as well be me. Because we wouldn't want to "blame the victim", would we? That's tantamount to implying that the outrageously drunken whore in the local dive bar who arrived wearing little more than Band-Aids and Victoria's Secret, who has given half the men in the place a furtive look (and perhaps a grope, a bit of tongue, a free feel, and perhaps her phone number) was "asking for it" when she's eventually found lying face down, unconscious, in a puddle of urine and vomit upon the Men's Room floor with at least three separate (used) condoms half-hanging from her various orifices.
* In the eyes of the Feminazis, being a male (especially white male), I'm a potential rapist, 24/7/365, whose only reason for existence is to chain some poor woman to a stove, make her my sex slave, and force her to give birth to babies she doesn't want, all part of the process of depriving her of her humanity, dignity and ability to earn a living, or to "grow" as a human being in any way that she sees fit. It's all about me lording my "power" over her, and living out my inner manly fantasy of keeping a private harem of either willingly-submissive slaves, or cowed, frail, defenseless punching bags.
In order to keep women "in their place" I have mystically erected a Glass Ceiling that acts like some sort of professional, social and personal Kryptonite. I conspire with my fellow Conservatives to ensure that no woman can ever get an abortion up-to-and-including on the day before she gives birth. It's my job (given to me by some invisible, secretive man-thing, maybe like the Freemasons or Boy Scouts) to deprive women of their "right" to be prizefighters, infantrypersons, high-steel workers, physicists, professional wrestlers, stockbrokers, administrators, and doctors. Whenever a woman fails because she lacks the linear thought process, the upper body strength, the aggressiveness,of a man, it's because I -- personally -- made it my job to oppress her, and standards have to be lowered to allow them an "equal chance" of competing for jobs that most of them can't do.
Hell, I'm probably responsible for the menstrual cycle, too.
* The environMENTALists also see me as a rapist, too, but this time of Mother Earth. My voracious appetite for steak, beer, cigarettes, heavy industry, frozen pizza rolls, cable TV, Led Zepplin CD's, muscle cars, 4,000-square-foot homes that leak electricity and air conditioning like a sieve, disposable plastic items of a thousand different stripes, make me a killer of poor peasants in all the worst shitholes of the Third World. My very existence is using up resources, "stealing" food and water, polluting the air, causing the oceans to rise, killing off wildlife everywhere, so that I must be labeled an enemy of the state. Just what state that might be is open to debate, but it was probably once founded upon the same principles by which the former Soviet Union was.
It doesn't matter that I haven't driven a personal automobile for 15 years. It doesn't matter that I separate and recycle my garbage. It doesn't matter that I happen to like dolphins, too. Because I don't believe the insane "settled science" that they do, because I happen to vote for people they hate, because I believe in the power of free markets, individuals working in their own enlightened self-interest, and the revolutionary power of business to solve the problems they care about -- rather than just relying on government diktat -- I'm still scum.
* If you've ever walked in my shoes upon entering one of those insanely-stupid Diversity Training sessions that American business is addicted to (mostly to avoid lawsuit), then you have no idea what profiling is.
I've been to Diversity Training (it's funny they should call it that because there's a) no pretense of tolerating individualism when it comes to current political orthodoxy, and b) nothing diverse about the litany of typical complaints -- it's all your fault, you White/Male/Heterosexual/Christian) four times in my lifetime. Which was exactly eleven times too many.
According to the Blacks in Diversity Training, I'm a rich person (no matter what your actual income is, it is axiomatic that all white people are rich) who only got that way because I stole everybody else's "fair share'. The higher up the ladder you get, the bigger the thief you are. I must be, because I'm White and they don't have what I have. The fact that I have worked for everything I've ever gotten, made a fetish of being efficient and careful, done my level best to improve my performance. tried to learn something new every day, accepted responsibilities they wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole, doesn't matter. They're here not to resolve anyone's problems, not to promote a dialog and foster understanding, they're here to get some of their own back, as they see it.
The Latinos in the Diversity Class are, likewise, mostly of one mind about me. My ancestors stole the country from their ancestors, or interfered in the politics of their native soil, or treated them like second-class citizens, so I have to be punished for the sins (real or imagined) of the past. This means that Latinos are allowed to flaunt the laws in my country, if they feel like it, invite themselves into my living room, and eat their fill from my refrigerator and I haven't the right to raise a feeble protest.
The truth -- that I'm not responsible for giving the Maya smallpox, or forcing the Incas to work in the silver mines, or manipulating the Spanish-inspired and corrupt caudillo system for personal gain and profit -- the fact that I've never been south of the border in my entire life, doesn't register. I'm White, and they're not, and this makes me an enemy.
The homosexuals in the room see in me a potential assailant who will beat them up for enjoying butt sex. They see a bully who waits around all day, lurking around corners and hiding behind the potted palms in the office, just so that I can jump out, scream "FAG!", and make fun of them, beat them bloody, or insult them. According to some of the more hysterical gays, my highest achievement in life would be to build a great big concentration camp and frog march every homo on the planet into the ovens. This they chalk up to my "homophobia" (that's not even a real word) which is itself caused by my irrational fear of my own, latent homosexual tendencies. My greatest joy in life must be gay bashing and firebombing gay weddings, when I'm not monomaniacally and mercilessly hunting down every last man, woman and hermaphrodite who has ever appeared on Ru Paul's Drag Race.
Yeah, and they wonder why people laugh at them and find them annoying?
I have never taken a baseball bat to a homosexual to either abuse or beat one. I have never advocated the mass killing of anyone based on a sexual preference or mental deviance (whichever you prefer). I don't hate anyone based on who they love and what they choose to stick into their body cavities. If I hate you, it's because you're a douchebag that has annoyed me at some point, or proven yourself unworthy of my attention or friendship. I don't care if anyone is gay: I have my own problems, thank you very much.
* The government profiles me every day. I have to take my shoes off at the airport just like the obviously-Muslim dude, despite unequivocal evidence about just who is more likely to be packing explosive undergarments. The IRS and Census Bureau categorize me by race, gender, income, political affiliation, and God-only-knows what else. Soon, ObamaCare will profile me by income, health status, and ability to pay through the nose to support some deadbeat hoodrat...who was already getting free medical care at my expense!
* The democratic party profiles me. Because I'm a registered Republican, I must be the sort of people that wants to see poor people starve, the elderly die in the streets for lack of care, teachers laid off, firemen out of work, all of us up to our asses in filthy air and water. If I disagree with a democrat on any issue, then I'm accused of being a right-wing conspiracy douchebag who wants to return us to the ghastly days before the 19th Amendment, of Jim Crow, complete with hot-and-cold running back-alley abortions.
Don't tell me about profiling. I get it, too. You just don't see it because you're a doofus who is too wrapped up in himself, his own misery, and his own stupidity, to see things from someone else's point of view. Oh wait, I'm supposed to put myself in your shoes, because I'm White, but never the other way around...I almost forgot how this game gets played.
Naturally, neither man wanted to hear any of it, lest their self-imposed bubble of victimhood and self-pity be broken, and my point-of-view should destroy the foundation of all of their arguments; that I should be made to pay for their misery. That they are not responsible for their own lives.
Such is the depths of the mental illness of those who claim to possess the Moral High Ground.
Author's Note: Yes, I know I have generalized. Please spare me the "Every Rule Has An Exception" e-mails! Also, edited for spelling and grammatical errors as I rushed this one this morning!