When a Mexican American wants their children to also learn Spanish, that’s okay because they are preserving their culture. When a Jewish mother wants her daughter to marry a nice Jewish boy, that’s okay because she is preserving Jewish culture. When black women get upset about black men dating white women, that’s okay because they are simply trying to preserve their culture.
When a white person expresses anything less than absolute shame and apologies, for being white, well clearly that white person is “culturally insensitive”.
And if that white person expresses some degree of pride, for the accomplishments of white people, then that white person is a “white supremacist”. And if a white person wants to preserve any of the cultural attributes of their heritage, well you get the idea. That is, unless you are part of the millions of people who would read this and reject every part of what I’ve said so far.
Every now and then I see a bumper sticks that reads, “Love sees no color”. Is there something wrong with color, something so horrible, so vile, so ugly that love must not see it at all?
What if love sees all colors?
There is no objective standard by which anyone can say what a supreme race is. If Rolling Stone Magazine were to, for instance, declare that Led Zeppelin was the best rock n’ roll band in history, would that make it true? What about the people who would argue it’s the Beatles, or Pink Floyd? Is it a fact that New York has the best pizza, or is that someone’s opinion? Is red wine from France better than red wine from the Napa Valley? Is soccer better than football?
I was recently banned from Facebook for posting an article I wrote, which was sarcastic in nature called, “Why I Hate White People“.
The complaints didn’t come in because of the title. People get away with saying that they hate white people, on Facebook and Twitter, all the time. A founder of Black Lives Matter tweeted that she wanted Allah, the Islamic god, to give her the strength not to kill white folks. No, it was what appeared several paragraphs under the title of my article. I listed the accomplishments of the people of my heritage. I did so shamelessly. And the list, as it turns out, was rather long.
I kinda dig my European heritage. And for this I have been labeled a “White Supremacist” by countless people, sending hate mail to my inbox.
It’s rare if ever that I disclose anything about my personal life, publicly, due to the frequent death threats I receive online, from devout followers of Islam.
But the fact is that I have a family. I have a wife, we have a daughter together and I have an amazing stepdaughter, whom I love and raise as my own. My wife and I are not of the same race. Our little one is of mixed race. And our older one, from my wife’s previous marriage, is also of mixed race. What that means is that I belong to a family of 4, where no two people are of the same race. And these are the people whom I love the most. My wife and children are the greatest gift that life has given me.
Each one of us has a heritage. And your heritage is an important part of who you are. We carry the DNA of those went before us – their successes, their failures and their hopes. Gender and race are at the core of identity, whether we like to admit it or not.
25 years ago I remember being high on LSD at a Grateful Dead concert, up near San Francisco. I recall saying to some friends that I was ashamed of being an American. I did not want to be a part of “the Patriarchy” and that I was ashamed of being white. My girlfriend, at the time, had just finished her first year at a California university. She said she was so proud of me. That I was finally starting to “get it”.
Needless to say a lot has changed in my point of view since that night, looking up at the sky in a psychedelic haze, wondering if aliens were watching us. I don’t blame the Acid though. It was the scene around it that helped to indoctrinate me. A few years ago, I slipped and fell down a rabbit hole. It was not a drug induced rabbit hole, but one that leads to a strange Wonderland, a place of logic and reason, filled with statistics and facts and revelations. Some of these facts are inconvenient – as facts tend to be. And all of them are politically incorrect. If one doesn’t want to look in that direction, I understand. It takes courage to go where the truth might take you.
On this strange journey, did I learn to hate people who are not white? No. Of course not. I simply learned to stop hating the fact that I was white. I am white. I am a White, American man. It is not a shame. I’m not sorry for being born White.