Keep Dreaming.

There are a lot of things wrong with the world. I know that, I’m not naïve. No world that gives Flava Flav a dating show, Al Gore a Nobel Prize, and women the right to vote is perfect. That being said, things are pretty okay. Now with that being said, there are still two things that really piss me off: Racism and Mexicans.

I’m just kidding, as long as they keep their cars off my roads and on their lawns, I couldn’t care less. Here’s the truth, I honestly have nothing against Mexicans, I don’t even know any Mexicans. So why would I say all that? Why am I so inherently racist?

In pursuit of an answer I thought I’d turn to Martin Luther King’s famous speech. I’ll admit that I was surprised by what I found. It started as I had expected but then went in a much more literal direction than I had anticipated.

“I have a dream,” he reassuredly began, but then,
“There’s, like, this… uhh… 12 foot tall hotdog. And he’s like, chasing me down the street,”
I made sure I was watching the right speech. He continued,
“And he’s screaming ‘I’m gonna eat your feet Martin!!!’ and I’m like, ‘Don’t eat my feet, giant hot dog!! Don’t eat my feet!!!”

Disappointed by how misquoted and unhelpful Mr. King was, I went to my grandfather for some answers. “Grandfather,” I asked, my rippling biceps glistening in the sun, “Black people are born black. When they’re in the sun they stay black, and when they’re embarrassed they remain black. When white people are born, we’re born pink. When we’re in the sun we turn bronze then red, and when we’re embarrassed we blush. Why then are black people referred to as coloreds?” He took a sip of his brandy, flashed a knowing smile, and replied, “Because when you hang them from a tree, they’re blue.”

I politely finished my dinner, respectfully smiled as he showed me his collection of Nazi paraphernalia, then excused myself when he insisted I take a shower. Needless to say I was shocked. Completely taken aback that my grandfather would hang a man from a tree when he could get a Filipino to do it for him.

See, I did it again. I have no reason to insult Filipinos. I’ve had Filipinos living with me all my life. Sure, they’ve stolen our car and dog, slept with my dad, and made up fantastical lies about my family, but they’ve never been anything but polite to my face.

The alarming thing to me is that I know I’m not racist. Correction: I know I’m not very racist. Everybody’s a little bit racist. Nobody sees an Arab on their airplane and doesn’t plan out their goodbye phone call; just like nobody would bet on the Chinese driver at the Indy 500. So I’m a little racist; fine, but why?

Is it because I’m white? Is it because I come from a long lineage of suppressors and abusers and it’s in my blood? Do I ask too many rhetorical questions? The definitive answer to all those questions is a big fat stinking “NO.”

I categorize people and believe in stereotypes for one simple reason, they’re true. Need proof? Well here’s the smoking gun: I’m Jewish and, I swear to god, I like money!!!!! Now I consider myself a smart guy and would usually avoid any type of circumstantial evidence, but let’s face it, the facts are clear. Society has told me a bunch of ridiculous classifications for entire nationalities of people and I dare not question it. Sure, I’d love to be able to stand up against society and yell ‘Hey, Society!” then scrunch up my face and make a pouty noise indicating my disapproval, but let’s face it, I’m just one man. Not only am I just one man, but I’m a Jewish man, and as a Jew I don’t have a very good track record when it comes to conflict. In fact I believe the only recorded instance of a Jewish person winning any type of confrontation was during the 2000 Vice Presidential Debates when Joe Lieberman and Dick Cheney debated over which “Back to the Future” was the best (Lieberman: The second one, and fuck all of you).

The point I’m trying to make is that not only is Racism real, but it’s also hilarious. Now before you go pre-judging me as a racist and shoving me into ovens, let me just make one more incredibly ignorant observation. With sympathy for minorities running so rampant nowadays, it’s become increasingly difficult for me to be white. That’s right, I’m a middle class white man, and I’m complaining about intolerance! The fact of the matter is that the “white devil” was responsible for a lot of terrible terrible things. Granted, I wasn’t one of those people and I’m genuinely not a racist; but darkie don’t care. I’m not filled with hate, I don’t have a white hood in my closet, and my igniting crosses has nothing to do with racial intolerance, I just hate crosses.

Being Black, or Chinese, or Filipino, or Mexican nowadays paints a picture of your cultural heritage. It associates you with a group; with a history. When somebody looks at any ‘minority’ they see a lineage of ancestors travelled here from the great rocks of wherever, overcoming great hardships, and making a name for themselves and their families. When people look at me, they just see a white guy. I’m a blank canvas. Frankly, I don’t think I should have to live with this shame. I shouldn’t feel guilty when I get a black waiter or when I stone a Muslim.

Looking at the progression of racial attitudes over the past few centuries it’s truly unbelievable; we’ve come so far, changed so much, and built a whole new world. Just imagine how much more we could’ve done with slaves. The progress truly is astounding though. African Americans are no longer required to sit in the back of the bus (although they’re always welcome), my family now let’s our housekeeper sleep inside the house, and I continue to hold out hope that one day I’ll see a white guy on BET.

Happy Black History Month, everybody.