I could do like you. It’s easy to do that. I could hashtag “BlackLivesMatter” and share anti-racist material, as if I’m committing a courageous act, even though almost everyone I’ve ever met in my life share the same opinion.
I could write a song about George Floyd and record
I could write a song about George Floyd and record
myself singing it, to later post it on social media for likes and retweets.
I could share moronic articles from @guardian about “7 things you can do right now to be less racist” and other vomit inducing nonsense like that.
I could spend my days virtue signalling about how
I could share moronic articles from @guardian about “7 things you can do right now to be less racist” and other vomit inducing nonsense like that.
I could spend my days virtue signalling about how
much I dislike racism, as if I’m Rosa Parks committing Civil Disobedience in Alabama in 1965, even though I belong to the most privileged generation who has ever lived on the planet.
I could do all of this, and get pats on the back from people who already agree with me, but
I could do all of this, and get pats on the back from people who already agree with me, but
more importantly, see my white friends self-flagellate because of what the Great Shelby Steele calls “white guilt”. I could get lots of Likes and Retweets on social media and feel as if I’ve taken a brave stance against a grave social injustice, when in reality, racism is
completely insignificant as a force in Western Europe and USA.
I could do all of these things, and not risk losing friends, being called every insult under the sun and feel pretty good about myself. It’s so easy.
But I wouldn’t be honest.
I could do all of these things, and not risk losing friends, being called every insult under the sun and feel pretty good about myself. It’s so easy.
But I wouldn’t be honest.
