The Senate and the House. They are just going to do so much damage. I can hardly breathe, hardly swallow, it’s like iron in the chest. Now we see how dangerous our fears are, how fatal this cleaving to the lying pseudo-certainty that fist-raising white men seem to offer – in the face of unprecedented disaster, in the face of loss. Truthful people now are saying, we’re not sure how to deal with all these new and perilous situations, they have never occurred before and they imbalance each other, let’s all pull together and get all our wisdom, all hands on deck. The pseudo hero ‘lone man with a gun’ fantasy is now ruining the country. I feel afraid for habitats, for furry and slimy creatures, for any human who does not fit the pattern authorised by Trump’s arrogant male-centric white supremacist tune. God help us, even though there is clearly no god.
Tag: racist
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white trash-talking
The term “white trash” is so racist and offensive I cannot believe people ever use it. Like “female doctor” it has built into it the assumption that the norm for trash (for doctors) has been subverted here: that surely the usual condition of trashiness is blackness. It disgusts me that people use this term with almost a smug feeling, it seems, as though they are holding up a sign Look How Broad-Minded Am I, That I Can See How Even White People Can Be Human Trash, Too.
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are you calling me a racist?
Got lured into a conversation tonight that reminded me of the old truism: that in some circles it is ok for white people to say whatever they like about black people, as long as no people say about those white people that those white people may be racist. Cos, like, that’s the *real* insult. That’s the really unforgiveable prejudice.
This is my suggestion for a new Australian flag.
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world war z
Just saw this terrorizing zombie flick which has Brad Pitt in it, he is rather good but every time he’s onscreen you go Oh look! It’s Brad Pitt! Such an awful experience and I feel traumatized. I feel like a zombie, if a zombie is the ultimate sociopath: no emotion, no response. Cycling home through the cool breezy night I was looking fearfully over my shoulder, left and right, cowering when a bus came past. Apart from fear I’m feeling nothing. Hackneyed exaggerations like ‘dead inside’ seem to me reasonable truisms. The friend I went with, a fan of zombie movies who found this gorefest ‘bloodless’, wants to know isn’t there any sensation of relief? What, that the movie is finally over? That of all the billions of diverse and pulsating people on this earth, one square-jawed blond actor and his immediate family, plus token brown-skinned boy, survived? This… is hope? All the nauseating violence and mean-skinned machine-gunning and desperate stratagems by ill-prepared people have worn me through. My emotions are spent. Then again it was melodramatic and ridiculous, but sore. I’ve never seen a film like this before and never want to again. It was so overwhelming that the nett result seems to me a sodden desensitization. Who made the word zombie, when was this thing dreamed up? Ugh. And only now, writing, do I realize the title of this terrible movie is literal as well as hyperbolic. How exhausting.
A side-note: Brad Pitt is extremely good-looking. I never really noticed it before. I guess that sounds ridiculous. I mean, he’s built well, he has a sturdy face that takes expression. My companion said: wasn’t there anything that you liked? I like that it’s over. I like that the artificial bowels-of-the-pyramid architecture of major cinemas does not prevail everywhere. I liked the girl who was brave when he cut her arm off. I found it amusing, or do I mean dispiriting, that they had four accountants just for payroll; 49 stuntpersons; five times as many digital effects artists. I liked the ice cream, from an Italian stall that was locked up when we came out. I liked taking off the 3D glasses. I like the quietude.
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or anything but
“I’m not racist or anything, but… [racist remark]”
vs: “I’m not a feminist or anything, but [women are people too.]”
Why is it still embedded in our use of language that we need to apologize for opposing hatred of women the same way we need to apologize for hating people of other races?
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Eddie McGuire & Adam Goodes
Eddie McGuire, prominent Australian broadcaster, compares Adam Goodes, respected Aboriginal footballer, to King Kong. The conversation, outraged on both sides, focuses on whether or not Eddie “is” racist. Thus it gets nowhere because no one can establish what lurks in the depths of his heart.
If a child gets run over “by accident”, or because a distracted driver did not take sufficient care to prevent it, the child is still run over whether or not that driver “is” a “killer.” Let’s stop competing for most enlightened person who has the most Aboriginal friends, and focus on the damage and pain our unconscious, casual, lazy, habitual, over-entitled, selfish, spoilt racism inflicts.
Even the fact that I label Adam Goodes “Aboriginal” and Eddie McGuire “Australian” shows racism. And ill logic, given that the truest possible “Australians” are indigenous. Let’s move this conversation on and start urgently examining and addressing our actions, our inaction, and their effects, before we get round to finally being more honest about the subtle motivations and conflicts in our hearts.