Why I am going to need you to stop calling Donald Trump orange
Referring to Donald Trump as orange is about race
Referring to Donald Trump as orange is about race
She had hoped he would stop and she could pretend that he had never said those things. Because she desperately wanted her math teacher, the teacher who teaches her very favorite subject, to be nice, to be a good person.
How are you supposed to learn how to not be “unintentionally” racist or sexist or whatever if people never have the right to tell you that you hurt them?
I wish I could call her when I’m having a rough day, but I’m also angry at her. She didn’t understand: if racism isn’t a dealbreaker, you’re also racist.
It’s upsetting to suddenly go from the altruist or the protagonist to be thrust under the icy salt water. Every place you thought you were strong begins to sting. You realize at once that you were never truly innocent.
That’s all it takes in America — for you to be black, and to be somewhere you’re not supposed to be. And where you’re supposed to be is not up to you. It’s up to somebody else’s opinion
Maybe, just maybe, this could be the year that could go down in family history as the year when someone finally tells Uncle Bill to shut it with all hateful rhetoric and have a brave conversation with him.
In small town and rural America, is it enough to just survive, try and fly under the radar, and hope one day to escape?
Our self-concept as individuals and Americans is a kind of rounding up; an agglomeration of knowledge and experience and perspective and, well, laziness. That’s how minds work.