Wednesday, August 16, 2017

My grandfather was racist

My grandfather was racist. 

He was many things. I don't think his racism defined him as a person, but it was there. I'd call it anecdotal racism. His personal experiences, processed through his personal opinions, caused him to apply invalid syllogisms to race which compounded over years of careless presumed verification.

I did my best to overlook it. I disagreed with it directly when appropriate, but also cared to show a concern for respecting his age and experience. I never thought he should die for those views. I wouldn't have accepted someone killing him over it. 

I hoped respectful discourse would have an impact. It never did. Yet, I still don't actually think his errant opinions warranted execution. I believe in accepting people with differing ideologies. 

Although I agree with the indignation expressed toward white supremacists rearing their ugly ideology, the ideology itself doesn't eclipse their humanity. At least not to me. They are clearly confused and even more clearly wrong. But what is this "kill them all" mindset which has pervaded our media as though such a stance is itself normal or acceptable?

As I listen to the bloodthirsty vociferations of our society I can only wonder how much longer until there is a murderous outcry to eradicate all who believe what I do. In my youth I never would have thought this version of the United States would exist within my lifetime. I was both blind and naive. 

This world is not my home.

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