Why I’ll Always Be Racist

It makes me ready for change. No matter the cost.

Guest post by Jeff Cuck: A communicator and leader whose heart for the marginalized and passion for change makes him a perfect mouthpiece for bitter, childless catladies.

I am a native white American. I’m married to a beautiful native woman, and have two children who share our genetic material. I grew up in suburban New Jersey in a solid, nuclear family. I lived a wonderful life of opportunity, thanks in no small part to a homogeneous culture that I do not recognize for the sake of this article.

I was raised to treat everyone equally, regardless of factual data that disagrees rather sharply with such a prescription. And while my town was predominantly white, I grew up with enough isolated tokens to skew my opinion of multiculturalism.

But even with this socially correct upbringing and appropriately docile disposition, I am probably still a racist. I don’t mean racist like the people who say things with basis in facts that I am totally sure don’t exist. I mean that I am uncomfortable with the reality of savage negroes existing despite the deluge of gibbsmedat and my litany of saccharine, programmed apologies for this inequality in civil behavior.

It’s okay for me to admit this. I am comfortably far away from the rioting negroes. I can be ready for change without getting mugged and murdered. This admission took two things: an echo chamber and social conditioning. Over the last couple of years, I have read, watched, and listened to what was socially approved by those who share my stilted and perverse values. Through this process I learned to parrot the Lib Arts rhetoric. Which is great because now my cucking can be appreciated by a gaggle of catladies on Huffington Post, but for the purposes of this post, let’s unpack this a little.

I struggle mightily with the realities of my worldview daily.

I live my life day in and day out and only rarely am I forced to confront these realities. The media certainly offers me enough succor to push these thoughts away, but that is not what I mean. Reading bullshit on Buzzfeed and sharing inspiring quotes I will forget in an hour on Facebook does not constitute confronting anything. Neither am I really confronting reality with this blog post, as I have no intentions of truly noticing the gorillas in the room burning down stuff for reasons no sane person can understand. So instead, what I will do is compare rioting dindus and job-stealing, child-raping beaners to people judging my faggoty hipster fashion sense.

Until I can acknowledge that I am talking around the issue, instead of directly engaging the harsh truths of the issue of race in this country, I will never be able to get over myself enough to be part of the solution. But being part of the solution feeds my rote-taught narcissism, so I will indulge in that instead!

I have to be ignorant of simple cause and effect when dealing with issues of race.

I was recently assisting in the co-opting and perversion of Christianity by supporting Andy Stanley’s North Point Church. In the service Andy invited two blacks to help subtly warp the congregation. These two vibrant gentlemen spoke to the congregation about how they were raised to act around police officers. I was horrified when I heard of their more fearful teaching on the issue. I see this as the fault of some illusory systemic inequality, and not a biological predisposition of a group of people towards being more superstitious and less intellectually subtle.

I can’t imagine how it is to be a negro, and I have to cover up my obvious relief with Pavlovian hysterics and a paragraph or two where I pretend to objectively observe and empathize.
Ultimately, my feedback loop of discomfort and ignorance can be attributed primarily to one thing:

I would rather get along with my shallow and fragile social circle than understand why racial inequalities exist in my country.

I live in New Jersey. I have been safely insulated from genuine multiculturalism, and have interacted with other races in controlled environments. I have engaged in criminal behavior, and choose to blame my lack of a criminal record on skin tone, instead of considering a plethora of other factors that may ostracize me from the catladies and hipsters if vocalized. I will make this issue about myself, I will seriously believe that Black Lives Matter wrecking cities over dumb shit is somehow due to my own inner struggle because I was raised to be sick and broken in my own way.

I need to look at race and understand it for the profound gulf that it is. I need to allow myself to participate and grow in the culture I was given, and not engage in the insular, perverse, and neurotic self-flagellation imported from the Levant. I need to recognize this culture and people that my ancestors struggled mightily and overcame for. I need to stop believing that shallow pandering and empty, self-masturbatory rhetoric regurgitated by childless lesbians and professors with echoing patronymics will result in anything except more of the same. I can promise to see other races as family, but in reality I have emptied that word of any meaning.

I have to feel guilty, I have to live in an imaginary world and do everything in my power to ignore the reality staring me in the face. Inheriting the responsibility of maintaining a civilization built by my ancestors was not my choice; engaging in its deconstruction is.

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Bulbasaur is a blue collar worker and part-time polemicist from the Southern U.S.