Upon being otherized
I really don’t know what to believe any more.
The world has become so surreal that truth and fiction have become indistinguishable. I almost sympathise with The Donald and his ravings about “false news”.
In the past we have heard such things as smoke traveling through solid walls and a slice of toast giving you instant cancer, but these are mere fripperies once you enter the world of the Perpetually Offended. Nothing apparently is safe from these snowflakes as they will find an excuse to be offended by absolutely anything. Raising a hand in class is now seen as an act of aggression, and woe betide anyone who dares to use the word “black” in any context whatsoever.
So when I came across a Twitter account yesterday I honestly couldn’t tell whether it was real or an excellent send-up of the modern way of thinking. Apparently the very act of being Irish is in itself an act of aggression and a celebration of white supremacy.
St. Patrick’s day encourages and perpetuates the idea of whiteness and white culture. It otherizes non-whites and promotes nationalism.
I love this! This is so far off the wall that it is from another planet altogether, but what I really like is the word “otherizes”. Brilliant! And by the spelling, it has to be American which of course is the home of the Free, the Brave and the Insane.
So here I am, quietly sitting in my wee cottage up the mountains, but being white my very existence otherizes anyone who isn’t white, sitting in a cottage or up a mountain?
If you think you’re different from someone just because you were born in different places, you are racist. That is the essence of racism.
Er, no. I think there is a little confusion here between race and national identity. Otherwise we are all racists as we are all born in different places. If by chance I had happened to be born of different parents in a different place at a different time I could right now be the leader of North Korea. But I’m not. I think. The world is becoming so confusing that I’m not sure any more.
Actually, the very act of calling someone a racist is a racist act in itself. If a nigger black wog Person of Non-White Descent calls me racist, then aren’t they by their very act differentiating themselves from me, which is an act of racism [and an inherent act of racial abuse]?
This day is a celebration of imagined national differences. These false conceptions of nation and ethnicity lead directly to xenophobia.
Oh do stoppit! You’re cracking me up here.
Sadly the account has gone dormant now that Paddy’s Day has gone for another year, but it gave me a laugh during its short lifespan.
If it was a hoax, then fair play. It was a brilliant send-up of the snowflakes.
If it wasn’t a hoax then they can consider themselves otherized.
Racist twats.
Pipe smokers are different from non-pipe smokers. Vive les differences. As a non-smoker I can tolerate Grandad, just about. As a child I had, during the golden sunny summers, a pink freckled face – echt Hibernisch.
The bottom line is that everyone is different from everyone else. Do these people carry around colour charts to decide who to berate?
With reference to the USA, I thought St. Patrick’s Day was an excuse for anyone and everyone to get happily drunk? Socially inclusive, in fact. (Unless one belongs to the Temperance movement?)
Of course it is. It’s an excuse for everyone on the planet to get drunk except for those too miserable to look beyond their narrow politically correct beliefs.
Actually, the Irish I know have not been white, but a sort of faint or very faint off pink. Age will add brown liver spots, warts, scars and other sundries. A touch of sun will brighten it to red. Which is why it is so advisable to find a shady room in a place with an ample supply of the right kind of liquids to avoid dehydration.
Having a pure white skin generally means you’re dead, or else have white blood. The only part of me that’s near white is the strip of skin under my watch strap [and a few other places usually hidden by clothing] and that’s a sort of dark pink.
Poe’s Law in action 😉
The pub I went to in north Miami is one of these typically over the top venues where the waitresses had on the skimpiest skirts with stockings (pause for breath) and the lads all wore green kilts. Have to admit that some of the male shanks made me feel sorry for them and wonder how they kept their socks up. There were a couple of black guys who had painted their hair and beards green. All good fun.
Dear Grandad
Too much time, too little to do.
DP