While my coffee was brewing on this bright and temperate Sunday morning, I walked a half block away to the local cafe --the hallowed spot where Mr B and I first met-- to get a muffin. Not evil corrrrrrrporate Starbucks, either. A small independent neighborhood business.
(You can smell the Whiteness already, no?)
Inside were the usual suspects, the cupla dozen enlightened bien-pensants who go to local cafes in the morning. Ethnically, they were mostly White, with a few Asians and one Black guy (whom I know to be a very shy programmer on disability whom I have never once seen in the company of other Blacks). Mixed male and female, mixed single and coupled, with a few chic families, gays and straights both. And dogs, of course. Who are provided water dishes outside.
This, my friends, is a space and activity, a "cultural performance" if you will, utterly and totally Euro-Caucasian in origin and actuality.
There is nothing African, Chinese, Mexican or Muslim about it.
Orderly, polite, soft-spoken. It was so White (and LGBTQish) that you could feel your testosterone levels plummet the moment you walked in.
And yet, and yet, I bet that of that group of 25 adults, every single one would worship according to the doctrines and prescriptions of the great religion of Progress: multiculturalism, feminism, redistribution of wealth, post-patriotic globalism, pacifist answers to aggression, saving The Earth and keeping (traditional Christian) religion out of politics.
But they are --even the chicly biracial types and that one Oreo-- White Supremacists all.
And if you are at all honest, dear reader, So Are You.