(No, not “reparations.” Spelling matters at Liberty’s Torch. We’re carful about it. We proofread very carfully, both for spelling and to make sure we don’t any words out.)
These days it seems like every noisy group in America wants “our own space.” That means different things to different people, of course, but the essence of it amounts to a kind of privatization campaign. These “our own space” types seek to create zones that you and I would have thought public – i.e., open to common traffic – in which only their sort are allowed and their preferences have the force of law.
There’s a kind of logic to this. Private property has something of that characteristic. However, in serious matters a property owner can’t decree what’s lawful and what isn’t if the surrounding polity decides otherwise. Like it or not, it isn’t legal to kill your brother-in-law just because he tells offensive jokes at your dinner table and throws his cigarette butts on your lawn. (Horsewhipping him, though, is permitted in certain jurisdictions. Familiarize yourself with the local and state law codes before proceeding.)
But the “our own space” types don’t follow the logic all the way. In the usual case, they demand absolute dominion over “our own space” but refuse to concede other groups that privilege within theirs. This is particularly the case in the matter of “black spaces.” Have a relevant vignette:
About a year ago, I decided to build a library on my front lawn. By library, I mean one of those little free-standing library boxes that dot lawns in bedroom communities around the country — charming, birdhouse-like structures filled with books that invite neighbors and passers-by to take a book, or donate a book, or both.…
Then one morning, glancing out my front window, I saw a young white couple stopped at the library. Instantly, I was flooded with emotions — astonishment, and then resentment, and then astonishment at my resentment. It all converged into a silent scream in my head of, Get off my lawn!
The moment jolted me into realizing some things I’m not especially proud of. I had set out this library for all who lived here, and even for those who didn’t, in theory. I would not want to restrict anyone from looking at it or taking books, based on race or anything else. But while I had seen white newcomers to the neighborhood here and there, the truth was, I hadn’t set it out to appeal to white residents.…
What I resented was not this specific couple. It was their whiteness, and my feelings of helplessness at not knowing how to maintain the integrity of a Black space that I had created. I was seeing up close how fragile that space can be, how its meaning can be changed in my mind, even by people who have no conscious intention to change it. That library was on my lawn, but for that moment it became theirs. I built it and drove it into the ground because I love books and always have. But I suddenly felt that I could not own even this, something that was clearly and intimately mine.
This…person exhibits a highly proprietary attitude over her “black space.” I have no doubt that were she challenged on it, she would defend her attitude with whatever vulgarities and aberrations of logic she could come up with. But imagine the uproar were a white woman to proclaim that her “little free library” is for whites only! Imagine the public outcry were a neighborhood to declare itself a “white space” and impose discouragements of some sort to through-passage by members of other races!
Whites aren’t permitted proprietary spaces. The racialists’ playbook doesn’t allow such things. Their campaign to “chase down the last white person” would be fatally impeded by such spaces.
So you see, the separations are one-way only. We’re not permitted to separate ourselves from them. No, we must accept their vulgarity, their disorder, their illegitimacy, their crime, and their mind-and-soul-destroying “culture” – at eardrum-shattering levels. The law, as it stands, is entirely on their side.
There will come a reckoning. It could look like this, or it could be much bloodier. I’m no more able to see the exact shape of the future than anyone else, but pace Herbert Stein, the present state of affairs cannot continue indefinitely. Therefore, it will stop.
That’s the racial status quo: a condition in which less than 13% of the American population – a fraction responsible for the greater part of the nation’s crime, disorder, government dependency, and other social pathologies – presumes to dictate how the rest must live. But there’s more than one noisy minority playing an absurdly demanding tune. Because the photo is somewhat blurry, here’s a transcription of its text:
I couldn’t help but notice your Christmas lights display. During these unprecedented times we have all experienced challenges which casual words just don’t describe what we’re feeling. The idea of twinkling, colorful lights are a reminder of divisions that continue to run through our society, a reminder of systemic biases against our neighbors who don’t celebrate Christmas or who can’t afford to put up lights of their own.
We must do the work of educating ourselves about the harmful impact an outward facing display like yours can have. I challenge you to respect the dignity of all people, while striving to learn from differences, ideas, and opinions of our neighbors. We must come together collectively and challenge these institutional inequities; St. Anthony is a community welcoming of all people and we must demand better for ourselves.
Yes, Gentle Reader, it really says all that. A greater display of arrogance is difficult for me to imagine…yet the militant atheists are already out there, spreading their poisonous gospel in the attempt to inhibit even completely secular celebrations of Christmas, such as a string of outdoor lights.
I won’t pretend it’s easy not to wish harm on such poison-spreaders, but it’s a Christian’s duty. All the same, the author of the above letter – apparently it’s unsigned and bears no return address – is encouraged to separate himself from the rest of us who love the cheer and good feeling of the Christmas season. He should move to a neighborhood of similarly minded others, where they can all wallow in misery as long as they like without disturbing the rest of us.
What’s that you say? How do I know it’s a “he?” I don’t. But “he” is the generic singular pronoun: the one used when the referent’s sex is unknown or intended to be ignored. Anyone who’d like to take issue with my choice of pronouns is cordially invited to “go intercourse himself.” Yes, women too; modern appliances have made it inexpensive and convenient.
But do have a nice day.