3.02.2006

Why I'm ashamed (sometimes) to be from Arkansas, part 37 in a series

To: You
From: Guess
Date: Duh
Subject: [Insert 30 seconds of thinking up a vapid subject line.]

Perusing through the shelves of my local bookstore/publishing conglomerate on Sunday, I, yet again, was suprised by the sheer stupidity, ignorance, and bigotry of another Arkansan. I passed at table set up with numerous books on and about African-Americans (keep in mind it was still February, a.k.a. Black History Month), with a sign hanging above the table reading, "African-American Interest."

I hear this jackfuck—who just so happened to see the table, stop, and feel obligated to tell his wife what he thought—look at her and say, "That's bull shit. You know them blacks would throw a fit if we put a table out there that said it was for whites only." His face turned red, and he continued on, most likely to read books about how horrible Jews are or pick up the latest book from David Duke.

For those of you that don't live in the South, it may be hard for you to understand how widespread this shit is. It's heartbreaking for me, in particular, because at least 40 percent of my family is extremely prejudice. You see, most cases of racism today are not as confrontational as in the old days. I meet people all the time that seem like nice, intelligent, thoughtful and caring people, until it slips. The N word, or any other derogatory term used for deprecating a race. The worst part about it is that you almost come to accept it, as horrible as that sounds. Some times you have no choice. Other times you do. I'm not going to avoid visiting my family in Clarksville, Ark. every Thanksgiving because I know I'll hear a couple racist jokes. I want to, but that's family, ya know? It just sucks to be in this situation, and I wish it weren't so.

... So, uh, yeah. Shut up. I gotta get to work. I'll post later.

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