I Have White Rage
Before you judge me, hear me out
I am raging.
To say I can’t take it anymore would suggest I am not in control of my emotions, my thoughts or my actions. I am in control, though, and that is why I rage so openly, so vociferously. I am so thoroughly sick of the discussions about racism and how it prevents us from being fully realized.
The “us” I refer to here, is “us, the white folks.” It a complete crock of feces to suggest that American society is somehow against us.
The rage is against white people whose incessant whining is supposed to draw attention to “our white burdens” in modern society. They whine, proselytize and abuse their power in Congressional hearings complaining about how mere discussions of state-sponsored racism, which began with the inception of our country and continues in many communities today, makes the lives of white people harder.
My rage is against the weakness of my white brothers and sisters. Their shortcomings are both manifested intellectually and physically. The weakness can be best seen in their inability to see the consequences of actions. They are scared — that’s what racism is, it’s fear. It’s weakness. It’s a belief that darkness is filled with demons and evil.
