I had a dream the other day that I met Donald Trump. The setting was unclear, but it was casual. It may have only been him and me; we were just kind of chatting. He wasn’t projecting his usual persona. I remember having the impression he was really torn up. He struck me as an almost tragic figure – he didn’t really stand behind anything he said or did, he just lost control of who he was. He catered to people he thought he should cater to and didn’t know how to stop. His eyes were glassy and I might have given him a hug. I woke up after that.
The idea of white peoples and cultures being slowly overtaken and erased is perplexing.
The culture and history of my ancestors is endearing, though I admittedly know little of it. Even the parts of it that are rather disagreeable – docile Catholic faithfulness, the generic conservatism of the middle-class, the love of suffering as a path to greatness (common to Catholics as well as, say, Potato Famine refugees) – I find rather charming. It’s neat to see how certain cultural notions reach back beyond my parents and their parents, and yet they still shaped me.
Despite this, I have never felt aggressed by non-white, non-European, or even non-Irish-American people gaining higher economic/civil station. That’s not by any great effort or mental discipline that I can claim – it simply never crossed my mind. Given certain facts, like the first non-white president of this country being elected 220 years after its founding, and the majority of political and business leaders being white males, I suppose I just never had a reason to consider we were under attack. Given other facts, like Africans being kidnapped and forced to perform shit-ass labor while being tortured for hundreds of years, Japanese-Americans being put in prison for looking like enemies of the U.S., and Sihks being attacked because they’re brown and so probably Muslim radicals who hate all Americans, I would have found the idea quite laughable, if I had considered it in the first place.
The thought that more rights for you means less for me is not logical. That is, unless I consider my “rights” to include always being regarded as the best, just because.
I really like listening to music on vinyl, and I recommend you all try it out. It really does sound better, and it changes the experience of listening to music. It makes the music primary again – instead of simply ambience, the music is a major player. You pay more attention to it because you can’t simply set it and forget it. You have to put the record on, flip it to keep going, and change it out when it finishes. Likewise, there’s no infinitely-populated, suggestion-based playlist that will bring you new music. You have to leaf through your library and choose. You have to go to a shop and pick out additions to your library.
It’s a bit of work, but I think it’s making me love music again, instead of treating it like a mood supplement.