‘Why didn’t someone tell me Glastonbury is so old and so white?’ whinged a middle-aged white male, frolicking at a music festival held by and for middle-aged white people, in a country in which 87 percent are white people. It’s like complaining of meat in a steakhouse.
To denounce one’s whiteness is a luxury pursuit only status can buy. A popular indulgence amongst the white and well-off is to wail about white people in a country in which almost nine in ten people are white. ‘White people!’ is bourgeoise speak for ‘I’m not like them.’
By ‘them,’ of course, they mean people like me, and the people I grew up with, those loathsome parochials reluctant to vote the correct way, espouse the correct opinions, lavish the correct people.
Read Full Article »