Damnitall

Well, that was probably not the best of ideas, but I did it anyway.

I just got involved in a debate on racism. I tried to not get involved, because long experience in the US has taught me that if you're white, you're not allowed to have an opinion on stuff like this. Not usually, anyway. Exceptions, as always, exist.

Y'know, there are days where I wish that there were these massive sprinkler systems everywhere. They would spray a thick layer of paint, random colour selections. You wouldn't be able to tell what colour anyone was. And if the paint was thick enough, you wouldn't be able to tell gender. No pre-concieved notions, you'd just have to go on how they treated you, what kind of person they were. Or I wish everyone was blind.

Some days, I just wish for the sun to go nova, before we spread the disease of hatred beyond our solar system.

Do folks have any idea how it sounds to be told that you can hide your sexuality, so that doesn't count? Or have they just never really been in love with someone of the same gender?

And here I thought it was just the neo-Cons and Dominionist Christians that hated me sight unseen for things that I cannot really control.

On the Nature of Hatred

I had something of an epiphany last night.

So there I was, getting all worked up and knotting myself into a little ball of emotions over the whole concept of being hated for things beyond my control. And then warinbear asked me why I was so worked up about this.

I figured it out. Hatred, to me, is an incredibly personal emotion. It is as personal and deep as love. In fact, to me, it is the flip side of love. For me, the idea of hating someone that you do not know is a next to impossible concept. So, I hear folks ranting about women, or gays, or polyfolk, or Pagans, or whites, or what have you, and I take it personally. Very personally. And it twists at me and bothers me and gets under my skin and hurts.

And then Warin reminded me that I'm the odd one out when it comes to hatred. That for most folks, they need to turn the object(s) of their hatred into a faceless mass to truly be able to hate them.

So, it's not about me. There's nothing that I'm doing that's causing me to be hated, it's something that they're doing to themselves.

I had always thought that if I was just nice enough, and friendly enough, and enough of a polite, accepting, sweet, good person, that I wouldn't be hated. I'm not going to change from trying my best to be that kind of person. Hells, that's the kind of person that I am on an average day, never mind on a good one. That's why it got under my skin so much when someone hated me anyway. I was convinced that I'd screwed up somewhere.

Now? Now I'm just going to be that nice person, and remind myself that the problem is with the bigots, not with me. Maybe they'll be able to see me as a person. Maybe not. In any case, the vinditive part of me is cackling with sadistic glee at the thought of being persistently nice and friendly to them.

After all, it's bound to bug the everlovin' shit outta them.