And like that black president, you’d think that after two terms of looking at a dude in a suit deliver the State of the Union address, you’d get used to square watermelons, but somehow you never do.
That the popularity of the spicy tuna roll and a black American president were to white male domination what the smallpox blankets were to Native American existence.
Here, in America, “integration” can be a cover-up. “I’m not racist. My prom date, second cousin, my president is black (or whatever).” The problem is that we don’t know whether integration is a natural or an unnatural state. Is integration, forced or otherwise, social entropy or social order?
“Remember those photos of the black president and his family walking across the White House lawn arm-in-arm. Within those fxcking frames at that instant, and in only that instant, there’s no fxcking racism.”