Jamelle Bouie, a writer at Slate, wrote a piece yesterday which shows that young people have more sensible views on race and racism than their forebearers. Bouie's work also gave me hope that millenials--those born from the about the mid-1980s to the early 2000s--will be the generation that finally casts aside pernicious identity politics and focuses on solving social problems in this country. The end of racial hucksterism and grievance peddling would be glorious indeed. But Bouie writes for Slate, an outfit which regularly peddles racial grievances. So to him, such dramatic improvements are actually a bad thing.
Please note that this piece repeats a racial slur in citing an article which ran elsewhere. The slur in that article was not used in a historical, not a pejorative context.
The tune played by ice cream trucks is racist, so you should feel guilty for enjoying a summer treat. Or at least reverently contend with the "intellectual complexity" of racism while you chow down on your Fudgsicle. That is the takeaway from a ridiculous piece on NPR's website by Theodore R. Johnson, III entitled "Recall That Ice Cream Truck Song? We Have Unpleasant News For You." The premise behind Johnson's story is that the jingle played by countless ice cream trucks across the country is from the tune of an old minstrel show song, the lyrics of which drop the n word and perpetuate crude stereotypes. From the NPR piece:
I just wanted to dash off some very quick, very angry thoughts about the lifetime ban and $2.5 million fine that NBA Commissioner Adam Silver issued to Los Angeles Clippers owner Donald Sterling. As Aaron covered yesterday, while Sterling's comments were reprehensible, he has a checkered record when it comes to race relations. But in the final calculation, it really doesn't matter whether the guy is a racist or not. What is important are the troubling implications for free speech and civil society.
We Read Salon So You Don’t Have To.
The popular, far-left-leaning website Salon has, over the past several days, published writing as varied as the women’s studies courses at liberal arts colleges. Consider one article—a celebration of 10 movies that featured oral sex performed on a woman. Another is a motorcycle diary of sorts by a writer named Eric Lutz, who recounts his tales of traveling through red states. In over 4,000 words (most journalists would kill for 1,000 words in a major publication—at TAS, the author of this blog post often prays for 700), Lutz describes bumper stickers, invokes the names of the Koch brothers, and psychologizes grandly about the motivations of anyone who dares vote (R) in an election.
But the most remarkable article was a woman’s lament about not being labeled a black lesbian.
The Daily Caller picked up on a Boston Globe commentary today and dubbed it “the worst Boston Globe op-ed” they’ve ever read. Hyperbole aside, the piece exudes an unreserved wretchedness.
While it begins with Shakespearean musing and optimism, pointing out all of the reasons to rejoice over the ideal ending of a baseball season, its author, Gish Jen, quickly descends into an unnecessary and inappropriate place.