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Prejudice Lives

I’m a minority. After yesterday’s electoral paroxysm, I have been more marginalized. I have nothing but to wait for the crushing gears of oppression to grind down harder on my identity and my opportunity.

The trouble is that the civil rights movements only worked toward improving a few superficially-defined communities. There are so many more ways that humans discriminate, beyond gender or color of skin. But most, perhaps nearly all, who have faith in the state’s power to correct a prejudiced culture are completely blind to the manifold oppressions they endorse.

Once again, I find a kindred spirit in TJICistan:

Leftists would be offended if anyone assumed that “we” were all Christians, or heterosexual, etc., but their first assumption when talking to someone who doesn’t have a shotgun rack and a Confederate flag in their pickup truck is that “we” are all Democrats.

We who prefer not to be victims are excluded from the socialist-democratic compensation scheme. Those not seeking a handout as part of some minority class cannot participate in the promised utopia. We are mocked. We are ignored. And we have no where to turn.

A positive, though, is that even when surrounded by those seeking to contradict our way of life, we who choose not to be victims will not adopt a victim’s attitude. The individual is not beneath the state. He is at odds, and as necessary, at war with the collective. An army of teenage utopians have won a battle and conquered much territory. Now they have win the occupation.