As I'm writing about race for whites, and catching undue hell for it, I feel like I'm talking to martians. Ann Althouse just inadvertently let me know my feelings are correct:
If whites could just admit they don't know everything - to themselves and to others - show that humility they so often demand, we could probably get somewhere. Instead, they arrogantly think blacks will bend to their will, their understanding, their outlook, when they don't know the first thing about what it's like to live outnumbered by them, and their culture.
I didn't write about race, for years, and everything was fine.
I didn't ask to write about it now - my hand was forced - and those who forced it, over Trayvon, are now pissed at me, never themselves.
And then they have the nerve to wonder why anybody black, at any level, would find this a set-up, and deeply disturbing,...