A read-the-whole-thing from Mark Steyn:
It’s way gayer than gay: You go along to the meetings with all the gays, but you don’t get any of that great anal sex, you just get to take the minutes. Even in the Republic of Paperwork, you’d have thought that would be a tough sell. But no: all the cool heteros – okay, not cool, but the least uncool – are lining up to take it.
But that’s the left’s genius. If the personal is political, why can’t it still be political even when it’s not personal? In contemporary America, race and sexuality are no longer confined to personal identity but to professional status markers – so why not be professionally black, professionally gay, professionally Cherokee? (…)
We have raised two generations in the west who want to be …something else.
A friendly REMINDER:
I was writing about transracialism one (actually, two…) pre-Rachel Donezal year(s) ago:
The Left has embraced transsexualism, but what will they do with transracialism? For now (as it was my sad duty to inform you just over a year ago) this phenomenon is still confined to the fringes—but aren’t they all, at first? (…)
In living memory, young people have played at being the exotic “other,” a phenomenon captured in the beautifully observed 1979 film Breaking Away
, about a white-bread suburban Midwestern kid who pretends he’s Italian. Look at the Mexican kids who idolize Morrissey (for reasons no anthropologist has convincingly explained), and the Japanese youth in Yoyogi Koen who dressed as teddy boys and rockers. (Now their American counterparts read anime and collect Hello Kitty swag.)
The first English mods aped the French and Italians. Decades later, my Canadian mod-revival (and punk and skinhead) friends pretended they were English.
(Imagine our confusion when we read—in one of the British music papers we ritualistically consumed—that Rush fans in Manchester wore plaid shirts and jean jackets and dreamed of “visiting Toronto one day;” they treasured their imported Kodiak boots—the loathsome footwear favored by our disgusting head-banger neighbors—as much as we did our Doc Martens.)How many young non-Asian men want to be fitted with permanent yellow-face, I don’t know. I feel safe in predicting, however, that as plastic surgery “advances,” we will hear about (and eventually meet) once-frustrated white Rastas and wiggers who’ve spent 20 grand to “become black.”
Then they’ll be demanding special rights, and, yes, reparations.
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