The Joys of Being a Racist

It is with great pride that I would like to announce that I am a raging racist loon.

I don’t know anything about people from other cultures, but I know that I don’t like them. Besides, they don’t speak my language anyway.

Learn a new language to get to know them? Why bother! If they don’t speak English (or whatever my first and only language is), they should learn it. And while we’re at it – I can’t understand anyone who has an accent that isn’t mine. 

They were born in the same country as me? Hah! Not possible. *insert racial slur* 

Invite them over to eat dinner at my house? Forget about it. They should all go back to where they came from. Wherever that is, I definitely can’t find it on a map.

By the way, my dog’s uncle’s lizard told him that Africa is a country, not a continent. I believe him.


That’s him, by the way. I’ll believe anything, cause I don’t know anything. 

Date someone from another culture? Are you drunk?

Read a book written by someone whose name I can’t pronounce? You really are high on something aren’t you. 

Anyways, those people aren’t people anyway. They’re… You know what I’m talking about.

You do, right?

*insert cliché sigh*

It doesn’t matter which country you go to, you always inevitably meet…the racist.

And no matter what anyone tells you – they come in all shapes, colours, genders and sizes. You can run all you want, but you won’t be able to hide. The racists – they’ll find you, alright. 

Sometimes it’s someone from another culture being racist towards you. And sometimes it’s someone from your own culture being racist towards others.

It doesn’t matter what your ethnic background is – you would have dealt with racism at some point in your life.

You may have told someone to shut up when they said something about another culture that made you uncomfortable. Or you may have stood up for yourself when someone said something unkind to you about your own culture.

I am not naïve. I know that there are people out there who genuinely hate other cultures.

But having experienced it from both sides of the equation, I believe that your average racist is not a hateful, mean or malicious person.

They just don’t know any better. It’s largely ignorance with a generous sprinkling of arrogance.

Don’t hate the racist. They generally don’t hate you. They just don’t know or understand you.

Pity them, instead.

I know I do.

Just think about all the beautiful experiences they miss out on.

Learning a new language so you can communicate with that many more people that you couldn’t speak to before. 

Sampling food from a culture that shocks or pleases your taste buds.

Feeling your world grow bigger with each new experience, as opposed to staying in a box with people exactly like you so you can lure yourself into a false sense of security.

Poor racists.

They don’t have friends from all over the world who invite them into their homes and even allow them to stay for as long as they like. They never get the chance to host someone from another culture and share the beauty of their own heritage.


They never get to learn about the big world out there that’s full of so many unique experiences.

When we create an ‘us’ and a ‘them’, we forget that we all have to share this planet whether we like it or not.

If we insist on being ignorant and proud of it, we are going to leave behind a sad world for our children and the generations to come.

Best we sit down, talk and try to understand one another before we all kill each other. 

I don’t hate racists. And I don’t care if there are racists out there who hate me.

I have better things to do with my life. Like being happy.

There is no joy in being a racist. Whoever you are and wherever you are. You’re missing out. Big time.

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