Rant on Christmas Past

I quit quitting blogging, for today. I’ll most likely kill the dread pirate thing in the morning, but for now I'd like to puke out two thoughts on the holiday season I've just recovered from.
Soapbox in place. Here we go.

You may have seen this image circulating on facebook.

It stuck in my head, like it might be stuck in yours now, and at some point I wanted to comment on it (something about who is this child and how would it feel to have your kid became the literal poster child for global economic disparity?). I didn’t remember that it said “define necessity”. I thought it said “define need” or something, and couldn’t find it again, or figure out who took the picture, or where. I googled “picture of Christmas presents next to starving African child” or some such thing, and accidentally happened upon one of the most aggressively racist sites I’ve seen in a while. I won’t link you to it since (a) it deserves no further traffic; (b) it will make you want to dig your eyes out of your head with a spoon; and (c) I fear catching some disgusting cyber disease. The site multitasked as a porn hub/place to discuss which cities offer up the youngest whores/general pit of violence, humiliation and denigration.

So, I’m not linking you to it, but trust me when I tell you that there were dozens of comments about those "define necessity" photos and that little boy, somebody’s baby, getting up to clean up the mess the wrapping paper was going to make. About the size of his penis. About one less to spread AIDS. About lazy fuckers waiting for the Red Cross to deliver groceries to their houses. About killing them all.


There were dozens (hundreds? I stopped looking) of other images of African and African-American children, with thousands of different commenters, some anonymous, some pseudononymous, some not, spewing thousands of lines about fucking and/or killing these children. Lines that slithered off the screen and curled themselves around my head like venomous snakes.


I put this out there (a) because, weeks later, I still feel the selfish need to expel the fangs from my brain this way; and (b) for the “post-racial-society” club. You who think that there is a small, isolated, fringe group of Neo-nazis out there perpetuating all the hate. The group discussing the picture above boasts 50,000 + “members” with verified email addresses, (membership not required to comment) and claims to have 22,443,820 hits in a month.


You, mountain/molehill accuser, try clicking on any story prominently featuring a Black person, famous or not, that you come across on the Huffington Post, or any mass media online edition, for that matter. The more tabloidish the better to illustrate my point. Scroll down to the comments. Notice that Anonymous the common commenter is an incredibly prolific, rampant, unabashed racist. Everywhere.

I'm not talking about ignorance or priviledge or bias here. I'm talking straight hate.

Just notice.


Next.


"IF HANUKAH CAN BE CALLED HANUKAH AND KWANZAA CAN BE CALLED KWANZAA, WHY THEN CANT CHRISTMAS BE CALLED CHRISTMAS."

That’s another gem I came across on the holiday facebook circuit.


I read that and thought what the f’ing f are you talking about, f’ing girl I went to high school with? Where do you live now that you can't call Christmas Christmas? She went on to clarify.

IF A MENORAH CAN BE CALLED A MENORAH AND A KINARA BE CALLED A KINARA WHY THEN CAN'T A CHRISTMAS TREE BE CALLED A CHRISTMAS TREE BUT RATHER A HOLIDAY TREE.


Newsflash: this doesn’t even make sense. More important newsflash: You and your tree name are not under attack. You may communicate to all of your friends that you saw the sparkly conifer on the town common by saying “I saw the Christmas tree.” Nobody cares. You can say “Merry Christmas” to every last person you encounter on this earth. You are also free, by the way, to say “Happy Birthday” to anyone, anytime, regardless of their natal anniversary. I’m just trying to give you the heads’ up that it doesn’t always make sense.

Keep the Christ in Xmas. . . The vast majority of you who bitched about keeping the Christ in Christmas were not complaining that your holiest of days has been hijacked to inflate year end retail sales numbers, and consumed by commercialism (a gripe I can understand). The most vocal of you Facebook Christmas Crusaders in my peripheral view worship none above Santa, rail against what you percive to be "political correctness," and refuse to respect or even consider the culture, beliefs, or traditions of the recipient of your canned well wishes. And to me, well, that might make you, by definition, a jackass. If it really bothers you that your work has a “holiday party” or your kid’s school has a “winter concert” instead of a Christmas Pageant, you might want to lighten up. They’re just trying to share the celebration with people who have traditionally felt left out, or worse.

No one is trying to take anything away from you. Your places of employment, banks, schools, courts, post and doctor’s offices, will be open on other people's holidays and closed for your convenience.

But if you want to say “Merry Christmas” to followers of Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, Judaism, the Baha’i Faith, and others who may or may not celebrate Christmas, have at it. Yup, you have a right to do so. And you think your free speech is at stake, I get it. Just remember that you also have the right to run around yelling “I am a weasel!” too, but the fact that you don’t, does not, in any way, diminish your right to do so.


Here is what links some of you, in my super-cali-f’ing-fragile head, and on this page, fairly or unfairly, to the Define Necessity dementers/commenters.

a. You seem threatened by the notion of equality. Insecure about your culture’s superiority status. Blowing out Menorahs and Kinaras around you, so your Christmas candle will burn brightest.

b. You lack the insight, empathy, ability, or willingness to imagine how it would feel to be the human being whose existence, feelings, experience, you disregard. Otherwise, I just don’t know how you could do it.

c. I just don’t know how I am ever going to explain you to my kids. Thanks in advance for the broken hearts.