I have to admit, this story about Rachel Dolezal has been entertaining, but annoying. In case you don’t have the internet, cable or any friends (how are you reading this now?), she is a white lady who claimed to be black, made more complicated by the fact she ran a chapter of the NAACP. It was really complicated when it was revealed by her family that she was in fact white…and she had sued a black college for discrimination. Oops.
First, I don’t think white people can’t be involved in the NAACP, but if you lie about your ethnicity before doing it, you’re a dick. Second, she tried to backpedal and say she always thought of herself as an African American. Although she did have adopted black siblings, she’s from Montana. Come on now. I think the wind in Montana sounds like George Jones singing. Alaska is more diverse than Montana. Lastly, you can’t claim to be a race, whatever race, only when it benefits you and act sincere about anything.
What really enrages me is when whitey tries to claim being a minority to feel self-important or garner some fake sympathy. Every kid in my elementary school said they were descended from Daniel Boone and/or an Indian tribe. You got sunburned from a flashlight, Tecumseh wasn’t your grandpappy. I was in line for a ride at Cedar Point once and I heard an entitled lady who was whiter than Colonel Sanders’ suitcoat say very emphatically, “I prefer to be called a FLORIDIAN-AMERICAN.” As though Florida is a nation or well established ethnic group. I couldn’t resist, so I leaned forward and yelled, “Well, git your ass back to Floridia then!” She was horrified and didn’t speak the rest of time we were in line. It was my finest hour.