My honeymoon involved getting pizza and renting a movie from Blockbuster. Never been on a cruise, and no desire to do so. I’d rather take the money and buy gold or freeze dried food.
Every minute that White nationalists live an austere life, working and saving in quiet obscurity, we get stronger. Every minute that liberals go on cruises and toast themselves for their effortless virtue, they get weaker.
Two articles about liberals complaining about racists on cruises! Imagine that coincidence! And neither of them was The Nationcruise. I’m sure that cruise isn’t racist!
New word for the urban dictionary — “husband-wife.” Ugh!
After coming of age north of Boston, in an urban jungle where white people talked smack about people of color on the daily, I have made my adult home across the country in imperfect but aspiring San Francisco, surrounded by sensitive people who have a consciousness of social justice. They, too, were the kids who got picked on at school for being different, who challenged their family’s ignorance in their angry teens. I’ve been in this cozy, self-created bubble for so long I sort of forgot how full of unchecked racism the rest of the world is. And then I went on my honeymoon.
Because there was a possibility I’d be pregnant on our honeymoon, my husband-wife and I figured a good way to cover a lot of terrain, while keeping it easy on my bod, would be a cruise. We put together a honeymoon registry, and our friends and families helped us fund a Caribbean trip on a small craft — big for a yacht, with only 150 guests, but small for a commercial cruise, where bigger ships can top out at 5,000 passengers.
It was a decision I made again and again on our honeymoon — to fight or not to fight?
Sure, we thought it might be uncomfortable to be the big lezzes on board a cruise — not specifically denoted for GAY PEOPLE — but being queer, we’re used to navigating situations, skilled at not letting homophobia ruin our fun lives. At first we were sort of pleasantly surprised to find all the normal, upper-middle-class straight white Americans being so nice to us — wow, gay PR has really worked! But slowly we started wishing they were homophobic, so they would stay away from us: ’Cause these white folks were hella racist.
It started on Day One while chatting with a Massachusetts couple who had met on Millionaire Matchmaker. (Not joking.) The sullen gentleman half of the couple collected assault rifles and wore T-shirts that expressed his opinions, such as the wordy Ted Kennedy’s Car Killed More People Than My Assault Rifle. The female half was the garrulous one, and she opened that evening with the dreaded phrase, “I know this is going to sound terrible, but …” If you really and truly know something is going to sound terrible, please shut up. Don’t pretend to have an actual consciousness about the crap you’re about to jabber, which in this case was, “I just wish they could do something about the staff all looking alike; I can’t tell them apart!”
Was this woman truly suggesting that the cruise line fund plastic surgery for the Indonesian workers, perhaps making them a bit more Caucasian in feature and therefore more ”recognizable” to these Massholes (Masshole = People from Massachusetts who are assholes)? I stood there, shocked, feeling that angry flush rise up through my body, a mixture of anxiety and fury that renders me trembling and speechless. The feeling of being 15 years old. The other white people — a gay male couple among them — rushed in and assured the lady that she wasn’t terrible; they, too, had a hard time distinguishing each totally unique, name-tag-wearing Indonesian crew member from the other! Me and my Husband-Wife picked up soda waters and slid away before I got in a fight.
We live in a culture that remains in denial about the intensity of white supremacy — a culture set up by white people to benefit white people.
It was a decision I made again and again on our honeymoon — to fight or not to fight? After spending so much time as a young person engaged in such arguments, I didn’t have the illusion that I would enlighten these racists. I would simply sicken myself with hate while on my honeymoon — a trip that was doing double time as a recovery period for a recent miscarriage. This was supposed to be our time to bond and love and heal, not fight with gay men who believed that the city of Miami had been “ruined” by Haitian immigrants, or with the stylish, elderly Jewish woman who looked forward to our trip to St. Barts because the island had “less Blacks.” I would simply grit my teeth and move out of earshot when I heard them passionately query why the Middle East “hates us.” (“It’s because we let our woman vote!” the Masshole proclaimed before an intelligent Californian piped in with a Cliffs Notes version of the legacy of European colonization in the region.)
once heard racism likened to alcoholism — a disease, one you are never cured of, though a plan of action can grant you a ”daily reprieve” from its insidious toxicity.
Growing up in a culture built on white supremacy, of course white people are racist. I guess the difference between the people I surround myself with now and the people I avoided on my honeymoon is we don’t want to be racist. When racist thoughts occur to us, as they will, it trips an alarm system we’ve spent some time installing. We think about it, correct it, let it go. Sometimes I get pissed at myself, but mostly I have compassion. I don’t want to have such thoughts; I don’t want to have been conditioned by 40-something years as a white woman in America, but here I am.
We live in a culture that remains in denial about the intensity of white supremacy — a culture set up by white people to benefit white people. We haven’t really healed from the trauma of slavery, not to mention the violence of the civil rights movement. With an honest, nationwide reckoning with racism nowhere in sight, it’s up to me to heal the disease in myself —investigating my ideas, putting the lesser thoughts to bed and praying for more intelligent thoughts to replace them. And it happens. Consciousness grows, racism fades. As long as you stay engaged with the process, every single day.
Some months later, I don’t know what to think of the white people on my cruise. Though in the moment I wanted to bottle them and toss them overboard, now I just feel sad. The way you’d feel bad for a drunk spewing crazy in the street. Racism is insane — it makes people sound bonkers, and I believe that being raised around racist rhetoric, indoctrinated, is a form of child abuse. But the only difference between this here Masshole and the one I met on the boat is that I don’t want to be that person. Maybe someday she won’t either.
Next up, another crack at Paula Deen! Hopefully Paula Deen has learned that there’s nothing to do with liberals except defy them and fight them.
Mike Bertha, Philly.com
POSTED: SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 15, 2014, 7:12 AM
In the wake of Titanic-sized PR disaster that was Paula Deen’s deposition in 2013, a New Jersey-based company doubled down on the much-maligned celebu-chef, adding a second Paula Deen-themed cruise for her fans and supporters.
The ship left from Miami and hit a bunch of spots in the Eastern Caribbean. Of the 3,030 people that could fit on the ship, 100 and change were a part of the Paula Deen package, having spent an extra $700 to be included in 12 events featuring and/or sponsored by Deen herself.
Among the Deen cruisers was Caity Weaver, a Philly girl and Gawker reporter who wanted to see exactly how racist the folks on the Paula Deen cruise would be.
Turns out, pretty racist.
In her essentially eternal profile of the Deen cruise, Weaver lists everything she ate on the cruise, lists every place she heard someone say the N-word, and describes her interaction with a number of different folks she met on her trip, most of whom are older widows from the American South.
She also writes of Paula Deen’s friend, African-American Brad Turner, who goes by The Grill Sergeant.
Whether you support Paula Deen in spite of her racism, condemn Paula Deen for her racism, or blindly accept her apology and new black friends as proof that she isn’t racist, Weaver’s account of the Paula Deen cruise is worth a few minutes of your time (most of the rest of your afternoon).
As with much of the media coverage of Paula’s fall from grace, cruisers in our group focus single-mindedly on her use of a racial slur, rather than her (quickly abandoned) idea for an elegant antebellum-style wedding staffed exclusively by black attendants.
“Have you ever… used a derogatory term?” one woman asks me at dinner. “Not toward a gay or a black or a Jewish person or a person that was handicapped or anything?”
I tell her, honestly, that I don’t recall ever doing so. Perversely, I feel bad that I can’t give her the answer she wants, because I like her.
A man at the table, who is traveling alone, argues with me about the alleged offensiveness of the N-word.
“They use that word to each other,” he says, meaning black people. “It’s in their music.”
I suggest to him that there is a difference between a black person saying it to another black person and a white person saying it to a black person, comparing the circumstances (admittedly, not very convincingly) to the difference between telling a self-deprecating joke about oneself and being subject to mockery from others.
“Don’t you think that’s a double standard?” he asks.
“And you’re OK with that,” he says. (It’s not a question.) [Gawker]