“Social Justice”: A Euphemism for Racism and Discrimination
by Michael Bama Katt
I was taught to treat you, and you, and you, and, yeah, even you way over in the corner there, as individuals. I believe in that to my core. I’ll respect you as a decent human being unless you give me a reason not to. Period paragraph.
I’ve been alive for 60 years; I’ve been a bouncer for 38 of them, and in some staggeringly violent bars in the Deep South and out west. If the color of a man’s skin gave off even a hint of what kind of person he was, I assure you I’d know it. I’ve picked up A LOT of subtle and not so subtle indicators over those 4 decades. Color ain’t one of ’em. Even a little bit.
I’ve stuck with this job for so long even though I’ve been beat to hell and back because I can not tolerate, will not put up with, innocent people being preyed upon or hurt. I’m GOING to do something about that if I see it; this job just makes it less likely I’ll get locked up for it. If I had a safety hint for you that was that simple – “why, just check their skin tone, duh” – I’d never shut up about it.
Only thing I can say for certain about skin color is if I was dumb enough to focus on someone because of his, every bad guy in the bar who wasn’t that color would have a field day because they’d know they’re off my radar. I can’t afford to focus on anything that doesn’t matter. Skin. Doesn’t. Matter.
I will not play this new game where that’s the first thing we see and the only thing we take into consideration. Pretty that up any way you want to, that’s exactly what the woke folks are pushing. They determine your value by the color of your skin, and they don’t even know they should be ashamed of that.
The best damn people I know are, well, people. I’ve met some nasty ones too. The good ones far, FAR outnumber the bad. No ethnicity has a lock on either, unfortunately. WISH it was that easy.
Bama has been a rodeo cowboy, a professional stuntman, and, for 38 years and counting, a bouncer at various biker bars and redneck rat cage juke joints through the Deep South. He makes cool stuff as Crimson Tied Paragear, using knots his Army Ranger Scoutmaster taught him at Boy Scout summer camp deep in the Okinawan boonies back in 1972.
© 2020 The Havok Journal