Wednesday, 7 September 2016
Well, I have to say we’ve been having a simply torrid time just lately. Jocasta and I had been rummaging around in the offence drawer for something to be angry about on somebody else’s behalf and just when we thought we’d found something really rather special it turns out that some other white people ruined it for us. I mean, that’s despicable and entirely typical of the type of privileged white meddlers in business that is none of theirs. You see, Jocasta and I – Peregrine, by the way, charmed, I’m sure – are professionals and it is utterly sine qua non that these matter are left to people like ourselves who know how to handle them.
Now, it’s not that climate change isn’t racist, you understand, because it undeniably is, it’s just that those... people... those soi-disant white allies at the airport were being a little bit racist themselves. You see, in doing the bidding of the black lives matter chappies, they were guilty of cultural appropriation; they don’t realise just how insulting it must be for black people to use whites to do their bidding unpaid. It was positively ghastly; slavery is not satire, you know? And don’t take our word for it – just look what other black people think of them. And that pony tail? So nineties, pur-lease!
Now when J and I were doing our PhD – I say ours as we did it jointly – in ‘Intersectional Race and Gender Protocol Anomalies and their Impact on Oppositional Movements in the Societal Continuum of Class Struggle in the Twenty-First Century’, we learned to our cost not to help black folk. They are a proud and noble people but more trouble than they are worth; we say this because we care. Anyway, don’t get involved; they don’t like it and you may well end up getting yourself stabbed. It’s all in the dissertation.
Should you call us ‘doctor’, you ask? Well, perhaps not just yet, the old ‘dissie’ is with our supervisor; he told us it may take a while to make a decision.... although now you mention it, it has been since 2013. Anyway, the jolly old race game is old hat now; classic supply and demand. There’s been such an over-supply of nouveau racism now that everybody is doing it, it’s time to move on. So this morning, over our home-made quinoa, tempeh and sun-dried tomato breakfast bake, drizzled with liquid aminos and sprinkled with chia seeds (yum!) we hit on a simply super new crusade.
We hate it when rich people
culturally appropriate poor people's problems.
Every year, a disproportionate number of uneducated, poor people from under-privileged neighbourhoods are driven to drink through ignorance and easy access to benefits. They suffer a higher rate of premature death than even we highly educated vegans through cumulative liver damage. And being white, they often don’t get the help they need, on account of the sensitivity with which interfering with their culture is viewed in society... or the possibility of being knifed. So, we aim to tackle the matter at source; we are off to chain ourselves to the gates of the Guinness Brewery. You can support us and see our progress on the hashtag #BlackLiversMatter.