Tasteful San Antonio: Motorin'
This morning on the way to work, I saw a somewhat dusty late-model BMW driven by a dude with two day's growth of beard, sunglasses, tousled hair, and a rumpled Oxford shirt listening to NYC hipster-rock. A typical Vice magazine reader is what he looked like. And he passed me, and I noticed on the back of his car, centered on the trunk, a red bumper sticker with white lettering that read:
Proud to be
WHITE
Now, I live in San Antonio. I am no stranger to the unsettlingly open nature of right-wing political discourse around these parts, driven by a strong military presence and a frightening number of ruthless German-Americans in positions of power. There is a guy right down the street from me, in the hippest college-town part of the city, whose big-ass truck is festooned with Jihad Watch stickers. But how does it happen that this guy's car is not under constant assault? I'd have keyed the shit out of it if I could, and I'm sort of white myself! How does it happen?
Proud to be
WHITE
Now, I live in San Antonio. I am no stranger to the unsettlingly open nature of right-wing political discourse around these parts, driven by a strong military presence and a frightening number of ruthless German-Americans in positions of power. There is a guy right down the street from me, in the hippest college-town part of the city, whose big-ass truck is festooned with Jihad Watch stickers. But how does it happen that this guy's car is not under constant assault? I'd have keyed the shit out of it if I could, and I'm sort of white myself! How does it happen?