OK, yeah, we probably should’ve seen this coming from a mile away, but still, we can’t help but marvel at the staggering stupidity contained within this New Republic piece:
How do you even top that?
A joke? Not on your life.
Here’s that last paragraph, for your edutainment:
Ultimately, Rachel Dolezal’s story seems like a story about fear. It expresses the fear all white Americans have, or should have: fear of acknowledging our own cultural history as creators of trauma and inflictors of abuse; fear of acknowledging the guilt inherent in this narrative, and, even more staggeringly, taking on the task of alchemizing guilt into something useful. Dolezal’s story also expresses, in its most redemptive moments, the love and respect she truly seemed to have for African-American culture—and the weakness that allowed her to see it not as a culture she wanted to use her white privilege to advocate for, but as a shelter in which she could hide from herself.