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Orphan of culture

On Thursday I had to go to a school assembly about Black History Month. It was the general student body’s first glimpse at our new auditorium. The building, which probably should have been finished along with the rest of the campus last year, only seats half the school, so there were two assemblies.

Anyway, you might say it was a celebration of black history, pride, spirituality, and/or community. But I say it was an all-black talent show, and I should know because I was there. There was music, dancing, poetry, and the like. But first, the ROTC (a.k.a. the Nazi Youth) marched up and barked this cute little chant about how “black history is everyone’s history” and all that.

Most of the people participating were girls, so of course, their friends were all shouting their names when they got up on stage (you know how it is). And line after line of several poems was met with “mm-hmm”s from the audience. It was that sort of thing for about an hour. Oh, and there were also religious songs. Yes, you heard right, folks. Overtly Christian songs at an assembly that, as the Hitler Youth shouted, was supposed to “celebrate diversity.” I expressed my feelings about all this to my friends sitting next to me: “I feel like I’m in Birmingham, Alabama, in the 1960s, and I’ve just walked into the wrong church.” (I’m going to hell for that one. Sincerest apologies to Southern Baptists, etc.) After being angry and confused by this show of black unity, I quickly became bored.

And I thought about things. The blacks — well, all minorities, I guess — have got it together. They have to. They’re a minority. You know what I mean. If whites do that sort of thing they’re labeled as white supremacists. Because since whites are majority, they — we — don’t need to be organized. I mean, take some of those poems — “We have risen up,” etc., etc. — replace “black” with “white,” and see how fast a guy with a uniform and a walkie-talkie confronts you. You’re not allowed to do that stuff if your race or color is more than 50% of the population.

I thought about my history. Isn’t there anyone I could identify with? Even a lot of my white friends have some sort of community. One of them is Irish. And I don’t mean a wee bit Irish, mind you, but actually 100% of Irish ancestry (correct me if I’m wrong, Sean). He may actually be able to apply for Irish citizenship. And of course, his family has some Irish pals and they all get together and sing and drink and do other Irish things. I have two friends (they’re related) who go to Canada frequently to visit their French-speaking relatives. Do I go to or get visitors from other countries? No, I’m a cultureless American.

I don’t have a race (just say “white race” and aforementioned uniformed guy will be there in no time) and I don’t have an ethnicity. Actually, I’d say that I’m one-fourth Croatian and Hungarian (20 bucks to anyone who can find those countries on a map) and one-eighth German, Irish, English, and Scottish. How can I have ethnic pride? (“We’ve got a guy here who’s proud to be German, over.”)

I’m nothing but a white mutt. I have no culture. None of my ethnicities — if you could call them that — have restaurants around here. And even if they did, could I just walk into an Irish place, and me, with a funny eastern European last name, say yeah, my great-granddaddy, who I never knew, was Irish? Could I sing side by side with them about the struggle of the Irish people? At least red hair runs in the family, so maybe future generations would be able to pull it off. “My great-great-granddaddy…”. Well, maybe not.

I left the assembly feeling rather depressed. When I say nobody knows how I feel, I can really mean it. I can’t go crash with my Croatian/Hungarian/English/German/Irish/Scottish buddies. I can’t celebrate my European heritage. I don’t belong to a community. I’m an orphan of culture. According to the Junior SS, black history is everyone’s history, and the one race is the human race. So why can’t I identify with anyone?