The invisible fence, 15 feet high that divides the America that lectures others on “multiculturalism”.
It was a rich white girls’ party. Anyone watching the video could tell. It wasn’t in a house. It wasn’t even in a mansion. It was in a palace. The theme was multiculturalism.
She was wearing sexy lederhosen with a chinese shirt and Inca shoes. She also sported a rainbow sombrero and a necklace made of ‘fangs’.
“Welcome to my party! I am the spirit of acceptance, tonight. There’s something on someone from every nation!”
And there was. Russian fur hats. Australian cork hats. An almost abominable miss-mash of every stereotypical garment from everywhere around the world. Most of them in bright and unnatural colours.
All of the partiers were white.
“And in the spirit of acceptance, I invited a special guest. Tito should be coming on down, soon.”
He stood out like a sore thumb. He wore crocks, jeans and a T-shirt with a band on it. He held a fraying straw hat like it was an abomination that he wished he could use as a weapon.
Anger.
“Tito! What the flying hell? You’re not in costume!”
Tito stood tall. Defiant. “Your people invaded my country. Your people told us our ways were wrong. Your people tried to erase our culture and our history and turn us all into this.”
It was a Mexican Peon costume. Replete with a fake donkey and a horrible felt mustache. The white person wearing it on the package label was having an insane amount of fun with the half a donkey erupting from his crotch.
“You’re ruining my party!”
“I expect the truth would,” said Tito. “None of us are this. You call us lazy and shiftless, yet you hire us to work at everything you do not want to do for yourselves. You make us pick your food, clean up your messes, and then you laugh at us because we can only afford to live in squalor. You steal any excuse to party from us. The Quinceanera. Cinco de Mayo. The day of the dead. All of it is just an excuse to drink alcohol and wear our poverty for a day.”
“Hey! Step off!”
“You step off!” Tito whirled on the drunken jock. “You think you are doing a good thing here? Why don’t you take the college fund you’re going to piss against the wall at your frat house, and actually do something constructive with it? You’re only going to drop out before you inherit your daddy’s firm, anyway.”
“That is wrong. You can’t just single out someone and expect them to be a stereotype.”
“Like you did?” said Tito, waving the costume bag. “Racist.”
“I’m not a racist! You’re my friend,” wailed the privileged white girl.
“As long as you think I’m this?” he tossed the bag at her. “I am not your friend. And unlike the rest of you, I have to work, tomorrow.”
The girl made a noise of disbelief, facing the camera. “What is his problem?”
The party resumed in a few minutes.
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