It’s a joke, right? I can’t be a bigot, I have black friends, gay friends, Hispanic friends?I mean, listen to this asshole:
“Well,” Yelton paused. “I’ve been called a bigot before. Let me tell you something, you don’t look like me but I think I’ve treated you the same as anybody else. As a matter of fact, one of my best friends is black. One of my best friends.”
Just once I would like to hear from these friends. I would like to read the interview headlined SOME OF MY BEST FRIENDS ARE RACIST BIGOTS.
What continues to get to me about this pat, clichéd defense is how it’s obviously framed as the racist bigot doing this black person, this gay person, this Asian person, whatever, a favor. It’s one thing when people cite family: I have a gay sister, or a black brother-in-law. Those associations aren’t of the racist bigot’s choice. That’s happenstance.
It’s the friend thing that trips me up. Friend implies someone chose to hang with you, knowing what a fucknut you are. Friend implies they spend time with you in spite of your views, just as you clearly rise above yourself to befriend someone who you clearly consider inferior. So where are they, in our stupendously idiotic conversation about race? Why do we never hear from them?
The easy answer, of course, is that they don’t exist, or that the racist bigot offering them up is citing some minor acquaintance in an effort to silence critics. But let’s be generous, and assume there is a real person being talked about here. Where is he? What does he think about all this? Or is his opinion not important? Is it enough that he exist, so as to be pointed at when his friend is faced with criticism?