Well, now that all the gourmet beer has been drunk and all the initial dust has settled, I guess it may be OK for me to venture out of hiding, and as a person of decided pallor, to venture some kind of opinion. May as well, since darned near every other sentient being has, in the last week or so. Kind of comic, watching a distinguished and famous gentleman and possessor of skin of a year-round dark-tan color, as well as a professorship at a prestigious university – and boasting the instant and unreserved support of everyone from the chief of police of his fair city to the President of the US – carrying on as if he was a 1960’s Civil Rights marcher being whomped on by Bull Connor’s cops. So amusing, watching a grown man acting like a wanna-be street badass picking a fight, in the total assurance that the person he is picking the fight with won’t actually dare respond.

And the fact that the policeman in question – like me, a person of pallor, and probably a veteran of forty years’ worth of courses and lectures on tolerance and diversity, and respect, and judging others by the content of their character rather than the color of their skin – behaved professionally throughout, and moreover seems to have the trust, and respect of his colleagues in the force … well, that’s pretty damn amusing, too. Thank god one of the participants in this little fandango acted like a mature, well-adjusted and responsible grownup.

Kind of puts the cherry on the top of the whipped cream on the sundae, how we were going to be all cool and post-racial, once a man who – if you kinda tilted your head sideways, squinted and used some imagination – could reasonably call black … Black with a capitol B, that is. Who is actually the son of a Kenyan bigamist, and a seriously mixed-up white anthropology student, who was raised by white grandparents in Hawaii, and educated at an upper-crust private school and a secession of equally upper-crust universities. He seems to have magically and effortlessly floated up to higher and higher levels in academia, local and national politics, without any exhibiting any notable talents or specific skills, other than that of standing there and looking gorgeous. No, it is perplexing, and the apotheosis of Barry O. brings to mind the crack made about a relatively undistinguished 19th century British politician: “Canning in office is like a fly in amber. Nobody cares about the fly: the only question is “How the hell did he get there?”

No, the current resident of 1600 Pensylvania Avenue is not by any means straight outta Compton, although he has been taken quite to the hearts of many who are, or wish they were, or hoped that other people would think them so. Basically, Ms Dunham-Obama-Soetero’s little boy Barry has the unqualified, unquestioning and enthusiastic support of 97% of that segment of the American public defined as black or Afro-American, or whatever the hell the current racial designator is. And that may be the soil from which the poisoned tree grows, and where the problem begins, when considering L’Affaire Gates.  I can’t say it’s never been a problem for elected officials who came out of various ethnic minority groups, to think of the welfare of their own groups first, and then of the wider constituency . Human nature works that way; mostly you are drawn to, and have much more in common with people who have the same background, the same values and pretty much the same experiences. But in the military I know – and in politics I would hope – that in order to best serve the nation, it is one’s duty to transcend that. It’s been a given in the military for at least the last three decades and more, that there is no black or brown, or yellow or white – there is just Army green, Air Force blue, Navy/Marine whatever. It has to be that way for the military, and it may come to having to be that way for our presidents, legislators and judiciary.

See, there are people who do a job, and do it either well or not so well, and who just incidentally are black, or Hispanic or whatever. Whatever their color or ethnicity is … it’s just an aspect of them, not at the center of their being. Where you get into dangerous waters is when this particular aspect is at the center of all, for certain politicians and activists. That’s the core of their character, the center of their self-image, it’s bread and butter, meat and drink – they could no more set aside that aspect than they could chop off a limb or two. A long time ago, when Jesse Jackson wasn’t half the philandering self-parody that he appears to be today, he conceived the bright idea to run for higher office than just all around racial busy-body. And I thought at the time – no, it would never work.
 
He is Black, with a capitol B, not black with a small-b, like then-Los Angeles Mayor (and former police officer turned lawyer) Tom Bradley. Say whatever you liked about Mayor Bradley, he was a serious and dedicated public official, who went on transcending color for what seemed like forever. (Or at least forever for me, since he was mayor of Los Angeles from the time I was in grade school until about the time I enlisted.)  I could picture Tom Bradley campaigning for office anywhere, with anyone, while I couldn’t really picture Jesse Jackson kissing white babies with any particular enthusiasm. I think that during the 2008 presidential campaign, that a lot of people – of all races but mostly white - rather hoped that Obama would prove to be an Tom Bradley … and not another professional race-hustling Black-with-a-capital-B-what’s-in-it-for-me-and-mine-sleaze-bag like Al Sharpton.

And that’s the unintended fallout from L’Affaire Gates, you see; that increasing numbers of people of pallor who gave the President the benefit of the doubt, or who just hoped against instinct for the best, are now looking him over and thinking … Nope, just another Al Sharpton, just another racial huckster with a smoother manner, a glossier education, slicker friends and a much more expert tailor. And I have detected fearful speculation here and there in the small tidepools at the edge of the great sea that is the blogosphere, that if the Yes We Can-man really, really karks up the office of the POTUS and by extension the rest of the United States – our economy, our medical care, our employment and subsequent electoral and judicial processes, it will be a cold day in hell before another person of color of his particular perceived ilk  would ever be considered. No, very few well-meaning and well-brought up moderate persons of pallor will ever be so crude and racist to come out and say so, up front – we’ve all had thirty years of lectures on that very subject from the properly accredited diversity experts on what is acceptable to say and do WRT to race, in the arena outside of our own thoughts and our private circles. Nope – it would never be overt, save on far fringes of the nastier, extremist blogs, of which there are relatively only a handful in comparison to the thoughtful centrists sort. But I know the thought is out there. I also know the threat of being called a racist for saying so is getting pretty damn hollow but it still has some bite among the terminally sensitive persons of pallor, so it's not a thought that will ever appear in say - the New York Times.

 And that leads to yet another uncomfortable thought – if the Black with a capital-B, post-racial, Yes-We-Can-man goes down, who goes down with him? Legacy media? Possibly, unless they can shift gears fast enough. And the Black-with-a-capital B support system, all those celebrities, activists, intellectuals like the thin-skinned Professor Gates? All of those who cling to solidarity with someone whose skin-color is somewhat like theirs, regardless of the content of character, or the results of his policies? That is an interesting thought, isn’t it?