Ah, the racism that doesn’t exist in America anymore (and would y’all quit complainin’ already):

More than 60 campers from Northeast Philadelphia were turned away from a private swim club and left to wonder if their race was the reason.

“I heard this lady, she was like, ‘Uh, what are all these black kids doing here?’ She’s like, ‘I’m scared they might do something to my child,'” said camper Dymire Baylor.

The Creative Steps Day Camp paid more than $1900 to The Valley Swim Club. The Valley Swim Club is a private club that advertises open membership. But the campers’ first visit to the pool suggested otherwise.
“When the minority children got in the pool all of the Caucasian children immediately exited the pool,” Horace Gibson, parent of a day camp child, wrote in an email. “The pool attendants came and told the black children that they did not allow minorities in the club and needed the children to leave immediately.”

This is all so familiar.  Also, the type of thing that the National Review made hay defending back in the day (retooled, refitted, updated).

Despite my rugged exterior, Jay Z-like street cred and remarkable penchant for being down at all times – and as unlikely as this may sound to you dear reader – I grew up in a rich white burb (of NYC mind you, not Alabama or Mississippi).  And by white, I mean police-enforced, purest white. 

The next town over was the inverse (lower income scale, minority population, knowledge among locals that life had progressed past 1952, etc).  Thus, as it was known to all involved, the police would make a regular habit of pulling over/stopping minorities that had the nerve to cross the border into Pristineville.  Just for being there.

Even minority children got harassed.

My town had a bunch of parks that were little Meccas for the snot-nose set, and so it wasn’t uncommon to see the occasional young black or Hispanic kid showing up at the front gate with wide eyes.  Of course, the park tenders would snap into action, halt the interlopers before they entered and let them know that you had to be a resident of the town – or the guest of a resident – in order to be let in.  Obviously, by virtue of their melanin count, they weren’t residents.

After discovering that loophole (Guest of a resident? Is that all!), bleeding heart liberal that I was even at age 5, I took it upon myself to forever guest-in any and all kids from surrounding environs that wanted to partake of our gold-encrusted jungle gym.  That pissed off the park reps to no end, but that only sweetened the pot. 

Took a couple of beatings from the local bullies too, and was called “n**ger lover” so often it was my nickname for a while.  But I was an ornery little cuss when I thought I was doing the right thing.  Besides, playground violence was nothing compared to the savagery that racial animus produced as the children got older.

And the bigotry wasn’t limited to blacks and Hispanics.

A decade or so ago (long after I fled that mess of a town) I heard of how one of the local families was kicked out of the country club because the club’s leaders discovered the patriarch’s grandfather was…Jewish.  Seriously.  That’s the level of racism/bigotry thriving right outside of liberal, elitist, multi-culti, homo-friendly, New York City.

One of my friend’s fathers (a dreaded trial lawyer with a sense of right and wrong) threatened to bring the whole damn plantation down if they went through with it.  The country club relented, but the damage was done.  Not sure if the family even wanted membership after that.  I kind of hope not.

Which is a long, roundabout way of saying: Fuck you “racism doesn’t exist in America.”  And fuck you to everyone who’s hung up on the perils of – clutches pearlsreverse racism.  Or racialism.  Or political correctness.  Or affirmative action.  Or whatever way it is that people are choosing to express their frustration that being openly racist just isn’t as acceptable as it once was. 

Though not exactly gauche in all settings, obviously.  Still, we make them feel guilty, and that makes us fascists.  Or something.