Inga, a cat at the Mt. Washington observatory in the White Mountains. Long gone by now, of course, but she's lived on here for many years, another random desktop.
D mentions a recording of Ian Fleming's Bond stories, and the racial attitudes of the time. I grew up with this sort of speech. My aunt had nothing but contempt for Italians. My father used the usual slurs. My mother called anyone not mainstream "colored." (Which confused me, as they were not particularly colorful...) Facing someone of a different ethnicity, they were kind and polite, they were prejudiced, but not actively bigoted. The slant of their times. My grandmother was born in 1890. My mother, the youngest of her siblings, in 1925. So, I was not taught to hate those of other backgrounds, merely to idly dismiss them, passively. My mother's friend in grade school was Jewish, and she hated that there were beaches that barred her friend. They would go anyway, of course.
I'm in the next generation, when "Black" was the correct term, and I saw the aftermath of the '67 riots from the backseat of the car. The era of political correctness - later on. Being accused of racism, when dealing with someone breathtakingly rude, whose daughter was my friend (unbeknownst to her.) And dealing with my own biases and irrational feelings about "other." Being myself "other" as a minority in a city where being white, and both parents Canadian, meant I never was mainstream, despite my skin. I sounded different, felt different, but looked Same. And danced on the edge.
As I get older, I am aware that my sense of ethnic identity is old fashioned. Not progressed, but flung off at a tangent. I still refuse to think less of anyone for their genetics. But I find I have prejudices, a disdain for the sexism of Islam, or old style cultural Catholicism, and bloody minded, self serving conservatism of more traditional groups. Don't get me started about the baptists who hate gays so much they intrude on grief.
I find I detest the establishment as much as the libertarian idealism. I have little patience for idealism or extremism of any stripe, or people who identify with a group rather than their own character.
It's lonely out here, but here I stand.
How many war protesters does it take to stop a war? Trick question, war protesters never accomplished anything.
(Correction, how many war protesters does it take to change a lightbulb? Trick question, war protesters never changed anything.)
A dark joke, full of cynicism, but not a lie either. How many protesters stopped tectonic plate movement?
We all have our little moments. When we decide where is Here, and where is There. Who is Us, and who Them. We draw our lines, and live within them, or outside them. Or we pull away from any group, any friend, any association, and feel the isolation.