Have I mentioned that racial equality is a hot button issue for me? Always has been. In fact, as a kid I labored under the delusion that I was Dr. Martin Luther King reincarnated.
Well come on, not everyone can be Cleopatra.
I assumed that my purpose in life was to become a martyr for the cause. I mean, what else is an idealistic 8-year old to think when confronted with a past life destiny? Of course as I got older I realized that being shot and killed isn’t actually a good time and leaves very little time for dating, so I let go of my “purpose” in favor of self-preservation. However, I’ve continued to think about the subject (behind bullet proof glass), because as a former civil rights worker and current coward, it’s the least I can do.
My theory is that we need to get to the heart of the problem, like a plantar wart and at the heart of racism is fear. If hate filled people are largely driven by fear, I think that fear should be used as a motivator in the opposite direction. We should have a campaign of fear against fear, which would be, ipso facto, a campaign against racism. Sort of like fighting fire with fire, which always confused me because it seemed to me that if you fought fire with fire you just had…a bigger fire, but I didn’t understand Calculus either, so I’m just going to trust them on this one.
Then I figured that, though racism isn’t limited to a specific gender, the people in charge tend to be men (you can tell because those white hooded robes are so unflattering), so the campaign should be aimed at them. Go after the head of the snake, as it were.
Then it hit me. Like a burning cross. The anti-racism campaign to end all anti-racism campaigns. The slogan that the equal rights movement is missing. The phrase that will strike fear into the hearts of male racists everywhere and cause them to abandon their wicked ways, thereby inspiring female racists to follow suit.
Racism Causes Testicular Cancer
Bam! Genius, right? And before you ask, no I don’t have a degree in marketing or psychology, I’m just naturally gifted…you know, because of my past life. And the many times I saw The Color Purple.
This would be a television campaign, but you could put up posters in areas where they might spend more time picking their banjos than watching tv. The commercials would show a semi-respectable Caucasian male throwing his white hood in the trash. He would turn to the camera, showing a face filled with pain and loss. Then he would say:
“I used to love spending my weekends at a clan meeting or burning a cross on somebody’s lawn. But then my nuts shriveled up and fell off. The doctor said that racism gave me nut cancer.”
And then they would pan out and we would see an old African American gentleman sitting on a porch across the way, looking on. The camera would close in on his face. He would nod and say:
“My nuts are fine.”
Fade to black.
Hordes of bigoted men would then race to their bathrooms to palpate their testicles and reevaluate their narrow world view. Racism would disappear and we would all stand, holding hands across America, singing Kumbaya.
You are welcome, America. Problem solved. Now if you will excuse me, I need to borrow the Pope-mobile to go grocery shopping.
Author’s Note: This post is in no way meant to suggest that all victims of testicular cancer are racist. Nor is it meant to trivialize a very serious disease or the effects of racism. Testicular cancer and racism are horrible and nobody should have to suffer from either. Which is why I put my nose to the grind stone to fix the latter. I will work on a cure for testicular cancer tomorrow, but I can’t make any promises, as cancer seems to be much less responsive to catchy slogans.
Also, my testicular cancer cure will only be available to non-racist patients. You’ve got to heal your mind before you heal your nuts, people.