I know George Allen. Not personally, but I know him. I grew up with guys just like him. I see them almost every day. They call themselves "conservative", but that is merely code word for believing in the righteousness of white, christian males in America. That strength is brute force and bullying. That the world is not complicated if you eliminate the complications. My personal story is one guy just like George Allen that I grew up with. More after the flip.
I think any white southerner knows a George Allen type. They are professionals, doctors, lawyers, insurance guys, corporate VP's, and they know their job depends on them hiding their true feelings about African Americans, Indians, Middle Easterners, Jews and Mexican Americans. They know that if they are outward about their internal hatreds, fears and mistrust that they will lose their jobs, their security.
But they can't help themselves. They do hate these groups of people, they do stereotype/frame these groups of people and defend these frames/stereotypes by pointing to instances that "prove" their ideology.
But they also know they are in the minority. There then becomes a public persona, an acceptible exterior, and they live double lives. One where they fester in hatred on the inside, and publicly try to look like good people on the outside.
But it kills them. It absolutely kills them. And just like plate tectonics, those pressure points can't always be contained, and small bursts of volcanic essence erupts to the exterior.
This happens in two environments: One, when they believe they are amongst friends that will not reveal, due to personal loyalty, their statements to the public at large. Two, when they lose their cool.
Mr. Allen has shown that he is exactly one of these types of guys. Living in denial that multiculturalism is the future, and in fact strength, of our country.
I had a friend like Mr. Allen growing up, who is now a dentist working for the federal government (how's that...he takes taxpayer money to provide dental care to indigents...and he's the biggest racist with whom I've ever come into contact). He came from a broken home, but they were upper middle class. He was mensa, and lived in a home that had everything a kid could need. His parents loved him, and from the outside, other than the divorce, you would think everything was just fine. He seems like he would come from a family where everything is just fine in America.
I met the guy originally because he had heard from an acquaintance of mine that I traded a Brooks Robinson rookie card from 1957 that my dad gave me (in a stack of cards from his era) for two dozen Astros cards (I was nine years old, and from my standpoint, I thought I had won the trade. I mean, some stinky old card for twenty four new ones? How could it be bad? I mean, I got MORE! And they were from my favorite team!). He couldn't wait to meet me and try to trade cards with me himself.
What he didn't know was that after I had done that trade, the guy I traded with was so obnoxious about what he had done, he showed me a baseball card price guide to prove that he had "won" the trade, and that I was the idiot.
I remember the humiliation of that day, of feeling for the first time that there were people out there that seem friendly, but really were not. I'm glad I learned that lesson before I met this guy of whom I write today. (As a side note, as I became an adolescent that started doing baseball card shows, I bought a Brooks Robinson rookie card as soon as I could afford one. As I did shows as a dealer, I kept that Robinson card in my case to remind me not to take advantage of unknowing kids that want to trade a Michael Jordan rookie card for three dozen current San Antonio Spurs commons).
He rushed to my house, bringing a whole slew of Astros cards, hoping to clear me out. You see, his father, who divorced his mother, was a big wig insurance company exec...he paid child support to his mother, the nurse, and the mother took the money, but gave it all to this kid, and he used it to buy baseball cards. And he was two years older. And so he was the big time dealer in the neighborhood. He had it all. Except he didn't have 1957s in the condition I had.
So he came over, and he realized one thing very quickly. I was a good kid, with a good heart. And my family, although white, were staunch Democrats. He also realized that I was not the dumb kid he expected to meet. When he realized the card trading would not be as beneficial, and that I had bought my own copy of the price guide, we turned to discussing other matters.
I've had conversations with this guy, as an acquaintance, for many years. I can't count the number of times he or his mother, while I was in the room, said the N word. I often showed my objection, but certainly not every time they said it. I know that some would place blame on me for not standing up to them, and I suppose I feel some guilt for that. But just because I haven't gone public with it every time the guy said it, even with him working for the federal government (with military rank, as I understand it), doesn't mean it didn't happen. So I know Dr. Shelton's predicament. Those that would blame Dr. Shelton for not coming out earlier clearly do not know what it is like to be white, southern and not a racist.
So what has happened to this friend of mine? He spent years abusing me politically, throwing racial epithets my way, constantly coming over unannounced, constantly bullying me to do things I wouldn't otherwise do. He was bigger and older, and he often intimidated me and others in the neighborhood. He did a lot of illegal things, drank a lot (his favorite thing to do was to go to the black side of town and buy 40 oz. beers and drink them in the car), and was the only guy I've ever known to inject steroids (he became a body builder after idolizing Arnold Schwartzenegger, and often quoted Arnold from the documentary about women). He hung out with a lot of police officers, who were equally racially insensitive, and they shared stories to each other of how this black guy or woman did this or that, and how stupid they all were. Followed by much laughter.
I was there, I witnessed a lot. But what he couldn't do is break me. I never agreed with him. I never used that language. I argued with him when I could, and I always pointed out the flaws in his logic when I could. And I was always disappointed that he continued to choose to be racially insensitive over listening to reason. And he continued to bully me, in hopes I would come around and be a good white southern christian like himself. And I saw a lot of neighborhood kids where he had influenced them, first our of fear, then by them wanting to be like him. I see how the Allens of the world, particularly when rich, can influence a lot of people, who will lie for them.
If I were to analyze him, I'd say that he grew up without his father's love. That his mother, who clearly was a racist, raised him to be like her. And he loved her very much, and to challenge racism was to challenge his mother directly, the only person that ever loved him, and he couldn't have that. I think it always was problematic for him, because he thought all Democrats were stupid, and I was clearly not. He thought all Democrats were poor, and I was not. That all Democratic families were godless, and my mom was very religious. I was a true enigma. And I think he always just thought I was in need of direction, and he would provide it to me. But I knew better.
And I hadn't thought about him in a while, but all this news this week reminds me of George Allen.
I will say, the last I heard of my "friend" (before I got married, my wife, being Hispanic, refused to let him into the house after hearing the stories), he was taking pictures in Arizona of war protestors, posting them on the web in order to try to get them to be fired for not being "patriotic".
The guy is what makes the Song of the South, which is permanently in the Disney Vault, the symbol of where racial insensitivity is in the south. It is locked away in a vault. But the plate tectonics are constantly in motion, and there is a lot of magma below the surface waiting to explode. The attack by Islamic extremists and immigration debate have shown cracks in the surface, and I fear that until the core cools, we will always be sitting on a Ring of Fire.
So, George Allen, I know ye. And I certainly know there is no place for you in the Senate. I hope Virginians use this opportunity to try to find more stable, less seismic, ground upon which to build their future.
One can only hope.