Quotes About Racism

Our schools should be sanctuaries of learning, not nightmares of cruel and racist behavior.

But when I was doing the KKK I had constant nightmares of being exposed as a Jew and lynched by the Klan.

listen, pal. I came here because I knew how worried you must be. But if you're going to talk to me like that, I'll fuck off home. The word racist brightened a little: the Anglo- Saxon was striking back against the Roman invader.

On the whole, though, the guests at the party preferred the narrative about lies, fear, stupidity and racism. They had lost an argument, and they never lost arguments. They were confused and angry.

Native-born Protestants loathed and oppressed Catholics and immigrants, and Catholics and immigrants scorned and murdered Negroes, as if each group fed off its hate, needing the nourishment provided by the bone marrow of someone weaker.

In a situation of occupation or domination, the occupier, the dominant power, has to justify what it's doing. There is only one way to do it—become a racist. You have to blame the victim. Once you become a raving racist in self-defense, you've lost your capacity to understand what's happening.

There is imperial terror and aggression, there is exploitation, there is racism, lots of things like that. But there is also a real concern, coexisting with it, for individual rights of a sort which, for example, are embodied in the Bill of Rights, which is by no means simply an expression of class oppression. It is also an expression of the necessity to defend the individual against state power.

The paradox: is God a racist, sexist, homophobic, anti-Semetic? Or is God testing to see if I am?

Of all people, only Mr. King came close to exposing the true magic of black people," Arabella explained. "For many years we debated killing him for our own protection." Miss Josephine listened in amazement. "Blacks killed Martin Luther King Jr.?" Arabella scowled. "Not Doctor King . . . ," she exclaimed. "We hired a man to kill Stephen King. Unfortunately the assassin was inept, and the intended hit-and-run was a failure.

That flag's not just the emblem of being a racist asshole, a club to which your daddy probably belongs happily. But it's also the Confederate flag. The one carried by Southerners to say to the Yankees—that's your daddy, a Yankee—'Don't tread on me or I'll pop a musket ball up your ass.' Northerners driving around with the Dixie flag is like a Jew wearing a 'Go Hitler!' baseball cap." Jonesy's

Racism was a little like that. Sometimes the initial symptoms were small: microaggressions here, simmering resentment there. If you dealt with it head-on, maybe you could keep it contained. If you didn't deal with it, though, it came back with a vengeance: just like that little bacterium. Came back worse. Entrenched. So entrenched, in fact, the longer you let it go, the harder it was to control, and soon everything started to break down.

La timidité de notre conscience nous détourne parfois de reconnaître le racisme lorsqu'il est élégant et sensible ; les confusions méthodologiques, les pétitions métaphysiques ne nous paraissent plus si graves lorsque, silencieuses sur les actes, elles sont en outre accompagnées de ce que nous appelons élévation de l'esprit ou grande culture.

In the biracial world constructed in nineteenth-century North America, people had to choose sides; more often the choice was made for them.

Racial prejudice rotted one's faculties.

White man trying to kill you slow every day, and sometimes trying to kill you fast. Why make it easy for him? That was one kind of work you could say no to.

You can change the law but you can't change people and how they treat each other. Nickel was racist as hell—half the people who worked here probably dressed up like the Klan on weekends—but the way Turner saw it, wickedness went deeper than skin color. It was Spencer. It was Spencer and it was Griff and it was all the parents who let their children wind up here. It was people.

He had met this sort of white man before, earnest and believing what came out of their mouths. The veracity of their words was another matter, but at least they believed them. The southern white man was spat from the loins of the devil and there was no way to forecast his next evil act.

In America the quirk was that people were things. Best to cut your losses on an old man who won't survive a trip across the ocean. A young buck from strong tribal stock got customers into a froth. A slave girl squeezing out pups was like a mint, money that bred money. If you were a thing—a cart or a horse or a slave—your value determined your possibilities.

What had started it, the mess this week? A white cop shot an unarmed black boy three times and killed him. Good old American know-how on display: We do marvels, we do injustice, and our hands were always busy.

In death the negro became a human being. Only then was he the white man's equal.

She said that white towns had simply banded together to rid themselves of the black stronghold in their midst. That is how the European tribes operate, she said. If they can't control it, they destroy it. If

I prefer the American spirit, the one that called us from the Old World to the New, to conquer and build and civilize. And destroy that what needs to be destroyed. To lift up the lesser races. If not lift up, subjugate. And if not subjugate, exterminate. Our destiny by divine prescription – the American imperative.

He was all of them in one black body that night in the ring, and all of them when the shite men took him out back to those two iron rings.

The whites got what they deserved. For enslaving her people, for massacring another race, for stealing the very land itself. Let them burn by flame or fever, let the destruction started here rove acre by acre until the dead have been avenged.