Outside, looking in and shaking my head in sad disbelief. That’s the way it feels. I’m not the minority, claiming oppression or institutional discrimination. I am not the religious zealot screaming on the corner, condemning everyone who passes to whatever version of hell they fear.
I am the iconoclast, laughing at religions who pray to the same god and argue about who is right. The same groups that war over such stupid disagreements. I talk about faith instead of religion. I’ve studied history and know where most of the holy ritual come from.
I am the radical who refuses to accept excuses for your life. I refuse to accept responsibility for what others did a hundred years ago. Two hundred years ago. When you bring up institutional discrimination, I ask what the equal rights laws are. Why can we have a Black Caucus but not a White Caucus?
Yep, I’m an outlier. A statistical improbability today. Someone who doesn’t care what your opinion is about my opinion. I’m willing to discuss any topic you want, but refuse the social expedient of agreeing just because a poll says everyone else does.
The New Word Wars 