“Fifty years from now, there won’t even be any white people!” said my pathological Middle Eastern neighbor. He knew I was an American Indian, and he expected me to dance in his vision.
I didn’t. I found his attitude, and that of his angry black wife, repulsive. I don’t appreciate being presumed upon or being dictated to in any matter, especially in the matter of race. Nobody tells this Indian how to think. I’m free to like and dislike whomever I please, for whatever reasons I choose.
My two neighbors were racists, obviously. And they were making me a victim of their racism. Because I was non-white, they presumed I was a natural partner in their resentment and animosity toward the white race. I was judged by the color of my skin, so to speak.