Watching people who should know better cling to a fantasy of whiteness as if it were oxygen, even when it's killing their dignity, their memory, and lineage
A particular sorrow moves through many communities today — a sorrow shaped not by sudden tragedy but by slow erosion. It is the sorrow of watching people who should know better cling to a fantasy of whiteness as if it were oxygen, even as it strips away dignity, memory, and lineage. This grief does not shout. It settles quietly, like dust on an abandoned altar, marking the places where identity once stood firm. Across cities and continents, a strange transformation unfolds. Young people, especially those under thirty, often treat their heritage as an inconvenience rather than an inheritance. Languages carried across centuries are dismissed with a shrug. Cultural memory is traded for borrowed accents. A person who left home only two years ago may insist they can no longer speak the language of their childhood, while elders who left half a century earlier still hold it with ease. The speed of forgetting is startling — not because memory is fragile, but because the desire to forget has be...