I'd like to invite a a civilised inquiry into what precisely we mean when we say that "racism is a bad thing".
Racism seems to be the ever-expanding conceptual soufflé—always rising, never quite settling. A term so frequently invoked that one suspects it has lost its sharpness through overuse, like a well-worn blade dulled by cutting every conceivable thing, from genocide to grilled cheese preferences.
Permit me, if you will, a gentlemanly indulgence: a calm and methodical attempt to pin this butterfly to the board. If racism is bad—not just socially unfashionable, or ideologically inconvenient, but morally blameworthy—what precisely are we saying is bad? And more crucially, what are we not saying?
Let us examine, with a glass of port and a generous portion of nuance, several commonly conflated behaviours:
1. Pride in One’s Own Culture, Ethnicity, or History
A delight in one’s heritage—be it Swedish forestry traditions, Ghanaian storytelling, or the dazzling absurdity of British cuisine—is not merely innocent; it is, in many instances, encouraged. One must ask: is a Maori’s haka cultural pride, while a Breton’s folk dance nationalistic dog-whistling? Is the Nigerian recitation of ancestral lineage celebratory, while the Irishman's interest in Gaelic revivalism suspicious?
If pride in one’s roots is racism, then it is a rather fashionable one, worn proudly at every multicultural day from here to Helsinki. This cannot sensibly be the problem.
2. Preferring the Company of One’s Own Kind
Now, I say this delicately: does anyone truly believe that all humans, left entirely to their own devices, would select their dinner companions, spouses, or barbers in complete defiance of shared language, humour, values, or culture?
To prefer the familiar is not a moral failure—it is, at worst, a missed opportunity. Were we to criminalise introversion, or pathologise the grandmother who prefers the church bazaar to the drum circle, we would be very busy indeed. This, too, cannot be the villain in our story.
3. Criticising Other Groups—Gasp!
If pointing out cultural flaws is racism, one fears for the future of French wine reviews. It is entirely possible—scandalously so—that some cultures may do certain things better than others. It is also possible that some might do certain things rather worse. A nation with higher corruption indices or lower literacy rates is not sacred simply because it is not European.
To point out such things respectfully is not bigotry—it is honesty. Provided, of course, we are not dealing in caricature or slander, but in observable reality.
4. Believing One’s Group is, In Some Ways, Superior
Now here we enter treacherous waters, though I row with a steady hand. To believe, for instance, that British institutions are more stable than those of Venezuela is not ‘supremacy’—it is discernment. To think your grandmother’s Christmas pudding superior to all other desserts may well be irrational, but it is hardly hateful.
There is a difference between affection for one’s tribe and contempt for others. This distinction, while subtle, is critical. And dare I say, too often ignored.
5. Indifference to the Humanity of the “Other”
Here, finally, is the rot at the root. To look down upon others not because of conduct or character, but purely because they are not “us”—this is the darkness we rightly recoil from.
To deny empathy, to dismiss suffering, to dehumanise—these are the hallmarks of what we should mean by racism. Not who you marry, or which cuisine you prefer, but whether you believe that a stranger’s dignity is somehow negotiable due to the latitude of their birth.
This—and only this—ought to be considered morally blameworthy.
And now, having adjusted our monocle and lit our pipe, let us ask: is this standard applied equally?
No. I believe there's a double standard nobody likes to discuss.
We live in an age where pride is applauded for some, but pathologised in others. Where exclusionary preferences are rebranded as “safe spaces” for some groups, yet called “segregationist” for others. Where harsh criticism of, say, rural Midwesterners is chic, while any generalisation about, say, urban Nigerians is an instant career-limiting move.
And when individuals from majority-European backgrounds point this out—not with malice, but with measured observation—they are met not with debate, but with deflection: “That’s just what racists say.” The charge becomes circular. One is racist for asking why it's racist to notice who gets the benefit of the doubt.
It is not bigotry to want consistency. It is not hate to request equal standards. In fact, true anti-racism demands it.
We must move towards a definition that actually means something. Let us define racism not as cultural pride, social comfort, or even opinionated critique. Let us define it, properly, as a wilful indifference to the humanity of the other—the denial of moral worth based purely and solely on not belonging to "our" group.
Everything else is, frankly, noise.
If we cannot accept that non-white individuals can exhibit this same failing—and are sometimes indulged in it—then we have ceased to talk about morality and begun to talk about politics.
And I, for one, much prefer moral clarity to ideological fog.
Racism seems to be the ever-expanding conceptual soufflé—always rising, never quite settling. A term so frequently invoked that one suspects it has lost its sharpness through overuse, like a well-worn blade dulled by cutting every conceivable thing, from genocide to grilled cheese preferences.
Permit me, if you will, a gentlemanly indulgence: a calm and methodical attempt to pin this butterfly to the board. If racism is bad—not just socially unfashionable, or ideologically inconvenient, but morally blameworthy—what precisely are we saying is bad? And more crucially, what are we not saying?
Let us examine, with a glass of port and a generous portion of nuance, several commonly conflated behaviours:
1. Pride in One’s Own Culture, Ethnicity, or History
A delight in one’s heritage—be it Swedish forestry traditions, Ghanaian storytelling, or the dazzling absurdity of British cuisine—is not merely innocent; it is, in many instances, encouraged. One must ask: is a Maori’s haka cultural pride, while a Breton’s folk dance nationalistic dog-whistling? Is the Nigerian recitation of ancestral lineage celebratory, while the Irishman's interest in Gaelic revivalism suspicious?
If pride in one’s roots is racism, then it is a rather fashionable one, worn proudly at every multicultural day from here to Helsinki. This cannot sensibly be the problem.
2. Preferring the Company of One’s Own Kind
Now, I say this delicately: does anyone truly believe that all humans, left entirely to their own devices, would select their dinner companions, spouses, or barbers in complete defiance of shared language, humour, values, or culture?
To prefer the familiar is not a moral failure—it is, at worst, a missed opportunity. Were we to criminalise introversion, or pathologise the grandmother who prefers the church bazaar to the drum circle, we would be very busy indeed. This, too, cannot be the villain in our story.
3. Criticising Other Groups—Gasp!
If pointing out cultural flaws is racism, one fears for the future of French wine reviews. It is entirely possible—scandalously so—that some cultures may do certain things better than others. It is also possible that some might do certain things rather worse. A nation with higher corruption indices or lower literacy rates is not sacred simply because it is not European.
To point out such things respectfully is not bigotry—it is honesty. Provided, of course, we are not dealing in caricature or slander, but in observable reality.
4. Believing One’s Group is, In Some Ways, Superior
Now here we enter treacherous waters, though I row with a steady hand. To believe, for instance, that British institutions are more stable than those of Venezuela is not ‘supremacy’—it is discernment. To think your grandmother’s Christmas pudding superior to all other desserts may well be irrational, but it is hardly hateful.
There is a difference between affection for one’s tribe and contempt for others. This distinction, while subtle, is critical. And dare I say, too often ignored.
5. Indifference to the Humanity of the “Other”
Here, finally, is the rot at the root. To look down upon others not because of conduct or character, but purely because they are not “us”—this is the darkness we rightly recoil from.
To deny empathy, to dismiss suffering, to dehumanise—these are the hallmarks of what we should mean by racism. Not who you marry, or which cuisine you prefer, but whether you believe that a stranger’s dignity is somehow negotiable due to the latitude of their birth.
This—and only this—ought to be considered morally blameworthy.
And now, having adjusted our monocle and lit our pipe, let us ask: is this standard applied equally?
No. I believe there's a double standard nobody likes to discuss.
We live in an age where pride is applauded for some, but pathologised in others. Where exclusionary preferences are rebranded as “safe spaces” for some groups, yet called “segregationist” for others. Where harsh criticism of, say, rural Midwesterners is chic, while any generalisation about, say, urban Nigerians is an instant career-limiting move.
And when individuals from majority-European backgrounds point this out—not with malice, but with measured observation—they are met not with debate, but with deflection: “That’s just what racists say.” The charge becomes circular. One is racist for asking why it's racist to notice who gets the benefit of the doubt.
It is not bigotry to want consistency. It is not hate to request equal standards. In fact, true anti-racism demands it.
We must move towards a definition that actually means something. Let us define racism not as cultural pride, social comfort, or even opinionated critique. Let us define it, properly, as a wilful indifference to the humanity of the other—the denial of moral worth based purely and solely on not belonging to "our" group.
Everything else is, frankly, noise.
If we cannot accept that non-white individuals can exhibit this same failing—and are sometimes indulged in it—then we have ceased to talk about morality and begun to talk about politics.
And I, for one, much prefer moral clarity to ideological fog.
