I should probably be afraid of Italians with mustaches. Or men that wear sleeveless shirts and drive Camaros. I was beaten severely and verbally abused mere minutes after I heard Bobby McFerrin’s “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” on the radio. No one would blame me, if I never wanted to hear it again. (It’s fine. A delightful song. Don’t worry. I’m happy. See what I did there?)
If by some tragedy I started killing Italian men with mustaches who drove Camaros, a profiler would probably dig that up. Someone might even argue that I deserve some consideration, in light of my trauma. But I don’t have the right to generalize my trauma to those others. To use a lesser example, I don’t have the right to slander Italian guys with mustaches in general. My last blog post was probably overstated, as was the Facebook post that prompted it. To the extent that the overstatement was unwarranted, I acknowledge that, and regret the error. A lot of darkness can hide behind a pleasing facade. Beyond finding out that it is occurring in a specific case, no one should assume such without proof. Michelle Obama being a man is probably orders of magnitude less likely to be true—and I say impossible—than Usha Vance being trapped in a loveless, coercive marriage. Both assertions at this point are deeply uncharitable.
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