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"It’s all going to end," writes Singer in the wake of hate-fueled white supremacist gathering and an attack of domestic terrorism against anti-racist counterprotesters that left one person dead and many others injured in Charlottesville, Virginia on Saturday. "The lie you told yourself about being special. So you huddle together with others just like you, shivering and crying and blowing snot onto each others shoulders pretending that it’s a rally for white pride. It’s really just the world’s biggest pity party for boys too scared to be men and own up."

Dear White Supremacists: There Will Be No Race War

Steven Singer

This one goes out to all the white boys.


Not ALL the white boys.

Just the ones who think being “white” and being a “boy” means the world owes them something.

"There will be no race war... Not now. Not ever."

Cause I’m white, too, and I know it doesn’t make me any better than anyone else.

But not you.

You think your lack of pigmentation is a special sign of your supremacy. As if being pale was synonymous for God’s chosen.

Well let me tell you something, white boy. God didn’t choose you. You did.

What you take for superiority is just a misguided attempt at self-esteem.

I’m a snowflake? YOU’RE the snowflake. Same color. Same consistency. In the first warm breeze, you’ll melt.

I’m talking to YOU, white boy. All of you.

All those melanin-starved faces wearing matching eggshell t-shirts and fat-ass khakis.

All those brave, young men holding Tiki torches and an inflated sense of self worth.

All the protesters in Charlottesville, Virginia, so fearless they can spray mace on those they disagree with, so bold they can throw punches so long as they know the police won’t hold them accountable, so courageous they can drive a car into unarmed counter-protestors, so brave that they can’t even call themselves what they are: Nazis, the Klan, white supremacists.

You hide behind “Alt Right” as if the rest of us can’t figure out who you really are.

Surprise! We see you!

We see your twisted lips, scrunched eyes and flaring nostrils. Your hood-starved heads and sweat-gelled haircuts. Your hate warped faces spouting reheated leftovers from WWII.

My grandparents fought people like you.

They dressed in army green and hopped the ocean to pound people like you into the ground.

They took your goose-stepping forebears and blasted them into bits. They buried your intellectual precursors under the ashes of their eternal Reich.

And for my grandfathers’ sacrifice, I rarely had to deal with people like you, myself. Not outright.

It’s not that people like you didn’t exist. Your attitudes and beliefs still percolated just beneath the surface of so many frustrated white boys.

The difference was that they were too smart to actually give voice to the darkness in their hearts.

It didn’t stop them from acting on it. They just wouldn’t admit why.

Segregation, red lining, broken windows policing, and a plethora of others. It was all polite, all deniable, all just the colorblind way we do things around here.

But that doesn’t really work anymore, does it?

Times are changing.

The face of America is changing. And it’s increasingly brown.

It’s got curly hair and unexpected features. It’s fed by different foods and nourished by different beliefs and customs. And it’s often called by a name that doesn’t derive from Europe.

People are starting to speak up. They’re starting to call you out.

And you don’t like it.

More than that you’re scared. Terrified.

It’s all going to end. The lie you told yourself about being special.

So you huddle together with others just like you, shivering and crying and blowing snot onto each others shoulders pretending that it’s a rally for white pride. It’s really just the world’s biggest pity party for boys too scared to be men and own up.

You’re brave when you’re in numbers, aren’t you? With numbers or with a gun.

Then you can say whatever you want. You can pretend whatever racial fantasy will protect your fragile little egos.

You’ll whine and boast and imagine you’re winning some kind of war for survival. But we know what you’re really doing.

You’re on your knees. You’re begging for a confrontation.

You’ll do anything to provoke it.

It’s your only hope.

Push them. Prod them. Insult them until they fight.

Bring them down to your level.

Prove your moral superiority by stoking a race war.

Because you can battle human bodies, but you can’t stop ideas.

You can’t triumph over equality, empathy and love.

You can’t stop the tick of time. You can just hope to reset the clock.

Well, I’ve got bad news for you.

There will be no race war.

Not now. Not ever.

Oh, there may be fighting.

You’ll try to make it happen. But it won’t be white vs. black.

It won’t be race vs. race.

It will be your tiny minority of cowards and fools vs. the majority of the rest of us.

Do you really think people like me will fight on your side?

Do you think I’ll stand by you just because the shade of my epidermis matches yours?

Hell No!

I’ll fight with my black brothers and sisters if it comes to it.

I’ll fight on the side of equality, fairness and love.

I’ll do like my grandfathers and smash you into the ground. We all will.

But I’d rather not fight at all.

There need be no violence.

And there won’t be.

Unless you force it.

You see, you can’t make a race war happen.

All you can do is unite the rest of us against you.

Our work is licensed under Creative Commons (CC BY-NC-ND 3.0). Feel free to republish and share widely.
Steven Singer

Steven Singer

Steven Singer is a husband, father, teacher, blogger and education advocate. Singer is an 8th grade Language Arts teacher in western Pennsylvania. He is a Nationally Board Certified Teacher and has an MAT from the University of Pittsburgh. He is Director of the Research and Blogging Committee for the Badass Teachers Association. He is co-founder of the Pennsylvania-based education budget advocacy group T.E.A.C.H. (Tell Everyone All Cuts Hurt). He often writes at his own blog,

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