Prestige media has turned “antiracism” into a farce. It’s time to move beyond it.
It seems that all of the conventional opinion of America’s chattering class is condensed and printed once a week in the pages of the New Yorker. In normal times, this process yields some good writing and reporting. In certain periods, the magazine has produced some magnificent work. But we have not lived in normal times for the past decade. The conventional opinions of the chattering classes have ranged from delusional idealism to racialist fever dreams, and worse.
The most recent illustration of this trend is an essay by New Yorker staff writer Doreen St. Felix, who penned a screed about the blonde starlet Sydney Sweeney. Sweeney, St. Felix mused, represents a fantasy “Aryan princess” to some of her fans, with her much-discussed breasts placed in dark contrast with “the Black man’s hunger for ass.”
