“Consider for a moment the state of race in America. I sometimes picture it as a sandwich. It’s not a nice sandwich, and it’s not from a nice place. You take it out of the crumpled and grease-stained paper bag it came in, take off the foil, take off the paper, and what are you left with?
An abortion of white bread, brittle, moldy, incarcerating all the other ingredients. It sends its mayonnaise Gestapo out in the name of law and order to smother the diverse alliance of resistance flavors, like the blackened roast beef, made from the enslaved, noble cow, or the pepper jack cheese, which is made in Mexico. Sure, the yellow mustard acts like an ally, but it was only the first to drown in the mayo, and just because you’re good at math doesn’t mean you can be trusted. The pickles are queers, and, whenever I eat a sandwich with figs, I like to pretend that the figs are Native Americans.
We eat this fascist sandwich at our own peril. Why not choose something different, like an olive bread, or pumpernickel? Trade in the hetero-normative mayonnaise of oppression for the super-gay avocados of justice. Yellow mustard had its time, but maybe honey Dijon can take its place. No relish.
Or honeybee bouncy free, pumpernickel pants, my new left shoe, and you can too.
Could it be any clearer?”
(Don Lemon, Channel 36, 2020.)
ABSTRACTUS
It is the intention of this study to prove that there exist, in great number, Racist Pigeons.
The issue first rose to attention when I, GRADUATE STUDENT MARY CATHERINE VOORHEES-SATANA[1], observed a pigeon defecate on an African-American in Washington Square Park one summer afternoon.
I immediately brought a detailed account of the incident to the attention of my course adviser at the UNIVERSITY OF NEW YORK. Then, through a series of subsequent meetings with senior University administrators and interested corporate parties over the weekend, I was awarded a $40,000 Sloan Foundation grant to investigate the possibility that nearby pigeons had been infected with the scourge of white supremacy.
METHODS:
Two park pigeons who frequently sit together, JOE and DONNIE, were tagged with special lavaliere microphones designed by the film department, and the recorded dialogue was then translated by faculty from the biology department using an algorithm written by post-docs from the computer science department. I am an English major.
The unedited transcript below is the result of these, our collective, equal efforts to combat discrimination, literally from above, in an age of towering racial intolerance.
DIALOGOS
(JOE, a Racist Pigeon, sits on the back of a park bench by a path dense with pedestrian traffic. It is a clear and sunny day. He is greasy and missing one eye.
A clubfooted second Racist Pigeon, DONNIE, alights next to him. Today Donnie carries in his beak a broken matchstick. Grasped in one mangled foot are two crushed, half-smoked cigarettes.)
DONNIE: Ay-O!
JOE: HEY HEY! Donnie-Boy!
DONNIE: (spitting the matchstick in front of him) Hey, whoa! Whadafuck is that thing around yer neck?!
JOE: Whada – what da fuck is that thing round YER neck?!
DONNIE: I dunno!
JOE: Come here, lemme look at it.
DONNIE: Yeah, you too.
(Joe and Donnie hop towards each other and start pecking at the other’s lavaliere.)
JOE: Lemme guess, one a those NYU kids picked you up.
DONNIE: (hopping back) Yeah!
JOE: Broad?
DONNIE: YEAH!
JOE: Fat?
--- THE RECORDING SHUTS OFF ACCIDENTALLY FOR A FEW SECONDS ---
DONNIE: - wonder what they’re for.
JOE: Who knows, least we got some food outta the thing.
DONNIE: Dats true, dats true.
JOE: You got sumthin’ for me?
DONNIE: You know it!
(Donnie picks up the matchstick with his beak and with a quick head flick strikes it against the bench. The resulting one second of flame is all that’s needed to get the two cigarette stubs in his feet hot and glowing. He tosses the still-lit match onto the grass behind him and passes one of the stubs over to Joe, beak to beak.)
JOE: Thank you!
DONNIE: Hm!
(They puff together for a moment in silence.[2])
DONNIE: So, I didn’t see you at the last couple a rat/pigeon orgies[3] – where ya been?
JOE: Plannin’ Donnie! Plannin’ ‘bout the future.
DONNIE: Whatsamatta, ya can’t plan and fuck rats at the same time?
JOE: Not these plans!
DONNIE: Well go on.
JOE: … haven’t ya ever wondered if there wasn’t more to life than rotten hot dogs and dirty puddle water? More than this … (he waves a wing to the passersby) … garbage?
DONNIE: This cig ain’t bad.
JOE: Small shit, Donnie.
DONNIE: Still haven’t heard what this big plan is yet, Joe.
JOE: You know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout. You, me, we’re all flyin’ in a big circle. When was the last time you wasn’t hungry? Or when you was warm enough in winter? And ya know you ain’t fuckin’ those rats ‘cause you love the conversation –
DONNIE: Or the herpes.
JOE: It’s, it’s time to fly outside a the circle!
DONNIE: Which means?
(Before Joe can answer, a third Racist Pigeon lands on the bench next to Donnie.)
JOE: Hey! Eduardo!
DONNIE: Ay-O!
EDUARDO: Buenas.
DONNIE: Now why you makin’ us look at your ugly mug on this otherwise beautiful afternoon? No spots left in front a the Home Depot? Ha!
JOE: Dat was a good one.
EDUARDO: Got bored, man.
DONNIE: What? You couldn’t find a kicked-over beer can with some still in it?
EDUARDO: I look Dominican to you?
DONNIE: Honestly, yes, ‘cause all you w[4]tbacks look the same to me.
JOE: He’s gotta point, Eddie.
EDUARDO: Man, fuck you.
JOE: Anyhoo, how’s the wife?
EDUARDO: Eh, eaten by a cat last week.
JOE: And the kids?
EDUARDO: Starved, then eaten by a dog.
JOE: Ah.
DONNIE: Got it.
EDUARDO: … could be worse!
JOE: Dats true, dats true.
DONNIE: Yeah, I know what’s worse, listenin’ to Joe talk about circles.
JOE: Donnie shutdafuckup, Eddie’s gonna get this unlike you, you illiterate fuck.
DONNIE: See, this is what he does.
JOE: Eddie, tell me honestly. When was the last time you wasn’t worried ‘bout somethin’?
EDUARDO: (through a loud, wet hacking cough) Dunno! Probably when I was a baby.
JOE: Exactly. You had a ma, always feedin’ you, you had a dad, always lookin’ after you …
DONNIE: I get that.
EDUARDO: How is your mother doin’?
JOE: Froze to death last winter.
EDUARDO: ‘Kay.
JOE: Point is, stayin’ alive was always somebody else’s problem. Now it’s your problem, it’s Donnie’s problem, my problem, it’s everybody’s problem.
(The group is approached by a Woke Squirrel. He hops onto the bench seat holding an acorn.)
DUDLEY: Is it alright if I eat here?
DONNIE: Buddy, you can eat wherever da fuck you want.
JOE: Right. So, Eddie, what I’m sayin’ is, what if you could change that?
EDUARDO: (to Donnie) I thought he was gonna talk about circles.
DONNIE: He’ll get to it, give him a sec.
JOE: Would the both a you shutdafuckup! I’m tryin’ to tell you –
EDUARDO: Tranquilo.
DONNIE: In and out Joe, breathe!
EDUARDO: (to Donnie) You know what he’s gotta do?
DONNIE: Wha?
EDUARDO: Tai Chi.
DONNIE: The soup?
EDUARDO: No, shithead, it’s a slow martial art for old people. I see the Chinatown pigeons doin’ it and they look calm to me.
(Joe wing-slaps Donnie in the back of the head.)
DONNIE: Hey!
JOE: What would really calm me down is the two a you zippin’ yer fuckin’ lips long enough for me to finish my goddamn thought!
DONNIE: (pointing to Eduardo) He was the one talkin’!
JOE: You were closer, and you was instigatin’. And da fuck does fucking Tai Chi have to do with anything?!
DONNIE: Like Eddie was sayin’, maybe you just gotta be like those ch[5]nk pigeons downtown.
DUDLEY: Excuse me.
JOE: I don’t give a flying fuck what the ch*nk pigeons do. With this plan I got, none a that is gonna matter anymore, I’m tellin’ you!
DUDLEY: (slightly louder) Excuse me.
(All three Racist Pigeons go quiet to regard the Woke Squirrel now standing tall below them.)
DUDLEY: You can’t actually say that word anymore.
DONNIE: Tai Chi?
DUDLEY: No, the word you used to describe Asian-American-Pigeons.
(Silence)
DUDLEY: It rhymed with “think.”
(More silence)
DUDLEY: It was spelled C-H-I …
(Still nothing)
DUDLEY: (sighing) ... N-K.
JOE: … ohh! Ch*nk.
(Dudley is shocked.)
DONNIE: What about sl[6]pes, is that any better?
DUDLEY: Dude!
DONNIE: What?! It’s not like I said n[7]gger!
DUDLEY: What the hell?! Are you two hatemongers? (looking to Eduardo) Back me up bro!
EDUARDO: Chupa vergas cabrón[8].
DONNIE: What’s a hatemonger? And why do you care? You’re white!
DUDLEY: I’m an ally! Plus my mother’s quarter-African-American-Squirrel, so I get these things.
JOE: (Spitting out his cigarette stub) No, you know what this is? You’re just another one a these sleek-coated, politically correct Woke Squirrels just tryin’ to get inna everybody’s business.
DUDLEY: It’s about stopping racism! So I don’t see how you can go around using hate speech and not expect to get called out on it!
DONNIE: Who said anythin’ ‘bout hate?
DUDLEY: What do you think the N-word is?
DONNIE: N-word?
JOE: I know this one, means n*gger.
DUDLEY: Jesus! (Looking back to Eduardo) Doesn’t this offend you as a Latinx-Pigeon?
EDUARDO: A what?
DUDLEY: A Latinx-Pigeon.
EDUARDO: You mean Latino?
DUDLEY: That’s offensive!
EDUARDO: To who?
DUDLEY: Latinos! I mean –
JOE: Look, pal, this is America. That means we get to use whatever words we want, whenever we want, it’s all right there in the Declaration a Independence. So if we wanna use the N-word, or n*gger, we can. If we even wanna play the name game with it – hey Donnie, you remember how that one goes?
DONNIE: Sure do Joe.
JOE: Look, it’s easy kid, I’ll show ya.
DUDLEY: Please don’t.
JOE: N*gger-n*gger bo-bigger –
DUDLEY: Please stop.
JOE: Banana-fana fo –
DUDLEY: Fascist!
(Dudley throws his acorn at Joe’s head, nearly hitting it. Donnie spits his cigarette at Dudley, distracting him.)
DONNIE: From da top rope!
(Donnie spreads his wings and jumps down without flapping them. He crashes onto and pins Dudley to the bench seat on impact as Eduardo dives after them. Donnie starts batting Dudley’s face with his wings, and Eduardo does the same. Joe looks on, racistly.)
JOE: Show ‘em boys!
DONNIE: Coo coo motherfucker!
EDUARDO: ¡Pío pío cabrón!
(Dudley twists out from under Donnie and runs away. The three Racist Pigeons all defiantly flap their wings at him.)
DONNIE: Fuckin’ riff-raff! (shakes it off)
EDUARDO: Man, I don’t wanna waste time with this bullshit when he comes back with his friends, I’ll catch you assholes later.
(Eduardo flies away. Donnie beats his wings and hops back up next to Joe).
DONNIE: Can ya believe that?
JOE: Unfortunately, Donnie, yes I can.
DONNIE: Fuckin’ Woke Squirrels … whaddaya gonna do? Fuck I’m hungry.
(A quiet moment passes.)
DONNIE: … that reminds me! Didn’t you discover a cure for world hunger or somethin’?
JOE: What?
DONNIE: Your big plan.
JOE: Oh!
DONNIE: ‘Cause I’m fuckin’ hungry right now, so if you got some great solution I wanna hear it.
JOE: Eh, it’s not that kinda plan.
DONNIE: Then what was da fuckin’ point of it?!
JOE: It’s a long-term plan dumbass. I thought we could … (hesitating)
DONNIE: Wha? Thought we could what?
JOE: … I thought we could fly to the Poconos.
DONNIE: The Poconos? That’s your plan?
JOE: Yeah, I saw a picture on a postcard once. Read the back of it. Lots a space, fresh air, no noise, no bullshit …
DONNIE: No pizza?
JOE: We’d eat whatever the other birds they got up there eat. All clean-like, ya know?
(Donnie’s silence suggests incredulity.)
DONNIE: Yeah, okay Joe. Listen, I think I’ll head out before the squirrels come back.
JOE: You gonna hit up that number over at Tompkins?
DONNIE: Nah, she got hit by a car on Thursday.
JOE: Yikes, that’s a bad way to go.
DONNIE: Oh, she lived. She’s just all fucked up now so I’d rather not … you get it.
JOE: I get it.
DONNIE: Aren’t you gonna move?
JOE: Nah, the light’s too nice here and I ain’t scared a them.
(Donnie nods. Another quiet moment comes and goes.)
DONNIE: … hey Joe.
JOE: Yeah?
DONNIE: How ‘bout you and me go fuck da shit outta some rats?
JOE: … yeah, let’s do that.
(Joe and Donnie fly away.)
CONCLUSIONUS
The results are obvious.
Both Joe and Donnie were subsequently euthanized, but, by our calculations, there remain roughly 75 million Racist Pigeons in the United States alone. The political will to decisively deal with this situation has yet to manifest itself, but we believe that there are still alternatives worth considering, like territory reservations, re-education camps, or sterilization. Anything less would constitute complacency, and what is complacency but another word for violence?
And what is violence but just another word for Nazis?
In closing, to humbly repurpose the brave words of CNN News Anchor and noted Black Intellectual Don Lemon: could society’s moral path forward be any clearer?
For press inquiries or speaking fee quotes, or questions about my proprietary corporate training program, please contact me at aviansocialjustice4all@gmail.com.
[1] My GPA is a 4.0.
[2] New York City pigeons consume on average a pack a day when no one’s looking.
[3] Discovered by David Attenborough in 2003, these late-night gatherings attract participant numbers in the hundreds and take place almost exclusively on elementary school playgrounds.
[4] e
[5] i
[6] o
[7] i
[8] As per an adjunct professor at the Spanish department, this colloquialism roughly translates to “eat dicks fucko.”