We arrived in Charleston, South Carolina a few hours ago with my Little Bookworm, who is visiting from college. Like me, she is a garrulous soul who enjoys talking to people and learning about them. So far, she’s talked to a little girl who petted our dog, a desk clerk, a food preparer at a barbecue place, a gas station cashier, and three grocery store clerks. All are black.
Sadly my daughter, who has lived her whole life in Progressive enclaves, “This is the first time I’ve ever talked to black people without being afraid of them. The people I’ve spoken to are really nice and they even spoke with me instead of looking at me like I’m a bad smell or like they’ll hurt me.”
That statement is both a lovely compliment to the people of South Carolina and a sad indictment of the state of race relations wherever Democrats hold sway.