“I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.” MLK said a lot of things that suited his purpose, but these words will ring loud and clear on November 4, 2008. Because on that day, Dr. King, just a smidgen under 100 percent of all “black” citizens will vote for a “black” candidate, proving that this candidate will be judged primarily by the color of his skin, regardless of his character or lack of it. You doubtless view this assertion as a racist observation. How true. Racism and prejudice have never been more robust. On election day, tens of millions of “white” people will vote for a “black” candidate. Conversely, only a handful of “blacks” will vote for the “white” dude. You do the racist math. Regardless of the outcome, we should do something about race terminology. Black people aren’t really black. They’re some shade of brown. White people aren’t really white (except perhaps for Icelanders), but fall into shades of pink or tan. For years, there were accepted terms for race designation: Asian, Negro, Caucasian, Indian, etc, etc. But black people didn’t like the term Negro (derived from the Latin niger, i.e. black) even though historically it was a term of deep respect. Caucasian is out of use as well; so you see, Dr. King, the color of skin is now the approved designation. Carrying this inquest further, you would have to say black genes are superior to white genes. In America, if a black father and a white mother have a child, the child is black. If a white father and a black mother have a child, the child is black. Under any circumstance, no matter how far removed from the land of origin of one parent, the child is African–American. You must admit we increasingly have become a land of hyphenated people. Being an American now is not what it once was for the hordes of immigrants who passed Ellis Island and other immigration centers. They also had dreams, Dr. King: to be American citizens and speak English. Nobody called them Blank–Americans and they enthusiastically adopted their new language. But times change. Multiculturalism is the new order of things. As ancestral cultures flourish in the form of zealous organizations and political movements, a united America diminishes. English is not the default language. Western culture is not the default culture. And race takes center stage. If you’re interested, you get a glimpse of the future of multiculturalism at penitentiaries where gangs organize along racial lines and all members judge their neighbors by the color of their skin; and to be fair, by their origins. Congress may want to consider a name change to go along with the trend. One naturally comes to mind — The Hyphenated States of North America. And when somebody asks you who you are, recite your color. It will be up to them to decide if you have character.

Some people want to take what belongs to others. In a nutshell, that’s the basis of all conflict among humans. If individuals the world over would respect the rights of other individuals — in other words, leave them and their property alone — things would be just fine, thank you. But some humans can’t bring themselves to allow others their liberty. We call these humans The Controllers. In one way or another, Controllers are predators. They take what doesn’t belong to them. They steal through force and deception. Except for Nature’s pestilence — weather and disease — all human despair is the work of Controllers. Who are these people? They’re all around you. The honest ones are The Marauders who take risks.These are the outright criminals — murderers, batterers, thieves, rapists, terrorists, cheats and the like. The prisons are full of these individuals and millions more of them walk around undetected. Without them, we would need the police only to catch innocent speeders and handle the carnage on our highways. The Legislators are predators who make laws allowing governments to steal money from one individual and give it to another. This practice is not called slavery because The Legislators are elected. But however you slice it, governments confiscate the wages (labor) of The Producers under the threat of imprisonment. Involuntary servitude did not end in 1865. The Carnivores are the millions of individuals who willingly and knowingly encourage The Legislators to steal more and more of the earnings of ordinary citizens. Under the guise of government respectability, The Carnivores steal from their neighbors, families and friends and feel perfectly justified in doing so. Perhaps the worst of Controllers are The Dictators. These ultimate criminals, with the backing of an army of Marauders, confiscate material resources and enslave people through fear of incarceration or death. Quickly, the Mafia comes to mind. The Controllers come in all sexes, sizes, races and religious persuasions. They are rich and poor and ethnically diverse. But they share one thing in common — the determination to plunder what is not theirs. In the natural order of things, The Carnivores, like locusts or leeches, always grow in number. They enthusiastically give power to The Legislators who, as payment for power, do their bidding. The Producers — or prey — are the slaves. They are rich and poor and ethnically diverse. But they share certain things in common — the determination to work, fend for themselves and place no burden on their neighbors. But, at the point of a gun, they turn over much of what they earn to The Controllers. Who are these people? Think about it.

Something was strange at the outset. The tee shot was long and straight, normally short and left. A five iron second left the ball 20 feet below the pin, normally a three-wood 40 yards short of the green. The putt fell for birdie, normally double-bogey. That was the first of three birdies to go with three bogeys for even par 36, normally a 43 to 50. He felt absorbed, bemused, lightheaded. At the turn, he stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. The returning gaze was foreign, eyes ever so slightly slanted. Strange. Well, the wheels will come off, he thought. His playing partners thought so too. Almost grateful, he went bogey, bogey, bogey, double on the first four holes of the back side. That’s more like it, he reflected, but realized he hit the ball awfully well to have those scores. On the next five holes he recorded five straight pars for a 40 and a 76 total, by far his career round. He was giddy, euphoric, anticipating what this meant. What it meant was the next day he shot 90 and in successive weeks nothing under 87. Then it was clear. The 76 wasn’t his. Never was. It belonged to an intruder who visited for a day and left his host as suddenly as he arrived. Will he return? Doubtful. But now, when extraterrestrial incidents create controversy and disbelief, there will be one less skeptic among us.