I am a member of a minority group. Like many social minorities, we are subject to a fair degree of social injustice on a daily basis. Worse yet, unlike some victims of social discrimination, ours is not an issue of choice but rather one of merely being born different. Many of these other groups, whatever the cause of their plight, have a large public outcry in favor of improving their rights and overall social standing; our voice is silent to the world.
Historically, our people have been mocked, vilified, and tortured for our perceived human inequities. For centuries, we have been told we are wrong and been subjected to various social and physical manipulations in an attempt to ‘makes us normal.’
We represent nearly fifteen percent of America and yet remain complacent to the blatant discrimination all around us. Our modern lives are full of problems for us that the rest of the world will not even recognize. The epithets with which we are tarred allude to sinister dealings yet no retaliation is ever launched. Indeed many of the most mundane elements of American life are set to turn the odds against us.
Computers, scissors, cars, even the desks we are forced to use in school are all designed with someone else in mind. The very system of written communication in the modern world is in direct contrast to our own natural capabilities. Even baseball, in spite of all the great names we have brought to the game and decades after America’s pastime became racially equal, is a game which limits our kind from playing certain roles due to how God chose to make us.
Have you got it yet? Are you maybe one us us? Can’t find a catcher’s mitt or good set of rental golf clubs? Do you have zero hope of ever becoming a calligrapher? Then you might be– left-handed!
Right-handed desks, transmissions, scissors, golf-club, can-openers… it is a right-man’s world, no doubt. Left-handed people are at a distinct disadvantage from when they first learn to write in school to using many modern tools and machines.
There is, of course, a reason for this. We are the minority in a democratic nation and, being such, are subject to the whims of the majority. We have no lobby, no trust fund-fattened backers rallying the nation to our plight. We get by as we always have, by twisting our wrist to write with a pen, by renting ill-fitted clubs every time we hit the links, and by admitting that we will never play catcher for a major league club.
It is not an easy life, but it is one we suffer with a quiet dignity in the knowledge that we still survive. The fact that nuns would beat us in school and force us to use the wrong hand pales in the court of social injustices when juxtaposed with centuries of bonded servitude or even illegally crossing a border because you want a better life.
Without a booming social voice, I find solace in the simple things; the laughs I get from a crowded dinner table, watching all the rightys perpetually pick up and put down their silverware in order to facilitate their overly complicated act of eating, the fact that we will always represent a far greater number of ambidextrous people as well as legendary MLB hitters and pitchers for the mere fact that we live in a world designed for them– not us.
This has been, The Leftist Manifesto.