In the end, there is as much reason to fear Richard Spencer as there is to fear Honey Boo Boo. He has convinced mainstream media to hop on his merry-go-round of circular logic where large crowds show up because the news keeps reporting that large crowds will show up. We should be concerned about the rise of the white nationalist movement, but being mad at Spencer is like losing a baseball game in Philadelphia and getting mad at the Philly Phanatic—he’s just a mascot. The systemic, ingrained 400-year-old version of American white supremacy has no face and is much more dangerous than a douchebag we all know had his high school girlfriend stolen from him by a black guy.


As I was leaving Auburn, I heard a young gentleman of no color try to explain to a black woman why Spencer had a right to speak at the university. He spoke about the First Amendment, freedom of speech and the Constitution. The black student interrupted him: “Would you let him speak in your living room?”

“No,” he replied.

“How about in your front yard?”

“Of course not,” he answered.

“Well then, don’t tell me about how I should act, then,” she retorted. “I live here.”