Illustration by Bob AulTo the dark-skinned teenage Chicano wearing the Confederate flag-emblazoned jacket: I wasn't looking for a fight. I just wanted to know why you would wear the Stars and Bars to a Chicano punk show. I wasn't trying to embarrass you in front of your cholo cousin, who immediately threatened to pound me into the ground for "hitting up my little cuz." I wasn't questioning your intelligence when I asked if you supported the segregation of African-Americans. I wasn't wishing to get your friends so riled-up they blocked the concert venue's driveway for about half an hour, refusing to allow anyone out and threatening to kick my friend's ass when he asked if he could leave. Hate wasn't my intent that afternoon—just a genuine concern as to what would motivate a bronze-skinned kid to wear the ultimate symbol of white hatred for others based on skin color.
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