Bill O’Reilly, Man of the White People

One wonders how often Bill O’Reilly has dealings with non-white folks. I suggest that his unfamiliarity with peoples of a darker complexion would explain the following, as I firmly believe that a prominent television and radio personality could harbor no racist inclinations. Really, I do.

O'Reilly, who describes himself as a populist and traditionalist, has been accused of "velvet racism" for comments on his radio show about the famous Harlem restaurant Sylvia's. The remarks referred to a dinner the commentator had enjoyed there with the Rev Al Sharpton, the black preacher and political leader.

The dinner itself passed off uneventfully, by all accounts. But when O'Reilly reminisced about the evening he portrayed it in a way that set alarm bells ringing across the blogosphere.

He started out by praising the staff and largely black clientele of the restaurant for being "very, very nice" and "tremendously respectful". Warming to his theme, he said: "I couldn't get over the fact that there was no difference between Sylvia's restaurant and any other restaurant in New York City. I mean, it was exactly the same, even though it's run by blacks." [Ed. Note – emphasis mine and you have got to be fucking kidding me]

To compound matters, in a separate radio broadcast he referred to the dinner again. "There wasn't one person in Sylvia's who was screaming, 'M-Fer, I want more iced tea.' [Me again - seriously, wtf?] You know, it was like going into an Italian restaurant in an all-white suburb. People were sitting there, and they were ordering and having fun. And there wasn't any kind of craziness at all."

“Velvet racism”, eh. How about old fashion “those Negroes don’t know how to behave themselves” racism? I cannot believe that he is going to get a pass on the “even though it’s run by blacks” remark. A real news organization would have fired him in a New York minute, which, incidentally, tells you all you need to know about Fox News.

Oh, and one more thing, Bill’s all-white suburban Italian quietude is a thing of pure fantasy. If you want real honest-to-goodness dinnertime chaos, try having a meal with a big Italian family. Talk about craziness; it is like a rugby match played indoors with cutlery and every diner is their own team. There is cursing, shouting over each other, indeed I have seen elbows thrown. And if you want the last helping of Calamari Marinara or Chicken Parm, you gotta get in there and fight for it.