First Mark Judge told us about the end of his White guilt. Now another White liberal, Kurtis Hiatt can see.
“[Expletive] the white man! [Expletive] the white man!”
The man’s yells reverberated through the Metrorail car, breaking the quiet typical of an early-morning ride. I turned down the music on my iPhone. What was that? “[Expletive] the white man!” he screamed again. My fellow Blue Line riders and I looked around uneasily. I couldn’t see the man, but I did note that I seemed to be one of very few white men in the car. Still, I brushed it off. It’s not unusual to encounter crazy behavior while riding Metro. Rarely do things turn serious. As the train arrived at L’Enfant Plaza, I briefly considered switching cars. I didn’t.
I should have.
What happened next is a blur. I remember hearing “Look me in the eyes!” Now the voice was close — too close. I turned. The man had squared up directly in front of me, his face level with mine. I met his rage-filled eyes the moment before he head-butted me. Then his right fist came around in a hook, connecting just above my cheek.
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