Certainly it is a sign of the cynicism of our times that after a faux pas such as that committed by actor Michael Richards at the Laugh Factory a few weeks ago, he has hired a public relations expert to do damage control.  Alas, he is being led down the garden path under the misguided notion that there is a science to apology, an art to sincerity, that genuine contrition requires choreography. 

His fortune is paying for expertise (and I use the term loosely) that will soon have Richards tap dancing on every street corner -- “I’m not a racist. Watch me dance.” It is the same tired two step performed by Trent Lott when he appeared on Black Entertainment Television and announced that he was a champion of affirmative action. It didn’t work for Lott and it will not work for Richards. It is theatre of the insincere, a modern dance that seeks only to entertain constituencies rather than make amends to the aggrieved party.

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Richard’s tap dance tour moved into full swing with phone calls placed to the Reverends Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson. Richards adds insult to injury when he seeks absolution not by making overtures to the audience that paid good money for bad comedy, but by kissing the rings of these two grand pooh-bahs of race.   

Truthfully, Richards might be forgiven this latest gaffe. After all, if these media-appointed leaders have the power to pronounce major corporations free from racism (for a price), certainly they must have the power to absolve Richards. Isn’t that what preachers do?  “I say, I can heeeeaal ya tonight!”

What is truly ironic is that in addition to wearing $1,500 suits with no visible means of support, both these gentlemen have been embroiled in their own racially tinged scandals. In 1984, during the Democratic presidential primary, Jackson referred to New York as “Hymietown,” and Sharpton’s anti-Jewish rhetoric once earned him the title of the David Duke of the Democratic Party.

All things considered, there remains some doubt as to the actual height of the horses they ride. Both Sharpton and Jackson are merely players in the theatre of mistrust and pessimism. They represent no one but themselves, and without folk like Richards willing to tap dance, they would be thankfully out of business.

Richards would do better to realize that his transgression was not solely an insult to the black community. Racism and bigotry -- whether spit in a drunken stupor ala Mel Gibson, delivered in a painfully unfunny rant or recorded onto platinum selling albums like any number of new minstrels -- is an affront to all of the American people. It is cynicism, pure and simple, that would lead anyone to conclude that mea culpas need only be made to “leaders” of the particular ethnic group insulted. Such cynicism ignores the American motto E Pluribus Unum.  Americans are many ethnic groups, and an attack on any of them is an attack on all of them. Our love affair with diversity is driven in part by our desire -- our need -- to realize this ambition and finally wash the stain of racism from our American hands. 

But, alas, the world is filled with idiots like Richards, who compound their mistakes by misreading the tenor of the public and hiring directors to help them play to the cheap seats. Heartfelt apologies should suffice. He can donate money to every school in South Central Los Angeles, and, at the end of the day, it will only mean he has learned nothing. Doing the Texas two-step with the likes of Sharpton and Jackson reeks of contempt. It is this very same derisive sentiment that put Richards in hot water in the first place.

The days of white men screaming racial epithets are over in America because all Americans -- not just all black Americans -- won’t stand for it. Until Richards understands this, all his actions will read as so much play acting. Thus, he shouldn’t be surprised at the steady stream of voices from the back of the theatre: “Sit down!”