Find somebody that's too vulnerable to fight back, and victimise them to exorcise your angst about your own, and your community's, problems.
Exactly! They were on a power trip. They see themselves as losers and victims and this gave them an opportunity to exercise power over somebody else. Remember the scene when the male reporter got punched in the face? The bullies couldn't handle the fact that he was answering back, they took it as a sign of confrontation and responded with violence.
Btw this is an interesting take on everday racism - roles reversed (by ami from HP):
Scene 1: Oxford Street, 1960s, my first visit to England, as a child. A man thrusts a monkey into my arms and prepares to photograph me and my little sister. Where are you from? he asks, as he focuses. My answer results in the monkey being snatched away, photo aborted, a look of loathing on the man's face.
Scene 2: A street in Edgware, late 80s, shortly after I come here to live. A car is double parked next to mine, next to a post box. An AfroCarribean woman sits in the car, addressing Christmas cards. I call out of my window ? Could you move, please, I need to pick up my kid? She ignores me, finishes her cards, gets out and posts them, then strolls over to my window and drawls "You're not in South Africa now, dear." I sit stunned as her car pulls away. Suddenly I leap out into the path of her car, bang on her bonnet and yell "You don't know me! You know nothing about me!" Then; "I'd like to tell you why I am not in South Africa now." When I finish, she looks stricken and says "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry." We part with subdued mutual recognition.
Scene 3: The M&S car park in NW London, late 90s. I am turning left into the car park from the road. Turning right, across the traffic into the car park, is barred with a large no entry sign. A car ignores this and suddenly cuts in front of me from the right. I approach the driver as he gets out of his car. Man in his 20s, clean cut, spivvy suit, close cropped hair. "You're not supposed to do that, you nearly hit me", I say. His eyes blaze. "Who the f- are you to speak to me? he yells with shocking ferocity. "you c- , you would be too scared to speak to a ( racially pejorative expletive ) in your own country like that cos he'd kill you, you c- !" I clap ironically. "Big brave man, speaking to me like that, do you call your wife or girlfriend a c- too?" . "Only when I f- her up the a-" he yells before rushing off into the store. Another man has witnessed this, his little daughter is sobbing, shocked. He tells me he knows this man and tells me something about him before driving off. In the storee the man is waiting at the till and I approach him glaring. "Get away from me," he yells, "you are too scared to go back to SA cos you're scared of the (racial pejorative)". I have the urge to stop his racial tirade at all costs, in front of the wide eyed Asian cashier. I lean and whisper close into his ear. "I know who you are and I am sure your family will be thrilled to hear how you behave." I add something which I will never disclose. This bit I am not proud of. He turns pale. "Not nice to be victimised, is it," I hiss. He stutters "You don't know me" and rushes out.
Scene 4. A holiday charter plane about to leave Barbados, late 90s. We are about to put our stuff into the overhead locker when the couple in the seats in front of us chorus forcefully, "You can't put your stuff in that one, that's our locker". Even though there is enough room, we shrug and use another locker. Then we hear the husband, doing a parody of a South African accent:"Those cheeky blecks, telling us what to do." He is a large dreadlocked AfroCarribean man. We say nothing, but late at night, with my husband asleep, I cannot rest. I find some paper and write: "Dear neighbour, you said something earlier that was very hurtful. I know many white South Africans these days have rewritten their histories, to show why they shouldn't be condemned, but I hope if I tell you a little about us, you will think next time before you judge people just for the colour of their skin. Please don't try and say anything to my husband, as he will be embarrassed I have written this." I pass the note to him. After a short while, a large hand reaches back from the row in front, takes my hand and holds it tight for a moment. Nothing is said, but tears start in my eyes at this unexpected response.
Topic: Racism in Bristol: Reduced to a four-letter word