The Best that Capitalists Can Do?–What’s Really Wrong with the Gillette Ad, and Why Nobody is Talking About It

Toxic masculinity is what folks used to call a “jock mentality.” It is very real; I have the scars to prove it.

It was no fun growing up being called “retarded” and “faggot” in grade school while being called “nigger,” “coon” and “monkey” in my fucking neighborhood. Or having the shit kicked out of you at the age of nine by a dozen young punks while your guidance counselor looked on, smugly. Or getting groped in high school by closeted, allegedly ‘heterosexual’ guys. (As a side note, I know of many women who did not like being bullied by other girls when they were young, but that’s off-topic.)

For decades, I have been hoping–and not so secretly–that these jocks would get their comeuppance. Let these clowns whine. Even if their complaints against Gillette may hold some water (the commercial is somewhat patronizing, to say the least), their reasons for rejecting the ad are highly suspect. Most of the men complaining–people like James Woods or Paul Joseph Watson–are right-wing, all-American Reaganite types, hung up on some Anglo-Teutonic or Latin/Slav reactionary Catholic ideal of (white) manhood–much of which involves suppressing the life of the mind in favor of doing things exclusively with your hands (or your tiny dick).

Having said that, the very fact that Gillette, of all companies, would make an ad concerning “toxic masculinity” (aka WHITE¹ masculinity) is laughable.

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The Gillette Ad: Neoliberal hypocrisy at its finest

If Gillette wants to wag its hypocritical little finger at rank-and-file “dudes” who wolf-whistle at women on the street (which is stupid in its own right) let them do that. Nobody cares. But before they do that they should stop and consider just what in the hell goes into making their shaving gels.

If Gillette wants to preach to its audience about young bullies who rough up kids on playgrounds, it should start by preaching to its fucking parent company Proctor and Gamble about how it treats seven-year old Indonesian girls who pick its cotton–or, to be more precise, extract its palm oil.

Palm oil is one of the key ingredients that goes into the production of Gillette’s famous shaving gel. Several articles on the web detail how Wilmar, the world’s biggest palm oil processor, “was sourcing its oil from illegally cleared land and destroying the habitat of critically endangered Sumatran tigers.” Jakarta Globe/Agence France-Presse, October 22, 2013. The article has since been taken down, but a quote from an online cache reads:

“Until Wilmar commits to a no-deforestation policy, their trade of palm oil to big household brands… makes consumers unwitting accomplices in the extinction of Indonesia’s 400 remaining Sumatran tigers,” head of Greenpeace’s Forest Campaign in Indonesia, Bustar Maitar, said.

Wilmar supplies more than a third of the world’s palm oil, according to the company’s website, and its oil can be found in Oreo cookies, Gillette shaving cream and Clearasil face wash, among an array of grocery items in more than 50 countries.

Greenpeace said Wilmar was continuing to source palm fruit from plantations on illegally cleared land within Sumatra island’s protected Tesso Nilo National Park, prime tiger habitat.

The report also said that fire had hit the permit area of another of Wilmar’s suppliers in June, when blazes swept through Sumatra’s forests for weeks, covering Singapore and Malaysia in a blanket of hazardous smog.

Indonesian officials said most were deliberately lit to clear forested land and grow palm oil.

Wilmar denied suggestions its supplier had deliberately lit land-clearing fires, saying in a statement the blaze was on a plantation that was likely ignited by surrounding flames.

“We are currently reviewing our business practices, including our sourcing policy, working with certain international supply chain experts,” Wilmar spokesperson Lim Li Chuen told AFP.

The company said it had issued “a stern reminder to all staff” of its policy to only source palm fruit grown legally and that any supplier trying to sell illegally grown fruit would be “dropped altogether”.

Wilmar is the latest company to be targeted by Greenpeace, which has taken aim at several high-profile firms and campaigned for responsible consumer spending.”

Within three years of this article’s appearance, Proctor and Gamble merely shifted from one palm oil magnate (Wilar, in Indonesia) to another (Felda Global Ventures, in Malaysia). Felda is even worse. According to sumofus.org,

Felda deals in the human trafficking of its plantation workers, confiscating close to 30,000 passports, and still works with labor contractors and recruiters who charge enormous fees to trafficked foreign workers. 
 
Plantation workers are trapped in modern day slavery, all to produce palm oil that ends up in P&G products. The multinational consumer goods company is well aware of the problem, and yet still buys conflict palm oil from its joint venture partner Felda. (Bold in the original.)

 

What do #MeToo, Paul Joseph Watson or any of these other internet spooks have to say about this stuff? Nothing, of course. None of them gave a single thought about near-extinct tigers or severely-depleted rain-forests somewhere in South-East Asia–let alone a bunch of poor “gooks.”

Greenpeace-Stages-Anti-P-G-Protest-in-Indonesia-431566-2.jpg
“Who cares? After all, we don’t live there.”

I think that in due time Gillette (I don’t know about Nike) will be staffed largely by women. Proctor and Gamble, the parent company, will probably be headed by a woman. The CIA, at this very moment, is now staffed by women. But, God forbid, it is still the fucking Central Intelligence Agency. Nothing changes; everything goes on as before, except that white women are now doing the white man’s dirty work.

The same goes for other carefully hand-picked minority groups in the USA. A few American cities these days, for instance, are largely managed by African Americans. Cool, you think. But–which African Americans?

Picture a Black (male) President sending troops (mainly black) to a city with a Black (female) mayor, Black chief of police, black administrators, black accountants, and a majority Black population. To do what? To put down a rebellion of poor Black people furious at rampant police brutality. If this sounds like The Congo, or Liberia, or Nigeria in a bad political phase, you would not be far off. Actually this was Baltimore, Maryland, in 2015. (Maryland is not in Africa.)

When “French West Africa” gained its so-called “independence” from France in 1960, one so-called “African president” said with a straight face, “Gabon may be independent, but between France and Gabon nothing has changed–everything remains as is.” Exactly–and from today’s vantage point, our immediate future will look precisely like Gabon in 1960.

The patriarchy appears to be in transition, as the old white men are dying off and many young white men appear unfit to inherit the mantle of patriarchal domination; they cut a bad image with all that reactionary, alt-right bullshit. Many people worldwide automatically see “Nazi” when they see a white, male face. Indeed the face of cutthroat neoliberal capitalism these days is the face of a smug white man–the very paragon of “toxic masculinity”–in a three-piece suit and shades.

Capitalism will soon replace this guy with a smart, sassy, progressive black male (or white transwoman) who shaves his/her face with–you guessed it–Gillette razor gel.

Hannah Rosin’s prediction of “The End of Men” appears to be coming true–on the surface, anyway. The keys to capitalism are being increasingly handed to white women, who (like Angela Merkel) will be managing the works. Elite white ladies will get their long-awaited comeuppance. White men will still be the advisers, with plenty of time on their hands to fuck around…perhaps on some hidden island somewhere in Booga-booga-land, surrounded by pink cocaine and child prostitutes. The media will not disclose their whereabouts and will pretend they are safely dead. The plantations and human trafficking will continue unabated, and the cries of children forced to work for a pittance in illegally cleared forests will be met with silence.

———————————————————

¹I insist that this is a white (and, moreover, very American) ideal. Black (and other non-white) men who adhere to this ideal are typically aping their white Anglo or Latin or Arab masters.

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Why We Hate: On So-Called “Black Racism”

“Just thinking about them makes me feel like I have swallowed shit.”

Howard Roundtree, Drylongso: A Self-Portrait of Black America

I remember sitting on a metro bus many years ago in DC and having two Ethiopian immigrants staring daggers of pure hatred into me. There seemed no rhyme or reason to their fathomless hatred, but of course, I knew what the reason was. I was African American; they were not. They were Ethiopians and like most of their ilk, they had picked up on the national prejudices towards African Americans. It was the same with the Salvadorans, Nicaraguans, Hondurans, Mexicans and other nationalities in Langley Park, Maryland. There was hardly a day in which one could walk out the door of one’s house and not hear your neighbors pointing, laughing, glowering at you—while making at least a half-dozen snide references to your color. It was always the same: negro, mono, mayate, blah blah blah, and often accompanied with a fat wad of spit or a beer bottle kicked your way.

Sometimes a mean and spite-ridden stare would suffice, or a bag or package hurriedly jerked away from you–as if you were going to steal it from them. And why wouldn’t you steal it? After all, your countrymen insisted to these hard-working immigrants, you were just a lazy, worthless “nigger” who got by on welfare handouts and food stamps, and spent your time getting drunk, or getting high, or chasing after other folks’ women.

But I wasn’t. I never did these things; never accepted a welfare check (as if that was such a bad thing, in and of itself), but try explaining that to these two dumpy characters near the Salvation Army depot in Langley Park. For these two, the mere sight of me and my face were enough to make them spit on the ground, and snarl, mono negro with absolute hate.

I felt a visceral hatred for these short, squalid sons-of-bitches, burnt to a crisp by the sun and looking as if they stunk of decades-old urine in their raggedy work clothes; I still hate them.

It was nothing new. That same year I needed to buy some headphones in Washington, DC. I entered a shop–well, I tried to enter the shop, but the white proprietor blocked me from entering. He glowered at me and said, “nope. Closed.” His shop indicated that its closing hours were at 8 pm; it was roughly 5:40. His attitude caught me completely off-guard; I guess I should have realized what kind of “society” I was still living in, that the pretense of DC’s racial and social integration was basically just that–a pretense.

Five years earlier, while working as a temp for the US government, I passed the White House on my way to work. The White House looked like a very dull, humble-looking residence in my eyes. A mother and her son passed me. The little boy, a dirty blonde sod, mutters without even looking my way, “I think I’m better than all of them put together.” The mother says, “you shouldn’t say that about Africans, sweetie.” The son countered with–and at this point, both of them looked at me with a kind of gleeful derision–“Niggers stink!!”

Nothing new in that, either. I remember white kids greeting me and my brother with disgusting taunts as we climbed through the jungle gyms of Wheaton Regional Park. I was only seven years old and yet I knew what “booga booga booga” meant; I heard it again, 25 years later in Bucharest, and again in Tunis in 2003. I’m sure there are African refugees who hear it all the time, no matter where they are in the world, even on the African continent–sometimes it seems as if most of the planet (thanks to social media) is morphing into Bensonhurst.

To this very day, I loathe them; I loathe every single one of these bastards who tried to shove me under the bus–or, to be more precise, into onrushing traffic–because of my race and ethnicity. I loathe every single one of those shopowners, students, truck drivers, flight attendants, pedestrians, escorts, grocers, club bouncers, editors, waiters, landlords, and above all, cops and security officers. I hated to see their twisted, smug faces, proudly ensconced in their newly acquired Yankee prejudices; it made me want to puke. Actually, to be honest, it made me want to grab a shotgun and blow their heads off.

If I could get away with it, I used to think to myself, I would do it without even asking why. In college I was dangerously close to picking up a gun. There’s no need to ask “why” when your back is up against the wall. One would be stupid not to despise one’s own tormentors and persecutors. One is not supposed to “love” insults, degradation and humiliation; it just ain’t natural.

We can die from them. Like choked by underbrush, heavy

weeds. We see him.

Pull the election lever, and men die in Greystone, elec­

trocuted, or are

beat to death on the comers of dirty cities. By heroes. These

are the

killers’ heroes. Wd that they were our own. And not the

mad races killing

We have a nigger in a cape and cloak. Flying above the

shacks and whores.

He has just won an election. A wop is his godfather. Praise

Wop from whom

all blessings flow. The nigger edges sidewise in the light

breeze, his fingers

scraping nervously in his palms. He has had visions. With

commercials. Change

rattles in his pockets. He is high up. Look, he signals. Turns,

backup, for

cheers. He swoops. The Wop is waving. Wave Wop. 

Leroi Jones (Amiri Baraka), ELECTION DAY (Newark, New Jersey)

*

Everyone in my family hated “crackers,” whether they admitted to it or not. My great-great-great-grandmother, Virginia Brown, naturally did not love “serving” her “master”–a loathsome creep who literally spit on her in disgust. I’m sure far worse things had happened to her on that old Virginia plantation 165 years ago. However Grandma “Jenny” was not one to take an insult from a redneck lying down–not even if said redneck owned her. Later that evening she plotted to bash his bloody brains in and wound up doing just that…only to wind up on the gallows. Only a last-minute decision to sell Grandma to another master kept her alive. In the end, she fled the plantation–either for a maroon community or up North; we aren’t so sure what happened, but she did not stick around to serve another master.

Of course, most of us in the family weren’t quite so bold in dealing with the crackers. We simply smiled in their faces and lied to them and said otherwise, out of fear of job loss or beatings or worse. My great-grandfather was forced into the Army in 1917 (after giving birth to his first-born child, my grandmother). Upon signing up to fight in France on behalf of Uncle Sham, he stated his identity as “African”–no “negro” or “colored” or “coon” for him. As for that redneck who shanghaied him–and whom I’d met as a child many, many years later–I have no idea how Papa Phil felt about him, but I know good and goddamn well that he did not love the bastard.

I have no idea how my father felt when he saw his uncle lynched in Key West, Florida around 1936. Dad wasn’t quite eleven years old when it took place. I have no idea if this lynching was even recorded. But I’m sure my father didn’t love his uncle’s killers. I was not inside his head as he sat in that mess hall in Arizona in 1944, watching German POWs eating alongside white American soldiers, hoping they would leave enough food left over for his “colored” regiment. (One can see here how he and his “colored” regiment were seen in the eyes of their countrymen.) I do know that my father was not overjoyed to be called “Señor Stovepipe” by one of the professors at Harvard University. (My father was doing post-Graduate research work at Harvard in the late Seventies.) He most certainly did not invite that motherfucker over to our house for dinner.

I know goddamn well my mother was not pleased to work as a domestic for rich white trash back in the early fifties, and certainly not tickled to death to be served her meals in a fucking cat dish. She told me so. Some of her white employers, of course, weren’t entirely “trash”: some were quite benevolent and kind and thoughtful in dealing with her, and even encouraged her to continue her education at Virginia Union University. Yet when the Brown vs. Board of Education decision struck down school segregation in May of 1954, her kind and thoughtful employers wept copious tears as they read the headlines.

We hated them with the same passion as we hated the fucking redneck swine that threw rocks at our house in Adelphi, Maryland and made monkey noises at us. We hated the bastards who sicked a German shepherd on us at an Indiana gas station back in 1962. We hated the Cambodian immigrant workers at a Seven-Eleven in 1982 who treated us worse than any redneck would have dreamed of doing. We felt that White men coddled these “immigrants,” not because he liked them, but because he felt he could use them to further his own politically perverted agenda. The same way he used the Koreans, whom we saw popping up in black neighborhoods sometime in the late seventies and early eighties, and whom we quickly learned to despise. The Koreans–along with the Salvadorans, the Nicaraguans, the Vietnamese, the Syrians, the Nigerians, the Israelis, the Ethiopians and Haitians–in turn, began to despise us.

I didn’t consider myself a “racist,” and had no problems in dealing with anyone who didn’t hate me for who I was. But folks like this were as rare as hen’s teeth. All I remember was the glassy, snide, passive-aggressive contempt I received from Washingtonians who weren’t Black like me. I remembered being alone, broke, raggedy and cut out of every social circle imaginable. I didn’t like anybody in that shitty town. I didn’t like the “gooks,” “spics,” “hymies,” “Ay-rabs” and I definitely didn’t like “The Honky.” They didn’t like us, either, on principle–the principle being that “niggers” are inferior.

“I think it is a kind of suicide to like anything that hates you. If we are the only people who really want to be Americans, what is the point?” –Harriet Jones, Drylongso: A Self-Portrait of Black America

Back in the late 80s I spent most of my time in DC on Howard University’s campus. I wasn’t scared of dealing with downtown DC, I simply didn’t want to be bothered. Frankly, I found it a boring, overly conservative, sterile, sad little cow town, ringed with Victorian brownstones and shot through with gang violence. (DC’s homicide rates at that time–say, 1988-1992–were a ghastly joke.) At Howard, between classes, I barricaded myself in the lower recesses of the Undergraduate Library or the Founders Library. It had very, very little to do with shyness or any latent Asperger’s Syndrome and more to do with–well, my simply not wanting to be bothered. James Baldwin once said that a black man simply cannot go through life covered in the world’s spit. Of course, that’s true. But for me, sadly, much of that spit–while a student at Howard–came from my own people.

The Black Bourgeoisie treated me worse than any “hymie” or “spic” or “gook” ever did. The kind of trash I heard from random white and Latino louts in Maryland and DC I heard on Howard’s campus on a daily basis. I endured five and a half years under their hostile gaze, sticking it out to secure the education I felt I needed to get ahead in American society. But from today’s vantage point, I wonder if it was really worth it. No “chink” threatened to kill me while eating in the Howard U. cafeteria; “spic” girls did not laugh in my face when I tried to talk to them (they simply ignored me altogether) nor did “da Jooz” throw rocks at me, throw their coffee at me, spit at my feet, cheat me out of passing grades, or slam clipboards (or malt liquor bottles) upside my head. (They didn’t threaten to rape me, either.) In all fairness, some Korean deli owners did threaten to call the cops on me for letting them know they’d cheated me out of fifteen cents!

But I didn’t have to shop at Korean delis if I didn’t want to. With Howard I had no choice but to stick it out if I wanted a degree. I wonder if my reception would have been less hostile had I transferred to University of Maryland—not because the school was free of racism (a laughable thought, knowing what I knew about the State of Maryland) but because I would not be a target of self-loathing upper-middle-class negroes who saw me as their own personal punching bag. Seen in retrospect, I guess I should have dropped out and spared myself their misguided judgments—my skin not being dark enough or not being light enough; my hair being too long, too short, or too fucking nappy; my clothes not being flashy enough; my being too short or too tall; my not being muscular enough, not wearing the proper watch, not wearing the proper shoes or speaking in the proper accent, or what the fuck have you. Something was always wrong with me, in their eyes. It took quite a few years (and a novel about it) to realize that there wasn’t a damned thing wrong with me, save for my refusal to accept Howard’s childish definitions of what a “Strong Black Man” was supposed to be like. As a friend once told me in Howard’s cafeteria, many years ago, “you know what your problem is on this campus, Phil? Everybody up here is trying to get with the program. But you”—and he pointed to me with a laugh, half-derisively, “just want to be you. That’s not right.”

But I was right. What the hell is so goddamn wrong about wanting to be you?

Philip Lewis is just one Black schmuck among 43 million. This crap happens all the time in America (and elsewhere) if you’re Black. Of course you can just lie about it and pretend they are just illusions, that life is just “tough” and one needs to just get on with the dirty business of surviving in the American (read: World®) jungle. I can just hear the Booker T. type negroes now babbling in the background. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Step your game up. Go back to school. Keep your head to the sky and your eyes on the prize. Oh, yes, sweetie-pie. Nobody likes a “butt-hurt Negro.”

And yet once you get that “prize”–the cushy job, fat salary, house in the suburbs (or a condo or loft), fly girlfriend/wife/boyfriend/husband, bad-ass car and every goddamned thing that goes along with it–you will soon realize how sour those grapes are. It is only a matter of time before the veneer of “success” begins to peel off and you are left with the bare bones of your raw feelings. You begin to wonder if “The Struggle” to get all that stuff was worth it. It wasn’t worth it. Especially when you find yourself being harangued by neighbors for having a barbeque (when your fellow white neighbors aren’t). Especially when you find yourself being told to leave a restaurant (when your fellow white diners aren’t). Especially when you find your face on the ground in a pool of your own blood for having been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and your white friends are standing around, wondering what the fuck just transpired. Hustle-porn sucks; it’s bad for your mental and physical health.

The sheer hatred you feel for everyone around you, especially for people who aren’t Black, is still there; it merely went into hiding for the time being. Your education and your wealth will not shield you from the world’s contempt. Neither does your popularity nor your sex appeal, nor your feelings of good will towards your fellow human beings. You can still be a Bakari Henderson and have a bunch of Balkans beat you senseless on some god-forsaken Greek island. You can be Phil Henderson and have a junkie punch a hole in your mouth right outside your own fucking doorstep, right here in Berlin, and have the cops make light of your injury. You realize that deep down, you never really liked living in this disgusting sham of a “Western” civilization; furthermore, it never liked you. The hatred is mutual. You’re just fooling yourself. The entirety of our contemporary civilization—morally speaking—is predicated upon hatred. Economically speaking, it’s built on highway robbery; politically, it’s predicated on murder.

You want to be nice, you want to be liked, even respected (the hardest thing of all to achieve in a “civilization” that views you as a beast), and yet you realize in the end that even in the eyes of your loved ones, you’re just…well, Black. You’re not supposed to be as smart as everyone else and certainly not smarter than everyone else. And when you insist upon being just as smart or smarter the subtle ostracism begins; you want to believe that it’s all an illusion, that maybe it really is just you; you’re the one at fault here.

Of course, you are at fault in a sense–you’re at fault for not abiding by the world’s expectations of what a Negro should be. These expectations are, by any moral standard, completely unacceptable.

“…I wanted to get away; I wanted to leave Cleveland and Ohio and all the United States of America and go somewhere I could escape the thought of my parents and my brother, somewhere black people weren’t considered the shit of the earth. It took me forty years to discover that such a place does not exist.”

–Chester Himes, The Quality of Hurt

And then the nation at large wonders why a certain segment of Black America is full of hate. There’s nothing to like about our predicament. Idiotic celebrities like Kanye West, Beyonce, Lil Wayne and their ridiculous lot don’t count; they are simply the minor details in a long, ugly, bloody story–the story of our fucking captivity. America spends billions of dollars a year spewing out Negrophobic propaganda worldwide (much of it masquerading as “entertainment” and “crime statistics”) and yet Americans feign surprise when “darkies” like me say I don’t like you. Americans are surprised because–to be perfectly honest–they refuse to see African Americans as human beings.

“And how are we supposed to feel about all of this? Well, fine of course,” writes mauludSADIQ on Medium.com. Of the late Michael Brown, SADIQ writes, “(He) was vilified… He had marijuana socks. He stole cigarillos. He cursed at the officer. The same newspapers and magazines and blogs that looked for all the possible humanly things that could have pushed poor James Holmes (mass murderer of 12) over the edge, dedicated an equal amount of pages to the ‘dark, criminal past’ of Michael Brown.”

Oh, yes. We are supposed to feel “cool” after our mothers, fathers,  brothers or sisters or aunts or husbands or wives are randomly gunned down by some fucking lunatic Negrophobe. We are supposed to feel somehow “spiritually enriched,” or take some sort of bullshit “philosophical” attitude after enduring tons of abuse at the hands of the American (read: global) power structure. America routinely robs you of your humanity and if you, the “darky,” don’t bow your head and meekly smile, then you’re an aggressive ape. According to whites and whitified non-whites, of course. “Because,” SADIQ writes, “The reality is — like Isma’il Latif has often pointed out, our role for white people is to entertain them, cheerfully. Anything beyond that…is seen as aggression.”

White Westerners (and their flunkies) view it as “aggression.” Others on this planet who have suffered similar oppression see otherwise. “They tell us we are making Spring,” writes Ghania Mouffok, an Algerian writer. “But you say we’re making war. A Tunisian friend of mine said to me, ‘they treat us like dogs and they’re surprised when we turn into wolves.”*

No, the slavery never ended; it merely shape-shifted into newer forms more pleasing to the eye and senses. In this new slavery one could become a billionaire like Oprah or Bill Cosby, or even a President like Barack Obama, and yet still find yourself vilified and boxed in whenever you refused to conform to white expectations of what a “good nigra” is supposed to be. Bill Cosby was foolish enough to believe that he could get away with the kind of shit that Roman Polanski got away with. Oprah was foolish enough to believe that her hundreds of millions (and her US passport) would shield her from the humiliation she received at a high-end Swiss boutique; apparently “negers” don’t by 40,000 euro purses. Obama was foolish enough to believe that being the President of the United States was sufficient unto itself. It wasn’t. (Ever heard of Leon Blum?)

Perceptions? Well, what do you think? “And it is this perception that Black people have to deal with on a day to day basis. And it is this perception that leaves so many unarmed Black people dead at the hand of fearful officers. Until we deal with that perception, nothing will change.”

The “perception,” simply put, is that the African is not a human being. This is the perception of the very people who control the entirety of the United States of America. Don Donnie has already made his “perceptions” perfectly clear, as has CNN, Fox News and all the other international US propaganda machines. It is inconceivably bad, and has been for untold decades.¹ When America tells the black person to “calm down,” it’s as if they were addressing some entity not quite animal, not quite human—three-fifths of a human being, according to their dear Constitution.

No, we don’t like you. We don’t have to like you, let alone love you. Yes, many of us have turned into wolves as a result of this blind hatred and gleefully cannibalized each other–like Ms. Mouffok suggested, we shit where we eat; many of us act like monkeys, pantomiming the very same fantasy of the savage ape that our masters imposed upon us–as if, in pushing against the walls and bars that hem us in, we merely strengthen these same walls; the more idiotic among us have come to enjoy this obscene captivity, some going so far as to call it Paradise.

Yeah, such a thing really is possible in this neo-liberal bizarro world we live in. It was certainly possible under Keynesian capitalism and God forbid, even under the bullshit mercantile capitalism that existed in the Old South before the Civil War–where even Negroes could own other Negroes provided they had their fucking “free papers” and a bit of cash to spare (and the “right” complexion).

I don’t love you. Who is to say what that will mean. I don’t

Love you, expressed the train, moves, and uptown days later

We look up and breathe much easier

I don’t love you

Amiri Baraka, The Autobiography of LeRoi Jones

For some strange reason some of us still do actually love Uncle Sam (I’m not one of them, however), since there is such a thing called Stockholm Syndrome. There is also a thing called “gaslighting” and “narcissistic parenting.” I bring up the latter because white America interacts with every single one of her “minority groups” the same way a narcissistic parent would interact with her children. The parent plays favorites with her children, lives her pathetic life through them, picks a golden child (in the case of America, this “golden child” would be christened a “model minority”) to use as a yardstick against her other siblings; and naturally there is that one child who is raised while the others are spoiled. The one child who is treated like garbage, who is “gaslighted” from the cradle, and made to bear the burden of the whole family’s sins, is– of course–the little Pickaninny.

————————————————————————————-

*As a side note: “white” Tunisians are notorious for their shitty treatment of “black” Tunisians; in fact, they “treat them like dogs”.

¹When the late John A. Williams visited Haifa in 1967, he noted that so-called “Arab leaders” in Haifa were “far readier to discuss American Negroes and their ‘high crime rate’ than they were their own situation”. (Williams, John A. Flashbacks, Anchor/Doubleday, 1973)

The Caucasian Kakistocracy, Revisited

PART TWO OF TWO

In the months since I posted Part One of this article, a long string of infuriating race-related incidents have occurred–all of which merely reinforce everything that I’ve written about this so-called “Caucasian Aristocracy.”

Less than 24 hours ago the New York Supreme Court dropped one of six charges against super-predator Hollywood mogul Harvey Weinstein. While not ostensibly race-related, Weinstein’s acquittal on just this one charge speaks volumes in itself. It comes directly on the heels of the confirmation and beatification of Brett Kavanaugh (misogynist, ex-frat boy and hard rightist, to whom David Duke gushed, “Thank God you are now on the Supreme Court!”), the revelations that Trump helped his parents evade millions of taxes (not to mention his own sex scandals with Stormy Daniels and other shady ladies), and the rehiring of Timothy Loehmann–the cop who killed 12-year old Tamir Rice in 2014–in Bellaire, Ohio. Georgia lawmaker Jason Spencer (no relation to Richard, though one would think otherwise) literally shows his fat white ass to the world on Sacha Baron Cohen’s This is America (indeed!), screaming “nigger!” at the top of his lungs, making “ching-chong” noises and sucking on a dildo. Jason Spencer was elected to the Georgia House of Representatives in 2010 on the Republican ticket; his fat ass is still there, probably still shouting “nigger” and still pulling his eyes back in the presence of Asians. (At least in private.)

And in the meantime, Bill Cosby is serving three to ten years in prison. This is not to gloss over Cosby showing his own ass decades ago, when he hypocritically dismissed Huey Newton as “nothing more than a thug” and a “hoodlum”; when he made a name for himself playing a spy on TV (at the height of the Black Power movement), and later went on to become “America’s Dad” while privately dropping Quaaludes in ugly women’s drinks and lecturing the most exploited class of people in America–the black underclass–about not speaking English, not pulling up their pants and getting shot over ninety-cent slices of stale pound cake.

Bill Cosby’s actions perfectly personified the uselessness and moral bankruptcy of America’s Black Elite. He sat on a fortune close to a billion dollars while millions of blacks nationwide had to steal to pay their rent, or even get their next meal. So it’s not a matter of shedding tears for Billy-Boy being locked up. That’s not the point. The point is that Billy-Boy, far wealthier than Harvey Weinstein could ever hope to be, is sitting in a jail cell while Harvey, Roy Moore, Donald Trump, Tim Loehmann, Roman Polanski and above all that little turd George Zimmerman are not. That’s because Billy-Boy’s billion doesn’t add up to much when his skin ain’t white.

Further down the food chain, the outlook for those outside the Aristocracy looks far bleaker. The Aristocracy feels (perhaps rightly so) that it is under assault from the dirty, unwashed, unwhite masses of the world (especially the black ones), so it is pushing back against them post-Reconstruction style. This Kakistocracy loves playing victim even with an assault rifle in its hands. Down on the very bottom of the American totem pole, the Afro-American has become a veritable moving target. The days of the African Dodger are back; only this time, they don’t need to put your head in a canvas and throw rocks at your head; they simply call the cops. Nekia Jones of Columbus, Ohio, for instance, has been locked up for nonpayment of child support–Ms. Jones is childless. Delta Airlines, a cracker concern, has shown its collective ass again in several appalling incidents (generally involving black women), one resulting in a passenger’s baggage being damaged in flight by incompetent baggage-handlers. (The passenger had the police called on her by a fascist staff member on the lower rung of the Kakistocratic food chain. The fascist’s excuse–like the one used by the soft Gestapo in Berlin at KFC–was that the unnamed woman was filming her.) A day ago, yet another Southern (Georgia) white woman calls the police on a black man babysitting his white friends’ children; Pool Patty, Permit Patty, Permit BettyBarbecue Becky, and their male equivalent “Permit Model”–some sexually insecure schmuck who couldn’t bear to see a black model in a photo shoot–have sent a collective message to those on the bottom of the global racial hierarchy: anything you do–even if it is so much as reading a fucking book–is a threat to our well-being.

No–scratch that. To the white Kakistocrat, merely being alive as a black (or brown or red) person is a threat to one’s well-being.

jennifer-schulte-bbq-becky
Jennifer Schulte, aka Barbecue Becky: Patriarch with a Pussy

It’s noteworthy that the overwhelming majority of racist calls have come from white women. No one should be surprised that this is so. These same poor white women, who wrung their hands and howled like banshees over the “sexual misconduct” of Harvey, Billy-Boy, Al Franken, Bill O’Riley, Sean Hannity, Donald Trump, Kevin Spacey and other men have never been opposed to The Patriarchy (or The Capitalist Kakistocracy, which is what it really is) except in theory. In practice, we clearly see that their hijacking of #MeToo (from a black woman dog-whistling at the Kakistocracy in the vain hope that their system would round up black male perverts) was, and still is, a clumsy power-grab on their part. Grabbing for what? The desks, round-tables, and cushy positions of the same “Patriarchy” they pretended to despise. They don’t hate the male chauvinist white Aristocracy; they simply want to run it for themselves. They are the female equivalent of those slimy, ethically bankrupt Third World elites who moved into the same comfy positions of power left behind by the British, French and Spanish after the colonizers left Africa.

Nawal el Saadawi, Egyptian novelist and activist, was perfectly on point when she described Theresa May and Hillary Clinton as being “even more patriarchal than men.” She forgot about Angela Merkel but then again, one gets the point. At the rate everything is going politically in the world today the Kakistocracy will continue for the foreseeable future. Not because this disgusting class is impregnable, but because this class finds it so easy to dangle 95% of humanity on puppet strings. No one outside the Kakistocracy is even thinking of resisting the bullshit. White women, negresses such as Candace Owens, Michelle Malkin and Jannine Piro (a sand Negress), reactionary boy-toys like Paris Dennard and Milo Yiannopoulous and super-spades like Kanye West, David Clarke and Jesse Lee Peterson will be our future gauleiters–reactionary buffoons whose main job is to vainly patch up the cracks in a rapidly disintegrating Western civilization.

Down the Totem Pole

The further you go down the American totem pole the darker people get, the vaguer their faces become, until they are all one dark mass on the very bottom. That dark mass supports the weight of the kakistocracy; it functions as a kind of cornerstone-slash-slop jar. We can be cute and call it “Da Hood” but everyone in the society (including other blacks) understand it to be That Other Place–Niggertown†.

Whatever it is, it is not America–not really. Not as the White Aristocrat defines America. I completely reject everything the White Aristocrat defines as America or as American, but that’s not the point. The point is that in his eyes, and in the eyes of everyone who sees the world through his eyes, Niggertown is America’s toilet. Niggertown represents (to him) a negation of all great Western values and morals–even though Niggertown is entirely the creation of white Western culture.

Ironic, yes. This Niggertown, this Black Slopjar is “dirty,” “evil,” “smelly,” “ape-infested,” but at the same time “we,” the White Aristocracy, desperately need this Black Slopjar. In a moral sense, we need “Niggertown” in order to define ourselves in opposition to it; without it, our existence (as White Aristocrats) makes no sense. It’s true that (in our minds) the high moral standards that “we whites” think we are setting for ourselves don’t apply there since Niggertown is (supposedly) the absolute moral opposite of “America.” But that is part of the fun. The society we have constructed for ourselves is simply too “white”; there’s no “passion” in it, no color, no adventure, no sensuality. So what do we do if we can’t go to Thailand? Go to Niggertown. Da Hood is not only America’s Inferno, it’s also America’s whorehouse, the place where “we” go slumming and let down our hair. It’s the place where “we” buy our drugs, our pussy, the joint where we indulge our sense of white privilege to the hilt since in Niggertown, we can’t be held accountable for what we do since we are never really guilty: only the “Niggers” are truly guilty.

Please note that Niggertown is as much a state of mind as it is a place. So if you are too afraid to go to West Baltimore in the flesh, you can blast Tupac or Drake from your car stereo and sag your fucking pants or even slap on blackface if you so wish. You can host a Mandingo party or pick up random “Niggers” in clubs and suck them off (or have them suck you off) in the toilet. What happens in Niggertown stays in Niggertown.

In this regard, talk of “Black Irresponsibility” is not only foolish and idle, but obscene.¹We all know that before “White” there was no “Black,” that the creation of “Negroes” or “Niggers” or “Blacks” required not merely the creation of White but the conditions under which white would flourish and “Black” would languish. As a side note, it’s worth noting that the Brazilian term for “Big Nigger,” negao, also means “negative” in Portuguese. I can’t tell you if that was a deliberate choice of wording but it is obvious that Black “irresponsibility” is but a negative reflection, an “Afro-pantomime” of the White Kakistocracy. All values within that system have their origins with the founders of that system; those in “Da Hood” may make some adjustments to those values in order to adapt those values to their own needs, but in essence they are the same.

A rotten, despicable, worthless society predicated entirely upon the notion that having white skin (and being rich) makes you a blameless saint in the eyes of most, whilst being the opposite makes you the devil. A black man’s worth increases in this society only if he comes closer to what white society deems its ideal…and yet, if this same black man were to truly become “white male” in every sense of the ideal save for his complexion, he would be tossed in jail.

Black women with braids and Afro-styled hair are weird or outre whereas a white woman who thoughtlessly appropriates these same styles (and wrongly, I might add) is “stylish” and “cutting edge.” We routinely see how white women appropriate, use and rip-off black, brown, red and yellow women, and use them as the battering rams to force their way to the top of the American food chain. #MeToo, the anti-Gun march: all sentimental, idiotic pie-eyed displays of the worst American puritan knee-jerk hysteria surrounding sex.

Every white woman who imagines she was felt up by Woody Allen or Woody Woodpecker or Mickey Mouse comes out with some wretched story about how she was abused, and the whole world stands up to applaud it. And when the Native American woman details how she and her sisters were raped or murdered at the hands of the American police or other men (including their own), one hears crickets. Thousands of black women have disappeared in the DC area alone over the past 10 years, and not a single soul has bothered to come forward to ask of their whereabouts. African women are routinely trafficked into sex slavery in Europe, along with Balkan, Romanian and South-East Asian women. Sri Lankan, Filipino and Ethiopian women are routinely raped, beaten and worked to death by Gulf Arab or Lebanese employers. (Many of these employers are other females.) Just recently a Kenyan woman was beaten senseless in the streets of Beirut by two Lebanese hoodlums. There is no fucking hashtag movement to highlight the plight of these particular women, and if there is it definitely gets set on the back-burner behind the outrage over Bill Cosby, Harvey Weinstein or Al Franken’s cute hijinks.

This is not merely because Thai prostitutes or Ethiopian maids are not “beautiful people” like Lady Gaga or Kylie Jenner or some other played up megastar, but because they are not white.

Their whiteness also blinds them to their own historical demise. In every sense of the word Western culture is nonexistent outside of the Louvre or some National Gallery of Art. Contemporary Western architecture–and this goes for everything being constructed elsewhere in the world–is hideous. Enormous glass cages which stretch for miles and miles around, filled with mindless drones parked behind cubicles or stuck in some hideous plastic condo. In the Italian Renaissance, a major building was generally conceived as a thing of beauty, nobility and grandeur. Today, everything–the architecture included–has an expiration date. Today no architect anywhere in the world (since they are all blindly following the White lead) would even dream of constructing a Sistine Chapel or an Alhambra or a Taj Mahal or a Machu Picchu or anything comparable to the splendors of Luxor or Karnak or Kilwa.

Why? Because White Supremacy–the ideology of the Cacistocracy–is strictly utilitarian, one that only function in opposition to whatever it deems threatening–even if that thing is Beauty itself.

Even their contemporary music is ugly. No more Beethovens, Mahlers or Janaceks can be found among them, unless they are hiding away in some attic in Lisbon or Lviv. Their “white” novels are solipsistic, pretentious masturbation. Academia, especially in the United States, is falling by the wayside. National infrastructures are crumbling, and not merely because everything is put into the American war machine. America’s infrastructures crumble because those responsible for maintaining these infrastructures are far more interested in laying about in Mar-a-lago or some God-forsaken Caribbean island stuffing adolescent girls or boys and basking in–what else?–their insufferable sense of being (once again) white.²

“Five centuries of colonialism, capitalism and nationalism have turned Europeans into the enemy of the human kind,” Franco Berardi fumed last year, in response to reports of mass migrant deaths in the Mediterranean, slave-dealing in Libya and the surge of moronic, right-wing Western populism. “May they (Europeans) be cursed forever! May Europeans be swept away by the storm they have generated, by the weapons they are building, by the fire they have ignited, by the hatred they have cultivated!”

Bifo Berardi’s words ignited, as they say, a “storm of controversy”; some folks considered him a bit mad. But when one sees Europeans–and by extension, white Westerners and their perennial flunkies–within the context of a decaying, bloated, self-satisfied Kakistocracy, then his words make perfect sense. There can be no democracy, let alone Socialism, in a planet dominated by racist white aristocrats and their colored court jesters. 

___________________________________________

†Niggertown wasn’t created by “Niggers” but by systematic “red-lining” (translated into English, it means setting up special residential areas for “Niggers” so whites can control their movements, their wallets, their culture, their minds, etc. In other words, a fucking township, or a reservation). There was also mental redlining. American music was once redlined on record labels (known as “race records” or “Sepia Series”). The African American was and is redlined in novels, plays, newspaper articles, and movies: restricted to being portrayed as an idiot, a whore, a mammy, a suck-up, a shiftless ne’er-do-well, a criminal, a thug, a “problem”; playing out the same tired, hackneyed roles that the Euro-American crafted for him, roles that revealed nothing of the Black actor’s true personality but merely those buried instincts (what Freud called the ID) that the good white aristocrat could not act out in polite white society. Hence, the minstrel show, Al Jolson, Elvis Presley, Satchmo (as opposed to Louis Armstrong), Stepinfetchit, Drake, Eminem and all the rest. Hence “Ebonics,” which is what white society has made of Black English–a language that Afro-Americans constructed in order to define the world on their terms and not that of the white aristocrats.

¹”Everything is ‘white genocide’ because they can only operate without challenges. Unless the deck is stacked against everyone else they literally cannot keep up with the other ethnic groups, ESPECIALLY not against blacks. While every other group was building civilizations, kingdoms, and empires white people literally were in caves. That is a scientific fact. This went on for several thousand years. Hell even the Mesoamericans had the Mayan empire before whites created their first settlement. There is no such thing as ‘white supremacy’, they aren’t supreme. If they were they could win at equal footing and history shows THEY. NEVER. HAVE. AND. NEVER. WILL. There is only white psychosis and white tyranny and they’re starting to see their failings and so the ‘white genocide’ excuse surfaced again, which they used several times through human history.” —

comment from “HaveYouEverDancedWithTheDevilInThePaleMoonLight”

²And what’s the whole point of the war machine, anyway? For the ultimate showdown between Western Whiteness and the Third World (namely, the Middle East, Latin America, Asia, Africa and perhaps Russia, if only because Russia and China are the two major stumbling blocks between Uncle Sam and absolute global hegemony).

Kaf’s Toons: October, 2018

Sorry that I’m more than a day late, and definitely more than a dollar (or a euro) short.

Economically September was very hectic.

In addition to this, it looks like Amazon is trying to censor my fucking novel–at least on American Amazon: when you type in “P. Lewis Nate” nothing comes up.

But in this super-reactionary political and cultural climate, nothing surprises me anymore.

I have a number of blog posts in preparation. Not too many people will see them, as not too many will probably view the blog posts of other bloggers such as The Angry Indian because (apparently) our views on Alexa have taken an inexplicable nose-dive since this August. I naturally suspect political bias, of course.

The cartoon below is one drawn some months ago, but since Melania is going to be Melania–she’s in the news again for wearing colonial-style gear in Africa–I don’t see why Kaf needed to draw a pith helmet on her fat head.

amazing_disgrace
“Amazing Disgrace”

“We are not Nazis!”

The fuck you’re not Nazis.

In 1994, I was sitting smugly at an Athenian cafe terrace sipping coffee when an angry young man encountered me. By his looks I figured he was Greek. “I am Albanian,” he told me. After informing me that he dug black music and that Albanian men dug black girls, he said, “what are you doing in this fucking Greek shithole?”

I told him I was on vacation. “Why? The Greeks are all fascist. And the Greek girls are ugly. Albanian girls are much better. Even the Greek language and food is just very, very shit.”

I took his complaints seriously because I understood something. I was not walking in his shoes. I was walking around in white sneakers and an outdated 1980s fucking Miami Vice jacket with money in my pocket and access to the cheapest whores in Europe. At the time I was still something of a greenhorn when it came to fathoming the depths of Greek racism. Of course, I knew it existed; I saw the tension on the young Albanian’s face when I encountered him later–I saw him, but he didn’t see me, so wrapped up was he in his rage. I understood that look on his face: I had the same look on mine when I was back in Adelphi, Maryland. I did not dare contemplate that one day that in Greece, I would have that same angry, haunted look as the young Albanian chap.

In the late eighties and early nineties, whatever racism Athenians showed me was far outweighed by the near-total indifference I received overall. Nobody paid me any mind. I could walk the streets of the city any time of the day or night, unmolested. Like James Baldwin in Paris, I was left alone to be me. And even though I sincerely despised Athens and thought very little of Greeks in general (truthfully, few expats did; most of them sat around complaining about how horribly rude Athenians were), I still felt grateful to be there in spite of the obscene pollution, in spite of the killer heat, the flies, the poverty, the drugs (Athens had and still has an outrageously bad heroin problem) and the cold shoulder I got from Greeks.

But there were other issues. A strong sense of Greek chauvinism persisted, particularly in tavernas and night-clubs, where even a Scottish friend of mine was bodily thrown out of. A German guy stupid enough to seduce a young woman in Crete found himself stoned and hurled off a cliff. Greek madams and pimps back then had a policy of generally blocking non-Greeks {read: non-whites} from Greek prostitutes. And I did get a sense of what Greek police were capable of doing to foreigners when in the proper mood: that same year (1994), a black South African friend of mine showed me horrific scars on his forehead that some sadistic Greek officers had given him.

After 1999, when Apostolos Apostolou and Pandelis Kazakos went on a rampage in Athens killing a Georgian (George Godesiani) and wounding immigrants from Ghana, Egypt, Pakistan and Bangladesh, the xenophobia in that country began to climb through the roof. I remember being called a “nigger” by some dipshit Arab racist near Omonia Square that year (the first time I heard that word uttered in Greece) and some other encounters in night-clubs that seriously pissed me off. The night-club encounters were a manifestation of a more subtle yet no less lethal form of racism: young Greek girls were seeking out “primitive”-looking black men fresh off the boats. If that sounds funny to you remember that racism in Europe often takes on strange forms. Many European women are sexually fascinated with Africans whom they can look down on and slum with. (Actually, this is an American thing, too. Check out Calvin C. Hernton’s book SEX AND RACISM IN AMERICA where he talks about the Greenwich Village scene of the early sixties and the interracial “love” that used to go down there.)

By 2002, I had had enough. The racism had gotten to the point where I could hear myself being called “mavro” (Greek for black) several times a day. While there was also a concomitant cultural detente between open-minded Greeks (those who didn’t have any real problems dealing with blacks) there were a lot of ugly incidents in which white as well as Asian tourists had begun to jump on the Negrophobic bandwagon. One British bitch snarled something about “niggers” while standing outside a youth hostel, apparently delighted that “mavro” apparently meant the same thing. Some chickenshit Chinese tourist saw me walking behind her and became horrified at my presence and nervously clutched her bag beside her. Athens had become another New Orleans and I wasn’t fucking having it.

The final straw came when a so-called “friend” of mine–half-Liberian, half-Lebanese–put a knife to my throat and demanded my laptop. When I refused he slashed me across the face. I kicked him in the balls SEVEN times but he was so zonked on PCP it didn’t even affect him. The sonofabitch held me up for 600 Euros. I had him arrested after he pocketed my money (which was never returned) and he was imprisoned for a short while, then released. While waiting on the ferry to get back to the Greek mainland, three fucking greaseballs threatened to kick my ass while I was sleeping and I had to pull out my pepper spray on them.

The next day I was on a plane heading for Berlin. I have not bothered to return to that shit-hole, and from what I know of Athenians and their disgustingly rude and childish behavior, they largely brought all of their miseries on themselves. What did Greeks expect when they spent so much time goofing off in tavernas with a fucking frappe under their fat noses while Sri Lankans, Pakistanis and other “mavri” washed their dishes and hosed down the jism from their whorehouse/hotel rooms? That these clowns are now crying for fascism seems logical given their basic inability to think though shit logically.

And as for my Lebanese-Liberian “friend,” he became a drug dealer, then a heroin addict. The last I heard of him, his badly decomposed body was found in one of those dusty rat-trap/bordellos that pass for hotel rooms in the junk-ridden Vathis Quarter of backstreet Athens.

I can't relax in Greece

29/06/14

By IOS GROUP: Tasos Kostopoulos, Anta Psarra, DimitrisPsarras

ios@efsyn.gr

[…]

golden-dawn-salute Group Nazi salute at a gathering of the organization

Of particular interest was the reaction of Golden Dawn to the photographic revelations. […] Without disputing any of the photos, the organization, in its unsigned announcement further claimed that “these photographs, had been in their possession since September of 2013 and they chose to release them today, in June of 2014”. Thus, up to this point, the only thing they chose to respond to with these revelations, was the fact that the photographs are old, implying that, since Michaloliakos and Pappas posed with swastikas, their Nazi beliefs have changed. Of course the organization avoided commenting on the three very recent photographs, in which Pappas was shown giving the Nazi salute over Mussolini’s grave and a group of Golden Dawn members, led by Kassidiaris, holding the flag of the Nazi Wehrmacht…

View original post 1,495 more words

When You Set Your Own House on Fire, Don’t Blame Your Maid

Generalissimo Trump has been very busy these past few months. If he hasn’t been randomly shutting two-year old Honduran girls up in concentration camps, he’s been sharing his shitpot with everybody’s favorite comic opera buffoon-dictator (Kim Jong Un) and scribbling random, emotionally-charged tweets to any prominent media figure he feels is challenging his “authoritahhh.” He’s been showing his fat, white pimpled ass to the world so often that some of us have even gone blind.

Hardly a day goes by in which this baboon doesn’t fling his feces at us. He does it with such regularity that most folks have already forgotten some of his worst blunderings–for instance, his referral to African and Caribbean nations as “shitholes,” among other things. Another big blunder was his referral to certain “illegal” immigrants from Mexico or El Salvador as “animals.” His alibi? “Mexico and El Salvador are not sending their best and brightest,” on the one hand, and on the other, “most of these guys are MS-13, savage murderers and killers.”

To be fair, some of Dumbo’s wild ravings in Duluth (reminiscent of one of Mussolini’s macho freakouts) had a grain of truth to them. Mexico and El Salvador are, generally speaking, not sending their best and brightest to the US because their “best and brightest” would rather not flip burgers at Arby’s for two decades. Yet that’s about it. Trump doesn’t give a shit about “real” Americans losing their jobs to “illegals,” because it’s been well-documented that he himself has utilized “illegal” labor in the past to build his little towers. Trump’s referencing MS-13 was a flimsy insinuation that all Latinos are “animals,” and that all “beaners,” including his most ardently racist supporters in Miami, are MS-13. (The alt-right doesn’t mind using a few racist Latinos to bolster their numbers and parrot their psychotic ideology. Why not? It makes them look legit; it takes moral ammunition away from so-called Social Justice Warriors and other “leftist” scum such as yours truly. Remember Amin al-Husseini?)

It’s an understatement to say that Mara Salvatrucha is made up of Salvadoran youths who are beyond dehumanized. One need not belabor that point at all. Last July Angel Soler, a 15-year old, was hacked to death in Nassau County, New York by machete-wielding MS-13 hoods. But this begs the question: how in the hell did these kids get to be so thoroughly brutalized? The answer to the question is simple. “To understand the history of the MS-13,” writes Franc Contreras (CGTN America), “we must return to El Salvador’s civil war in in the 1980s. Left-wing rebels battled a U.S.-backed right-wing government blamed for widespread human rights abuses. Salvadorans fled the violence and migrated to the United States, many settling in Los Angeles. There, they confronted attacks from street gangs. That’s when MS-13 was born.”

America’s dealings with the world politically are like an exterminator who, contrary to all logic, uses mice to drive ants out of buildings. The ants may leave but the mice remain. When the mice become too much of a problem, this “exterminator” calls on the rats to drive out the mice but when the mice are gone, the rats remain. The whole process repeats itself until the fucking exterminator stoops to using elephants to drive out the hippos he used to drive out the wildebeests he used to drive out the bobcats he used to drive out the snakes he used to drive out the rats–the end result naturally being total chaos.

Uncle Sam, too proud to admit that he fucked himself, tries to shift the blame to the “niggers” or the “commies” or some other group he despises. Too proud, too narcissistic, too arrogant and above all, too fucking stupid. Uncle Sham wants the rest of the world to think that He alone is right, that it’s either Shammy’s Way or the highway. During the Salvadoran Civil War (which lasted from 1979 to 1992)  U.S. officials went so far as to take control of the Salvadoran military in the hopes of beating back left-wing “Marxist” rebels. In other words, America not merely invented MS-13, but created the lion’s share of the social and historical conditions that led to the rise of MS-13. Along with ISIS and Al-Qaeda, Mara Salvatrucha is the end result of America’s misguided Cold War policies of “containing Communism” at whatever cost. Better a radical Islamic government–so Truman, Johnson, Nixon, Ford, Carter, and Reagan assumed–than Arab Socialism or Mossadegh; better a hard-right ultra-conservative Catholic military junta (think Pinochet, Somoza or Trujillo) than Salvador Allende or God forbid, another Fidel.

The end result of such blatant political blundering can be seen everywhere, on every corner, in every street in every city in every single country. The entire planet has become not a replica of American bullshit but its obscene caricature.  And as for the state of America itself, no comment. Everything that America is going through politically, socially, culturally and economically is a direct blow-back from “Manifest Destiny,” that old Anglo-Saxon imperialist psychosis–or from America’s tried and true domestic policies of Keep The Niggers Down At All Costs. Neither Trump, nor the GOP, nor even those moderate Republicans such as George Will and the late Charles Krauthammer have any ideological ground to stand on when the facts are stacked against one another. The one cold fact that matters in the end (when all other facts concerning the state of America are considered) is that the country, simply put, is a shithole–a shithole with wings.

For those of us who aren’t white (you know, the Negroes), the country was a shithole from the word GO. Many blacks will disagree vehemently with this statement and argue that they are doing just fine, thank you. There is no shortage of Afro-Americans who will drape themselves in The Flag and talk about how lucky they are to have been born Americans. After 399 years of living in a slop jar you can come to feel rather fond of it. But a shithole is still a shithole, even with a massive barrel full of Popeye’s Chicken Wings set inside of it.

The Caucasian Kakistocracy (1)

Or: Being White as an Alibi to Fuck Around

Part One of Two

Former CIA director John O. Brennan brought up a strange word when referencing the Mr. Magoo-like incompetence of the Trump Administration. “Your kakistocracy is collapsing after its lamentable journey,” Brennan tweeted to the Orange Orangutan. It was far, far from being the first time the word was brought up; it had been referenced several times over the past three centuries, even in reference to McClownald. So what the hell is a kakistocracy, then?

Me being the guy I am, I’m tempted to conflate “kak-” with “cauc” or “cac.” You can call it “racist” if you feel like it. It is not racist ressentiment on my part, simply calling a spade a spade–or if you want to go there, a honky a honky. So-called “White” people have no reason to whine about it because in actual fact, any thinking “White” person really should not consider themselves “White” in the first place. You are a European or Mediterranean or Asian. Yeah, I know it’s a force of habit, just like calling yourself “Black” when your skin is really golden brown or mahogany. But all of this is beside the point. The real point is: what the hell is a kakistocracy?

A random Googling of the term brings up “a system of government which is run by the worst, least qualified, or most unscrupulous citizens”. One can go further and say that a kakistocracy is an entire civilization and culture run by the worst, least qualified, and most unscrupulous, perverted, inept, vulgar, meretricious, ignorant, lazy, uncreative and just plain fucking stupid people.

Sorry to burst your bubbles, but this is exactly what we are living in at this very moment. It is idle to say that the bullshit began with Trump, or Dubya, or even Warren G. Harding. Most of the world has been living under a Caucasian kakistocracy for the past five centuries.

We all know that Europeans and their descendants consider themselves “White,” which is really not the same thing as being Caucasian, since so-called “white” skin (which can range from pale rose to a yellowish-brown olive) in and of itself carries no deep meaning; like other shades of skin tones it’s just a color. So just as rosy skin doesn’t make you some fucking holy man (as if that ubiquitous portrait of Cesare Borgia that we see hanging everywhere was really Jesus Himself), it also doesn’t make you The Devil. It’s not in your genes, in other words–it’s in your head. The rest is solipsism.

In fact the very notion of “Whiteness” itself is profoundly solipsistic–no, scratch that. It is idiotic. We have gone over this road before and so there is no point in wasting too many words about it. Centuries and centuries of racialist fantasies, starting with their Near-Eastern and Mediterranean origins and climaxing with the racist autism of Adolf Hitler, the alt-Right and Jared Taylor, there was and is nothing progressive about being “White,” just as there really isn’t anything progressive about being “Black,” believe it or not. The significance of Blackness makes sense only in opposition to the significance of Whiteness. Black (that is, Africanness) was not considered “sinful” or “ugly” or “evil” or “deformed” until the appearance of White. (This explains why pro-Black, pork-chop cultural nationalism always winds up eating its own tail, for any attempt to find significance in a degraded condition created by the White oppressor himself–since Black is a condition created by the colonizer, not by the African, Aboriginal or Dravidian Indian–ends in total failure.)

“White” (as we all know or should know) came into existence in the West purely as a reactionary and exclusionary identity against the entirety of the non-white, non-Aryan human race. “White” is the ultimate caste system, one that trumps all other social, economic, political and intellectual concerns. If some toothless old redneck showed up to use the bathroom at a Starbucks in Portland or Philadelphia, the barista would not bat an eyelash–there would be no question of him having the honor of using one of their beloved toilets. The same rule naturally does not apply to a black lawyer or perhaps even the black ex-president of the United States. After all, both are Black, with a capital B. So automatically the toothless redneck stinking of piss and unwashed ass trumps the well-scrubbed and well-healed black upper-middle-class gentleman–or Barack Obama.

The real meaning of what happened at Starbucks a few weeks ago, or the meaning of what happened to the Hart Family some months ago, or what happened when Nikolas Cruz strode into a Florida high school some weeks before and shot up 17 students, or when Stephen Paddock butchered over 50 people in Las Vegas, or when some scumbag, Mr. Affluenza himself–Ethan Couch–was spared prison even after having committed murder, flew over the heads of most people–even so-called “Black” people. The real meaning was perfectly clear to me, however.  The white race, in America, as a whole functions as a kakistocracy, made up of irresponsible, clueless schmucks who feel that having rosy skin places them above reproach.

So you have a “white” skin, so-called? Great. You’re in safe hands, sort of. “You are rich because you are white,” Fanon has written, “and you are white because you are rich.” Full stop–nothing else really matters. Never mind the old adage that “with great power, comes great responsibility”–the Caucasian Kakistocracy doesn’t give a shit about “responsibility” and never has. The old elite of Europe, before it had fully formulated its notions of racial superiority and inferiority*, showed little responsibility to most members of their own race–this, prior to Portuguese colonialism or even The Crusades. Truthfully, the old European elite viewed themselves as being of a different race than those they held in serfdom throughout the European continent. (Surprisingly, the same holds true today to a limited extent–especially in Italy, and above all in Naples, where the Neapolitan elite views the street-level white Neapolitan as a mau mau.“)

Worldwide colonialism changed all that. Now the old European peasants are part of a larger global Kakistocracy by virtue of having a precious “white” skin. A “white” man from Romania may be nothing in Italy but that will change the moment he lands in Burkina Faso or South Africa, or even the United States. In a bourgeois society (which of course includes so-called “Communist” and “socialist” societies such as North Korea, Cuba, China and Venezuela) everyone not in the elite bourgie class strives (to some extent) to emulate the values, mores and prejudices of the bourgie class. The bourgie class is “White,” of course. (This naturally explains why every attempt on the part of Western societies to implement “multiculturalism” has resulted not in true racial harmony but some sort of grotesque pecking order where, nationally and globally speaking, the ones on the top are naturally White Americans and Europeans.)

So it should come as no surprise as to why Chinese petty-bourgeois would put such an unnecessary premium on whiteness, virtually to the point where being “white” in many parts of urban China is the closest thing to Godliness. (Or at least, the Chinese petty-bourgeois thinks or puts on that this is so.) It should be no question as to why women in India, Nigeria, Egypt and other “Third World” nations use skin lighteners by the ton. It should be no surprise that in virtually every country in the world (to quote Chester Himes) so-called “Black” people are considered “the shit of the earth.” Likewise, it should not shock anyone that a Nazi scumbag like Andrew Anglin (one of several) would manage to obtain a visa for Cambodia or Nigeria, or that David Duke managed to hold a teaching position in Damascus, Syria. (After all David Duke, like most Arabs and truthfully like most Americans anyway, really doesn’t like Jews.) A Cambodian official is not looking at Anglin’s political rap sheet; he’s looking at Anglin’s passport and above all, his skin. Anglin is a Nazi, but he is WHITE. He is the aristocrat, and as such, he can really do no wrong in the world at large.

God gave us the earth. We have dominion over the plants, the animals, the trees. God said, “Earth is yours. Take it. Rape it. It’s yours.”

–Ann Coulter, descendant of Irish famine immigrants and right-wing whack job

And aristocrats generally prefer the company of other aristocrats. Wannabe aristocrats prefer the company of aristocrats, naturally. Nothing is worse than a wannabe aristocrat, that poor creature who has all the aspirations of belonging yet does not measure up due to a mere “accident” of birth. So it comes as no surprise that some of the worst nigger-haters on the planet are other “niggers,” or Arabs, or Chinese, or Latinos, etc. or that those most vociferously opposed to “illegal immigration” (an absurd notion when you consider that virtually all European immigration to non-European nations was illegal to begin with) are, in fact, other Latinos. The White American himself does not feel entirely comfortable around any of them, of course; he’d rather interact with some German, Irish, Finnish or French immigrant than he would with his so-called “fellow African American.” This is because the immigrants, though they may not speak a lick of English, are white, and Northern European to boot. The White American may feel slightly less comfortable dealing with a swarthy Sicilian (more so than with an Italian immigrant from Milan) and considerably less comfortable dealing with a Chinese or Japanese immigrant, and still more uncomfortable dealing with somebody from Chile as opposed to somebody from Spain.

So, what then? The White Aristocrat is able to write off three quarters of humanity not because he has any burning desire to do so–not necessarily, anyway–but because his culture (like that of his forefathers) has rendered him incapable of truly seeing nuance in any other people or any other culture save their own. An aristocracy is exclusive, whether it is a Kakistocracy or not. Outside that White Aristocracy everyone else is either a romantic symbol, a stereotype, a cliche, a threat–or, more often than not, a cipher.

It is the ultimate in moral irresponsibility for a group of people that prides itself on running (or rather, ruining) the planet. When the whole of humanity is forced to toe an insane line of thought and action simply because some fat, blonde white sex-maniac insists that it is so, then something must change, and change quick. The needs of the many are far too precious to outweigh the needs of eight or nine white men who control literally half of the world’s wealth. In European text books the old aristocracies of France, Austria-Hungary, the Hapsburgs and others are shown for what they had become by the time they were destroyed–old, creaking monstrosities driven by perversion and greed, completely cut off not merely from the needs and concerns of their people but from their people, period. The very same holds doubly true for this current White Kakistocracy, which is cut off from virtually the entire human race.

Western historians teach us that when the masses of Paris descended upon Versailles and trashed the place, it was a “great moment in history.” It will never occur to these same Westerners that if the masses of people outside the White Kakistocracy descend upon downtown Manhattan or downtown Paris or London and loot it to the hilt, it would be virtually the same thing. We all remember the howls of outrage that rose up throughout the entire White world three years ago when millions of African and Asian refugees descended upon Europe. The Kakistocracy, as it typically does, played dumb and talked endlessly of “Eurabia” and “White Genocide” and all that crap.¹ They still do.²

This white, global aristocracy is so obsessively narcissistic they imagine that some thug from West-Side Chicago is actually oppressing them when he goes on a shooting rampage, rather than the other way around. The white aristocrat does not need to go on a shooting rampage; nothing is oppressing him but his own diseased mind. But he does it anyway: case in point, Stephen Paddock. Another case in point: Dylan Roof. Dylan Roof was not taken out gung-ho style like Tamir Rice or Stephon Clark. It is true that Clark was caught attempting to burglarize several cars before being shot for having a cellphone in his own backyard. Dylan Roof, on the other hand, guns down eight black people in a church in Charleston and while on the way to the police station, he is allowed a meal at McDonalds. Because, you know, killing eight niggers makes a young boy mighty hungry.

Yet another case in point is Nikolas Cruz, the poor, lonely, lost child who shoots 17 kids at a high school in Florida. Since he was not a “fucking Ay-rab” or a “Paki” or some “Black Identity Extremist,” he is not considered a terrorist but simply another misunderstood cat who suffered from extreme bullying. So you know, we, whites and wannabe whites, can empathize with the motherfucker to the point of sending him cash, love letters, nude pics and panties while he languishes in prison. (But Tanishia Covington? Hell, no.)

Slinging mud at far-right loonies like Paddock, Cruz and Roof is extremely easy. But when our liberal and leftist “friends” fuck up along these same lines, what can we say? The Hart family, pictured above, was the exact polar opposite of Jared Taylor and Company. Here we had a white lesbian couple from Seattle that had adopted six black and brown kids and reared them on their own. But on closer inspection we saw that these six kids merely existed as punching bags for these two white liberal lesbians’ self-aggrandizement. In other words, the kids were just there to make these white bitches feel good about themselves and the world.

No matter if these two bitches routinely beat, starved and punished these kids, insulted them with racial slurs or, even more humiliating, forced a couple of them to march out with signs offering hugs to cops (knowing full well it was a bullshit move) while the country was in an uproar over police brutality (not to mention Nazi infiltration of American law enforcement); their sociopathic behavior must have had some justification, however insane, since after all they were not only white but liberal lesbians who had adopted six black and brown children. Naturally the alt-right and their ilk has utilized this incident as an alibi to call out the “privileged” racism of the liberal-left. No comment; one doesn’t need to write any more books about the hyper-privileged racism of wealthy far-right demagogues such as Richard Spencer or the Koch Brothers or, for that matter, Donald Trump. Let them kill each other; they could hardly do worse to themselves what they now do to us. Of course they are still getting away with murder. Of course the level of national outrage at their behavior is nowhere near as high as it is for Bill Cosby³ and certainly not O.J. Simpson, whom the white majority considers to be Satan incarnate.

Harvey-Weinstein
Harvey Weinstein goes into rehab for his ogreish behavior, while “America’s Dad” gets the can for less

The entire incident reveals a genuine rottenness at the heart of white liberalism; even though it is just one particularly outrageous incident, it is really of a piece with how white liberalism functions in regards to non-whites, especially blacks. In fact, the whole Hart Family incident can be read as white, Western liberalism in a nutshell. “Whites,” whether left or right, Northern or Southern, Eastern or Western, rich or poor, understand “Love” as a one-way street in which the whole of humanity is bowing at its altar, endlessly mimicking their twisted value system, speaking their language in their own particular “white” way. And in turn, these “whites” can only “love” us if we conform to their ridiculous expectations.

This “Love” of theirs is full of exceptions, conditions and caveats which contradict themselves at every single turn. It is so exasperating and demoralizing in the long run that one wonders whether this kakistocratic “Love” is actually more lethal than their well-known “hate.” “White” so-called Christians (as well as Muslims, Jews, Buddhists, Wiccans, agnostics and atheists) speak to the world about “unconditional love” while at the same time drawing up an insane laundry list of expectations and demands that the entire planet (including themselves) must abide by in order to receive the “Love” of a white, Western Kakistocrat. That “Love” manifests itself naturally in government grants, fellowships, aid packages, job hirings, job promotions–every conceivable thing under the sun that the non-white individual either wants or needs, right down to a simple phone number from a white woman or man in a crappy pick-up bar.

Yeah, we already know that fact–or at least, we know it, but we don’t want to think about it too much because too many of us who are not of the Kakistocracy actually need to jump through these goddamned hoops merely to survive–much less pick up some chick (or dude) in a singles bar. This won’t happen to our member of the Caucasian Kakistocracy. Slob or no slob, punk or no punk, beta or no beta, he is–in the eyes of too many willfully blind folk–the ultimate Alpha Male. Sexual attractiveness and financial status have little to do with it, of course, for even the most pathetic white “incel” (involuntary celibate, for those not familiar with this kind of talk) is still “Alpha” socially, politically, and economically. All he needs to do is stop feeling sorry for himself. For at the end of the day, this self-emasculated “incel” is still white.

He can walk the streets of his own neighborhood without fear of being pulled over by cops. He sit down inside a goddamned Cracker Barrel–this, assuming that it’s actually worth the time to even go to a Cracker Barrel–and not be forced out. He can use the esteemed crappers of Starbucks or Denny’s and not face the prospect of arrest. What–him worry? Worry about what? Even when everybody puts him down, even when non-white males insult and ridicule him, call him “honky,” etc., the “honky” laughs inside because he knows that his social “inferiors” are simply letting off steam before returning to their proper place, to pick his cotton, shine his shoes and suck his wiener.

Being called a “honky” won’t lead to him losing his position at the top of the totem pole. His throne is safe for now. He is still worshiped–or has the illusion of being worshiped–in China, India and South America, even if he is a fat, toothless old git. She is still worshiped (or thinks she is) in Kenya, Morocco, Jamaica even if she is a fat, stinky pile of rotting flesh. After all they’re white and white means money. This doesn’t necessarily mean that the majority of the world’s people like them–on the contrary, most of the world hates them, but since they have money, power, prestige, all the trappings of the Great White (Western) Aristocracy they are far more inclined to get a pass for their honkyshines.°

*

So, now we know. The truth of it all is unbearable, insupportable. That is: in a white kakistocracy there simply is no Equality, no Liberty and Justice for All; it’s just idle talk. But there are hierarchies within hierarchies, and the Kakistocracy is no exception. It has never been enough within White Society merely to just be white: this is only true in opposition to those who aren’t white! Left to their own devices, the Europeans simply revert back to their age-old feudal/ethnic hatreds of each other. (The entire history of Germany is a perfect case in point.)

The lower end of the settler’s aristocracy shoulders the upper end. This lower end is still somewhat bourgeois, right down to the lowliest hick in an Appalachian trailer park. But the hick is pissed off because he finds that the weight he carries is simply too much for him to handle. The hick’s ancestors came to America hoping that they, too would one day be Great White Aristocrats. It didn’t happen–not the way he had hoped.

In America, the affluent white Anglo-Saxon can afford to play at being a liberal or even a leftist. When we see this man, all smiles, cotton-candy and hamburgers, we can’t help but feel that as a member of the White Class, he is but the flip side of the resentful white ethnic with her Madonna on the front porch and Polish/Italian/Erin-go-bragh flag flapping in the breeze. One can’t help but feel that if this same Anglo-Saxon were living in some Kentucky shithole, he’d be just as bigoted as Billy Ray, or a little shit like Harley Barber (Barbera). Miss Barbera is pissed off because Big Whitey (Anglo-Saxon) never handed her ass a proper crown yet. She is all of a piece with Bubba and Billy Ray next door with their Jack Daniels and rebel flag. The white crown they wear is a tarnished, hand-me-down one–one reserved for the wops, shanty micks, white spics, polacks and redneck trailer trash.

There’s never enough room at the top in any caste system. The rank-and-file, lower-middle-class white man increasingly finds himself in an economically precarious situation through relentless downsizing; having to shelve his master’s degree while he hunts for a shit job at Walmart; and failing that, he faces homelessness, decades of sexual frustration and settling for the mere luxury of being white in a neoliberal Western culture that is increasingly thinning its high class ranks. And being white but somewhat disgraced (for ethnic or class reasons) the “hick” is at least given the “Liberty” of punching down on the totem pole–as New York City police officers or the Hell’s Angels. Or Dylan Roof. Or even–God forbid–a disgruntled, antisocial millionaire white supremacist like the late Stephen Paddock.

___________________________________

 

*Re: Ancient Greece and Ancient Rome. We witness the birth of hardcore Western racism not in Abbasid Baghdad, or Aryan India, but the Late Roman Empire, when the Romans’ fear and hatred of outsiders reached the point of homicidal and genocidal mania. Just before the sacking of Rome by Alaric in 410 AD, the Romans had already had an obsessively inflated view of themselves as “Romans” being superior to non-Romans, but Germanic incursions into Roman borders had erased the Romans’ sense of security and well-being and threw them into panic mode. Much like today, where the descendants of both Romans and Goths cower together on Cape Europe, in horror of the “niggers” and “towelheads” below and beside them. 

¹The European right loves to sling arrows at Angela Merkel, whom they imagine has gotten in bed with the fucking Ayatollah of Iran. Mind you this is the same Angela Merkel who proclaimed the multicultural experiment to be a “failure.” No shit, Sherlock. A society predicated upon upholding exclusively “White” standards as The Only Way is incapable of becoming genuinely multiracial or even socially equal. By default, anything “Black” is going to wind up in the social shitter.

²The Swedish Far Right imagines that Sweden is “dead.” No: only their idea of Sweden appears to be dead, when in fact it is quite alive. The Arabs and Africans on the bottom of Swedish society, leery of mimicking the stilted, stolid and pedantic mannerisms of the Swedish people (themselves a massive white Global Elite), instead turned inward and against each other, and ultimately against a society that judged them as trash from the start. The hegemony of Islamic extremism was simply a ready-made alternative to the antiseptic nightmare of bourgeois Swedishness. It is not, never has been and never will be representative of anything progressive or humane. But the Islamic far-right (like the Nation of Islam in the USA) was on hand for these alienated black and brown youth when the so-called “Left” was not. 

³As I write this, Bill Cosby, America’s Dad, PhD and all, is on his way to prison. He will most likely die there. Harvey Weinstein, Roman Polanski, Donald Trump and innumerable cops and old Klansmen who beat, tortured and killed “niggers” during and after the Civil Rights movement are still free.

°Sometimes the honkyshines are welcomed. There is actually a group of American Negroes who have sexualized their own self-contempt and white-worship, and have allowed white Nazis to beat them up, put them in cages and force them to eat dog food or dog-shit, holding up signs with racial slurs or swastikas on them, etc. Some of these revolting pics can be seen online. (Of course one can also see the reverse in guilt-ridden white male “cucks” who allow themselves to be raped in the ass by big black thugs, but these are really two flip sides of the same coin. Scratch a sadist and you will find a masochist, and vice versa. At bottom neither the white sex-sadists nor the white sex-masochists think they are dealing with their social equals, but with their social and biological inferiors.)

I Repeat: DARE TO BE UNJUST!

Note: I have noted the deathly silence on this blog’s activities after posting a picture and a quote from the late Romain Rolland, author of the massive roman-flevue “Jean-Christophe.” The quote was taken from the novel.

I placed the quote there for an obvious reason. Yeah, Monsieur Rolland was a white Frenchman, a good friend of Gandhi (well-known racist and flip-flopper) and Rabindrath Tagore (who wasn’t). That’s not the point. The author does not indulge in white worship either on this blog or elsewhere nor does he do it in his private life. The reason why I posted the quote is because it is entirely relevant to what people, especially black people, need to do now.

Rolland writes: “There is an age in life when we must dare to be unjust, when we must make a clean sweep of all admiration and respect got at second-hand, and deny everything truth and untruth everything which we have not of ourselves known for truth. Through education, and through everything that he sees and hears about him, a child absorbs so many lies and blind follies mixed with the essential verities of life, that the first duty of the adolescent who wishes to grow into a healthy man is to sacrifice everything.

The point is perfectly clear. Writing from a contemporary perspective, it’s obvious that there are too many people, including far far too many black people, who get all their values, their knowledge about the world and themselves second-hand. With Afro-Americans in particular, we are still so deeply infested with this idiotic colonial mentality that some of us are even willing to pretend to our white masters that our oppression doesn’t really exist, that it’s just an illusion. Which explains why the late Stephon Clark went to his death thinking that his children (from some Vietnamese woman, whom I’m not going to talk about) were “not black,” that he himself wanted nothing whatever to do with “black.” Or why his brother Stevante was willing to put on a ridiculous coon act in front of the entire nation, to the point of landing himself in jail. It also explains why Melissa DePino, a white woman who captured the entire Starbucks flap on video, was far more willing to call the incident for what it was–blatantly racist–than the very victims themselves.

Rashon Nelson and Donte Robinson sit on ABC News with their attorney, their blank faces staring back at us, carefully censoring their true feelings before the white majority audience–as if mouthing bland platitudes about “standing up” and “this is a people issue” will take the national heat off them. The heat is on them because they are black, of course. It does not matter if they have been victimized or not. Like the ridiculous Stevante Clark, both Mr. Nelson and Mr. Robinson were perfectly willing to settle for a wad of cash in exchange for their dignity. Now if either of these three were willing to take the cash and leave Trumpland, it would make perfect sense. I do not know what either Nelson or Robinson intend to do with their cash and it’s none of my business. But we all know what Stevante Clark intended to do with his because he made himself plain with his goofy-ass behavior.

Unfortunately, Stevante Clark was not the only victim of fascist police thuggery to trade in his dignity for a few pieces of tarnished gold.

Every single stupid thing that we do when it comes to dealing with the white world stems from the fact that we still see white people (and to a lesser extent other non-blacks) as our superiors. We think that no matter how horribly the planet treats us, we still must make believe that our ill-treatment really isn’t so bad. So some white guy kicked you in the ass on the metro, spat on you and called you a nigger? Well, okay. Not a big deal. In fact, maybe the white guy was just angry over something else, and was just taking it out on me. Don’t even bother to ask yourself why he chose YOU, of all people, to vent his disgust on. Don’t bother to ask yourself why much of the world thinks you’re a walking spittoon simply because you’re an African. Laugh. Smile. And above all, love.

Love is the key, isn’t it? Why, sure it is. We’ve heard that old line before. The only goddamned problem is that you never bothered to ask yourself where you got those words from. Who? Your mother? Your father? Some random book, or some friend of yours? And did you bother to ask yourself precisely what “Love” is? Is it a one-way or a two-way street? Is it conditional?

From what any damn fool can see, the “Love” we share with our white overlords clearly comes with a huge laundry list of strange clauses. The most notable clause is from the Bible. Do Unto Others As They Would Do Unto You. Well, then. How do “Others” do unto us, anyway? Ever thought about that? You read the fucking Bible and the damn thing tells you “Love Thy Neighbor.” Okay, then. Your white, Asian, Hispanic, Arab, African or self-hating American colored neighbor hates your damn guts for no good reason. This is how shit happens in the real, everyday world, sir. So what do you do, then? Do you come to this hate-filled neighbor with a love he refuses to show you, preferably with a Bible or Koran in hand? Or do you return the favor, since–as that clause itself would amply illustrate–you should Do Unto Others As They Would Do Unto You?

The other clause (and far more sinister and unspoken) is: you, negro, must love me no matter what, even if I don’t love you. Therefore your honky neighbor has a right to scrawl racist shit all over your car and you must forgive him (or her). The honky will probably get probation, but if you curse at him you might get shot on a technicality, either by the honky or by the cops (who are probably the honky’s friend). The real point I am trying to make is that everything you think you know about love, about forgiveness, about respect, about being an American or being (for that matter) “Black,” you learned it second-hand. You show America a begrudging respect (and your own folk a routine and calculated disrespect) not merely because you are afraid, but because it has been drummed into your head from birth that you belong at the tail end of the bread line because of your ethnicity and color, democracy be damned. Yet at the same token it’s also been drummed into your head that this is your country and that this is a democracy and that you are an integral part of it. So, then–why the fuck do you think belong at the end of the national bread line? And if you are at the end of the fucking bread line, getting everybody’s leftovers every passing decade, why do you still call it a “democracy?” Something is clearly wrong here, but what do you think of all that?

Deep down, you (Afro-American) think you are at fault for all the bad things that are happening in the world. Never mind that you don’t have a goddamned stake in running things, and NO, it’s not because you’re “inferior”–whatever the fuck that means. After all there is a thin line between a man who thinks himself to be inferior (and acts the part out of some sick Pavlovian syndrome) and a man who actually is inferior and thinks himself to be superior–not because the inferior man is genetically deficient or lacks the necessary melanin to build a Great Pyramid, but because this inferior man’s inflated sense of white self makes him feel that his color alone is enough to make him feel superior. Had this superior white man walked in your shoes for a single month (much less a lifetime) you can rest assured his high IQ score would plummet by several dozen points after the first week.

The whole country right now is screeching like drunken magpies about arch-rapist Bill Cosby, while forgetting that their President Sideswipe is pushing humanity towards World War Three. If you ask me, I’d rather have Quaaludes in my coffee and fingers in my crotch than global radiation poisoning. (We only have one planet, after all.) That’s not to say that Cosby is a saint. Bill Cosby is simply the by-product of the same decadent, money-grubbing, hypocritical, neoliberal, capitalist, bourgeois culture that spawned Donald Trump, Jeff Sessions, Roy Moore and the rest of them. That culture is completely antithetical to all true moral values, all sense of right and wrong, everything beautiful, everything positive, and anything even remotely natural and healthy.

Yet you abide by the fake values of this culture and even pledge love for the promoters of this shitty culture without even thinking about it. You go to a Starbucks or a Denny’s or a Cracker Barrel with the intent of eating or drinking their shitty, chemically saturated food. Okay, you dig this funky “food.” You have every right in the world to eat there and to challenge to any degree those who would insist that you have no right to eat at Cracker Barrel, or Denny’s, or Starbucks–the police included. But your eating there puts money back into the pockets of the same schmucks who are kicking your ass, while at the same time, very slowly ruining your health.

There is something very childish about this kind of behavior. It’s typically American, and black Americans are definitely no exception. The average American spends his entire life in some painfully protracted adolescence, blindly believing everything he has been taught and living what James Baldwin has called “the unexamined life”–a life which, he hastened to add, was not worth living. I’m assuming that your average Afro-American is equally adolescent, if in his head if not in his body. You have millions of black men who have prioritized a cheap piece of ass over everything in the world because they imagine that some oozing vagina (or asshole) will make up for their basic lack of manhood–and millions of black women who imagine a blonde weave will give them the womanhood they never had. And why?

Virtually none of them can think for themselves. Very, very few of them will stand back from the chaos that is their society and say, “I won’t accept it.” It’s not enough for an individual rejection of the American insanity; there must be a collective effort to reject the insanity. But whether this rejection will actually take place within Black America is another question entirely.

But, It Ain’t Really Your Life…

The following is neither a screed against nor a puff-piece for the movie. In fact, I haven’t seen it yet. I guess I am obliged to eventually go see and find out what the hoopla is all about. But the trailers I’ve seen so far on YouTube leave me somewhat disconcerted. The whole feudalistic jungle shtick, with grass skirts, spears, plate lips and all, was something to be expected from Disney/Marvel. I can’t really say at this point if Black Panther is simply a far more sophisticated and nuanced take on Jungle Jitters (a notorious Warner Brothers cartoon from 1938 full of grass-skirted and plate-lipped jungle-bunnies), or an Afro-futurist signifying on the racist “Noble Savage” trope. Whatever the case, Black viewers flocking in droves to the theaters are anything but offended.

Director Ryan Coogler has hit pay dirt. Another Official Black First. Chalk it up on the board. Black Panther has confounded all the negative expectations of naysayers (mostly non-black, and generally white) who assumed that “the first big-budget superhero movie with a black lead, predominantly black cast and a black director” would be a box-office flop. It has been just the opposite. So far this film has earned close to a billion dollars at the box-office worldwide, trumping Wonder Woman (in North America), X-Men, Suicide Squad and Star Trek.

To be entirely fair to the Black moviegoer, he or she would rather see a film in which they are in control of their lives, solidly in their own spaces, technologically advanced rather than the usual cliches of poverty, mud-huts, ghettos, drugs, prostitution or the flip side of the same stereotyped coin, ill-gained wealth manifesting itself in flashy cars, McMansions, diamonds and silk, pearls, oversized jackets and gold chains and gold grills. Wakanda is wealthy and technologically far in advance of any other civilization in the world, and even though it’s a total fantasy, provided by Marvel through a hired Black token director, at least the fantasy feels good–if only for 90 minutes.

In the make-believe world of Wakanda, the Afro-American can momentarily picture himself in a world where he or she can be strong, black, beautiful and undiluted with whiteness, with all the futuristic trappings and advanced technology that European civilization never heard of. In this CGI fantasy Black can be Black without Whitey dictating the terms.¹However, there seems to be a problem. The sensibility of Black Panther appears to derive much from Afro-futurism, a concept that (according to Patrick Gathara of the Washington Post) “cannot engage with (Africans) as human beings but, like the white and Chinese worlds, only as props for its own struggles and self-aggrandizement.” Afro-futurism is an engaging school of thought, but the very suggestion that Africans cut out for the stars–rather than engage our enemies down here on Earth–sounds like an ideological cop-out, another way of refusing to deal with an uncompromisingly ugly reality. Wakanda is an Afro-futurist’s wet dream, but it is also a feudalistic nation of greedy elites living in isolation from the rest of “Shithole Africa,” a nation “with the most advanced tech and weapons in the world” that, nonetheless, “has no thinkers to develop systems of transitioning rulership that do not involve lethal combat or coup d’etat.”² Not that Black audiences give a damn, however: they are dancing in the aisles in dashikis as I write this.

Naturally this last fact alone got the alt-Reich hopping mad. Ben Shapiro, the alt-right’s Uncle Tomsky, spluttered in his squeaky cartoon voice that “nobody’s ever gone to see a Captain America movie and said, ‘wow, look, a movie with a white hero! I’m so excited! He’s white!’ Nobody does that in America.” Well, Ben, that’s because white Americans don’t have to do that–it’s taken for granted that their screen heroes are going to be white by default. It’s taken for granted that when some scruffy “negro” appears on screen in saggy pants and with grills in his dirty mouth, he becomes the standard by which every “negro” the world over should be judged by. This does not happen with white Americans, Benny–not even Jews. Over 80% of American movies are entirely white-oriented. That should be a fucking no-brainer. But you know there’s no point in discussing anything intelligently with the American far right. They are so anti-African that they are uneasy with the very idea that an African can actually dream of a better world, much less fight for one in real time.

But that’s just the problem I have with this whole Black Panther phenomenon: it’s yet another instance of Afro-Americans opting for Escapist politics over substantive change.

“It won’t be too long before the director cuts the scene”

When I see this latest box-office smash I can’t help but be reminded that once again, Black American history–to use that old cliche–is repeating itself. It repeats itself for the simple fact that those doing the repeating of history clearly never learned a damn thing from it. We went through this cinematic escapist foolishness before on at least two occasions: once in the early Seventies (Sweetback and Shaft) and again in the late Eighties to early Nineties (Do The Right Thing and Malcolm X). What I’m saying has nothing whatever to do with the quality of either of these films. Like I said, we are not learning from history because we simply don’t like to stand back and analyze anything–let alone ourselves and our situation in the world.

Culturally, we are living in a very sad time. It has become expected of Afro-Americans to pantomime the most idiotic and puerile stereotypes that non-blacks have of us–as if our very identity as Afro-Americans is predicated upon being, in a nutshell, primitive, bestial and inferior. This collective neurosis is not new, of course–there’s simply far more of it than there ever has been in the past. Outside of Wakanda many of us can barely relate to each other as human beings. It should be no secret why this is so. When one is constantly tapering his personality to dimensions acceptable to his persecutors, you can barely look your own brother in the eye because deep down, you know that you have failed morally–you have failed to confront your own persecutor, you have failed to challenge his twisted system of reality; you have repeatedly failed to achieve what you set out to do and what you know, in your heart of hearts, is the right thing to do. As Afro-Americans, we have not only continued to fail in challenging white reality, but worse still we persistently–by our own confused, emotional, childish blundering–reinforce the very racist juggernaut we set out to destroy. How else can one explain the absurdity of the Umar Johnson debacle, the Tariq Nasheed-Boyce Watkins fracas, or the sudden emergence of this new Hotep minstrel show?

There may actually be thousands of unknown, struggling black filmmakers toiling away with enough power of expression to turn the entire cinematic world upside down. But who would be willing to represent such artists, where would they obtain the money to make their films and, assuming they got these films distributed and in theaters, who in the United States–least of all in Afro-America–would be willing to watch such films?

One would have to wonder if Black Panther really represents a step forward for Afro-American cinema, in which case (naturally) we would not need to wonder too much about the matter. In fact, the thing that has escaped most observers about the Black Panther phenomenon is that, in reality–and this especially concerns independent Black film makers–it is a step down. And not because of White Hollywood–after all, White Hollywood is what it is, and generally has made it perfectly clear as to what it thinks about Afro-Americans up till now. No. Black Panther’s success sent a clear message to Afro-American indie film-makers that if you want a smash hit, you’d better create something else other than a realistic, thought-provoking and nuanced film about Africans and Afro-American life; you’d better stick to escapism and fantasy. Forget about Art, forget about Truth, forget about Knowledge. Forget about Reality. Black audiences aren’t fucking interested in seeing these things.

Just ask Charles Burnett, or Haile Gerima, or even Nate Parker. Killer of SheepBush Mama, Birth of a Nation and other such films barely raised eyebrows because those same Black eyes were too busy grooving on Shaft, Pam Grier’s panties, or lost in the CGI jungles of Wakanda. Black Americans put their money into Marvel and other capitalist ventures because frankly, this is where their hearts lay. They certainly think American, contrary to what they might feel about their position in American society. Their hearts do not lay in building their own things; they want what Uncle Sam has, even if what Sammy has may not be worth a damn. They are not interested in cultural or any other revolution; they were not interested in it 80 years ago, 50 years ago, nor 25 years ago and definitely not now. It’s not because Blacks have any particular love for it, or even so much because they are afraid of the ultimate showdown between themselves and White Supremacy. Black Americans are disinterested in confronting White Supremacy because–up till now–it has been extremely difficult for them to imagine living under a system in which they aren’t having their every breath monitored. And why would they? They have hardly known anything else!!

All this talk about “liberation,” “revolution,” “independence” and all this crap is really just abstract bullshit to the average Afro-American. He may agree with it, but how do you really picture all this in concrete terms? What does “liberation” really look like, anyway? What does a truly independent Black nation look like–one that is not dependent, in any way, shape or form, on either Europe, America, the so-called “Middle East” or China?Eight generations of living (for better or for worse) under the iron heel of a European-settler regime has virtually wiped out any idea of what that might be like for the Afro-American. This fact alone explains the smashing success that Black Panther has had with Black audiences in the United States.

In the average African American mind group therapy, or an individual desire to blow off steam to survive the grueling and humiliating grind of living under a white-dominated society gets confused for revolutionary thought. Those of us who ARE serious about revolution wind up in prison, the insane asylum, six feet under or worse. Or, they go into exile in China, Algeria or Cuba. Black Americans are so happy merely to be recognized, merely to be seen by a society that pretends they only exist as a cheap stereotype, that when crumbs in the form of a Disney film (Disney, another corporation that pretended for decades that Black people didn’t exist) are tossed their way, Black Americans savor each crumb as if they were individual pearls.

Yeah, it’s true: Black Panther ain’t really your life. It ain’t nothin’ but another movie. It’s a great movie–so I’ve heard. And if you want to see this film then damn it, just see the film. There’s nothing wrong with 90 minutes of good, clean fun. But for Christ’s sake, do you have to boogaloo in the fucking aisles or wear dashikis to see it, in the meantime?

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NOTES

¹“(T)he Negro is a sort of seventh son, born with a veil, and gifted with second-sight in this American world,” DuBois wrote in 1897–“A world which yields him no true self-consciousness, but only lets him see himself through the revelation of the other world. It is a peculiar sensation, this double-consciousness, this sense of always looking at one’s self through the eyes of others, of measuring one’s soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity.”

²Patrick Gathara, “Black Panther Offers a Regressive, Neocolonial Vision of Africa,” Washington Post, February 26, 2018