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The racism industry
INTRODUCTION: THE HUSTLE ON BOTH SIDES OF THE AISLE
I was there, in New York, in the early 1960s, as the con was taking shape.
It was a two-step between aspiring black artists and rich Upper East Side white liberals. The background music to this shuffle had nothing to do with the brilliant innovations of jazz, composed and performed by some of the best minds in the city. Those musicians were left out in the cold.
The background tune was a thump-thump of clumsy pretension on both sides, a mish-mash of surreal deservedness, fake fawning generosity, guilt, with cash on the table.
Less cash than you would think. And fewer openings of real doors. And decidedly minor talent in the room.
It was a start. People were learning how to play the game.
The Vietnam War was in the early stage. There was no free-speech movement. The Beat poets and novelists were white, so they were out of the picture.
The liberal penchant for mixing with strange people, outlaw types, reached for Black, and was flavored with a few touches of civil rights language.
And maybe could-be money. If everybody played their cards right. If nobody went too far. If accusations and confessions were kept at reasonably low levels.
A white lawyer who lived just off the Park wanted to know what a ten-cent bag of stems, leaves, and seeds could do for his head. To remedy his steady-state tick-tock boredom. The black painter could fix him up. No problem.
A white doctor knew people at the federal level who were talking about creating the National Endowment for the Arts. Funding. Grants. Fellowships. Travel abroad. More maybes.
If there was a crossover star in this melodrama, it was novelist Norman Mailer, who on his best days was capable of sheer brilliance on the page. But to ward off his own sense of boredom, he turned to “fact,” and broke ground as a super-serious prophet of a new-fangled existentialism.
In 1957, Mailer wrote a 9000-word essay, The White Negro. The title said it all.
Mailer made his message clear. If you wanted to be real and you were a white man, you had to somehow take on the “black experience” and discover Your More Basic Outlaw Self There.
To black men, it was laughable. “You mean Whitey wants to be poor, develop a heroin addiction, and walk down blind alleys at midnight and find the Answer?”
FLASH FORWARD: THE CON IN FULL BLOOM
In 2010, the fearless (black) writer, Stanley Crouch, launched this:
“Overstatement, melodrama, militant distortion and absurd academic theories have dominated the business of racial complaint since the early '60s. Then, James Baldwin and Malcolm X were sought after speakers nationwide, on and off television. One provided eloquent weeping and moaning, the other, impotent saber-rattling. Baldwin encouraged guilt for a long tradition of injustice, the X man terrified as a conveniently impotent boogey monster in the horror movie of race. Intentionally or not, each became an entertainer.”
Since those early 60s, the pot has been kept boiling, and now, of course, it has overflowed.
Every imaginable hustle has been aimed at an audience as large as the population of America (and other countries).
There is an entire billion-dollar industry devoted to rote, dumb, nursery-rhyme, organized re-education about race. Major corporations have submitted and climbed on board to flaunt their humble progressive status.
Whining and lying about reparations is PhD level activity. No university in its right mind (about self-protection) would deny a candidate the right to opine a thesis on the subject.
A young person can thus call himself a doctor of intellectual knee-capping and an enforcer of academic storefront racketeering. “I know you paid us our cut last week, Cracker, but we show up every week.”
And of course, this doesn’t begin to tell the story of actual street riots and the destruction they wreak.
The major absurdist theme in this war is: PAST IS PRESENT. Whatever slavery was, it is just as alive today as it was in the 19th century, and the players then are the players now. It’s magic.
The subject that must not be broached is the ACTUAL history of black slavery in Africa; the buying and selling of black people by black people to black people. While the white man was there, and before the white man was there.
Obviously, that history would ruin the game. The game of guilt, force, intimidation, specious argument, victimhood, and money.
Squeezing coin out of one place and building up the pile in another.
If you can find a white supremacist group in Alaska, maybe you can blame it for a crime committed in Philadelphia. Try. Play that kind of cognitively dissonant tune enough times, and people will see phantom shadows everywhere.
As usual, much of the black and white law-abiding audience for this stage play is confounded and rendered into a state of disbelief. “You mean that MSNBC host is INTENTIONALLY hustling us with all that race talk? How could she? She wouldn’t do that.”
Which is what every rube and mark says after the con has been worked. “There must be some mistake.”
Yet the end-game is: Black America is left holding the bag, and the bag is empty.
That is what is there where the road stops.
To take down America---black people used as pieces, instruments, and weapons. At which point, the commanders in charge logistically consign the old black weapon to a warehouse and forget about it.
Guaranteed equality of outcome, social justice, compensation? They were always pipe dreams. Temporary delusions in the game.
There is no proprietary black soul to be discovered, and no white soul, either.
Heading off and knocking out the future staring all of us in the face has to do with individuals who demand the whole truth, with all the risks that entails.
And if the true history of black slavery can be placed on the table, in full view, and if it can kept there, there is a chance. A chance to expose the facts of white and black evil---which is to say, human evil---that created and sustained it.
The silver bullet to the heart of the werewolf racism industry is the actual history of slavery.
In Africa, black people selling black people to black people, and to white people. Slave masters owning a human market. African slavery both before and after the white man arrived on the continent.
The whole story.
Leveled at the hustle, until it falls apart.
And shouts and screams of ideologues fade away.
And the racism industry is dust.
Kill such an industry, and HUMANS start to appear.
-- Jon Rappoport