By today’s standards of judgment I am a racist. The notion of my downfall from moral grace came to me more than three years ago when I first launched an articulate campaign against then candidate Obama. At that time I produced a number of You Tube videos offered as enlightenment to Obama’s dedication to Black Nationalism and Black Liberation Theology. I recorded three videos, each containing exact quotes from Obama’s two anthologies, ‘Dreams from My Father’ and ‘The Audacity of Hope’. I believed the quotations would rouse the concerns of moral men of all races. I was wrong. Terribly wrong.
Instead, I was notified by You Tube that the content of the videos was ‘objectionable’ to viewers; the videos were all removed by You Tube. Given that I had spent precious hours producing and recording the videos, this decision was disheartening and costly. It forced me to change the format of future videos by ‘softening’ the content. In other words, I went against my own principles and, in future videos, avoided harsh truths.
I was being honed. I was learning to construct my thinking and ideas to avoid riling the sensitivities of blacks and their sympathizers. I modified the content of my videos and conversations to make it appear I was ‘racially fair’.
I was a new-comer to the world of racial criticism; I desperately wanted to avoid causing ‘innocent parties harm’. So it was that whenever I discussed fouled minority behaviors or attitudes I invariably inserted criticisms of whites readily identified by their racist attitudes. In one article, I criticized the Reich Reverend Al Sharpton for his participation in the Freddie’s Fashion Mart tragedy. I interwove objections to Doctor David Duke’s indulgence of anti-Jew rhetoric to ‘soften’ the conversation – Even though neither David Duke nor Jews had anything to do with the article. When completed, the article was a flurry of disconnected, substance-less prose but the mission was completed: I avoided racial criticisms and You Tube expulsion.
I was learning to keep my thoughts to myself. More importantly, I was being taught to deny the reality of my experiences – I was being driven to a world of ‘make believe’; a world where the white man is the ‘devil’ and the black man is the ‘victim’.
I protected myself by writing senseless articles and a few ‘soft’ videos; during that time I experienced a peculiar flare of self-hating depression. I am by nature introspective, a behavior that allows me to examine my disturbances. The solutions were simple: Revert to a life of ignorance, avoid racial truths or accept the fact much of the world is happy living in lies and unhappy with anyone who reveals truth.
Had I chosen to return to my former life, the matter would have been comfortably closed. It is all too easy for any of us to allow the rest of the world to face the consequences that flow from uncomfortable racial situations.
Being invisible is easy; all any one of us has to do to get along in a difficult world is appear to be agreeable and sympathetic to conflicting parties. The consequences of this behavior, I suppose, is the loss of one’s soul and, obviously, suspicions of cowardice. The benefits are that your neighbors, rather than you, are likely candidates for race-driven crimes and animosity (Too bad for them!). This is the course most of us have chosen; the consequences of silent compliance are everywhere.
My other choice was to demonstrate sympathy for blacks – regardless of truth and, in most instances, in-spite of truth. I actually tended in this direction until I was again robbed at gun point by a polite black man who insisted all he was doing was ‘taking back what the white man had stolen’. I submit the fact he had a nine millimeter Beretta pointed at my skull was a bit disconcerting and may have played some role in the final decision I reached as regards managing racial truths.
So it was that I decided to plow ahead with conversations about race – With the uncomfortable absence of the insulation provided by demeaning ‘white devils’. Today, when I talk about ‘black’ I talk about ‘black’ and only ‘black’. My attitudes towards race, and myself, have matured.
Last evening my wife had a conversation with an internationally recognized personality. Among his accolades are efforts he has made to reveal the dangers of the scourge of black rage. He has at all times struggled to appear to be racially ‘fair’. I laud him for his efforts but that ploy tends to serve ‘self’ rather than the ‘truth’ – again, the consequences are obvious. At his level of fame, however, he has to use extreme caution lest the combined efforts of predatory racialists destroy his efforts to reveal truth and, very likely, the gains he has made to enlighten the world to the racial animus that plagues black communities. I fully understand that necessity. It is, by nature, an issue of pure survival: The mere hint of racism has the power to inflame rage, violence and destroy individual lives.
During his conversation with my wife he asked, “Do you think I am crazy? Racist?” It was an unexpected but valid question. Even at his level of exposure, and with the supports of tens of millions of people, the lingering effects of errant cultural behaviors tear at his conscience. I understand. I understand because men like him, who reveal painful truths to the world, suffer the same plague of moral conscience I endure: We don’t want to harm another human being. I spent the remainder of last evening and much of this day contemplating that famous man’s concerns.
My metamorphosis from substance-less appeaser to an advocate for racial truth has followed a circuitous, painful course. I, too, have endured accusations of racism – almost ceaselessly – though by no means to the extent far braver souls have endured. My reaction to those accusations has remained fundamentally unchanged. Today, though, I understand those reactions are internal manifestations that flow from years and years of being indoctrinated to believe that avoidance rather than courage is the better part of valor. I believe it is healthy for me to question if, indeed, I am a hate-filled racist, seeking some form of superiority or control.
Accusations of ‘racist’ or ‘racism’ rile elements of self-doubt and suspicions within me. Those internal accusations are followed by questions of my veracity, my willingness to adhere to truth rather than self-serving exaggeration.
In this racialized world, however, the delicate nature of black sensitivities is such that the slightest infringement induces backlash. I recognize that that backlash is not the expression of a race in misery; it is a race insisting upon control; it is a race seeking to diminish those truths that may arouse sympathetic souls to take a second gander at the contributions blacks have made to their own misery - ‘Self-imposed’ misery, I call it.
I came to understand that I wasn’t harming blacks by revealing truth: I was betraying the lies they perpetuated to distort and nullify truth. That I allowed myself to be a pawn in a sick game of racial ‘hide and seek’ says much about my racial confusion.
Another emotion I experience when I write racial articles is the fear of societal repercussions. The white race has become predatory and cannibalistic towards one another, a behavior that nullifies conversations on race.
The question of the Boer Genocide, for instance, is a magnet for accusations of racism; once those accusations are raised, the issue of genocide slides neatly into the abyss, the questions and issues negated. Those of us engaged in the conversation spend much of our time and energy defending ourselves against accusations of racism - form whites and blacks. The adage, “Destroy the messenger, destroy his message” applies to this mode of distraction; a mode that tragically allows the questioned condition, Boer Genocide, to continue. I, for one, no longer refute accusations of racism as doing so detracts from the substance of the conversation. As I have learned, there are thousands of distractions that can be employed to avoid examining truth.When truth becomes the forbidden fruit evil is lingering somewhere in the shadows.
Another feeling that slithers through me is my dedication to justice. I avoid ‘fairness’ like the plague unless I’m attempting to manipulate the conversation. It goes without saying that the concept of ‘fairness’ is not universal; blacks and their sympathizers interject ‘fairness’ into the conversation to distract from the substance of the issues. “You’re not being fair,” is as destructive to the conversation as “You’re a racist” – each of these distracting elements is intended to divert the truth.
Along the way I’ve learned the emotional pitfalls that befoul my commitment to grasping and revealing truth. I’ve learned to temper my words, to caution my comments, to avoid arousing the ire of predatory racialists. My efforts have been unsuccessful to date; so much so, in fact, I’ve surrendered the notion that there is a means and method through which the pursuit of truth can be advanced in the absence of accusations of racism. This lone realization has forced me to move forward – even with the occasional drone of emotional conflicts and self-doubt.
Since my journey to understand painful racial truths began, one thought has plagued me: Blacks and their sympathizers eagerly diminish truth without giving a thought to the pain or consequences they are inflicting; to them, for them, the end justifies the means. It is here, in this festoon of selfishness, accusations and lies, that the difference between men with souls and men without souls is found: Men with souls are burdened by conscience.
