There’s been more than the usual amount. Some reflections.
Zimmerman. “It’s hard to find a sympathetic character in the entire saga,” opined our editors about the Zimmerman trial. Oh, I don’t know. I’m quite sympathetic toward Zim. He thought he’d be an active citizen, helping to keep his neighborhood safe. The poor sap thought he was living in the old, free America, where citizens looked out for each other, raised barns together, attended town meetings, and the rest.
That America is long gone, at one with Nineveh and Tyre. Town meetings nowadays are packed with activists from ACORN and GLAAD, and before you can raise a barn you need to spend two years and $100,000 on lawyers to prepare an Environmental Impact Statement. Whom did Zim think Neighborhood Watch has to watch out for? The poor guy’s living in the past, and that’s something toward which I’m definitely sympathetic.
Mandela. Regarding South Africa, the other barrel of racial gunpowder currently waiting for a dropped cigarette, I’m more in tune with the no-sympathetic-characters opinion. Who, after all, is sympathetic here?
Mandela? Watch him singing about killing whites, then get back to me. The blacks at large? It’s hard to be sympathetic to people who hate you. The whites? If they’d carved out a country for themselves and kept blacks out of it, I might feel some solidarity. Instead they used blacks from the beginning as cheap labor in the farms, mines, and as domestic help. How did they think it would end?
If the dark rumors are true and Mandela’s death is followed by an anti-white pogrom, I’d help lobby for survivors to be admitted to the US as refugees merely on the grounds that their presence here would lower the nation’s average per-capita quantity of wishful thinking about race.
That’s hypothetical, though. No, not the pogrom, which I’d put at about a 50/50 probability, but the prospect of Barack Obama’s State Department admitting white South Africans. The probability there is no better than one in ten.
Bloomberg. New York’s Mayor Michael Bloomberg caused much shrieking and swooning when he addressed the issue of his police department’s stop-and-frisk policy.
“One newspaper and one news service, they just keep saying, ‘Oh, it’s a disproportionate percentage of a particular ethnic group.’ That may be. But it’s not a disproportionate percentage of those who witnesses and victims describe as committing the murders….I think we disproportionately stop whites too much and minorities too little. It’s exactly the reverse of what they’re saying. I don’t know where they went to school, but they certainly didn’t take a math course, or a logic course.”
Bloomie was referring to the fact that nine percent of NYPD stops in 2012 were of whites, while only seven percent of the city’s murder suspects were white. So he was right: Too many whites are being stopped.
But…math? Logic? Aaaarrrghhh!—Ice People witchcraft! Tools of oppression!
In an online discussion with fellow Dissident Right types some years ago we kicked around the following arithmetic puzzle: Given that recorded crime rates concern crimes committed by people not in jail, and given that blacks commit crimes at sensationally higher levels than nonblacks, how many more blacks would we have to lock up to get the black crime rate down to the nonblack level?
The discussion petered out over whether there was a need for some Minority Report-type precognitive powers to make the thing work, and I don’t recall anyone producing an actual estimate. In the spirit of math textbooks, I leave this as an exercise for the reader.
In speaking so frankly, Bloomie had forgotten the principal mission of a mayor in a major American city such as New York or Washington, DC: to hasten along the ethnic cleansing of troublesome, tax-eating, low-class blacks from the city to make room for docile, taxpaying, upscale whites and their Hispanic maids while distracting the cleansees by flaunting PC credentials.
For everyday flaunting purposes, just talking up the joys of diversity will do, though if the show trial of a Great White Defendant can be arranged, that’s a bonus.
The Abominable Word. The fuss about celebrity cheffe [sic] Paula Deen confessing to having spoken the word “nigger” stirs an uncomfortable awareness in me. I may as well get it off my chest.
Here’s the thing. When you stub your toe, bang your head on a low beam, or hit your thumb with a hammer, you utter an involuntary expletive—a word you would never think of using in polite company. It just comes flying out. Sometimes you emit a string of them, ungoverned by rules of sense or grammar.
Well, on occasions like that I sometimes say the Abominable Word. It doesn’t come out every time, nor even very often; but once in a while I’ll stub my toe and…“G**d*mn that f***ing n****r!” (I may as well asteriskize it here for full expletive effect.)
I can’t read much into this other than that I’ve completely internalized the word’s taboo quality. It’s just part of my stock of taboo words. Isn’t that what it’s supposed to be? So in this respect at least I am well-socialized, right? Good citizen, Derb!
Cussing is a very low-level mental function, the conscious mind not necessarily engaged at all. My mother spent a fair part of her nursing career in emergency rooms back when people rode motorcycles a lot and before crash-helmet laws. There were a lot of head injuries. She told me that when the brain was so badly damaged that no power of connected speech remained, people could still cuss and would do so all day long.
I can’t believe this is just me, although I wouldn’t mind some assurance on the point. And what comes out when a black person stubs his toe? “G**d*m that creepy-a** cr****r!” perhaps.