It’s good to be home again.
And to be so enlightened.
I haven’t gotten my Participation Certificate yet, but I
feel pretty good about the week I spent at BLM’s Re-Education Camp. I learned so much. I’m certainly a better
person now.
Frankly, my first impression was that I had arrived in the
wrong place.
I expected most people at a BLM camp to be black, or as the
media have recently decided Black (with a capital B). But most of the people there were White. (See,
I learned.)
Like really White. Blindingly
White. Whiter than me, by far. Like so White they were almost a light blue. Unhealthy
looking, too, like shoppers in a health-food store.
My first thought was they probably never spent much time
outside. They probably never did
anything more strenuous than texting. Or
maybe walking up the stairs from their mom’s basement to get money from her purse
to pay the Domino’s or Grub Hub delivery person.
But here they were, in all their pale glory. In their black
(Black?) T-shirt with the screen-printed Black Power Fist or Black Lives Matter
text they bought online with mom’s credit card.
Ready to learn how to be taken seriously. Ready to discover how they
could fit in with racial and economic groups that normally terrify them, and maybe routinely shook them down for their lunch money. Ready to take on “The Man” to fight for racial justice, whatever that was.
And maybe, just maybe, get laid. Because, honestly, that’s the hope of a lot
of adolescent and socially awkward Whites marching in protests. If you’re an unattractive White string bean or a porker you may think a protest could be your best shot at getting
laid without having to pay for it. Especially when you’re wearing a face mask that
hides your zits.
Anyway, I digress. I
only brought that up because most of the Whites, male or female or somewhere
in between, in camp didn’t look like they’d ever had sex with a real person
other than themselves, or were likely to anytime soon.
But back to my studies.
My first course was Sloganeering.
It was taught by a self-described “radical Marxist
transvestite self-loathing anti-Semite atheist” (born as Jane White to a
bourgeois WASP family in New Jersey) now listed on the course outline as Patrice
Lumumba Kanesha Rosenstein-Castro-Guevara-Rivera.
Or just “Pat” for short because that was an appropriately
gender-fluid name.
Pat rejected such patriarchal pronouns as he/she, him/her, his/hers,
and used only they/their to describe themselves (Pat). Yeah, it got a little confusing at times. But
most of us in their class eventually got the hang of it. We used first names a
lot.
I often wondered how this gender-neutral thing would work in
countries with languages where ordinary inanimate items have a male or female gender
and verbs to match. I never brought this up in class because Pat had a tendency
to punish anyone who was overthinking.
Anyway, about Sloganeering.
The theory behind it all is that the slogan must be offensive enough
that media types won’t be able to resist it, even if they have to bleep out curse
words. Actually, the more bleeps the
better. Listeners could then imagine the worst.
Yet it also must be simple enough even a four-year-old, or a
teen or adult with the intellect of a four-year-old, can easily remember it,
even if they don’t understand it.
That’s harder than it seems. Most great slogans are short
and memorable, like “Pigs in a blanket; Fry ‘em like bacon.” Easy to remember; hard to forget. Hard to replicate, too. A classic.
Next was Situational Protest Tactics, taught by an aging
hipster named Moonbeam McDuster (probably a nom-de-guerre). McDuster was a legend in the protest
industry. He’d managed some of the
biggest protests: fighting voter ID
laws, school vouchers, Chick- fil-A store openings, racially insensitive dress
codes, gender-specific school restrooms, and – lest we forget – his courageous
stand against Subway’s five-dollar-foot-long ripoff. (It wasn’t a full 12 inches long.)
From him we learned tips on how to prearrange events on
social media. How to blend in with
ordinary protestors until the time was right and then working up everyone into
a frenzy.
We also learned effective media manipulation
techniques. Like co-opting local
politicians, creative taunting, distance spitting, faking an injury, inciting a
riot and looting on cue, how to set up a “money shot” (i.e., cop cars on fire;
smashing windows) for camera crews, and how to avoid harming media
folks once a riot starts.
Now, perhaps like many others, I’d always wondered why no CNN, MSNBC, ABC, NBC, and CBS reporters or camera crews
ever got hurt even in the most violent BLM protests. And why the cameras always
seem to be at the right place at the right time, too. The secret, it turns out, is wireless
earpieces – you know, like the curly-wire jobs on Secret Service details –
linking the media and protest organizers in real time. Who knew?
In other courses, we also learned that while Black Lives
Matter – probably the most – we still needed to convince more White people that
everything bad is and has always been their fault. Black poverty. Black illiteracy. Black unemployment. Black males in prison.
Because everything is the fault of Whites. And their legacy of enslaving Blacks.
The public-school system saw the irrefutable truth in
this early on. Lesson plans and textbooks had for decades reflected how slavery
shaped American history from the beginning.
Instead of a proud history as some claimed, America had in fact a shameful past. It included rapes of Black slaves by white masters, lynchings of innocent Blacks, secretly infecting Blacks with syphilis to study its effects, segregation, miscegenation laws, murders of civil rights activists, assassinations of Black leaders like MLK, Jr., and suppression of Black votes and racial discrimination even today.
There wasn't much else in American history worth noting.
If it weren't for slavery, America wouldn't be the racist nation it remains today. Nor as rich; that is, just for the Whites. Also because of slavery, Blacks never shared in that prosperity.
The New York Times and its
award-winning 1619 Project spelled it all out.
Whites in the media and among Democrats in Congress, as well
as all Blacks in the House and Senate (except one), agreed.
Blue-state governors and big-city mayors also concurred that Whites were
ultimately responsible for everything bad in the country, and especially in
their cities, even for Black on Black crime and the high number of Blacks killing other Blacks
every day.
Blacks couldn’t be held to the same standards as Whites
because Blacks never recovered from their enslavement by Whites.
It was time for Whites to admit their guilt. And pay up. Not
just with money – although that would be nice – but also with perpetual special
treatment of Blacks. Until reparations
come through, Blacks should get everything for free – free college, free
housing, free guaranteed minimum income, and whatever else they decide – and
the right to discriminate as they wish on the basis of race, as just
restitution for slavery at the hands of Whites.
Because it’s owed to them.
That’s what the entire movement is really about. And why convincing Whites is the
struggle. Many older White people remember
reading books years ago that claimed a different view of history. Not all Whites watch CNN or read The New
York Times; some even watch Fox News.
On top of that, older Whites are notoriously stubborn and won’t
easily give up the marks of their Whiteness.
Like that “Protestant work ethic” thing. Their notion that children do better in
two-parent households. Their insistence
on personal responsibility. The high
value Whites place on being on time, being polite, and speaking proper
English. Their belief in objective,
rational linear thinking; cause and effect relationships; and their reliance on quantitative
analysis.
It's so ingrained in Whites we may have to intimidate
them until they accept the blame for everything and give up these foolish and
oppressive notions of White culture.
Hence, the riots will continue and cities will continue to
burn.
Now, before anyone thinks BLM Re-Education Camp was nothing
but hard work, it wasn’t. There were a
lot of games and contests to break up the workload.
The most challenging was the brick toss – especially
difficult for a lot of the noodle-armed pasty White guys; frankly, the bigger,
heftier White girls embarrassed them.
The skateboard window smash game – my favorite – had competition
between teams. White team members
smashed the windows so their handful of Black team members could race in and
steal stuff. We got points for highest number of useless items stolen in a
minute or less.
My team won mainly because we were lucky enough to draw a
Michaels craft store as our assigned target, which was, as always, crammed full
of completely useless stuff. I’ll admit the teams that drew an ABC liquor store,
or even the Dollar Store, got better stuff, but a win is a win.
And it was about the only time we Whites had a chance to
interact with Blacks. Which was nice.
The rest of the time the camp leaders kept us segregated.
So anyway. It’s good to be back. Mom and Dad said it’s good to see me again
and have me back in their basement.
While I was away, they’d restocked my minifridge with all my favorite
juice boxes. They also refilled my supply of my favorite Pop Tarts and bought
me a new PlayStation.
Then they asked if I had fun at camp. If I made any new friends there. And I just
snapped.
Fucking oppressive White people. Always with the questions.