Teaching Whites To Hate Themselves Or, One Hour of American Television: A Dissection

Teaching Whites To Hate Themselves

Or, One Hour of American Television: A Dissection

by Douglas Wright

20 January 2004

The 1954 Supreme Court case of Brown v. Board of Education, called "landmark" by legal scholars because it screwed Whites in a landmark kind of way, rode to victory astride this sorry burro of "social science": school segregation is bad because it makes the lil' blackies feel blue.

At "trial," to use the term generously, it all came down to the riveting testimony of a black activist named Kenneth Clark, who had for his excuse of a day job professor of psychology at the City University of New York. Clark, who was always explicit about his political goal of desegregation, shuffled into a local black school and showed black children White dolls and black dolls. He then asked, "which doll is better?" They picked the White doll. Set aside for a moment the shocking possibility that the blacks picked the White doll because, untutored in the politically correct answer, they instinctively and correctly chose the better racial brand. It was Clark's theory that the harmful effects of legal segregation led junior blacks to think of themselves, unjustifiably, as inferior, something that could be remedied by plopping them into school seats next to White children. Again, please ignore the inherent illogic here: If blacks are in fact no different from Whites, it stands to reason that they wouldn't need our benevolent company to make them feel better. They'd do fine on their own. But like children begging to sit at the grownups' table at Thanksgiving, blacks sought an infantile version of "equality," and as any White American below age 35 well knows, they got it, and have since turned American public education into a chewed-up playpen penitentiary unfit for human habitation. Meanwhile, much of the boomer generation, having gone to White public schools, continues to insist that integration is simply wonderful.

Today, black activists have taken the reverse tack: for us to feel good, we need to see lots of other black faces. Or, they've championed that view when it benefits them, and the polar opposite Brown v. Board view when it... benefits them. That is, we needs to "be with" Whites so's we can gets blinged-out Suburbans, and we needs to be wit' our own kind when we just chillin'. Dig, dog? I once read that black women are offended when White women flip their hair, because black women can't do that.

I chuckled when I read that, but I didn't entirely dismiss that sentiment. Because I think that the reverse tack (feeling good means we need to see our own kind) is a bit more honest. If I'm not mistaken, more serious social scientists have delved into this topic. I seem to recall a Stanford study showing that blacks recognize and distinguish black faces better than Whites, and vice-versa, giving some credence to the black comedian's quip that all White guys look like Jeffrey Dahmer.

They might be excused for the inability to distinguish Whites. Because the media stream of American society today is one unending blur of black faces, far out of proportion to their percentage of the population. I start my ride to work by staring at subway posters of the ugly-faced rapper DMX, a black woman warning of AIDS among the African-American community, Dave Chappelle, a gangster-dressed comedian, warning me that his show is about air, a handsomely-drawn black man and woman dancing in an ad for Remy Martin liquer, LL Cool J and Gabrielle Union starring in "Deliver Us From Eva," and a collection of black and brown faces touting the benefits of LaGuardia Community College.

Like all other media, television is a major offender in White image displacement. These days, I watch much less television than I once did. I still like The Simpsons and Law and Order (recognizing the Jewish influence on both programs), and appreciate the spin-free virtues of C-SPAN, but to me, much of television is, as so nicely described by a politician years ago, a vast wasteland. Vast jungle is more like it. National Review scribe John O'Sullivan once described sitting down to watch MTV as a "cultural safari" of sorts. O'Sullivan is Semitically Correct, but he was on to something. What follows are the anthropological pen-jottings of my own recent safari.

One Hour of American Television, Saturday evening, February 22, 2003. Various channels. Source: New York City's Time Warner Cablevision.

7:00: The instant the television flickers to life, I am face to face with a black woman, Cheryl Wills, and an Asian woman, Susan Jhun. Wills and Jhun are newscasters for NY1, New York City's all-news channel and, as its name would suggest, channel one on the Time Warner cable. Wills and Jhun are chattering about the oil explosion that rocked the City recently. The shot switches to a Coast Guard spokesman, who is White, and one of the few White faces I'll see over the next hour. The camera switches back to negress Wills, who informs us that a 19-year-old, first name "Jamal," has been shot in Harlem. The very next news bit is about another "Jamal," this one from Brooklyn, who was killed by gunfire in Brooklyn. Yes, folks. That's two Jamals, shot back to back, their nigger fates delivered in a chirpy sing-song by a lipstick-wearing, clear-spoken co-ethnic. Commercial No. 1 pops on: it's a series of sneering, snarling black faces yelling at me, with an Asian man thrown in. An ad for Russell Simmons' Def Poetry Jam. The very next ad is for AOL service, and features the (actually, not untalented, but a negress nevertheless) Missy "Misdemeanor" Elliott. She wants us to get our freaks on.

7:16 CBS, channel 2. A White male host for an entertainment news show speaks for a second only to introduce... Paula Abdul. She introduces some Grammy footage. Shot of P. Diddy and companion. P. Diddy mumbles something ghetto about his companion's provocative attire. We're then shown a series of black vixens, all nearly naked, cooing at the camera. Now, I'm no prude, it's just that the combination of black and sex always makes me a little queasy. Especially the non-stop diet fed to us by the Talmudvision. Piece wraps up with a little interview with Will Smith and wife, Jada something.

7:19 Click. Ad. A White woman is pulling a berry or pea out of her nose, it's an ad for Internet grocery delivery. Message is that their food is better handled. Next ad begins with a shot of a black hand on a turntable, it's an ad for Road Runner, the Internet service. Next ad is for the movie "Seven," featuring that staple of Hollywood, the black cop teamed up with the White cop. Here, Morgan Freeman and Brad Pitt. I remember the movie: Morgan Freeman's wise, Brad Pitt's unruly. Just how it works in real life, you know. Programming comes back on. Assassins, with Antonio Banderas (I think that's who it was) and Sylvester Stallone. Rule observed: no White man may appear without a minority-sort nearby. Whites are not valid human beings unless accessorized with blacks, Asians or Hispanics. Accessorize, accessorize, accessorize, girl!

7:23 New channel. More Grammy's reporting. Gay, fur-coat wearing White man gives us the fashion rundown. More near-naked black women. He caps his piece with, "It's about... being as naked as possible." He hopes to see "Ashanti," the black singer, in such a state. He exhorts us to accessorize.

7:25 Ad. A White woman is talking with a black salesman at a Hyundai dealership. She is pushing and saying "Get out" every time he announces a great feature. Finally, he says, "Don't do that again." Because Whites are prone to violence, and blacks are calm and composed.

7:26 Click to a Fox thing about Pam Grier, the black female of "blaxploitation" film fame. Pam is being lauded by Beyonce Knowles, a black woman who raps, sings, or burns down her boyfriend's house, I forget which. Pam talks about blaxploitation films. Cut to a shot of her character Foxy Brown, circa the 70s. Foxy tells the black man that she's only interested in straight sex, but that she's great at that.

7:34 Movie, "Cool Runnings." White John Candy is the coach of the Jamaican bobsled team. Isn't that funny? One of the black bobsledders praises a teammate: "He's one bad mudda." Switch to a competition scene. The all-White Canadian team is shown, they're clearly the overconfident bad guys. The good-hearted and scrappy Jamaicans will surely beat them.

7:40 Click up to public TV. It's a home repair show, two White guys are cutting wood. Usually public TV is bashing Whites. It got lucky this time. I've got your number, Bill Moyers. Bill! Watch out for that tree!

7:43 VH1, the MTV companion, owned by you-know-who. We hear of a Luis Morales and his drug problems. Mr. Morales was a small-plane pilot. Why are we hearing about him? It's a piece about the black singer Aaliyah. A black woman with a red bandana and a black man with a Kangol-type hat are moaning about her untimely death in a plane crash. We are reminded that Aaliyah was black and very sexy. Her death was a great tragedy.

7:47 I switch the channel just in time for an image of a black woman walking toward me. It's an ad for Monistat, the feminine cream. Black women and their vaginas. Wouldn't even the black rapper who rapped about loving black pussy get tired of this?

7:48 New channel. Steven Seagal is praying with Tibetan Buddhists. It's OK to be a Whitish action star, so long as you acknowledge that little yellow people are the real deal.

7:54 Fox Sports. College basketball. Need I say more? Let's just say it wasn't BYU playing. I switch the channel again.

7:54 Two black women are talking on a cable access show about what it takes to get into rap.

7:57 Another cable access channel, another black woman. She's talking about the music business in Miami.

7:58 A New York 1 piece (on a different channel) about Amy Ruth's, a black soul food restaurant. The food is fattening but good, the reviewer says. Black people are shown eating food prepared by black people.

7:59 Que Locurra! A Spanish channel. It looks like a cheap Hispanic knock-off of Jackass. I say "a" Spanish channel because there's more than one in New York.

7:59 BET, Black Entertainment Television. Because blacks apparently don't see enough of themselves on other channels, at least according to Kweisi Mfume, who lodged that complaint suspiciously contemporaneously with a bid for his own show. The rapper Ludacris is rapping, near-naked black women are grinding on a bed. The rap entrances me. "Ludacris balance and rotate all tihahs!" he booms. A black woman sings, "Put a cherry on top and cream it up." Alright, the Ludacris rap was funny. But this was being shown in broad daylight, for God's sake. I don't have kids, but when I do, I don't think I'll even let them watch TV. Videotapes, maybe. Could the National Alliance produce a recruitment video without the black rap next time? I know, I know. Pierce was making a point. But something the kids could watch, you know.

8:00 New channel. An ad for mattresses. It features a smiling black family, bouncing on their new mattress. Because Whites, apparently, don't sleep. So there you have it. According to the prime time images on my television, America is a black woman. A black woman who either raps or sings and occasionally needs vaginal cream, either before or after she has sex with Ludacris on her brand-new mattress.

Any of this matter? For the millions of White drones plodding through their modern American lives, yes. They absorb this crap, radiation-burst after Jewish-produced radiation-burst. Its multiracial messages are burned into the deepest recesses of their hardened little brains, programming them to stumble toward their own destruction. I once dated a cute little blonde, didn't last long. Every time I arrived at her apartment, gangsta rap played on her stereo. The woman was liberal, but the gangsta stuff about "killin' faggots" didn't seem to bother her. Authentically black, I guess. She spent Saturdays at African dance lessons and once declared that Martin Luther King, Jr.'s holiday was really the only true political holiday, more important than the Fourth of July. This woman was a law student, and didn't strike me as inherently unintelligent.

Credit for this line goes to the editor of this site, but truly, the cathode ray tube is the White man's gas chamber. To think I pay for the privilege.

DOUGLAS WRIGHT