“What does the white man want”, the young girl asked, trying to make sense of the tales history had shared with her.
Why is she so brave to ask this? How was she so brave to ask this? Surely she must have been naive, or maybe I the naive one… I guess she assumed that old people grew up in a simpler time, a time when political correctness was neither a norm nor an expectation, and therefore there was less confusion in communication, or something. the ancient ones, their minds had not known and given birth to desire and the need to be liked by how we say what we want. Back then, in bygone times, there were less things, ideologies and constructs to mistaken the essence of the message for *.
The white man, she had learned to understand, was the chosen symbol of “the oppressor”. Napoleon on his horse… Leopold *Pukes*, Rhodes and the rest of the bastards and demi gods, prancing around, reducing entire nations to a rubble of owned bodies and sub human labour. Even in their history, their very intact lie of a history, not blemished by conquest or a scorched earth, a history that they had the privilege to write themselves… The white man cemented this superiority complex by feeling the need to Potray himself as creator of the hierarchy*, with dominion over everything, Over the fish of the sea, the birds of the sky, even over the white woman created equal to him. What of the rest of us, the damned ones, the black ones…? Doomed to eat the crumbs falling off the table, arrogantly trickling down to the humble… The lazarus’ of the world, poor in flesh, rich in spirit. and we shall not die. But I dont want to be poor on earth and be rich in heaven. Its all Lies. Lies of the white man, the quintessence of The Oppressor.
You heard of this god the roman empire spread across the world? The white one, with a white beard on a white cloud, commanding his kings of the most foul of things? The one who is pro slavery and rape and is against the same free-will which sets us apart from the animals*… This god, who’s divine plan involved the subjugation of the darker skinned people the world over… The jealous god of the canon bible. My human mind argues jealousy a silly trait for a god, supposedly omniscient and omnipotent… But he is white, and therefore wise and should not be questioned… those heathens say.
A walking, talking book of contradictions, the white man is globalisation, the mcdonaldisation of the world… glocalising foreign ideals… and indigenous anything worth keeping lost in the process. He, the corporations that pilage resources of peoples who once lived only on the elements, land, sun, spirit and water. And us, the oppressed and robbed are to be grateful and say grace for a low wage paying job divinely promised to us by the politicians? Remaining Lost because I have no land, but I Must live, A wanderer, here.
It is for this, and other reasons The rest of the humans, looked at history and took a unanimous decision. Just like a nod is a symbol for yes, a handwave a salutation, the white man is the symbol of the cause of oppression. These explanations get tiring. Its obvious, its history, white history creates white noise, everybody’s talkin, its loud but the conversations dont make sense. Lies. It was never to be mistaken for a attack on individual whites, but again, what is an insult, if not freedom of expression. On this here our land… insults they fall easily on us… Like the rays of the sun falling on the righteous and unrighteous. It isnt safe no more, it was never safe, it was always coming to this. We turned from the gods, in turn The gods turned from us and allowed the white man to play a game with our existence… See this economics of adam smith and his crony capitalists.
I sang a song at a white gospel Black church in my youth. Lost, it went right over my head. It asked the question… “How can you allow the devil to make you the ball in his game”.
White washing. Skin and History.
The girl, a coconut, I had seen her but she was not my friend, the fragile one who owned a puppy…
puppys create fragile kids, soft and tender with a consideration for life… they learn to be loved without working for it. As if love is free, and needs not to be earned. They end up expecting love*, whatever they think love is. Brats.
She was Concerned, learning these things about her people. Lately she’d been listening, hearing and Witnessing the atrocities, black bodies, carelessly exposed, piling up the news. She felt pain, That pain smelt black, like firewood smoke, open toilets and salvaged half smoked cigarettes. Tears are drawn with white paint to accentuate their tearsness they said in art school. But she remained oblivious to the intentions behind this carnage commited by the whites upon the blacks from Congo to Haiti, South Africa to india, Ferguson to Palestine, uptill this day.
There were many sensitive things she had read. She had known of a Hector Pieterson who died for the blacks in ’76. What a young saint, a messiah, even. He was a good white boy she thought, like her mom, a liberal lesbian.
Why werent all white people like him and her? Puzzled. She learnt later that he, this gigHector Pietersen was a black, just a black boy with a white name, Gunned down by white bullets… getting caught up in the politics of his people, like her, oblivious to the depth of this hatred. His name couldnt save him from gods will. At least the white god could pronounce his name when he got to heaven… that is if non-beliving blacks killed by white bullets go to heaven…
I hope history is fair to his memory, in time we’ve seen symbols lose the essence of what they symbolise. In this case, the imposed supremacy of the white race over others.
How do we not mention the Nazarene avatar, who now hangs, in african homes, the palest of beings permitable… a foreign god, lost, to be honest. I wondered if she knew her own gods, what a marvalous creation they would make her…
She was but a child, and the whites had been so good to her, they had adopted her, redeemed her from the squalor of township living. Options. How was she now to reject them and their advances, does she run away to carve an uncertain life of being black, living by luck and the grace of the Gods. Would she deal, with the pain of being black in a world without whites, the idea alone was so painful. She had not known a love for a whole people, her own people. She had loved her mom and her dogs, both white and bitchy, and that was it. She was young and overwhelmed by being black and feeling white inside.
What does the white man want?
Then An old man almost shouted, being restrained only by old age…
“Babatlang? “What… What do they want, you ask? he said with precarious teeth, coughing up a sentence, “Madi…! blood! thats what they want…they want, our, blood. its about Bloodlines this war… and they know… they know that soon… soon they will disappear, if they do not start breeding with us, the blacks”. He told of how They were paying children to have children in england not too long ago. “They’re having less babies, their women struggle to concieve and their men not very virile, its as if the earth is purifying itself from the white fungus by stoping its spread first”, he chuckled.
“Its the melanin I tell you”, he continued. “Look at the africans across the globe, plentiful as the sands of the seashore, the chosen ones… we’re closest to the ether, To the one who appeared first”. “You see…” He tried to make us understand “Everythings got a price, a black man dead is worth more. Do you know how much one gram of melanin costs? $384/ gram*… Of course they are gonna kill you.” Was it true, that They cannot afford to have us multiply. Look at what they’ve done. Fed us bad food, arrested us, pharmaceuticals drugged us with aids and the hope for its cure, keeping the good drugs illegal*. He said as spat, “Look at this Zika virus… Shrinking the heads of black babies, whats this desparation, who signed off this biological warfare? they’ll do whatever they can to discourage us from reproducing. But you cant fight nature, so Now they’ve got cause to castrate the black man mentally… teach him that manhood is being rough and tough and rapey and gross. Castrate him emotionally, send capitalism to capture his father, cultivate the feminine expect of his humanity as supreme, with the ability to exist without men. Imbalance causing lies to stop the reproduction of big strong africans…” I got tired of writing, quoting him and his serving of conspiracy sense and patriarchal bullshit hindering the revolution. He spoke for long, no one expected the old croc had it in him not to speak as a senile old thing. and he coughed to breathe his last, but he never died… They jeered and laughed heartily as if they believed him but of course no one can entertain such folly*.
“They want the same things that we want”, Shouted another low confidence sounding mother fucker… “They want A life… a future for their offspring… green pastures for the beasts and a home for the heart. Everybody wants their child to succeed, wont you agree?” He said, sighing, tired from not being able to contribute to his own childrens success.
“Of course”, another shouted… Then he wispered, “but the whites, the whites in the individualistic nature would see their child succeed at the expense of another.” Probably a black child I thought.
I thought and I thought and I thought. I thought about me, I thought about Mama, and her beautiful face, tired only because she doesnt have money, money solves problems, especially face problems, make-up is expensive. She was away of course, mama, raising white children and black children who belong to whites. because she wanted me to succeed. This logic is twisted, I learnt that word in a suspence movie… “twisted”… its a pleasant word for the mouth, it tickles the roof with the tongue…. … its pleasurable if you concentrate.
I was thinking perhaps jesus needs to explain this plan that he had before I was concieved… was it jesus who claimed that? no. It was Jeremiah… jesus, god or holy spirit… Whomever is up for the task. Tell me about Masks! why do people wear them, concealing them selves behind a barricade for others not to experience the real them.
Its all going up in smoke. This Crony Christianity, building auditoriums wanting to reach heaven, Its the tower of babel, confusion…its all this Space trave, it makes us confused*. Whiteness makes me angry. Its all my problems. I have many. Now I must worry, What if my white friend and colleagues read this, is it racist? Racy… maybe, racist… never. Ive been told as a black man I cannot be racist, because racism is a system of power, distributing priviledges along racial lines… its way More than the distracting insulting utterances by fools. and being in a position on no power [except perhaps for the power supposedly endowed upon penis holders, perhaps]. I would choose to reject the offer to be labelled…period, but most importantly as racist. Im black with a grievance… Here with a vengeance. I didn’t know I had a voice. I hope when she gets her answers they are not written in blood.
oh us, and our resilience,
black never crack, oNeverdie,
die by mistake, mistake by people,
people by jealousy, jealousy by ego, ego by falling,
falling by adam and eve, eve by reptilians, reptilians by devil,
Devil by god. God by being.
How did a god who transcends time and space not see this coming?
We’ve beeeeeen bleeding.