The Blog of Choice

It was the blackest of times; it was the blackest of times, it was the age of power, it was the age of powerlessness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the resurrection of the light, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of change, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going to be better off, and we were all going to be worse off.

In 2008 Fontel’s family had been ecstatic that The One had been elected president of the United States. A friend’s friend was even seen on TV crying in ecstasy about how she would no longer have to worry about paying her mortgage. Back in the living room, the family danced and frantically waved their arms, like the Ambezi tribesmen of the Serengeti. The old black times would give way to new Black times, a new shade of Black that would define America and pull Blackness out of historical darkness.

Yet then those times turned back to black. Or at least that’s how Fontel looked at it. By the second term of the anointed one Fontel had lost more than he’d won. Hope and Change was birthed in depression and despair, promising a new light, but after four years, there was nothing left but vague references to moving “Forward,” “Dreaming,” and “Progressing.” Fontel had been on unemployment longer than he could remember. Some of his friends had found their way on the doles of disability, despite the fact that they also manned the dominating team at the local park basketball courts and were always first in line days in advance at the Nike store.

In happier times he had worked in construction, building homes. Not so bad for not going to college. But with economic collapse had come job loss, and with job loss, the loss of economic security, with the loss of economic security, social positioning. And this led to that one real loss that really mattered. He had lost his woman, after so many great times. And he would think back.

Ah, it was 2009. To him Kaleila was the ideal Black girl. Black, when she put the polyester in her hair the way the East-side girls used, or when she wore conflicting bright colors; Black, and how he grinded her as the club closed and he thought well as well her as another and then she asked him with an over-emphasized hand gesture to ask again; Black, and then he asked her would she Black to be Black and come back to his crib and he put his arms around her and drew them down her so he could feel her high hips Black and his body was going like mad and Black he thought Black we will be Black – a new Black out of the past’s darkness in this era of the greatest president ever elected. This savvy girl, this smart girl, this Black girl he knew – she could one day be a mother and a companion, as if she really had stored in her blood thousands of years of culture stemming from the domestication of plants and animals and subsequent urban societies. Perfect manure for his seed. She was not the gold digger over whom the bard Kanye West had sung. In happier times, as The One was running for election and shortly thereafter, he and Kaleila shared in the spirit of the age. But it was fleeting.

She was a Black girl. She was favored by Pell grants and institutions that wanted her so they could maintain a politically friendly status with oppressive authorities who demanded their own ideal of a multicultural student body. As the economy imploded Fontel and Kaleila were torn apart. He was sent to the unemployment and food stamp lines while she went back school on other people’s dime. There she dwelt in the victimological ideas of socialists and pseudo-intellectuals. She quickly lost the need for him when there were blazer-wearing statists with the wild schemes for how the government could do their bidding and enrich them personally.

As Fontel saw it, she was smart and they could have had a family, and rise above the urban decay blighting American cities ever more. More importantly, they could have risen above the Black mental prison of perceiving perpetual victimhood and hatred behind every failure or misunderstanding. He wanted to rise above, but she wanted to get hers – never mind right and wrong. And she did. She wasn’t smart enough to really succeed in school. But she was savvy enough to network and seek out the best way to butter her bread – ethical or not.

After school, she worked at an 8(a) company, a women and minority owned enterprise. It was an angry socialist professor she had in college who had taught her about these things in school. She had said they were there to assist disadvantaged business, and a lot of people thought that was true, but Kaleila knew that was really just code-word for “protect from competition,” or “be a favorite.” She had read enough between the lines about what was going on in political correctness. According to arbitrary criteria like skin color, certain people could start certain business, and these businesses could be shielded from competition and given privileged status to seek contracts from government agencies. Indeed, the standard method was for the 8(a) company to be a middleman. A real business would come and do business with the government, and all the 8(a) would do was collect 51% of what the real company earned. It beautiful and satisfying to her as “social justice.” She would watch the laboring business men sacrificing even their health to grow the business; she’d watch younger white business men – the up-and-comers in the firm, whose parents had to pay for their college tuition – guys who at 30 were still only earning a salary that allowed them to get up the next day and repeat the process – certainly not enough to save, marry, and have white babies. She thought of these people as her little peasants the way a French bureaucrat might look down on people who actually pay their taxes. The life force of these people, indeed their very ability to reproduce themselves, went to her. She was an African queen – and earning 51% of the labors of these worker bees. So, she had her Bentley, gaudy jewelry, and always the newest iphone.

Decades ago her uncle had gotten into medical school because of affirmative action. Still, he used to complain about how tough it was – despite all the studying and all the special tutoring and exemptions the school offered him he barely scraped by. He graduated near the bottom of his class and was ashamed that as much as he tried he couldn’t hack the competition. Eventually, he realized that he just wasn’t good enough to be there and he thought about the people who had been rejected because their skin color – he having been accepted for his. He knew something was wrong. “But, fuck’em,” he used to say, “Ahm the docta nah.” The man had had a reasonably lucrative career, despite a few questionable malpractice circumstances, but eventually it was uncovered that for nearly a quarter of a century he had been secretly filming and taking pictures of his female patients. His whole operation was quietly shut down.

Nothing like this would befall her. She had no stress from having had to actually compete. There was nothing she could do wrong. All she had to do was be the middleman.

For Fontel it was otherwise. He wasn’t the recipient of higher-order bureaucratic favoritism. Ya, he collected his unemployment check, played clickity-clack, assaulted random people in knockout games and did his best to arbitrage new Nikes, but their was no righteous hand guiding him to a spot in the ivory tower where he got to pretend he was an equal of the hard working people around him. Time is money, and as the state debased money – stealing its purchasing power – it also stole his time – years of stagnation, meaninglessness, and the loss of agency in his life.

It was all a big scam. It didn’t matter that the president was Black or that people high in the government or that people preferentially accepted to top business schools were Black. It didn’t even matter that he got a free phone. The government intervention-inspired boom had lured him into a job that was not in the least fundamentally economically viable, and then this new flavor of central planning under Him made sure that he was shut out of a good job forever and permanently denied opportunity to realize his full potential. Sitting on unemployment and drinking with his friends, those weeks turned to months and those to years. He had developed no meaningful skills to serve his fellow man, and those few he did have were certainly valued less per hour than the massive minimum wage increases heralded by the Leader and his minions.

How starkly the fates of Fontel and Kaleila diverged. As with all the colors of the rainbow gang, black has only two shades. There are those individuals who really do benefit from the of the leviathan state, and there are those don’t.

I don’t understand the West.

“The white people, they hate their own ancestors and they are doing everything they can to destroy their countries and themselves. So many of us foreigners can go to their countries and prosper at their expense.” These were the guttural words of a brutish African I overheard once in an airport as he talked to his friend. But he was right. I am not American but I got my graduate degree at a top American university.

I hardly new English at the time, and frankly still can’t speak it, but only write it. I had done well on some standardized tests and the great university let me in. But, come on, why wouldn’t the Westerners want their own kids to go to their good schools? Why me and people like me from other countries? Why hurt their own children by not letting them go? Are they trying to ensure that we will overtake them? Are they trying to infect us with their problems? I don’t understand the West, but I know I do not want my people to think like them and become what they have become.

My cousin went to America too, at the same time I was in graduate school. He was given all sorts of special permits, aid and even some starting funding to create a small shop. They just handed it to him. I see Americans working hard when I am there, so why do they choose a government that takes their money and gives it to us – especially to my cousin who hates America and Westerners? Maybe the people don’t really choose – whatever all the squawking about a republic and democracy and such? Although he does like them a little bit now, because he has had such a good life, and his children will inherit the Westerners’ country, my cousin just wants the Westerners to disappear. “They are really unnecessary,” he says, “just hand over the reigns and enjoy your lavish retirement while any children that you had waste their time thinking they are important. Please, just hurry along and go extinct.”

But still, before that inevitability, my cousin, an angry man, talks about carving out our own little place here where it will be just like the old country. He calls it “our colony,” just like they did to us so long ago. Our rules and customs will apply, and as we get into positions of power we will do as we see fit for ourselves, our families, and our people. It was very nice of the whites to just hand us their children’s future, but they would be foolish to think that when we call those shots we don’t already call, that we will act the same way and take food and opportunity from our children and give it to any of theirs that remain. You see that’s it right there – this is how we are different from them. They say the West is based on “individualism” sure, but they were individuals over the last few hundred years as well, when they were creating some of the greatest human achievements ever. Individualism does not mean cultural and racial suicide. Sometimes the Westerner does such strange things, I don’t know if it is some kind of complex plan, because it appears so detrimental to their own interests. Nobody in their right mind would do these things.

After school I went back to my homeland to work, because my American degree would bring me much honor and positioning there. I enjoyed being around my own people, my own culture, and language again, but at the same time I would look longingly at my friends who stayed in the West, particularly the ones in Europe, because the continent was so full of ancient wonder. Financially, I was doing well for myself, but they were the ones visiting the great cities and sights, some of them enjoying the morally casual attitude of the loose “self-actualizing” Western woman. One of my friends told me how there is no need for prostitution in America because women will sleep with you for free as long as they think it makes them feel better than their friends and enemies. Everything just definitely seemed so irrationally dynamic and full of adventure. The West is chaos. Besides, I also was not sure if I wanted to be locked into where I was already as far as work and location. In school I focused real hard; maybe this time I could go to the West and live it up a little bit more – that one thing the West always seems to offer no matter what. Best of all I also could easily take some ideas from there and just replicate them back home for a quick and profitable business model.

So, I started talking to placement agencies that could help get me a job back in America. My school was able to help me too. See again, why would the Americans bring me in to do work when there are so many unemployed there? Yes, I have complex skills, but I know there are many Americans who have these skills, too. Are all such people employed? Of course not. And if they do not have the skills, why can’t they teach them? I know how very difficult it was for some of my Western colleagues to find jobs – some were doing internships for years. The secret truth that we all know is that many companies are encouraged to discriminate against white candidates. Do they really do this to themselves?

I received a call from my school work placement section which informed me that the bank in Boston was interested in meeting me face-to-face after only a single phone interview. This meant the job was essentially mine – and it was no surprise to me for reasons I shall explain later. The bank would fly me through Zurich, where I’d be able to spend a day and a night, and then on to Boston for some simple formalities.

I had been to Europe before, when I spent an extra few days in London while on my way to the US for graduate school. I was so excited to have had that time. I remember as a boy when my mother would show me maps and point to where all the different types of white people came from, as well as the ancestral lands of the other foreign peoples. She said London was unique because it was a mixture of the people with the special yellow hair, and the dark haired ones, and even some of the red haired ones. Because of their old British empire there were some other foreign people, too. I thought it would be like visiting a zoo, with a chance to observe all of these different primates practicing their various customs – a little bit of everybody. But with globalization, it was mostly non-Europeans that I saw there. I went all the way to London only to see the same people from my country and elsewhere – but almost no Europeans. Where were they? I walked through some areas with what were once pretty Victorian buildings, but now they were rundown and only inhabited by herds of people from the sub-continent and their many children – these families living in the ruins of the old empire. It was an odd sense, and truthfully I was disappointed. I had hoped to see the English and their renowned culture while in London, but all I saw was a mass of people feeding at the corpse of the once great nation and living amongst its bones. I remember expressing this to my mother, and she said that London was said to have grown this way, but that in the countryside there were still some white people, and in other countries, you could still see whole cities of people with the special yellow hair. Since that time and with the more I’ve seen on the internet, the more I know that is probably not true either.

I had hoped that Zurich would be different, because Switzerland is an exceptional country. They avoided the two cataclysmic wars that destroyed the West. And I know it is unique because it has Germans, French, and Italians, all in the same country, but with their own spaces – something that you would never see allowed in the US where they keep wanting to mix everyone together and make everything and everyone the same – though they call it diversity and pretend like there are limitless choices in everything.

When I got to my hotel in Zurich, it was only staffed with south-east Asians. Though it was allegedly a four star hotel it seemed a bit lacking and cheap, like they had to cut more corners than they had really wanted to. Strangely, the lampshades that hung over the tables in the breakfast room even looked oriental, as if they were selected to match the staff. There was one white American guest there who apparently had taken the trouble to learn some German, perhaps in a way to hold onto his ancestral homeland. It was funny to me that the only people there he could use his German with were these few south-east Asian women that worked there, and of course, their German was not tremendously better than his, despite their presumably having resided in the country for some time.

Of course, the streetcar into the city was not much different, but there were still some Swiss for me to observe, and I even saw some of the women with the graceful long yellow hair. These were the real ones, not like the ones in America that have fake yellow hair – though there are some real ones there, too, generally in the countryside states. These women are so beautiful. The women in my homeland say it is only because of Western movies and pop culture that we think such women are pretty; I’m not quite so sure though. I remember in graduate school when I played soccer with some of the students from all over – there were even some of the non-whites from European countries whose families had already lived there for a generation or two. All of us men, no matter where we came from, if it was the far East, the sub-continent, Africa, South America, or the Middle East, we all agreed on two things: 1) We hated white men, for what they did to our countries and our people in the past and 2) We all thought the women with yellow hair were among the most beautiful, if not the most beautiful, in the world. Some of the men said they would stop at nothing less. They would mark their triumph over the West by having their most beautiful women and souring them with their seed. Oh, what the fathers of these women must have felt as these blessed young men proceeded to their inevitable triumphs.

Once near the Zurich main train station, I walked through the old district. The buildings were beautiful. Despite the ubiquitous nouveau riche Chinese tourists, parts of the town were like the old Europe I had seen in the cleverly-planned pictures of postcards and guidebooks. After a time, I came upon Grossmünster, the large church leftover from a bygone era when the Westerner had an essence to his existence.

If you are ever in Zurich and see this church, you can go down into what was once a crypt. Today it is really a simple vaulted basement, but down in this room there is a near- thousand year old statue of Charlemagne, the ancient emperor whose ancestry both the French and German monarchies once claimed. So, I ventured into this room and looked at this statue, one of the only relics of a truly old Europe, I had ever come face to face with, and here it was sitting alone as if it was just another jumble of concrete and metal. I reached out and grabbed the sword of the king. “What pathetic descendents you have created,” I though to myself. “Today your people are more concerned with providing healthcare to imported Turkish thieves than putting up a simple piece of glass to protect this statue of you – their history.” I ran my hand along the blade, patting my fingers along the way, and smirking at this thousand year old ruin as if it were only there now for my amusement. I relished my disregard for it as I carelessly touched it. Here it was, stowed away down in the crypt to ensure any of the few remaining Swiss boys wouldn’t stumble into his heritage and grow to realize that his and other European countries have squandered their inheritance.  Who are the Western leaders trying to fool? It can only be themselves, and their dwindling white sheep.

I continued to walk around the old town and stopped at a Starbucks to warm up and get off my feet for a bit. In looking at the people working here I wondered again what the Westerners had been thinking. You bring in these foreigners en masse. Ya, the first generation mops your floors and picks up the garbage, but then their kids work in this Starbucks, and what do you think their kids will do? They will go to a University, maybe become a doctor, and eventually these people will be so numerous that it is no longer the Westerner’s country. Is there anything not clearer than that? Is a few generations of decadence and laziness really worth your countries disappearing forever? My county would never ever fathom such a thing for itself.

A friend who studied Western history once told me that a lot of this racial and cultural suicide was a result of the guilt from colonialism an World War II. In many ways the westerner wanted to disappear. Recalling the emperor alone and cold in the crypt I decided to go back to the hotel to read about these things on the internet. It was just starting to rain an icy sleet anyway.

It was good that I did this because on my flight to Boston the next day I was able to recognize a Jewish family. I knew this because the father had the little hat. It was also good that I had noise cancelling headphones because their two children were completely out of control. It was a relatively empty flight, so most of the passengers, myself included, moved toward the back of the plane leaving the family to their area towards the front where they could make their noise in isolation. For a flight that should have been relatively enjoyable due to the extra space, this family made it a complete disaster. The family kept moving back row by row toward all of us, and the father would take the older kid back and sit amongst us so as to separate the children. At the same time the mother would let the younger child run at full speed down the aisles. I wondered why nobody did anything. The father was a weak and entitled looking prick and the mother a fat boob, who obviously only decided to become a mother as a second thought in life. Where were the flight attendants? Why should I be the one who has to point this out and correct it? I don’t speak German and my spoken English is embarrassing. I kept looking over at a yellow haired couple near me, hoping one of them would say something.

This couple was American, as I had overheard them before. They must have been from the countryside or the last of some small areas of the US where their kind still live. Then it swooped into my mind how much I enjoyed being around my own people sometimes – like when I went home after graduate school. I love other cultures, but sometimes I want to be with my own people. But I can do that. I realized that this couple and their family can never have that. Maybe they are of German stock and they go back to central Europe only to find it is full of everyone else but central Europeans. It’s gone forever. There is no homeland for this couple. Not like in the way that my and many other cultures and races have homelands. These white people are strewn about like the isolated stars of a city sky, and their light is slowly fading. The Jews have their own new homeland now, or at least that’s what they feel.

Amongst all the shrieking, the yellow haired man sat their nobly and stoically suffering the incompetent parents and their out of control children. I remembered that nobody is allowed to put the idiot parents in their place because of Western law and custom, and more importantly because of the father’s little hat. The little hat means a lot. It’s part of the reason he feels safe to act so entitled and without any regard for the dozens of other people. He knows he is an incompetent and weak man, and he needs the social protection that hat affords him in the current era. If the yellow haired man did anything, he would be suspect of many more things. So, we all suffered the obnoxious family for eight and half hours.

When we finally landed in Boston, there was another plane that came at the same time, and we all went through customs together. This other plane was from some Caribbean country and every individual had a cart packed high with bags. One guy even had a cooler for some reason. As we all shuffled toward the beginning of the roped off line, I watched the yellow haired couple. The man let the Jewish family in front of him and his woman. Why did he do that? We all just dealt with that idiot father and his out of control children for so long! The yellow haired woman did not look happy, and I noticed the man shaking his head as if he was disappointed in himself. These two groups went through customs a bit ahead of me, and then it was my turn to talk to the self-righteous toughs of US boarder control. I thought to myself, “Ya, you are doing a great job guys. Just go home and watch American football and just let in anyone who wants to come in. It’s basically that way already. We could all go without being harassed by you guys and filling out your stupid little forms and standing in line.” As I exited, I passed in front all of the Caribbean families greeting their newly arrived family members, and heard another American humph, “bringing in more democratic voters.” The other plane had been an entire plane load of immigrants, which is why they had so much stuff to carry through customs. What country does this to itself? The Americans already have an entire, relatively under-populated continent to fill with their own children, why would you bring in these people? Because of their highly valued knowledge and skills? Please. I just don’t understand the West.

As I walked over towards the cabs I looked in front of me. There was the Jewish mother moving slowly, encumbered with the two children and some luggage. Some way in the distance there was the husband, walking as fast as possible, nearly breaking into a run, while pushing a full luggage cart. Slightly ahead of him was the yellow haired couple. The man was shouting obnoxiously back at his wife and kids while the wife yelled and gestured at him. I though jokingly, “maybe he realized that he was not cut out to be a father,” but then I looked even further ahead and noticed that there were only two cabs outside. Though only the yellow haired couple was in front of them, the Jewish man was trying to catch up and pass the couple in order to get the first cab. Why? I have absolutely no idea. He easily had the second cab, and no doubt more would come. It was as if he felt so entitled that he could not bare the thought of this couple getting in the cab before him. I even noticed that he and his wife had switched to a different language so as to not alert the couple of their plot. Pathetic. But this man’s weak physical abilities prevented him from embarrassing himself further by surpassing the couple and running out to try to claim the cab while he waited for his wife. The yellow haired couple sensed what was going on and just shook their heads as the reached the first cab and drove off.

The next day in Boston, I went to the investment bank to meet with my future colleagues. As I mentioned earlier, I new I had this job because of the entire team the position was to work with, every man and woman were from my country. How did the Westerner not notice this? It is an obvious thing that happened a lot throughout America, but as long as the white males did not do it, nobody cared. I talked to M., who was to be my new boss. I asked him about other candidates. He said he was worried because the job had been open for four months already and they had interviewed a lot of good Western candidates, and that they can only reject them so much before they get worried that somebody suspects they are just waiting for one of their own. They even interviewed a part black American, who was also very qualified, and they knew that rejecting him could cause a serious problems.

M. told me about a candidate they just had yesterday, a yellow haired man, which made me think of the man from the plane. M. explained that this man was a perfect match for the position, he even currently worked just around the corner from the bank. More so, he even knew some of M’s friends from our country, who worked elsewhere in the US, and had he worked along side them. There was even a Slavic woman who worked at the bank, who had worked with this man, too. M. said he was about to offer the job to him, but then the university called and asked that I be considered. M. was able to just look at my name and background and new that I needed to be offered the position, even though my past work experiences were not tremendously applicable. M. said he was, “very relieved. All of us from the motherland and then this one Westerner, it would not be harmonious.” He also told me about times in the past when they would offer Westerners very low wages to discourage them but then found out that very often they would accept anyway! I wonder if this had happened to the yellow haired candidate earlier in his career. It must have if one of M’s colleagues was his old boss.

It is not uncommon what M. did. We simply reject Western candidates after an interview and then hire one of our friend’s friends, or relatives etc. It is funny because my University was patting themselves on the back for finding this position, when in reality it was because of what I had just described. Anyway, I will have a month to myself before I actually start working. My things are being shipped over and this well paid position will allow me to rent a luxurious two bedroom in a skyscraper downtown. Eventually, I will need to make sure my son is born in the US so he can have citizenship in both countries and not have to go through all the paper work like I did. But before that I will enjoy the decadent and short-sighted American way. M. has warned me not to marry a western woman though. He says they smell when they get old. M and my new team and I will have a great future.

You know, I used to think it was funny that the westerners still thought they had their countries, but now I am just sad. Part of me wants to see a country that is actually populated with westerners and exudes their cultures and art, like that emperor I saw stuck in his cave. There was some unique things the westerners created and unique ideas they had. I feel like the world has lost something.