I can only draw upon my own experiences. I will tell them to you here.
I never even saw a black person until I joined the Navy in 1986. I had never known any, so I had no preconceived notions of them. I learned that they were like anyone else. The military, at least at that time, was completely colorblind. Everyone was equal. (Though I will note that one black guy in our detachment was not equal. He had the nickname of “donkey dick” for obvious reasons. He didn’t mind that hoary old trope and neither should you.)
Donkey dick was one of the senior technicians and generally was in charge of whatever project. He was also the default, informal ombudsman in charge of getting the fresh, young black technicians in line. They’d be right out of technical school, maybe a year or two out of high school, maybe still dragging along with them prejudices learned during their youth in whatever city. They often had a chip on their shoulder and were contemptuous of authority, especially if it was a white guy like me issuing the order. “Seaman Jackson. Pick up that box of bullshit and move it over there if you would be so kind.” And he’d just stand there. So Petty Officer Mitchell (the aforementioned star of the locker room) would take Mister Jackson aside and have “the talk:”
“You listen real close, stupid. These guys couldn’t give a shit less who you are or where you come from. No one cares what your life used to be like. Everyone’s got a sob story, so these guys are all full up with the bellyaching. If you want to be the nigger you’ve been your whole life, you do it on your own time. So you get your fuckin’ ass out there and do what King tells you to do. He’s got two paygrades on you. You see those stripes on his arm? That’s why he expects you to do as he says, not because he’s white and you’re black. Lose the attitude. And iron your shirt tomorrow. You’re not back on the fuckin’ block.”
I moved to Harlem in 2005. It satisfied several needs. It was a short, six-hour train ride from home, and it allowed me to ply my subversive trade in the dive bars of New York. I chose an apartment in Harlem because that’s all I could afford on my modest, cable man’s wage.
There were only a handful of white people in that neighborhood at that time. Everyone looked at me like I was a space alien. I kept to my own business and bothered no one. I went to work in the morning and came home at six o’clock.
It was my habit to walk to the corner bodega each evening for a six-pack of beer. As I walked down the sidewalk one night, a group of six black youths came up from behind and started punching me in the head for no reason. New York, being a peculiar city that denies to the average person the ability to defend himself with a firearm, left me with no other option than to run like hell the remainder of the distance to the bodega. I came out with my six-pack, eyed this band of little savages who were still waiting for me, and immediately drew a bottle from the pack by its neck, broke it on the curb, and waved this broken beer bottle at them.
Predictably enough they left, presumably in search of easier prey.
“Well that’s a fine how-do-you-do,” I thought. I had moved into the neighborhood only wanting to respectfully experience the local culture. Little did I know that I was doing just that. And on another occasion, there I was again, walking down the street, minding my own business, and some thugs drove by, slowed down to match my pace, and started shooting at me with pellet guns.
(These are completely true stories, by the way. It was a surreal experience. Never in my most deranged nightmares could I ever conceive of treating anyone the way I was treated during my blessedly short stay in Harlem. The place was a hellhole, a wasteland of nothingness, the most inhospitable, hostile, malfunctioning mess of a neighborhood, all because, apparently, I was the Man. Yup: Some dude who goes to work every day as a cable guy, bringing home a whopping forty grand a year, is “the man.”
People can say, “Well, they didn’t want you in their neighborhood. They’re opposed to gentrification.” So that’s how you respond? By beating people in the head and shooting at them with pellet guns? Why not burn a cross out in front of the apartment building?
Today, that neighborhood is now nearly completely white, gay, and Asian, as well as black professionals. In the free market that is residential housing, one population got moved out and another population got moved in. And guess which population doesn’t shit on the sidewalk? Guess who doesn’t beat people in the head for no fuckin’ reason? And can you guess how many people shed a tear when the black people were gone? That’s right: none.
You may not like to hear it, but there are major problems in the American black “culture.” But in your defense, most of those problems are not of your making. I’ll get to that in a moment. But here’s a teaser: It involves the CIA.
I had a little go-around with the Jews in my audience several years ago after they had labored for some number of decades under the illusion that it was somehow illegal to insult or ridicule them. If you did, it was only because you just wanted to make lampshades out of them or maybe sit at a crossroad like a witch and lick them to death with your Amalekite’s tongue. I disabused them of that idiotic notion quite handily. I said, “It’s not that people hate you. It’s that no one can stand you. Two completely different things.”
So let me guess: Everyone just hates black people, right? Whites hate you, Koreans hate you, Chinese hate you, Mexicans hate you, Jews hate you? The racial animus is all completely out of your hands, right?
If you’re bellyaching about how you’re completely powerless and forever hamstrung by the attitudes of others, then there’s no better attitude to take than that it’s all out of your hands. See how easy it is? No effort required.
There were all these cool Blues clubs in Harlem. Classy places. They’d been in the same basement hole in the wall for seventy years. I’d get dressed up and walk down the street and down the steps and on into the club. And getting dressed up was a requirement if you wanted to fit in. The black patrons were all dressed to the nines. On the wall you could see old photographs from the forties and fifties, patrons of years gone by, men in their suits and fedoras and women in their feathered hats and gloves.
The members of that neighborhood once had respect for themselves and others. No more. And that is why they got moved out. The world’s a cold, hard place, baby.
The CIA had targeted the American black population for destruction back in the fifties. American, Saudi, Israeli, and Pakistani intelligence, among others, comprise a bloc of intelligence agencies all answerable to British Intelligence, which works directly for the British Crown, which is owned by the Bank of England. The City –the financial district within London– governs the so-called Western world.
The Bank of England commissioned 9-11. Bankers print money all day long. Certainly they can find some lying around with which to purchase such an operation. Why they did this, I will tell you in a moment.
(Does that sound kooky? Did you not hear that on television or in the newspaper? See, I don’t spend my time playing X-Box or watching football games. I’ve spent the last forty years of my life reading. And despite the claims of the press, I do not have a history of mental problems. What I do have, however, is a history of being a major threat to the system, what with blowing the IRS out of the water, reclaiming my right to travel, and terminating the federal jurisdiction by speaking. I would normally consider it gauche to tell you this, but if my mental competence is to be maligned both in court and in the papers, I will go ahead and set the record straight by informing you that I do now and have always had a perfectly clean bill of mental health and that I am a clinically certified genius with an IQ of 140. I’m no slouch. And when you couple that with my ability to fire my attorney and seize control of my own defense by text messaging myself during pretrial release, you might conclude that maybe I know what I’m talking about. The federal jurisdiction does not accord those distinctions to cranks.)
The trappings of the Roman Empire may have disappeared, but the empire itself did not. It moved to Britain.
The Roman Empire was adept at subjugating nations because of several techniques, one of which is to divide and conquer. The goal is to observe the target nation and identify natural political and social splits within that nation, then to exacerbate those splits, resulting in a nation at war with itself. Thus occupied with its own strife, that target nation becomes supremely easy to conquer.
The British Crown never quite got over losing the American colonies. The British didn’t go away. They tried again, with the War of 1812. The British Crown needed the economic output of the colonies to fuel that latter day Roman Empire. The British finally regained control with the Federal Reserve Act of 1913, that instrument that delivered the money-creation powers rightfully belonging to the Congress right into the hands of foreign bankers, most notably the Bank of England. And once you control the issuance and, hence, the value, of a currency, you control the nation that uses that currency as a medium of exchange. You then possess the power to blackmail the national government to do as you say, under threat of imploding the economy by withdrawing currency from circulation by raising interest rates. That principle is an axiom of economics. It’s how bankers gain control of a nation’s government. Every last war undertaken, every last piece of legislation written, every last thought you got into your head since 1913 was commissioned by the Bank of England. The British Crown governs the United States of America, and it does so via the Federal Reserve Act of 1913. Watch “America, Freedom to Fascism,” a professionally made documentary, available in its entirety on YouTube, for a riveting telling of this criminal conspiracy to steal your nation’s sovereignty.
Your nation was divided by British Intelligence, acting through their tributary intelligence service, the Central Intelligence Agency. The CIA has never been up to any good.
The CIA identified a political and social split between the white and black populations in America. It then set about exacerbating that split by, among other methods, morally destroying the black community. The CIA achieved this chiefly by the importation into the black community of a steady supply of crack cocaine in the eighties. This is an easily verifiable fact. For more, read Gary Webb’s work.
The CIA is dividing your nation on behalf of its parent, British Intelligence. A nation divided cannot stand.
The American black community was completely destroyed by the CIA. It was destroyed with drugs, with out-of-wedlock births, and by thug culture, all of which were promoted by the CIA and their political partners in the entertainment media. There is nothing so diametrically opposed to the respectable men and women in those photographs from the forties than the hooting and hollering, bitch-slapping, makin’-it-nasty, thug, human waste that you see on MTV.
So to a very slight degree, I’ll give a pass to the black community for the completely anti-social behavior of a significant segment of their community, a segment that gives all black people a bad name.
And incidentally, who would have made a fine role model for black youth and, indeed, was attempting to do so? Oh that would be Bill Cosby. The bankers who govern your nation needed him gone like yesterday. Who knows if the allegations were true; the point is that they were all of a sudden big news. This told me that someone found immense value in the allegations, any concern for the alleged victims running a distant second. The veracity of the allegations was quite immaterial to those who instructed the Washington Post and NBC to run with the story like it was the scoop of the century.
There is an adjunct to this discussion, which is that the CIA have instructed Barack Obama to exacerbate the racial divisions in this country, most notably in Ferguson, all with an eye toward rolling out DHS during a declaration of martial law, which is the end goal of the British Crown. Lets ’em keep a tight control over the colonies, you know. Ain’t nothin’ better for that than a unitary executive with the place under martial law.
The British Crown need a race war in this country. Because they need martial law. So don’t take the bait. And wear a nice hat, don’t beat people on the fuckin’ head, and carry yourselves like you deserve the respect that ought to be yours.
And then all the chinks and the kikes and the fags and the raunchy ricans and the noodle eaters along the Ho Chi Minh Trail downtown and the dot heads and the ragheads and all you niggers can take a breather and realize that everyone’s being played.
…by the Tavistock Institute.
Amalgamated Waterworks 