Giving Them . . .

". . . but you're sexually abusing your children . . ."

"What about our indigenous rights being . . ."

"Not only are you sexually abusing your children in all your aborigine communities, the money that the Australian goverment gives each of your communities for food, clothing, and health-care is being used for alcohol -- drunkeness and sexually abusing your children will destroy your people. That's why the government had to send soldiers and police into your communi . . ."

"The soldiers and police are taking away our human rights . . ."

The aborigines of Australia constitute 2 percent of Australia's population and has higher rates of unemployment, substance abuse, violence on each other, and shorter life expectancy than other Australians. Sound familiar?

In the United States we still hear -- in the 21st century -- these "bleeding hearts" whining, "Poor colored peoples of the world" trapped in poverty while other people have millions and billions of dollars." What about the difference in cultures of these "poor colored peoples of the world" and the culture of these rich people?

What is not being said by these "gurus" constantly weeping that especially "blacks" (carbon copies) have a higher jobless rate than other groups in the United States is that carbon-copies don't have a culture that emphasizes creating businesses as do other ethnic groups.

Thanks to years of segregation imposed by English-speaking segregationists -- their superior culture having given them control of all the sources of wealth -- carbon copies demonstrated -- even with their inferior carbon-copy culture -- that they could create many jobs for themselves. In addition to singing gospels and blues and tap-dancing for whites, their businesses included restaurants, nightclubs, grocery stores, movie houses, a few hotels, banks, and hospitals -- to name a few. In fact, early in the 20th century, in a carbon-copy neighborhood in Tulsa, Oklahoma, there were so many rich carbon copies, including millionairs, that it was referred to as "black wall street."

In other countries, the Spanish, Portuguese, and French-speaking segregationists also controlled all the sources of wealth. But carbon copies in those countries not only pretended that there was no discrimination against them but tried -- and try, even today -- to identify as Spanish, French, and Portuguese for paternalistic favors from their mestizo masters. To oppose the evil of segregation meant that carbon copies had to "crash" -- like crashing a private party -- no-blacks-allowed businesses and institutions. This, however, meant abandoning carbon-copy businesses to flounder and disappear in order that carbon copies could show a permanent presence in white businesses and institutions. This integration guarantees a fertile "Catch 22" dilemma for any future carbon-copy businesses and carbon copies providing jobs for themselves.

Why, then, in all these centuries of years, has no agency among these "poor colored peoples of the world" dared to tell these incompetent people that it is their worthless "culture," their culture-ritis that keeps them from advancig as a people?

Giving them welfare, giving them homes, giving them food, giving them ... giving them ... giving them ...

Why not force them to update their "cultures" and supply their own needs before they self-destruct out of existence?

'Tis Language, Dum Dum

The four of them stood loudly taunting. They were several yards off the sidewalk, in a small dirt lot between a neighborhood corner store and a laundrymat. They looked to be nine or ten years old, two Vietnamese and two Afrikan Americans, standing some ten feet apart.

Suddenly the Vietnamese switched from English to Vietnamese. The raised arms and pointing fingers of the Afrikan Americans froze in mid-air, their mouths open, but no more words spilled from them. They were stunned and, obviously, knew no language -- Swahili, for example -- that the Vietnamese wouldn't understand.

The Vietnamese walked off, giggling and giving each other high-fives. "The cultural crisis is the key crisis of black life," came to mind. It was the statement agreed upon by some 8,000 delegates at a national black convention in Gary, Indiana in 1972, some 38 years before those two Afrikan Americans and two Vietnamese youths were to square off in 2010.

The black convention had been called in Gary by Richard Hatcher, its Afrikan American mayor, because of the crime and violence devestating Afrikan American communities.

Several years prior to that convention, however, Afrikan American "militants" had forced predominantly white colleges to establish courses in Swahili, an Afrikan language. But two or three years after offering the classes , they had to be discontinued because not enough Afrikan American students could be found to attend the classes. If these "militants" had been interested in more than grandstanding why hadn't they forced so-called "black" churches, "black" schools, and other "black" institutions and organizations to offer these classes in the "black" communities?

A culture can't be built around a name -- Afrikan American -- alone or a hairdo alone or writing poetry and prose in a language from another culture. A language is the main feature of any culture; the other features of the culture are transmitted through its language.

A language is a weapon. In World War II when Hitler's boys and Tojo's boys and Mussolini's boys heard Native Americans transmitting secret military messages on the battlefield, they had never heard the Native Americans' languages before, and they didn't know whether to "shit or go blind."

For generations we've heard so-called "black" leaders pontificating about economic, political, and educational needs of Afrikan Americans -- and about Afrikan heritage and black culture -- but they've never mentioned the need for a culture language. It takes brains and sincerity to study and learn a language, and these "leaders" know it. They know it would be the kiss of death for their popularity if they told these carbon-copies that they had to learn an Afrikan language to prove that they truely identified with their Afrikan heritage and black culture.

Resusitate the dead colonizers and slaveholders and ask them how importatnt a language is; ask American veterans who fought in Vietnam and those fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan -- or anywhere -- how important a language is; ask the politicians if they don't wish they could speak Spanish.

Haiti and False . . .

FEELINGS AND BILL CLINTON

"Shhhh . . . what you are about to read is politically incorrest. Tafadhali, repeat only in whispers."

Nothig Worthwhile Can Be Built On A False Foundation.

Feelings about throwaway socks or throwaway anything -- they come, taking over. We get them about cheap imitations when we can have the real thing. It's like hating cell-phones because every little throwaway dreg of society that we see on the street or at a bus-stop or sitting on a bus or getting off a bus has a cell-phone plastered to his or her ear, as if saying, "Look how important I am. Everywhere I go, someone wants to talk to me." Saw two of these throwaway dregs sitting side by side on a bus talking to each other on cell-phones. Makes you wanna spit.

Or it's the feeling we get when some school drop-out behind the cash register at some fast-food joint blurts -- without even looking at you -- "Thanks, have a nice day, come again -- next." You wanna snap: "Stick it, you dummy!"

You're walking along a dirt street in a shanty town of dilapidated huts of old, soiled white stucco walls and corrugated tin or straw roofs in East Afrika. A black child of five or six years of age in an unbuttoned dirty blue shirt, exposing his swollen belly, stands near the dirt street in front of one of the huts. He hs no trousers on and looks unwashed. You give him a smile and a wave, and he smiles and waves.

You get a feeling about him, a filling of pity that his worthless culture has brought him into this poverty. But you also feel joy that in spite of the weakness of his culture, it will give him a foundation in an Afrikan identity. He won't be just a CARBON COPY, a cheap imitation of the English, or Spanish or French or Portuguese as the "blacks" in the Americas. You doubt that he'll speak English, but didn't the English rule in his country for many years? And wasn't English the language of instruction in the schools of his country?

You stop. "Unasema Kiingereza, kijana?" ("Do you speak English, young man?") you ask in Swahili.

Still smiling he shakes his head.

"Jina lako nani?" ("What's your name?").

With a broader smile he almost shouts, "Bill Clinton."

IT HURTS . . . BRING IT!!!

"Shhhh . . . what you are about to read is politically incorrect. Tafadhali, repeat only in whispers."

Nothing worthwhile can be built on a false foundation.

Obscenities spewed bitterly from her, bombarding my ears like the loud, gruff voice of a man. By the harsh rumble of her voice I knew that she was a CARBON- COPY woman even before out of the corner of my eye I took in her grumpy round face, her heavy lips, and short, straightened hair dyed blond. She sat in the first seat on my left as I came through the door. Usually I boarded buses by the front door, hoping to find a seat far from the back, the area seemingly preferred by loud, vulgar-mouthed denizens. But when the bus had stopped, the back door had been before me.

I had rushed to the seat across the aisle, facing the door I had come through, about five feet from her facing toward the front in a seat by the door. I felt fortunate that I'd only have to listen to her for a couple of blocks. I would've gotten off and walked those two blocks the moment I heard her mouth, but I thought of one of the blocks as tantamount to walking up Mt. Everst, and my post-midddle-aged legs didn't relish the climb.

". . . can't nobody look down on me . . . !" she was blaring. Several Afrikan American women sitting at the front of the bus had turned in their seats twice, sending censuring stares at her. A slim "black" woman sitting across the aisle from her with long rope-like false plaits attached to her hair added giggles and "yeses" to everything the woman was saying. Both seemed to be in their early twenties.

" . . . I know bulldaggers, ho's, and prostitutes, bitches who knows how to git that money right -- and I don't take no fucking bullshit . . . !"

A lone white woman, her chestnut hair pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck, her trim body in a nice-fitting gray suit, sat pressed tightly into the corner of the seat facing toward the front on the other side of the door, her handsome square face ashen and frozen forward as if she were holding her breath and was trying to ward off the woman's filthy mouth by becoming indistinguishable from the gray seat and green wall of the bus.

". . . it ain't lak I ain't got no culture -- I been to school, too -- and got my kids -- all five of 'em in school . . ."

Where did she come from? I asked myself, knowing the answer. I'd asked it before, hearing niggorant people like her on city buses and streets from Miami, Florida to San Francisco. Who or what produced her or any of us? She had culture? Where was it?

She wasn't part of that horde of illiterate Afrikan ancestors who got unsolicited free rides below deck on ships crossing the Atlantic; she wasn't met at the ships by people making her an "offer she couldn' refuse," room 'n' board for picking cotton. True, the people who made the offer were better organized, with gunpowder and intellectual power, but their offer was rejected some 150 years ago in a bloody civil war -- and this is the 21st century. The culture of whites has them walking and working in space! And "blacks" are still whining about having the highest rate of unemployment.

For generations, thousands of "blacks" have been graduating from colleges and universities with business degrees, but where are the "black" businesses to employ these "black" people? They get these degrees, these pieces of paper, to get a "good" job in businesses created by whites; still whining about being less educated than whites -- as if whites were responsible for educating them; whining about poverty and not enough welfare.

Yet, they're always mouthing about "black" culture this, "black" that, "black" culture here, there, and yon. But where is it? Any so-called "culture" that can't eradicate the problems of its people in over 150 years isn't worth a damn!!!

Let History Record It.

Death's Role-Call

"Next."

Tribes of "US"

Shhh . . . what you are about to read is politically incorrect. Tafadhali, repeat only in whispers.

"OUR votes put him in office, he should put US first, put US before the other people or the wars or environment or international or global problems. We're not voting for him again!"

"Wait a minute. They ain't even citizens, to hell with them. Forget them, what about US? He's one of US -- he s'pose to put US first 'fore anybody and any thang. OUR votes put him where he is."

"Now this is getting out of hand. Always remember where the money-source is, where the real power is. We have the votes to overcome the votes of all these vulgar-mouthed loud-mouths put together. We had the know-how to put this country together. You only have to look at the chaos in the countries they came from to see what this country would be like if any of them had tried to organize a society of this size, with all these different ethnic groups. They'd still be killing each other. We fought wars to maintain this -- the most powerful, freedom-loving country in the entire world. So while you're listening to these whining tag-alongs, just keep US and the total picture in mind."