Tired of Facebook censorship? Join Tea Party Community.

Black Liberals are truly the most vile racists in America. They believe the world revolves around them, and no matter what is happening in their lives, they are victims.

My grandmother quipped about such people as those “who could have a ham under each arm, and be complain about not having bread.”

God forbid you are not wrapped up in the blackness of Liberal black America. If you don’t know the latest hip hop “artist,” you are not black. If you aren’t down with the latest nonsensical cause, then you are not part of the struggle. The only people black Liberals tolerate are those who enable their pathology of being victims.

Salon Magazine featured an excellent example of the black Liberal whiner. I will parse her story, just to show you how these morons think. The story begins:

I met my new roommates on Craigslist. Two white, one Chinese. Together we represented Portland, Florida, China and (with me) D.C., and as we moved into our apartment in Bed-Stuy last fall, I was excited for the potential of cross-cultural exchange.

So a black woman has been accepted by other nationalities. Nobody discriminated against her.

We had a get-to-know you powwow on the rooftop. We talked about ourselves, what brought us to New York. It was a warm evening in September, a couple of weeks after Michael Brown was shot, and somewhere in the mix I brought up Ferguson, hoping to spark a “conscious conversation.” Then it happened. The nightmarish response.

“What’s happening in Ferguson?” one of my white roommates asked. “I heard some kid got shot or something like that.”

The words clamored in my ears. How could he not know? Weren’t his Twitter, Instagram and Facebook feeds flooded with opinions and hashtags? I’m sure he meant nothing by his statement. We’re all ill-informed from time to time. But as I stood there, awkwardly not saying a word — while hundreds of words ran through my head — it was a reminder of how much I would have to suppress in order to get along with my white male roommates in our tiny four-bedroom apartment. This place I would call my home for a year.

So now the black woman is incredulous that the non-black world is not absorbed in her angst. She’s shocked that a white man is not wrapped up in the story of a black thug being shot by a white cop, after said thug had tried to rob a store. It couldn’t possibly be that this man was desensitized the plight of black thugs?

She implies that the white guy is “ill-informed.” I say he was ill-interested, as who cares, as that’s what the rest of America would have (and should have) been regarding Michael Brown getting himself killed.

It was all she could do to “suppress” in order to get along. So, if these people were not down with her perceived struggle she was suppressing. You can bet this woman couldn’t name you ONE white (or any other ethnicity) person shot wrongly by a cop. Personally, I would have loved for the white man to have asked, “Is he the latest victim of black on black violence in Chicago that nobody is talking about?!”

How did this obviously black woman come to be? In her words,

It hasn’t always been like this for me. I’m a girl with a fro, raised in the place once known as “Chocolate City.” I grew up part of a black nuclear family, was home-schooled, then became part of of the mini-Historic Black College Experience at Temple University. After arriving in New York, I became an intern at Essence, a magazine so safe I likened my boss to an aunt. Those settings were as comfortable as my grandma’s cooking on any given Sunday.

So Ms. EthnoCentric USA wants comfort? And here I thought all the fight for civil rights by her ancestors was for her to assimilate, ergo lose the ethnocentricies and become part of the human race? One would think that living among other cultures proves that America is the mosaic of all peoples, and we can’t be up to speed on all atrocities.

Yet, as the young racist-in-training puts it,

I longed to crawl back to my tiny black universe. A place where I could create a sense of peace, identity and acceptance, a place where I could sit there, trying to untangle my fro and make sense of what it means to be an African-American woman in this country, rehashing our history while facing present pain. But life happens, and most of us can’t stay in our own utopias forever.

Yes, she has finally admitted what I already know. She’s a racist. Her dalliances with whites is merely an experiment, whereby she constantly looks for racism in them. Are they supposed to be knowledgeable of her non-struggle, struggle!? Why are they so wrapped up in their lives, that they won’t recognize what I want them to recognize. White privilege, Asian excellence, and so on. And right before them is a black woman who is (1) not kin to Michael Brown, (2) has not been harassed by cops, (3) and who by all accounts is liked by her roommates for the CONTENT OF HER CHARACTER.

She writes,

Now I faced a new reality. The brief conversation on the roof that hot September night lasted much longer in my head. I sent myself into a 200-year-old tizzy, reckoning with outdated ideas on race, tampering with prejudice and stereotypes. I became enslaved by my emotions.

I started to worry about all the other things I might have to explain: My hair, the food I eat, why I like Miles Davis, Nina Simone and Marvin Gaye. Maybe I should have considered it a teaching opportunity. But I wasn’t feeling generous. I was all twisted up inside, ablaze over racial dynamics and anxious what other minefields my roommate might stumble upon. I hoped he wouldn’t say something really ignorant, causing me to just snap and go off on an angry rant. Then I’d have to make my living situation salvageable by pocketing my black rage, putting on my best smile and telling him, it’s all love.

Yet again, all things that curious people ask, but these questions for her to “pocket(ing) my rage)”. So what a black person is asked about his or her hair; mechanics get asked about cars, artists get asked about technique, but God forbid you ask a black Liberal something about being black.

This is the world we live in now, where Liberals, particularly black Liberals are hurt by everything. Apparently the lack of parents for black Liberals have forced them to remain stuck in the mindset of children.

I suggest you read this article in its entirety. You will find that her roommates find her interesting, but that’s not good enough. She wants them in the bucket with her, feeling her angst. They cannot be good people unless they empathize with her, and ultimately end up down for the cause. This is why Liberalism is described as a disease. It looks for hosts, and creates them, in order to spread the disease.

I’m sick of people like this woman. I’m tired of their self-centered egotism that essentially says, “If I’m not the center of your world, then you can’t even be in the periphery of mine.” They are racists to their cores, and too stupid to realize it.

 

 



Send this to friend