White Is Back - But God-DAMN! We Had A Great Ride, A Diversity Tale

Pharoah Jones was a procurer, which is what he preferred to be called instead of pimp.  The profession demanded some respect, especially in the Biden years when the street culture was lionized and the black man was king,  

The President in fact, had said this to a group of young professionals gathered in Washington to take up service with the Administration.  Flanked by black people, a banner of Black Lives Matter displayed along with the American flag, and Aretha Franklin playing softly in the background, the President said:

We are here to celebrate the Year of the Black Man, an honor long overdue.  The black man has suffered slavery, Jim Crow, discrimination, and racism, but we are here to raise him to the very pinnacle of human society where he rightfully belongs (applause). 

He, the black man, man of the primeval forest, of special endowments, in tune with nature, supernal, in touch with the subtleties and needs of the environment, immediate descendant of Lucy and Eve before her, is the future.  The white race has had its day and its comeuppance, a long, overblown, exaggerated history of oppression, colonialism, and supremacy, and today I proclaim Year Zero, the first year of the black man.

A bit prolix and melodramatic, thought Pharoah at the time, but a nice inaugural address for an open door policy to the ghetto. Anything that happened in Anacostia - Washington's deep inner city neighborhood - should  not stay there but be trumpeted to the world.  Barack Obama, Colin Powell, Condoleezza Rice and other Uncle Toms were welcome but supernumerary in the brave new world of black righteousness. 

And so it was that Pharoah, Pimp Supreme of the 'hood, all spinners, bling, crewe, pink Cadillacs, and crack ho's, was invited to the White House. He hobnobbed with the elite, the progressive politicians that were responsible for his investiture.  Affirmative action, DEI, and entitlements greased the rails, but it was because of his commercial instincts and savvy that made Pharaoh a rich man, and he was here to tell white America, 'We is here to stay'. 

 

Everything was as black as the ace of spades in those halcyon years - black news presenters, black actors in soap operas and in all ads.  Had a foreign newcomer come to the United States during the Biden era he would have thought that black people were in the tens of millions, half the population of the country, everywhere and in every corner of American society. 

But then the tables were turned, and Donald Trump, colonialist, monarchist, and European apologist  won the White House.  Within months, the White House had changed from a place of color and diversity to a blonde, blue-eyed white Nirvana. 

Now, to be completely honest, Pharaoh, like all black men, had had more than enough of high-shelved uppity black women and had always hankered for silken, soft white pussy.  Even with their money, their machismo, and their African blackness, black men found white women hard to come by.  The only ones who were available were those kinky-haired Jewish women who wanted to identify and bond with the brothers - to get their ticket stamped, to say they had been there.  Ugly as sin muthafuckas, come up in here wanting some black snake, finished and headed uptown to tell the story of the marvels of the inner city. 

Pharoah wanted no part of that cunt charade, but when he saw the parade of blonde, cornflower blue-eyed, flaxen haired, peaches and cream young things parading down Pennsylvania Avenue to the White House he said, 'Gotta get me some o' that'. 

 

But his day and time had passed.  No sooner was Donald Trump in the White house, surrounded by his harem of nubile white girls than the very zeitgeist of America changed.  Call backs for black actors were unheard of.  Black television anchors were replaced by white ones.  Affairs of the black man were buried while everything white made the news. 

Worse, the cloak of respectful racial anonymity was off - black men, ninety percent of those committing violent crimes but never racially identified, were out in the open. 'A gang of black men assaulted a white couple in Minneapolis today...A black man on parole from Angola Federal Prison is wanted today for raping a fourteen year old girl....Two black men, residents of Anacostia, were arrested for assault and battery in Georgetown...'.  

For years black man had flown under the radar, given a pass, a by, a beneficiary of progressive recognition of the legacy of slavery.  No more.  Black men were now being called out and shamed - absent fathers doing time, sexual vagabonds, miscreants, worthless pieces of....The Internet was merciless now that censure was off the table. 

 

So the parade of blonde young things would have to remain a sexual fantasy for the likes of ghetto pimps like Pharoah Jones, for he and his brothers were suddenly, unexpectedly, and summarily sent to the back of the bus.

Giorgia Meloni, President of Italy said to an adoring crowd, 'I am a woman.  I am a mother.  I am a Christian.  I am a European, and I am an Italian' and for the first time in many years, a senior politician had said the unthinkable.  The cultures of Africa and Muslim Middle East are contrary to our Greco-Roman values and traditions.  They and their separatist ways intend to corrode our societies from within, she went on to say, and we are having none of it. The same was true in the Netherlands, Hungary, Poland, France, and Germany.  

America was no different.  With the elephant in the room finally recognized, the gloves were off.  Enough! Americans said about race, gender, and ethnicity.  Enough faux honors and blind ignorance about the black man.  Enough blind racial idolatry.  

Americans cheered the parade of young, blonde, blue-eyed white women taking their places in the Trump Administration.  Hoorah to beautiful white actors on commercials.  Bravo to the all-white cast of As The World Turns and other afternoon soaps.  

Racist? Phooey, just a restoration of a demographic balance and a return to American integrationist values.  A recalculation of the racial calculus. A return to majority rules. 

Pharoah was not concerned. As the world turns, what comes around goes around, plus ca change etc. No offense taken, none given.  He want back to Anacostia, reassembled his stable of high-shelved women, polished the Caddie to a high-wax shine, and went back to business as usual. 

'I am not fussed', he said, 'but God-DAMN! that buggy ride was a good un'