Why Black Men Support Trump - Ghetto Machismo In The White House

Pharoah Jones was the acknowledged Godfather of Anacostia.  Master of a multifaceted business empire of drugs, prostitution, and trafficking, the residents turned to him for help, support, and rescue.  He was as much the godfather of the Washington inner city as Frank Lucas once was of Harlem. 

Jones was as canny in his enterprises and as ruthless, brutal, and intimidating as Lucas.  In his rise to power he neutered the opposition and outwitted local and federal authorities.  Few court cases went against him as his influence and largesse spread far and wide. 

Jones was a showman and owned three chopped and channeled lowriders, all gold with red trim and piping, his trademark, two specially outfitted Secret Service issue armored Escalades, a ten million dollar mansion on the Anacostia River, and a retinue of the most beautiful black women seen in the pages of Ebony.  

His consort was Aissatou Demba, a Fulani from northern Mali, a canny, resourceful woman who not only serviced him but ran his African trafficking operation - a major enterprise where young light-skinned Fulani, Berber, and Moorish women were sold to Saudi traders.

This enterprise was remarkable because of its reach and internationalism. The African-Arab sex trade had been dominated by Nigerians until the Pharoah Jones conglomerate entered the picture with intent, dollars, and modern automatic weapons that beggared the imagination of Ibo thugs. 

Jones was a master of all he surveyed.  Great grandson of Carolina slaves, and grandson of low country sharecroppers, he made his way quickly and ably.  He understood the intricacies of the free market, racial dynamics, Southern politics, and federal power, and had investors from Charleston to Baltimore. 

He was deal maker par excellence, and concluded arrangements easily and profitably thanks to his savvy understanding of the balance of power.  Before he was thirty he was a multi-millionaire who had eluded every law enforcement agency deployed to capture him. 

Pharoah Jones who had never voted in his life nor ever would, was still a solid supporter and promoter of Donald Trump. He felt akin to the man in his use of power, intimidation, canny political sense and his unalloyed confidence.  There was nothing that would stop the President from amassing more power, generating more support, and concluding more deals than any president before him. 

In addition to that, Trump had always been an admirer of beautiful women, a lover of luxury and show, a man of yachts, mansions, and tropical idylls.  It was a pleasure to have such a man in the Oval office after four years of a pussy whipped old man hounded by ugly queer women and who did nothing but give way free things.  

The fool emptied the treasury and got nothing for it - those billions of dollars in infrastructure grants could have generated a king's ransom for him, set him up for life.  He whistled and waffled with the Ayatollah, played pinochle with his aides while rockets rained on Israel, said he loved black people but did more to deflate enterprise and initiative than any president before him. 

When Trump sent Elon Musk into federal office buildings and scattered the do-nothing hangers on, Jones was reminded of his storming of the headquarters of a rival.  In a cavalcade of armored vehicles, armed with RPGs, rocket launchers, and Israeli automatic weapons, he assaulted LaFarge Washington's redoubt on MLK avenue in broad daylight and neutralized every last one of his crewe. 

When Trump made deals with China, America's most defiant adversary, Jones thought of his own pact with the Prince George's cartel, one whose leader was a canny, equally intimidating and brutal, businessman.  Resolving the continuing violent disputes which had interrupted business on both sides reduced cross-jurisdictional tensions and resulted in millions of dollars in formerly unrealized revenue. 

Trump's Florida estate at Mar-a-Lago was not unlike the one Jones was building on Bimini - a vast, spacious home on a thousand acres which would be the pleasure Mecca of the hemisphere.  The bright, young, blonde women whom the President courted and recruited for his administration and his pleasure were exactly the women that Jones favored and were seen regularly at his homes on Nantucket and Palm Beach. 

 

Pharoah Jones was a natural politician but not a partisan one.  He had no interest in Republicans or Democrats and worked both sides of the aisle for his benefit; but the election of Donald Trump gave him an entirely different and new perspective.  The man embodied all of the inner city's ethos, a man after Pharoah Jones' heart.  Everything he did - his intimidation, uncompromising attitude, machismo, defiance, absolute confidence and desire to 'do whatever it takes' made the two men soul brothers, comrades in arms, two peas in a pod. 

Pharoah was perhaps the most visible and influential of black Trump supporters, but black men throughout the country had had enough of Joe Biden, his gay gender spectrum, his tough dykes and swishy aides.  He was not a man but a suit. There was nothing in him, his character, or his personality that gave even an inkling of power, decisiveness, and influence.  

In the last election, Trump won over twenty-five percent of black male voters, a significant number given the historical preference for Democratic candidates regardless of the cut of their jib.  This percentage, according to recent polls, was edging up.  The President's first ten months were pure ghetto, unmatched for their singlemindedness, authority, and all-out aggression. 

'I want to meet that white boy', Jones said to a group of his associates who knew that such a meeting was nigh impossible; but they cheered their boss anyway for his intent. 

In fact, Trump had heard of Jones and his outspoken support for him. Trump a bottom-line political thinker couldn't care less about Jones' alleged activities.  'That's what the ghetto is all about', he said, 'and more power to him'.  What mattered was his growing national reputation as the black community's Big Man and his influence over those within it. 

Clearly a meeting was not in the cards - for now - but he did send Jones a Christmas card signed, 'With thanks', an apertura if there ever was one.  

Jones and Trump understood each other perfectly.  They were no different, combined the same understanding of power and its limitless use, its perks and rewards, and its fame and notoriety. They were both Big Men, uncompromising males who never had any doubt about their potency, virility, or naturally-given forces. 

On a clear day from the steps of the Capitol, one can see Anacostia.  There are no skyscrapers, monuments, or spectacular edifices there - after all it is a slum - but one day after meeting with Republican Congressmen there (on their turf was his idea), Donald Trump stood outside and looked across the river to the east and thought of Pharoah Jones.