Accusations of “racism” don’t work anymore

The first to label someone else a racist is probably the real racist. In an argument the first to call the other a “Fascist” or a “Nazi” loses the argument.

Thoughts from the Ammo Grrrll:

The REAL “elephant in the room” is not white racism. It is the paucity of young black men even graduating from high school (under half in most urban areas) their lack of preparation to compete in the economic world. Add in a criminal record and a substance abuse problem, and you’ve pretty much screwed the pooch. Black people who do stay in school, and avoid drugs or criminal activity, are doing fine. Especially in the Trump economy.

“Racist” doesn’t even have anything to do with racism anymore. It’s just a wailing cry at anyone who disagrees with liberals.

Being old I grew up in an ancient era. There were real racists then, but nobody bandied about accusations of racism. “Negro” was not a bad word but nice people substituted “colored people” which was considered more polite. Most people wanted to be polite to “colored people.” Most black people also wanted to be polite to white people.

In the poorest neighborhoods most black families consisted of a wife, a husband and some children. Most black children lived in a two-parent family. Many fewer black men engaged in criminal behavior.

Charles J. Rhone, Legendary Black Cowboy, circa 1890s. His daughter, Liz Byrd, became a Wyoming State Senator, her husband was chief of police in Cheyenne in 1960s























One of my mother’s best friends was Liz Byrd,a black woman. She was a member of the Wyoming State Assembly as a representative. She later became a Wyoming State Senator. Her husband was the chief of police in Cheyenne. She came to my mother’s funeral in 2006 and wrote in the guest book: “Lillian is the best person I’ve ever known.”

Another black family across the street from us and who were close friends with the Senator and the police chief were also my mother’s friends. I played with their children. I spoke to the mother of that family on the phone 40 years later, after her husband had died and my mother was sick. She called and gave her first name only. I had already recognized her voice. We had a splendid conversation.

I joined the Navy in 1963 and was on a ship that, like most Navy ships, had a large contingent of black sailors on board. Many of them out ranked me. My favorite was a tough old Boatswain’s Mate named Ross who dragged us out of our bunks every morning with the call, “I’m hard but I’m fair.”

Once when I was sea sick, hanging over the life line with the dry heaves, he came up behind me and slapped me on the back as he said, “Hey Willis, if something black and hairy comes up, grab it. It’s your asshole!”

I commenced laughing so hard I forgot about my sea sickness. Ross and I liked each other a lot.

Most people in the West didn’t have any race consciousness outside of books like To Kill a Mockingbird (1960) in those days. We knew about Emmett Till in 1955, but that was in the South, an alien place at the time. We knew about the black cowboys that came to the West after the Civil War, and were much admired for their ability as  true cowboys. In those days, if you could ride, heard cattle and mend fences nobody cared about your skin color. The black cowboys earned the respect of nearly everyone. Coming up from slavery was a great achievement and people respected that.

Things I’ve learned since then.

In those days black women as well as white women held the power of consent. Few black men had the option of claiming several women as nothing more than sex partners. Even poor black women were not interested in that and would have no part of it. A black man as well as a white man had to offer something more than sex to earn her affection. That affection, as much as sex, was a necessary achievement for any man’s happiness and well being.

Being an old fogey, I wish we could go back to that.



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