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Dear White People, Stop Being So Utterly Retarded

In response to this blogger’s post here: https://afrosapiophile.com/2016/12/10/white-radicalization/ from a friend’s post on Facebook.

I don’t agree with anything in this article or the other article he wrote either and I’ll tell you why because I believe it’s worth speaking on whether anyone agrees with anything I say or not.

Chris Rock asks, “What do white people got to be so angry about?”

I’ll answer that question. White people should be angry because they’re oppressed in America by every person of every other color. A black man can discriminate against a white man and that’s a black man standing up for his rights, but if a white man does the same, it’s racism. A university can have a group of black people shouting black power and that’s somehow applauded, but a group of white students shouting white power will immediately be called out as being racist. Whites are often overlooked in jobs and education because of actual laws that allow companies and universities to discriminate against whites in favor of minorities to fill quotas. And therein is systematic racism against whites, because this backwards country has been oppressing white people, in actual laws and institutions, and calling it modernization. So I don’t understand why any white person wouldn’t be angry, but the fact that white people aren’t angry at the racism and the hatred against them by people of color is astounding. Now isn’t that interesting? White people are legally and socially discriminated against. White people are blamed for the life choices made by people of color. And yet, whites aren’t taking to the streets marching, exclaiming, “White Lives Matter. Kill all black cops,” like the hate group, Black Lives Matter. And yes, it’s a hate group. And if you would like me to explain how Black Lives Matter is a hate group, I’d be happy to in an additional comment.

My question to Chris Rock is this,” What are black people so angry about?” Seriously, black people today have never been been slaves. Their parents and their grand parents have never been slaves. Many slave owners were also other blacks, but of course, black people will never admit to that because it makes them lose this power they have by creating the illusion that they’re victims of something that happened more than 150 years ago while victimizing whites and demanding reparations for something that didn’t happen to them. Not only with this ridiculous notion that whites were somehow responsible for enslaving black people (Barbary slave trade, anyone?), but black people seem to be very angry that white cops have killed blacks because it serves this illusion that blacks are victims of white power. While most cops are less inclined to pull the trigger when the suspect is black (refer to reverse racism above as the reason why), most blacks are killed by other blacks. And why aren’t black people angry about that? Why aren’t black people angry that the majority of death to young black men is homicide committed by other black men? A black man is 2,000 times more likely to be murdered by another black person than by a white person, a hispanic person, an asian person, or a cop. But why does the media only cover blacks being killed by white cops? Because it furthers the fake racism in America by creating the illusion that blacks are victims while victimizing all whites. If black lives really mattered to the hate group, Black Lives Matter, they would definitely address the gigantic concern in the African American community of blacks killing blacks. Anyone who mentions such a thing however, is immediately called a racist because that’s the ONLY thing black people really care about, furthering this fake racism and hate. Apparently, black lives do not matter, not even to black people.

Morgan Freeman said best when asked in an interview on how to deal with the issue of racism in America. He gave a simple reply which was very appropriate. “Stop talking about it,” he said. Yet, hate groups like Black Lives Matter continue to create this fake racism dynamic to separate all people into groups. So why aren’t we talking about black radicalization? Because it would be racist according to black people and society. And therein lies the problem, that blacks want special privileges for things they didn’t suffer from, and they want to oppress an entire race so they can feel good about themselves. It’s seriously messed up.

Now, to address other fake crap in these two articles.

Asian people do NOT engage in skin bleaching to look white. Nor do Asian people want to be white. It’s disgusting to assume something when ignorance could’ve been easily averted with a simple Google search. Most Asians value pale skin because working in the sun gives you a tan and poor people farm a lot. Having pale skin in Asian cultures is a social status. It means you have enough money where you didn’t need to work all day outside. Also, rich people can afford something called pearls which is very good for your skin. Asians love using pearl powder on their skin which gives it a white sheen. The more powder on your face, the richer you are. So white skin isn’t because Asians want to be white. It’s because it’s a tradition of measuring wealth.

Also, Asians don’t have eyelid surgery to look like white people. It’s a stupid, utterly stupid assumption that ONLY white people have double eyelids. I guess all blacks, all natives, all europeans, all asians, and all hispanics have monolids. I can’t even begin to comment on the stupidity of people and how they twist reality to fit this perverted alternate reality they claim to live in. Not all Asians have monolids. A lot of Asians have double eyelids, thus negating this stupid need to look like white people by having eyelid surgery. Sure, some Asians do have eyelid surgery, but it’s not to look like white people. It’s to feel good about themselves and how they look. My sister, for one, had double eyelid surgery. She didn’t really need it, but she had a heavier top lid like me which makes her eyelids look almost like monolids. However, she didn’t have surgery to look like a white person. My other four sisters all have double eyelids. My one sister who had surgery did it to feel good about how she looked. She certainly wasn’t thinking about wanting to look like a white person!

“Afro-Americans extensively KNOW racism.” Really? Where in the world did the blogger make that crap assumption? Being a black person doesn’t make one not racist. And let’s talk about that. Being a minority does not make someone automatically not racist. I find blacks and minorities are more racist towards whites, and although it’s socially accepted to discriminate against whites and not have that be called racism, which it really is, there’s this gross misconception that blacks and minorities cannot be racist because they’re not white. Apparently, only white people can be racist. Racist, much? Just because racism against whites is socially accepted by this perverted country, doesn’t make it right. It’s not okay.

Apparently, white people talk about racism ALL the time because minorities and other sympathetic idiot whites accuse other white people of racism all the time. I don’t understand this crap, “fear of merely talking about racism” thing the blogger tries so hard to push. I will talk with people about racism all day long because I have no problem telling minorities and stupid white people, yes, stupid because they believe in this fake racism war, I have no problem telling all of them to stop complaining about pretending to be victims while victimizing white people just because they’re white. That is actually called racism, people, where groups of people discriminate, oppress, hurt, and hate another group just because of their skin color. All this reverse racism needs to stop. It’s so embarrassing to see stupid white people believing in this fake lie of racism and to see them furthering this illusion that blacks and minorities are actually victims. They’re not victims. They are actually legally and socially accepted to discriminate and hate white people without any backlash whatsoever. Talk about black privilege. White people can’t get away with that crap.

White people fear losing whiteness in America? I’m going to curse here because I have been trying to be good about this most idiotically written piece of blog I had to read. WTF? I actually didn’t curse. People did when they read those three letters. Anyway, white people fear becoming a minority? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. It’s like saying that I fear not being Asian anymore. But with all the perversion in this country where you can choose what gender you are and who you are, whether you’re a plant or animal or not even a life form, why settle for one race when you can be any race you want? *shakes head* The sarcasm is thick, but many won’t understand it. I can’t even believe the utter crap I’m reading. We have just had a black president for the past 8 years. White people have a fear that not everyone is white? What kind of nonsense is that? It’s like saying that all white people pretend that people of color don’t exist. We know America is a melting pot of lots of races, but seriously, how can stupid white people believe this utter crap spewing from this idiot blogger? The title of my post should really be labeled, “Dear White People, Stop Being So Utterly Retarded”. Right now, the blogger is just pulling crap out of his ass and smearing it on anyone who would believe in his poop. Yep, poop.

“Minorities are allowed to have a controlled amount of say-so, but not a true freedom of say-so.” This is utter crap too. Minorities have actual LAWS protecting them and allowing white people to be discriminated against. Plus, minorities are seen as the victims and therefore, minorities are never called out as the racists they are even when they are the aggressors.

The fear of white people mixing races is utter crap. On the street I grew up on, and I’m only counting two blocks down, there were two interracial families who both had children. They were two couples comprised of a black partner and a white partner. They were happy and they were accepted in the community which was a mixed community of whites and blacks. Their kids were accepted too although for some reason, the mixed children were made fun of in the black community for having a white parent. Who is racist now? White people don’t fear mixing races. They’re not afraid that everyone’s not white like them because they KNOW that everyone isn’t white like them. The blogger has nothing valid to say except for his own fears which may be mixing races.

The fear of being a minority is pretty stupid, considering the fact that not ALL white people aren’t even actually white. This also goes back to the fear of losing whiteness in America which is just another made up fear projected from an idiot blogger onto an entire race of people. Many Europeans look white. Grouping all light skin people into the “white” category isn’t white people trying to become a bigger group because they’re scared of becoming a small group. It’s what idiots use to rationalize their unfounded theories of white fear. It’s like me saying all darker skin colors are really blacks and should be grouped together, like all middle easterners, all hispanics, everyone living near the equator, etc, etc. Doesn’t that sound stupid? Yes, it does.

As to the assumption that white people are adopting from Russia to increase the population of whites, according to Childwelfare.gov (https://www.childwelfare.gov/topics/systemwide/statistics/adoption/), There were 11,100 adoptions abroad by US Citizens in 2010. 3,156 of those adoptions were from Africa. 5,409 of those adoptions were from Asia. Both Africa and Asia are places of non-whites. That’s 8,565 adoptions of color. Guess that kinda blows away the crap reasoning that Americans are quick to adopt only white looking babies to further their race crap.

The 2015 Annual Intercountry Adoption report from the government (https://travel.state.gov/content/dam/aa/pdfs/2015Annual_Intercountry_Adoption_Report.pdf) states that a total of 5,648 adoptions in 2015. 2,354 adoptions came from China. 1 from the Republic of the Congo, 29 from the Democratic Republic of the Congo. 4 from Central African Republic. 13 from Cameroon. 5 from Burkina Faso. 10 from Burundi. 1 from Algeria. 2 from Eritrea. 327 from Ethiopia. 77 from Ghana. 2 from Guinea. 2 from Kenya. 3 from Malawi. 1 from Mali. 5 from Niger. 150 from Nigeria. 11 from Sierra Leone. 33 from South Africa. That’s a total of 3,030 from non white majority countries. I didn’t even count South American countries or other Asian countries as well. That is over half of all intercountry adoptions resulting in non white babies.

All in all, believing in the racism lie just gives people like this blogger and everyone else a mouthpiece to pervert the truth. Be smart. Learn truth, not believe in lies because they sound good or because they’re widely accepted by everyone. Think for yourself.

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Posted by on February 3, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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Dust and Ashes

(When eight-year old Zahid’s father dies in the throes of the Sudanese civil war, Zahid must save his best friend, ten-year old Maleek, from the rebel Red Army who kidnaps children and trains them to fight and die for the army’s cause.)

The day that my father died was also the day that I met my best friend Maleek. I wasn’t there at the place where they killed him. I was too busy getting into trouble, even when my father specifically told me to stay inside. I didn’t obey him. He wouldn’t have known and so I sneaked out of the apartment we shared and ran down to the market to buy some sweets. That was where I met Maleek. He was two years older than me, ten, and he had skin so black I thought it hurt to touch him. We had been running around for most of the day, two dirty kids laughing and playing in the middle of the market, as happy as we could’ve been. There wasn’t much to be happy about it those days. I didn’t like the place my father and I had come to or the people here. I didn’t remember being happy much after we arrived here.

My father, General Hamad Assain, divorced my mother when I was still a child. I remembered nothing of her, but I found a picture of a beautiful woman hidden in some of my mother’s belongings. She had dark hair and very pale skin. Her eyes were a soft green and she smiled. I have her eyes, the same shade of summer leaves on the sparse trees that grew around the apartment complex where we used to live. Years later, I heard rumors that told me a different story. The rumors said that my father didn’t really divorce my mother. My mother was said to have been having an affair with another man and when my father found out, he killed both her and the unborn baby brother or sister I could’ve had which was in her belly at the time. I didn’t believe the stories told about my father. I didn’t know my mother, but I was sure she was a good woman. My father was always so king and so nice to me. He couldn’t have murdered my mother and the baby. He was a devout Muslim man who believed in doing good and in treating others with love and respect.

We lived in the small apartment complex, which was a series of white boxes stacked one on top of the other, for the first few years of my life. We moved shortly before my seventh birthday because my father had a job that took him from place to place, and this time, he was to be gone for a very, very long period of time so he took me with him. He explained this new place to me before we left. It was a place filled with new things and new people–people so dark that at night, the only part of them that could be seen was the white of their eyes. I didn’t believe him. No person was ever that dark. But this was to be a world different from the one I knew while living in the tiny apartment complex. This was no longer Saudi Arabia, but Africa, and that was where we were going.

“Zahid,” Maleek whispered as his invisible fingers shook me gently. “It’s your turn to keep watch.”

“Leave me alone,” I mumbled quietly, pushing his hand away. “I just fallen asleep.”

Maleek pressed the button on his watch, covering the soft light of the indiglo with his whole hand cupped around the face of the watch. “It’s four-twenty and my turn to sleep,” he insisted. “You slept for four hours.”

I groaned and swatted behind me, not hitting Maleek, but wishing that it was as easy to ignore him as crushing a pesky mosquito and not having to deal with the persistent buzzing in my ear. “Fine, fine,” I said as I forced myself to sit up. It was so dark that the only part of Maleek I saw was the white of his eyes. We stared at each other for a moment. “Go on then,” I said to him. “Sleep, sleep, so it will quickly be my turn again.”

“In time,” Maleek said as he settled down beside me. He dug himself into the dry dirt and bent some tall grass to use as a pillow. He took off his watch and gave it to me. “Don’t lose it,” he warned me sternly. He did this every time he had to part with the watch. “My father gave it to me. If you lose it, I will kill you.” The threat was an idle one. Maleek didn’t have a father. He grew up on the streets of Umptin, a small poor city in Sudan. He found the watch one day while digging through the trash bins, searching for something to eat. The wrist band was the only part that was broken so Maleek found some string and tied two ends to the face, creating a new band.

“I hear you too loudly,” I said, hushing him with the last two words. “It’s safe, I promise.” I tied the watch tightly on to my wrist, making sure that it wouldn’t fal off, and then I turned to see Maleek staring at me. “What?” I asked. “Didn’t you want to sleep?”

“Don’t fall asleep, Zahid,” Maleek warned me. “I have a bad feeling about tonight.”

“Tonight, tonight,” I said to him. “Night’s almost over now. You always have bad feelings.”

He nodded at me. “Yes, and you fell asleep twice.”

My cheeks reddened, but Maleek couldn’t see the color in the dark. I bit my lip and puffed out my chest. “A simple accident,” I told him. “I didn’t fall asleep after that. If I said I’m up, I’m up.” He only stared at me and it made me more nervous. “Don’t worry,” I said as I pushed his head towards the ground. “I am the brave son of a General. In my country, everyone will be glad to know that we are protecting them, us Generals. My people are not cowards. My father never ran away. I will never run away. And you will not have to fear–”

“You speak too much,” Maleek said as he closed his eyes. I instantly stopped in mid-sentence. I did speak too much when I get nervous. “Do not fall asleep, Zahid,” Maleek repeated. “I have a very bad feeling about this.”

“You can count on me,” I told him. Then I stared into the darkness where I thought he lay until I was sure that he was asleep. “Nothing to do now,” I whispered to myself. “It’s good there’s no lions around.” I shuddered at the thought of the wild beasts that could at any moment, rip to pieces two weak young boys in the middle of nowhere and no one would’ve ever known we existed. I cast the thought out of my head and focused on the task at hand. I was going to keep us both safe, like my father would’ve done if he was still here.

Africa was much like Saudi Arabia in that sand and dirt was everywhere. It was much hotter in Sudan and since being here, I gained a darker skin color than what I’ve been used to all my life. My father and I moved to a small city which wasn’t really a city at all. The roads were cracked and broken with deep gashes stretching far into the earth. Trash was piled up at every place imaginable and there was no room to step without having to step on some type of trash that was permanently stuck on the ground and could never be removed even if it was scrubbed by powerful machines. Vegetables were in short supply and most of them, wilted, nearing rotten by the time that it was carried home in plastic bags. Gangs of little kids shamelessly begged in the streets, picked pockets, and stole right from under noses and hands. I didn’t know that each dirty and raggedly dressed child was an orphan, a lone survivor who banded together with other unlucky souls to survive in their unkind world. I didn’t want to ever become like them. In fact, the city that we arrived in was a great big one with no unsupervised children running around, nice paved roads, restaurants to eat at, and beautiful homes and apartments. I thought we were going to stay there and I got very excited. Then my father took me to this dump of what was called a small city and I felt disappointed. I was unhappy to settle in such an unclean and unwell place.

“Why here?” I had asked my father.

He smiled at me. “This is where my job takes me to,” he replied very kindly.

“You want us to live here?” I couldn’t believe I had to stay in this awful place. “There’s nothing here.”

“A very important job is here,” my father said. “As long as it is here, then we shall be here too.” He patted me on the head and led me up a very blue staircase to a second story door. The white paint was chipped everywhere I looked and the door looked beaten in a few times with dents and a few splinters in the wood. Layers of yellow peeked out from behind the white paint.

“We live here now,” I said to myself, feeling a sense of overwhelming hatred rising up for this place I had to live in. I didn’t understand why we couldn’t live somewhere else, somewhere cleaner. “But this is too much. No one can really live here.”

My father opened the door with his key and turned the rattling loose knob. “Zahid, there is always hope in the midst of any bad thing.” He smiled at me and suddenly, I had to pee.

I awoke to a tightening in my belly. I quickly glanced around to see if Maleek had seen me sleeping, but I heard the soft breathing and knew he had been asleep the whole time. “Lucky!” I whispered to myself as I started to climb to my feet. Maleek would’ve killed me if he knew! The rumbling in my stomach started to ache and I pushed my stomach inward to help soothe some of the pain. “Oh, no,” I groaned. “I have to poop too.” I hurried past Maleek and farther up front, trying to count my steps so I could find my way back. I went fifty steps, and then decided to walk a little bit more to keep the smell away from Maleek who was still sleeping.

In the middle of relieving myself, I heard laughter from somewhere behind me. I strained my ears to listen as much as I also strained to pass a big one. Was Maleek up and laughing at me? Did he smell the stink? I worried and tried to finish so I could go tell him how sorry I was for waking him up. I thought I was far away enough and without wind, there shouldn’t have been any smell.

I was about done, ripping off tall grass in clumps to wipe myself when I heard a voice that didn’t sound familiar. The voice stopped me cold and my hand almost fell into the pile of mess I just made.

“What have we here?” said the stranger. “A little piggy alone to be food for wolves.” There was much laughter after that and coming from more than one person.

Wolves? There are no wolves in Sudan. There were no wolves in Saudi Arabia too although I’ve seen them in textbooks and on the internet. No internet in poor places like this one either. What was the voice talking about? It was not deep enough to be a man. It sounded like a boy, just like me and Maleek. I listened more, hurridly wiping and not caring whether I got all the mess off of my skin or not. I couldn’t leave Maleek to himself.

“I am alone,” Maleek said. So he was awake! “What want you and you?”

Why did he say he was alone? He knew I was here too. Maybe he thought I had run off and left him. I told him I wouldn’t leave! I was about to shout and say something when Maleek’s words brought me to a screeching halt.

“You carry guns.” I didn’t know if he said it as an observation or as a warning to me. A gun was a dangerous weapon. My father had told me so. He said guns took many lives. I’ve seen my father’s gun, but I had never been allowed to touch it. Maleek continued on talking, almost too loudly. “I am alone and there is no one with me. I cannot run away. I will do what you want me to. You go away. You run away. I will stay here.”

His words seem to speak to me as well as to the people around him. Run away, he had said. He wanted me to run away? I stayed low and crawled away from the stinking pile, away from Maleek. Before we rested, I saw a stretch of trees to the left, but that was behind of us. I didn’t know how many people were there with him, but if I could somehow crawl around them and make it to the trees, I would be safe. But the thought of a lion hiding in that brush or a snake or any other wild animal made me worry. I didn’t know what to do.

“You go away,” Maleek said, even louder this time. “You run away. I cannot go awya. What want you and you?”

“He makes no sense,” said one of the boys to the others. “Is he damaged?”

I heard a loud thump and Maleek groaned, a fall in the tall grasses where we were sleeping. “Go away!” Maleek screamed. He was definitely talking to me. I saw falshlights in the distance, but I jumped up and ran in the opposite direction, running and running as fast as I could. I heard someone order the others to look around and see if there was someone else there. I should’ve ran away when Maleek first told me to. I looked behind to see multiple beams of light behind me. Luckily, they did not reach my small form. I have been lucky twice tonight.

I didn’t know where to go or what to do except to run. It was foolish to run in a straight line so I turned left. I had no idea where left went, but it was better than all the people coming up behind me. Maybe they thought I kept straight or maybe they thought I went right. As I ran, the fear carried my tiny legs deep into the early dawn. My chest heaved and my stomach hurt. I didn’t have to poop more, but the lack of food made me nauseous and a little dizzy. I wanted to stop, to rest, but there was nowhere to be safe. As light streamed across the sky, I saw I was on an open plain and behind me, no one was coming up over the horizon. I slowed down enough to catch my breath, wheezing as my lungs tried to draw air past the confines of my chest. My leg muscles spasm and ached, paralyzing themselves in hurtful charley horses that made me wince in pain. I fell down and repeatedly massaged my calf muscles to stop them from locking up on me.

“Maleek,” I whispered as tears threatened to squeeze out of my eyes. Where was my best friend now? Had he survived? What happened to him? I pushed the though out of my head. What was I going to do without him?

I needed water and that was the first thing that Maleek and I had always looked for. We always tried to stay near water although sometimes, the animals stayed by water too. With Maleek, there were two sets of eyes to watch the land around us. If we saw a lion, we always walked really fast in the other direction. If it was a leopard or a cheetah, the same rules applied. In fact, we tried to stay away from all the big animals, harmful or not, We ate berries and whatever else we could find. We ate dirt at times to fill up our groaning bellies.We were so hungry at times that we took handfuls of brown grass and ate it like the animals did. Grass was better than nothing.

I was eating grass now, chewing on long dried stems, trying to work the saliva in my mouth so I didn’t feel so thirsty. If i didn’t find water soon, I’d be dehydrated even more so than I now and I might die out here. I shuddered at that thought. I didn’t want to die out here where the wild animals would fight each other to tear off pieces of meat from my carcass. What would happen if I died? How would I ever know what happened to Maleek? And what if he was looking for me right now? I turned around, but no one was following me so I took my time, trying to see if there was anything in the distance ahead or anywhere.

 

 
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Posted by on July 5, 2014 in Stories, Unfinished Stories

 

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