Blacksulting And A Thousand Ways To Say Nigger

Television is a thing that I vehemently abhor. However, on rare occasion I will suffer the proverbial “idiot box” and find something that tickles my fancy. About 15 years ago, there was such a program and it was called “A 1,000 Ways to Die.” The program showcased multifarious abominable true stories about those who succumbed to the grim reaper in the most bizarre modus mortis and aired for four seasons.

Being a Black Person in the United States is, undoubtedly, the most unique experience in the United States in terms of a collective societal group experience. Pursuant to the aforementioned television program, there are not a thousand ways to die; there are many thousands of ways to die. There are also many thousands of ways Black People in the United States are insulted; and they (we) are insulted constantly with many of us unaware that we are being insulted. Furthermore, quite often, those insulting us (and sometimes it is each other) are unaware that they are being insulting because these insults are so deeply ingrained in the society; linguistically and otherwise. I call this Blacksulting.

So What’s In A Name?

William Shakespeare’s best known play is, of course, Romeo and Juliet. Even the dimmest of dullards are familiar with this one work. In the play, Juliet excoriates Rome by asking “What's in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet.” She is telling Rome that a name, or label, is nothing but a name or label and it is hence a convention with no meaning behind it.

Juliet was full of more shit than a Christmas turkey.

Along with “Colored",” “African-American,” Afro-American (as if I am a hair style), “Negro,” and “Black,” I have other names. No other ethnic group has ever had to endure such torturous linguistic contortions. There are the zoological references of “Buck,” “Monkey",” “Niggress” and “Jungle Bunny.”

Then there are the more esoteric blacksults like “jigaboo” (former President of the United States Donald Trump refers to a Black Woman in the United States named Leticia James that is involved in one of his prosecutions as “Peekaboo James”). This is related to the word “boo-boo” which is, well, what it is. Boo-boo is etymologically known as a “Black term for feces" and turds are brown.

I doubt that Black People in the United States are responsible for the linguistic moniker and anyone who proffers that they are, like the aforementioned Juliet, is full of shit.

When I was a very young man, an Inglewood Police officer referred to me as a “turd.” Oddly enough, I was a police recruit at the time. Perhaps one day I shall tell the tale of Officer Arlen C. Vaselenko. Mr. Vaselenko, an old man now, permanently altered my life and I hope before the bastard takes his last breath I have the opportunity to address him.

But, I digress and since you subscribe to this newsletter you are familiar with my digressions; please duly pardon same.

I often remind people that the Black Person in the United States is the only person in the United States that not only does not have her ancestral name, that not only has no clue of what his name was but, most disastrously, carries the names of people that kidnapped, exploited, raped, dehumanized, lynched and murdered them. A hell of a legacy and societal albatross. Go into any phone directory in any major U.S. city (you call it the "N-er City") and you will find page after page of Black People in the United States with the name "Johnson" as in John's-son, as in "boy". You see, John was/is a quite common Anglo-Christian first name, and if you, as a black person, as property, as a "boy" were "owned" by John your name was John-son. Ironically, Johnson is not as common a last name for European-Americans. Same with Adam, Jack, Richard, Daniel, Robert, Thom, Samuel, William, etc.

Just add son, son.

A common concept in history is that knowing the name of something or someone gives one power over that thing or person. Names tell us a lot about ourselves and our connections to our ethnicity, cultural identity and our family's migration experiences. A name isn't something that is chosen, it's something that is unveiled. In many cultures it is said that everyone has a sacred name; something creation has chosen to define you by. This name is intended to shape your life; your identity, your direction, your purpose.

“Play it, Sam.”

Then, play it again, Sam; for no one can rival the talent that is you.

Products

When I was a small boy, there were a chain of restaurants in the United States called “Sambo’s.” I loved Sambo’s. I was but a boy and I saw the logo, I read the name and was, even as a small boy, as linguistically and cognitively precocious as I am today but I had neither experience nor clue that I was being insulted. And paying to be insulted; more on that in the forthcoming paragraphs.

Bleached flour uses bleaching agents (commonly benzoyl peroxide and chlorine gas, among others) to speed up the flour's aging process. Natural aging takes significantly longer than the bleaching process, which is why bleached flour was created. A household staple, bleached flour is not the best choice of flour when it comes to your health. Choosing foods made with refined flour regularly not only causes you to miss out on important nutrition, but it can set you up for lower satiety and poorer control of blood sugars.

Ironically, chemically bleaching flour is banned in Australia, the European Union, and many other countries across the globe due to the carcinogenic properties of the chemicals used. These facts aside, the bleaching process can also impart a bitter aftertaste and off odors.

Play it, Sam.

White sugar is produced through a purifying process that removes a brown syrup called molasses. On the other hand, brown sugar either undergoes less processing to retain its molasses content or is produced by mixing white sugar with molasses. Refined sugars may increase your risk of obesity, type 2 diabetes, and heart disease. They're also linked to a higher likelihood of depression, dementia, liver disease, and certain types of cancer.

Play it again, Sam.

Uncle.

The “white meat” and most tasteless, by the by, of the humble “barnyard-pimp,” the gospel bird, the gallus gallus domesticus (chicken) is considered superior to its more tasteful darker meat. But I wont go there.

I have always had to write from a business and legal standpoint. Once I wrote something as a ten year-old entitled Hell on Earth. A ten year-old. My father died a young man in his mid 50’s and just before his funeral I found the something I had written as a child in his dresser drawer. It was written in pencil on college ruled paper. Half-dozen years ago, I began to write seriously in the journalistic and creative sense, which is a damned site different from business and legal writing.

With guidance and assistance from incredible people, I started writing for a particular platform. Early on, I wrote an article entitled “What African-American Means To Me.” The Editor in Chief contacted me and was ecstatic about the article.

I had chosen a graphic to accompany the article that was of a popular “American” product called “Niggerhead Stove Polish.” At one time it was a product on grocery shelves throughout the United States. It was fact, it was history.

I was a bit taken aback that the chief editor would contact me given that this was one of my early articles and terribly written; retrospectively speaking. I knew there had to be something aside involved…and there was. Mr. Editor informed me that the article would be headlined, but he was uncomfortable “with the image you chose.” I pushed back and said “yeah, but that is reality…that product was in households across the United States!” He would not relent but wanted to publish; and being a neophyte, I needed him to publish the piece. He sensed my resentment and said” how about this, let me pick a graphic to go with the piece and let me know if you think it’s okay.”

Now, think about this: here I am, a literary nobody, and Mr. Editor and I have mutual acquaintances. If I contest the image, I don’t get published. If I don’t contest the image, I become a bit of a whore. I agreed to let him choose an image upon my “okay.” Binding Arbitration at its finest.

Within an hour or so, he got back to me with the image he had chosen that he, clearly, thought was a more acceptable one. It was of a fictitious, Black, pickaninny-type little girl eating a watermelon with a smile on her face that I find hard to construe. Mr. Editor, enraptured by his white sensibilities, chose to accept fiction over historic fact because it made him more “comfortable.” Proof positive that there is neither rest nor “comfort” for the wicked. I was offended beyond description. I needed to get published. I acquiesced.

In that acquiescence I realized I was, still, very much a slave. Upon this realization I crafted my rebellion for I am, indeed, a rebellious slave that does not know his “place.” Nor will I ever. The best slave in the world is the one unaware that he is a slave for she takes pride in her servitude. He desires it.

The image that I reference accompanies this article and can be found on our substack webpage. My umbrage towards Mr. Editor only intensified as the four years have passed. I channeled that intensity to become a better writer so that I might be less reliant and, thusly, compliant to editors, publishers and the dreaded Overton Window. I did that, to some degree. Not long ago, I informed Mr. Editor of my offense and that I would remind him of it someday. Today, is that day.

Not even I can make this stuff up.

Along with “Nigger Head Stove Polish,” there were “Nigger Head Oysters,” “Negro Head Oysters,” “Niggerhair Smoking Tobacco,” “Nigger Head Golf Tees,” Nigger Head Tar Soap (black as tar)” and “Nigger Head Shrimp".” The caricatures, the monkeyish and cartoon like images that graced the labels of these products speak for themselves. So that you might dare further your respective eruditeness on the matter, of fact, I have graciously provided you the following link click here

Nigger Charlie

Though a young boy, I remember the “blaxploitation” films of the early 1970’s, one of which was called “Nigger Charlie.” On one occasion my cousins came from Long Beach to visit us in Los Angeles. There were three children and the middle child, about four years my junior, was a very funny little fellow in a deadpan sort of way. He must have been about five at the time and upon seeing my father he said “you look like Nigger Charlie.” All of the adults laughed; they thought it funny. I did not.

Oddly enough that film, Nigger Charlie, has had the title changed (just recently) to “Black Charlie.” I suspect that is to reflect progress or some manner of being “woke.” With Herculean effort, I will refrain from the blue streak editorial my spirit wishes to render regarding this issue.

The movie Blazing Saddles, adored by European-Americans, is replete with the word “nigger.” It is a film from the mid 70’s and I recall seeing it when I was about ten years old. It was supposed to be funny, I did not think so; still don’t. The film was produced by Michael Hertzberg and directed by the legendary Mel Brooks. Both Mr. Hertzberg and Mr. Brooks are Jewish.

There was a critically acclaimed film called PKMIAFNJ or, better known as, Please Kill Me I’m A Faggot Nigger Jew.

A European film producer and director that I absolutely despise, one Quentin Tarantino, seems incapable of making a movie without the word “nigger.” Tarantino has become famous and quite wealthy from the word which, to this very day, is a constant in his films. It is used ad nauseum in Django, Pulp Fiction, Jackie Brown and others.

Famous comedian Richard Pryor’s comedy album “That Nigger’s Crazy” is adored by European-Americans. In fact, it was one of the first comedy records to become platinum. Richard Pryor’s audiences were overwhelmingly white and they loved his disparaging stories of black stereotypes; they howled with laughter. They especially loved his relentless use of the word “nigger.”

At some point in his career, Pryor went to “Africa” and the trip changed his life. He was amazed to see how gracious the people were and how well educated they were. It blew him away when he got on his flight and all of the officers in the cockpit were men that looked like him. He even joked that he was kind of scared to fly on the plane because he had never seen such a thing. He almost fainted when he saw a black man’s face on currency.

Most poignantly, he tells of being at his swank hotel and sitting in the hotel restaurant. As he waited for his meal, he “looked around and even though there were black and brown people everywhere, I didn’t see no niggas! Then, I realized I was the only nigger there.” When Richard returned to the United States, he stopped using the word and his popularity plummeted. The standing room only, sold-out concerts were no more. Richard Pryor’s career ended when he stopped saying “nigger.”

Think about that.

So-called “rap” music would be non-existent without the word “nigger.” Most of the recording executives at the major record labels are European-Americans. The only profitable racial slur in the United States is also its most horrific. No one makes money off of “kike” (many have never heard of the word), chink, buddhahead, spic, wop, jap, beaner or towelhead. But that “nigger” is a goldmine; always has been…in more ways than one.

Not long ago, I was on a radio program which is a morning show on KLOS (the largest rock station in the U.S.). I took one of the hosts, who is a European-American female, to task about the ubiquitous use of the word. She became highly indignant and retorted “well, it’s your word and I don’t use that word.” The other host, a European-American male, said to her “yeah but don’t you like rap?” She responded “yes, I love rap.” He then said to her “so when you are in your car singing along and that word comes up do you stop singing?” I will maintain the readers suspense as to how she responded for another time, but let me suffice it to say she will hear from me again.

The Global Colonialist Anti-Blackist Stain

A few months ago, a European-American man that seems to sincerely resent the Anti-Blackism including racism committed in his name (for reasons I cannot quite fathom) and is a brilliant scholar, writer, thinker, as well as someone I admire, sent me an original tin of “Darkie” shoe polish. Darkie Shoe Polish is a product of Taiwan and was/is sold throughout Asia. The tin has Taiwanese writing/characters and the word “DARKIE” all capitalized in a large font at the base of the tin. At the top of the tin is an image of a man so black he could put fingerprints on charcoal, with large shining white teeth wearing a top-hat and a bowtie. A caricature.

I had a white man, this year, comment on how “shiny” my car was. He kept using the word “shine.” I knew what the anal orifice was up to and I shared it with some other European-Americans (much older than I) that are his neighbors. They are in their 80’s (my parents age) and are a product of Jim Crow. They could not understand my offense and claimed they were unfamiliar with the insult. They are also racists.

The Alkebulanian (renamed “Africa” by Rome) nations of Niger and Nigeria are experiencing civil/governmental tumult and have been in the news as of late. Each time I hear some European speak of Knee-Jer I cringe. I cringe because Niger is “Nigger.” Full stop. Because some foie gras eating, no bath taking Frenchman takes out one of the g’s and softens the other doesn’t mean a damned thing; other than what it means. Same with Nigeria. Think about it: the only people in the world with countries assigned names that are racial slurs are Black People. Further, those names are names assigned to them by the European.

Play it, Sam.

I tend to admire the Chinese. I admire their unity, their government, their culture and, most of all, their cuisine. Perhaps that is why I have slanted eyes. Nonetheless, not even the Chinese are immune from the intoxicating colonialist allure of Anti-Blackism. In 2016 a detergent ad that aired in China shows a black man being transformed into a pale-skinned Asian after being stuffed into a laundry machine. The ad became an international sensation. It was, and is, horrifically insulting.

It has been said that jazz is America’s oldest and only true art form and, of course, jazz is a product of the descendants of enslaved Alkebulanians. However, I disagree for before jazz there was Blacksulting. Blacksulting is, truly, the oldest art form in the United States and it continues to thrive. Ergo, the next time you say to yourself “self, why don’t these Black People in the United States just get over it?” Read this article again and stifle your ignorant and misguided sentiments.

Play it again, Sam.