This cartoon is not funny.
Crossposted from Left Toon Lane, Bilerico Project & My Left Wing
click to enlarge
Call me a mutant, but I don't see that much wrong with Pastor Wright's sermons. America's chickens did come home to roost on 9-11. Right after the Towers fell, we asked first "who" never "why."
Some of the talking heads on MSM and on local talk radio can't figure out why Obama did not called for the beheading of Jeremiah Wright. Because if you take the 5 quotes the media has been playing over and over and look at the rest of these sermons, they are fiery oratories on the Black experience in America which many Americans won't understand because they have never been called "nigger."
When I went to school, we were never taught Black History. We never learned about the Black leaders, the long, agonizing history that brought most Blacks to America. Those atrocities were glossed over in favor of mindlessly boring topics like the X Y Z Affair.
This series of cartoons will review Black history as told from a Black mother to an interracial child. This series will be ugly, course, horrific and truthful. I will mostly abandon the commentary for an article on Black history.
This series is not about Obama or Hillary. I want to you to try to imagine how Black families tell their children of the atrocities their ancestors, all of them, suffered because of the color of their skin. Try to imagine how Black families counsel their children when someone calls them "nigger" for the first time. Can you imagine the bone crushing emotion that must well up? Can you imagine the agony, frustration and anger?
Can you imagine being the Black preacher who tries to pant a picture of a just God every Sunday? Especially in a country that claims where the notion of racism is a thing of the past, the job is difficult.
These strips may at times be entertaining and sometimes they may not.
I don't want you to laugh so hard you cry, I want you to cry so hard you do something about it.
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Still coming to terms with my own prejudices
Was born and raised in Miami Florida by parents from the north, (Maine and New York). I remember the days of separate drinking fountains,(I even tried a sip from a "blacks only" water fountain because at the age of 6 I thought maybe it spouted chocolate milk)
black only bathrooms and all white classrooms.
When my father's business was booming, we had a black nanny. Often going to her house for the day if Mom and Dad were away for the weekend. What a difference from our house with a pool in Ft. Lauderdale.
I have always been embarrassed by my parents prejudices, but I still fight my own deamons in my head. At night when I drive home, I drive through a black community just north of Pinehurst made up of the caddies and room attendents that Pinehurst brought to this area when they were establishing themselves. I see young girls who are pregnant or boys standing on the corners and my thoughts are often those of a righteous white woman calling them whores and drug dealers in my head. Then I ask myself why I judge so. How can I, a child of the 60's free love, be so hatefully judgemental.
It is an inner deamon that I constantly fight. I know that too many of these thoughts are lessons learned when I was young.
No matter that patriotism is too often the refuge of scoundrels. Dissent, rebellion, and all-around hell-raising remain the true duty of patriots.
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