On April 12th, 1964, Malcolm X made a speech before a large gathering on the merits of black nationalism. Below is a one-minute snippet from that speech, discussing the logic of African-Americans supporting the Democratic Party in such huge numbers.

Transcript:

In Washington, D.C., in the House of Representatives, there are 257 who are Democrats. Only 177 are Republican. In the Senate there are 67 Democrats; only 33 are Republicans. The party that you backed controls two-thirds of the House of Representatives and the Senate, and still they can’t keep their promise to you.

‘Cause you’re a chump.

Anytime you throw your weight behind a political party that controls two-thirds of the government and that party can’t keep the promise that it made to you during election time, and you’re dumb enough to walk around continuing to identify yourself with that party, you’re not only a chump, but you’re a traitor to your race.

—Malcolm X

Now, allow me to paraphrase Malcolm, to reflect the current state of affairs:

Right now (since January 2009), in the House, there are 256 who are Democrats.  Only 179 are Republican.  In the Senate there are 59 Democrats; only 41 are Republicans.  The party that you backed controls two-thirds of the House of Representatives and nearly 60% of the Senate, and put a black man in the White House, and still they didn’t keep their promise to you.

‘Cause you’re a chump.

Anytime you throw your weight behind a political party that controls two-thirds of the government and that party can’t keep the promise that it made to you during election time, and you’re dumb enough to walk around continuing to identify yourself with that party…

Well…I’ll let you come to your own conclusions.

But as you think about it, also consider this: Between 1964 and 2010, how much “Change” has there really been?

(Note: This is in no way meant as an endorsement for the Republican Party. Malcolm was no more forgiving of them. And certainly I’m not. The difference is that Republicans do not even pretend to represent African-Americans, and since at least the advent of the “Southern Strategy” – redoubled through the Tea Party – they have become openly hostile towards African-American interests.)

I’m going to walk out of this sad-sack alley and find a bathroom. And I’m going to wash my face and clothes. No, I’ll steal some clothes. Good clothes. A white shirt and black pants. And I’ll steal good shoes, too. Black leather shoes, cap toes, with intricate designs cut into the leather. In good clothes, I can be a good man.

And so I shamble out of the alley. No, I suck in my stomach muscles, straighten my spine, and hold my head level and I strut out of the alley.

And I horrify my audience. People sprint around me. A few just turn around and walk in the opposite direction. One woman screams.

Jesus, I must look like a horror movie. But that doesn’t matter. I am covered with the same blood that is inside everybody else. They can’t judge me because of this blood.

“I want some respect,” I say.

Nobody hears me. Worse, nobody understands me.

“I want some respect”, I say again, louder this time.

A man walks around the corner, almost bumps into me, and then continues on. He didn’t notice me. He didn’t see my blood. I follow him. A gray man, he wears a cheap three-button suit with better shoes. He talks loudly into a Bluetooth earpiece.

“I want some respect,” I say to him.

“I’ll call you back, Jim, I got some drunk guy talking to me,” he says into his earpiece, and hits the hang-up button. And then he asks me, “What the fuck do you want, chief?”

He thinks the curse word will scare me. He thinks the curse word will let me know that he once shot a man just to watch him die.

“I knew Johnny Cash,” I say, “and you ain’t Johnny Cash.”

The man laughs. He thinks I’m crazy. I laugh. I am crazy. He offers me a handful of spare change.

“There you go, chief,” he says.

“I don’t want your money,” I say. “I want your respect.”

The man laughs again. Is laughter all I can expect?

“Don’t laugh at me,” I say.

“All right, all right, chief,” he says. “I won’t laugh at you. You have a good day.”

He turns to walk away, but I grab his shoulder. He grabs my wrist and judos me into the brick wall.

“All right, all right, chief,” he says. “I don’t want you touching me.”

He could snap my bones if he wanted to. He could drive his thumb into my temple and kill me. I can feel his strength, his skill, his muscle memory.

It’s my turn to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” he asks.

“I’m just wondering how many white guys are going to beat my ass today.”

“Chief, you keep acting this way, and we’re all going to beat your ass today.”

We both think that’s funny, so we laugh together. And we almost bond because of our shared amusement.

“I’m going to let you go,” he says. “And when I do, I want us both to act like gentlemen, okay?”

“I want some respect,” I say.

“Are you going to be a gentleman?”

“I want some respect.”

“How many times are you going to say that?”

“I’m going to say it until I get some respect.”

The man looks around. He realizes that he’s pinned a bloody homeless man against a brick wall. Not one of his prouder moments. But he’s scared to let me go.

“All right, all right,” he says. “How do I show you some respect?”

This excerpt pretty much exemplifies for me much of how racial dynamics play out in this country, between white people and people of color. Much of the dialogue – and by dialogue I mean not just conversation but all interaction – is and has been one-sided, with white people doing all of the talking, and enforcing their collective will – conscious or not – via institutionalized supremacy.

People of color demand acknowledgment, demand respect. These demands, at different times, and under different circumstances, go unheard, or are responded to with dismissal, condescension, minor consolations, contempt, and/or even violence.

At the very end of the excerpt, only after the Native American man’s demand has been repeated over and over again, and only when the white man realizes that his position of power is subject to scrutiny, does he finally ask the right question.

“How do I show you some respect?”

Only when the ongoing racial dialogue in the United States reaches this point, on individual, local, or national levels – when white people ask the right question, rather than insisting upon their own answers – can we truly say that we’ve made progress towards reconciliation.

Godheval, obviously, is an alias.  But it’s not just a name, or a hat that I wear, it’s a state of mind.  One that is fueled by an intense amount of hyper-analysis, cynicism, and damn near misanthropy.  I am idealist, and as such I have all sorts of lofty ideas and dreams for the world and its possibilities.  Most of these are, and will remain mere dreams.  I spend a lot of time talking about racism – particularly whiteness and white supremacy – because those are things that I regard as major obstacles to not just the social and political well-being of “me and mine”, or even all people of color, but all people in the United States, and elsewhere in the world as well.  Yes, it’s that big of a deal.

It – the subjects, that is, not my talking about them – such a source of divisiveness, that it is enough to put at odds people who see eye to eye on just about every other political point.  The big “R”, the big elephant in the room, that only some people have the privilege to ignore.  But in a way, that is a privilege that I envy.  It would free up so much of my brain space if I didn’t have to think or talk about this shit, ever.  Trouble is…that would require it to go away, and since that’s not going to happen anytime soon, I need to free up my brain space on my own.

I talk about politics because, and in particular U.S. politics, for their ability to – quite literally – shape the world.  But the more I talk about it, the more I think about it, the more I recognize it for what it is: a game of social engineering, thought engineering, manipulation.  I don’t mean this in the woo-woo conspiracy sense, because it’s not as convoluted as all of that.  It’s really right there, on the surface, plain as day for anyone to observe if they choose to recognize it. Democrats, Republicans, whoever – they’re all cut from the same cloth.  That is, the cloth of the old, detached, financial and political elites that have run this country, if not the world, forever.  I’m not talking about any New or Old World Orders, but rather something more abstract, a vein of thinking and behaving that has driven perhaps every person who has ever desired power.  It’s what Machiavelli was talking about in The Prince – just the motions that one has to go through if they are to dominate others.

But these ideas – no, memes – are much older than Machiavelli.  Those of us who are actively interested and even involved in politics are critical of those who are apathetic, who don’t vote, because they “neglect their own power” or whatever such nonsense.  But the truth is, that whether they do it knowingly or not, the apathetic, the non-voters, have withdrawn themselves from the endless game – a game where the rest of us are mere pawns.  I envy their apathy.  And in burying my head in the sand of late, I have attempted to emulate it.  Problem for me is that I care – about people, about society, about more things than I have room in my head or my heart to contain all at once.  So the only way to fake apathy is to completely withdraw, to ignore everything that is happening around me.

While Godheval is an alias, and a state of mind as I say, it is also an integral part of who I am.  But it is not ALL that I am.  And the trouble is that Godheval is not too keen on sharing brain space.  He dominates.  When he takes the stage, it as the expense of my regular, more humble, and simpler self.  The self that likes to spend time with his family, or write less cynical things, or watch funny TV shows, or to, quite simply, just “be”.  Godheval is noise and rage and tension.  And for the past few months I have needed some peace and quiet – not around me, but inside of me.  Because Godheval is a part of who I am, it’s not like all that stuff goes away.  Of course I still care, and of course I still have bouts of righteous anger, but by not engaging “Godheval” fully, I am able to mitigate all that noise and rage and tension.

Because it’s just plain exhausting.

So I hope you can understand, you 3.5 people (I know there are more, I’m just being a self-deprecating jerk) who diligently read my words and actually (really?) give a damn about what I say here, and who allow me to think that maybe it’s not all for nothing.  I value you all more than you know, so I felt a need to explain to you this long-term hiatus of mine.  Truth be told, I don’t even know when it will end – if it will end.  It might be a situation where I occasionally tap into “him”, say my peace in a quick blast of noise and rage, then go back to my normal life, but only once ever three months.

I mean, the ideal would be to find some sort of happy medium – and I emphasize the word “happy” because ruminating on all this race and political shit also comes at the expense of happiness.  If I could find some balance, some way to effectively compartmentalize Godheval and my other “normal” self, then maybe the productivity of each would not have to be mutually exclusive.  I’m still trying to figure it out.  If this blog falls into even greater obscurity as a result, then that is the price I will have to pay for my personal peace of mind.

So that’s my story.  Thanks for reading it, and everything else, too.

Peace out for now.

This is me, sighing.

Maybe this is another case of me being “hypersensitive“, but so be it. If you’re a white person or a particularly assimilated person of color, then you’ll probably think this is a rather harmless video.

You may think it’s funny. Hilarious, even.

If you’re a person of color with even an iota of militancy, or hell, if you’re me then this commercial probably makes you cringe, or just plain annoys you.

But perhaps you’re not entirely sure why. So I’ll tell you why it irritates me, and maybe my explanation will make something click for you.

First of all, it’s cultural appropriation.  Which means that an element of a given culture is taken and used outside of its intended context – worse yet, in blatant opposition to the intended context.

From Wikipedia:

Cultural appropriation is the adoption of some specific elements of one culture by a different cultural group. It describes acculturation or assimilation, but can imply a negative view towards acculturation from a minority culture by a dominant culture. It can include the introduction of forms of dress or personal adornment, music and art, religion, language, or social behavior. These elements, once removed from their indigenous cultural contexts, may take on meanings that are significantly divergent from, or merely less nuanced than, those they originally held.

Hip-hop, and rap in particular, by no measure of historical revisionism or denial of their contributions, is undoubtedly an African-American cultural product.

This, however, does not mean that it belongs exclusively to African-Americans, or that no one else can use it.  The rule, though, is that it should be used in the spirit in which it was intended.  That is, as an expression of positivity, uplift, counter-establishment, or justified anger towards historic and lasting inequality and/or injustice.

People around the world have used hip-hop brilliantly and properly – from the Palestinians speaking out against Apartheid conditions in Israel, to the righteous anger from the socially marginalized of the Parisian banlieues, to Somalian rapper K’naan speaking about abject poverty.  And let’s not forget M.I.A., who in spite of generating mainstream appeal, has managed to keep her message authentic and political.

There are countless examples of where hip-hop and rap are used incorrectly – just look at the majority of mainstream rap today.  By African-American artists, no less.  But remember that bit I told you about appropriation?  Well, as much as I despise commercial mainstream garbage rap, the fact of the matter is that, as an African-American cultural product, rap is free for African-Americans to do with as they please.

If you own a television, it is your right to use it as a surfboard, even if it means you are rushing headlong down a slippery slope towards self-annihilation.  That was not merely an analogy, but a metaphor.

If someone else were to come in and use your television as a surfboard, well…you’d be pretty justified in wanting to smash said TV over their heads.  The smash-impulse I speak of is neither an analogy, nor a metaphor.  Which brings me back to the Toyota commercial.

Here we have a fictional white family, with all of the privilege, normativeness, and inherent “rightness” their mere existence implies, members of the “dominant” culture, appropriating the music, language, and projected mannerisms of African-American culture (“minority” culture) and using it in a way that completely contradicts the intended spirit.

Hip-hop, should I need to remind you, was originally all about countering the establishment – an establishment built-in with various mechanisms and controls to ensure that African-Americans would never stand on equal footing with white people.  An establishment that would deny the average black family access to the so-called “American Dream”, which the white family in this commercial exemplifies to a truly laughable extreme.  I mean, they even seemed to choose the blondest babies imaginable to ram the point home.

Contrary to this “wholesome” symbol of white normalcy, hip-hop and rap for the most part – in spite of their mainstream commercial appeal – are regarded as less than ideal, unworthy, “not music”, “ghetto”, “stupid”, “irresponsible”, promoting all the wrong values.  That last bit – about values – is interesting, because of course hip-hop would never promote “white values” – white being “right” – where African-Americans were not given access to the same livelihoods and cultural environment within which such “values” would flourish.

This is not to say that such values – personal responsibility, emphasis on the family, etc. – are foreign or unimportant to African-Americans.  They are equally, if not more important, in an environment that regularly creates obstacles to achieving the ideal.  Hip-hop and rap, though, were the response to that environment.

So this video, in its promotion of white normalcy and wholesomeness, not-so-subtly implies a black/white dichotomy wherein the white family champions family values and the American Dream, in stark contrast to the mainstream rap music of today, which places a premium on materialism, excess, selfishness, and often violence.

“Where are the kids?” seems particularly meaningful when we consider the stigma against black families as being “broken” – having absentee parents, teen parents, or otherwise not “doing right” by their children.  No worries about the white family, though – their two little Aryans are close at hand.

The white family drives the station wagon, with the car seats in the back, while rappers show off their financially unwise and unsustainable Escalades or even fancier cars, symbols of their excess and irresponsibility.

The whole commercial screams – or maybe whispers for most of you – this paternalistic message of: “Here, let us show you what you’re supposed to be doing.”

It is important to note here that when hip-hop and rap were definitively anti-establishment, flew arms-swinging into the face of white normativeness, there were no attempts to appropriate them.  They were swiftly and decisively demonized, devalued, dismissed as invalid and inappropriate.  The average white person would have sooner taken a shit on a rap album as purchased one.  Their children who embraced the music or the culture were regarded cautiously at best- parents hoping it to be just as a fad (as it could only ever be) – or punished at worst.  They were ridiculed by their peers and regarded as niggers-by-association, the word of choice being “wigger”.

But then something happened.  White businessmen, as they had with Jazz, Blues, Soul, Rock, and other forms of black music before, saw the money-making potential of rap music.  They may not have wanted it for their own children, but they recognized it as perfect for consumption by other white children who could use it as the ultimate symbol of rebellion against everything their parents stood for – that is, everything white.  That the sizeable minority of African-Americans would also buy the albums in large quantities was an added bonus.

And so was rap music corporatized – warped and perverted into a commercial product far-removed from its original purpose; something achieved by the silver tongues of businessmen appealing to the sensibilities of those with very little, with promises of what they never had – and, for the most part, still wouldn’t have even after the deals were signed.

When deciding which of the wide variety of rap music to push into the mainstream market, the businessmen chose those who emphasized the black/white dichotomy in the most extreme way – the “gangsta” rappers – the music which further reinforced just how far black people were from the white ideal of family values and personal responsibility.  It was the portion of rap that the kids of white suburbia would most embrace, thereby generating the highest profit.

The rappers themselves, beneath a superficial layer of anger and violence, often had important messages to relay – but these messages were lost on a market that had neither any frame of reference within which to process them, nor any real interest in hearing them.  The music that stayed completely true to hip-hop’s original spirit, what we today call “conscious rap”, was kept in the margins.  Not only because it continued to speak against white businesses’ appropriation of hip-hop, but because their message, more readily accessible without the superficial layer of violence, was not marketable to white suburbia, nor was it something that the establishment wanted people to hear.

So make no mistake.  While much of mainstream rap music today disgraces the spirit of hip-hop, its popularity and mass-marketing is the direct result of cultural appropriation.  What little wealth or acclaim it grants a handful of African-American artists – often short-lived – is a mere consolation prize for the wholesale theft of a cultural product.

The Swagger Wagon Toyota commercial, in implicitly pointing an accusatory finger at mainstream rap music, and African-Americans by proxy, again aims to make a profit by promoting a black/white dichotomy that reinforces white righteousness.  And anything that validates the current social pecking order is ripe for consumption by those at the top.

As an added bonus, the commercial even elicits a few hearty chuckles.  Hee mother fucking hee.

While I have zero doubts about what this commercial is saying, implicit though it may be, I cannot say with any conviction whether or not this loaded message was intentional.  White privilege, white normativeness, white standards, white values, and the black/white dichotomy – these things are all built into the foundation of American society.  This video may truly have been an innocuous attempt at humor, but one that echoed from that foundation.

I’ll ignore, lest I get carried away with my analysis, the fact that the commercial itself is in black and white.

The people who made it, having already embraced the dichotomy, may not even have been aware of all of the implications – just enough in the abstract to recognize how it would speak well to the sensibilities of other white people.  Such is the essence of good marketing, which as any self-aware capitalist will tell you, is often mutually exclusive from any ethical or moral good.

1. BP CEO saying that the Deepwater Horizon Oil Spill is relatively tiny compared to the size of the ocean. By that logic, someone could argue that the over a million people killed in a war built on a false pretext is tiny compared to the 6 billion people in the world.  Oh, wait…
2. SB 1070 – more popularly known as the “Arizona Immigration bill”
3. Arizona banning ethnic studies
4. Texas conservatives working to revise history along Biblical/American exceptionalist/racist lines in textbooks
5. Corporations authorized to buy U.S. elections after the Citizens United vs. Federal Elections Commission case
6. The surge of people “tweeting” and “microblogging” about nonsense while remaining dormant on things that matter
7. People wasting their time talking about Jay-Z is a devil-worshiping Freemason.  Even if he is, who cares? There are bigger things to worry about.
8. Republicans and Democrats both screwing the public through bankrupt policy, while continuing to trick people into thinking there’s any substantive difference between them.
9. The fact that legally, BP may only be obligated to pay no more than $75 million in damages, which doesn’t even begin to cover it, and that they’re fighting even that.  You want to know what’s “tiny”?  $75 million compared to the hundreds of billions^PDF that BP makes every year
10. Open racism coming back in style
11. The mainstream media continuing to report on sensationalist bullshit, rather than covering the stuff that really matters – the corporate version of #6
12. Omar al-Bashir “winning” the election in Sudan, in spite of being convicted of war crimes and genocide by the U.N.
13. People chasing conspiracy theories, while doing nothing about evil acts being committed every day out in the open
14. How perfectly the “divide and conquer” social strategy is continuing to work
15. All this talk of Iran having nuclear weapons, while no one says anything to Israel
16. The betrayed promise of “change” from President Obama
17. How the people around me don’t know and don’t seem to care about what’s going on in the world
18. Facebook’s new privacy policy violations
19. Obama authorizing the targeted killing of a U.S. Citizen, setting a dangerous precedent
20. How people are pawns of their respective political parties, rather than thinking critically as individuals

So now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go play some Torchlight, as an alternative to shooting myself in the head…