It is reported that black hurricane victims in New Orleans have begun eating corpses to survive. Four days after the storm, thousands of blacks in New Orleans are dying like dogs. No-one has come to help them.
I am a sixty-four year old African-American.
New Orleans marks the end of the America I strove for.
I am hopeless. I am sad. I am angry against my country for doing nothing when it mattered.
This is what we have come to. This defining watershed moment in America’s racial history. For all the world to witness. For those who’ve been caused to listen for a lifetime to America’s ceaseless hollow bleats about democracy. For Christians, Jews and Muslims at home and abroad. For rich and poor. For African-American soldiers fighting in Iraq. For African-Americans inside the halls of officialdom and out.
My hand shakes with anger as I write. I, the formerly un-jaundiced human rights advocate, have finally come to see my country for what it really is. A monstrous fraud.
But what can I do but write about how I feel. How millions, black like me, must feel at this, the lowest moment in my country’s story.
Randall Robinson is a social
justice advocate and author
whose works include The Debt –
Sheer projection.
An appropriate response to that miserable @hole would get me banned until Christmas.
The results in New Orleans today, in this crisis, are the direct product of a black political machine that has risen to power in the city and proved utterly unable to manage it, to prevent its decline and to plan for and cope with crisis. It has all been graft and corruption replacing graft and corruption (See A.J. Liebling "The Earl of Louisiana"), only now the sport has gone out of it and it is far more racist (only in the reverse direction) than it has ever been. It is only the charm, unique culture and the strength of NO as the most vital port connecting the river system to the sea that has prevented it from becoming Detroit south.