A Change in Direction
As the most lucid thinker and communicator in America today, it is an unfortunate accident of nature that Dennis Prager was not born black.
If his principal agenda were understanding and transmitting the deeply clouded history of black people, instead of Jews and Judaism, he could feed intellectually starved audiences every day for the rest of his life.
Having observed him for 28 years, I am confident he could complete his mission much faster.
Neither Funny Nor Serious
Mr. Prager would need no more than a fortnight to set the bumbling “black leaders” straight, to cleanse their cluttered minds of the victim nonsense that peppers much black dialogue.
“Black leadership” is so lightly regarded in the halls of power that the very phrase has been a punchline for philosophical comedians since the end of the 1960s.
Can you imagine escorting the Rev. Al Sharpton to any event more cerebrally brisk than a cartoon screening?
Since Dr. King was murdered 39 springs ago, the Black Leadership Tryout Camp has been a magnetic playground for extremists to audition their next acts.
The Bottom-Feeders
It is only slightly hyperbolic to suggest that many of the most glorified have more in common with “The Last King of Scotland” than with sensible Americans.
Black leaders come in two opposite-pole brands:
- Those who preach the gospel of contemporary and historic victimology, contending that affirmative action was heaven-sent.
- Those who teach, with a straight face, that “this nation was purchased by the blood, sweat and tears of our slave ancestors.”
Just a Speck
Maximally, five cents’ worth of truth reposes in each assertion.
In each case, the teachers are committed to emphasizing what sells, what is sexy, flash-and-trash, rather than relating history approximately the way it happened.
Many teachers are justifiers, which is deemed a palatable method for advocating victimology. They are interested in connecting with their audiences by validating the failures of black people instead of stressing can-do.
Morality Was Hijacked?
In a community where 7 of every 10 babies is born out of wedlock, where the cream of unchallenged young men is banished to prisons across the country, this is a people with a stability gap the size of the Grand Canyon.
When cultural leeches such as the morally fraudulent Three Stooges, Sharpton, Jackson and Farrakhan, are magically transformed into respected leadership models, this is the unmistakable sign of an ethically blind community.
Has Anyone Seen Moses?
It is a horse race whether contemporary black Americans are more diffuse or confused.
They are a wandering, befogged people in a desperate, largely unrealized, search for a Moses-like leader.
An essay by one Darryl James in the Los Angeles Sentinel of Feb. 15 illustrates the undiagrammed dilemma besetting well-intentioned black people who want to understand and absorb their history.
African or American?
Taking Sides?
In studying black history, where, he asks, should the accent be placed? Are his people more black American or historic African?
A fascinating conundrum that white Americans never have pondered.
Mr. James’s central questions are:
More African or more American? Which am I? Or am I a blend, which may be less satisfying, psychologically?
Cogently, Mr. James reduces the dilemma of a thoughtful black man to two simple but brilliant sentences:
“As an American, black history begins with slavery. African history begins with civilization.” Here is another gem worthy of your reflection: “I split African people from black people in consciousness only.”
One more profound contribution: “There is a physiology, a psychology and a spirituality that Africa delivers to the African across the globe, whether you embrace it or not.”
Those are deliciously deep deserts for serious black people to probe, from within and without.
The problem with Mr. James’s writing is that he is wildly undisciplined. The problem with his mind is that he is frustratingly immature.
But he comprehends the fundamental idea.
Anonymity Would Have Served Him
Identified as a filmmaker and author, Mr. James probably should have written this piece under the name of Harry Potter to protect his presumed reputation. He finds being silly an irresistible temptation, and he seasons his writing with outlandish claims.
When he turns serious, though, he is very good.
Awkwardly but persistently, he demonstrates how foolish it is of non-blacks to regard his people as a monolith fitting into a tidy tubular profile. This may be the chief educational value of his essay.
A Rainbow at the End
Wading through the mounds of blather and bluster of Mr. James’s piece will discourage a reader who is not hardy. His particular extremist failing is that instead of teaching pride, precision and pragmatic tools, he tends to inflate the history of black people like a cheap balloon that soon blows up in his face.
If you can outlast the tortured, therapeutically-inspired reasoning that sandbags his main themes, you will be rewarded.
