In the old days, which were not good, what the Los Angeles Times did to Sandy (Lordy, How I Love Playing Victim) Banks this morning was known as “trotting out the house Negro.”
It is the racist ancestor of today’s television reality shows, especially when them there Democrats or liberals say something racist that needs to be rationalized.
When politicians in the last century “trotted out the house Negro,” this meant a dimple-brained dupe, a mindless black lapdog, would, on cue, step from behind the curtain.
With a pre-arranged expression, he would assure an astonished audience, “Folks, it didn’t hurt no-how when my master repeatedly slugged me over the head with a ball-peen hammer. And when my master spat 12 times in my face, I thought it was an early spring rain.”
This was precisely the shameless, hopefully inauthentic, posture Ms. Banks struck on Page 12 this morning. Inarticulately, she testified that Sen. Harry Reid’s racist slur against candidate Barack Obama was no slur at all. It was the gosh-darned truth.
By golly, all that was missing from Ms. Banks’ silly attestation was, “I know it’s true. My master said so.”
The cunning, manipulative Ms. Banks not only scrubs Mr. Reid clean of blame, she says it is not her fellow “Negroes” who should be insulted by him. Them there conservative white folks oughta be. And just to prove she ain’t nobody’s fool — a fulltime job for Ms. Banks — she takes a potshot at a black Republican because he had the audacity to rise above Ms. Banks’s main talent in life, permanent victimhood.
Humorless and clueless, Ms. Banks, ignoring the crowd laughing at her, followed the Times’ script scrupulously, insisting she is just wild about Harry.
No Kidding: A Cheer for Racism
Her hopelessly twisted reasoning — ain’t Harry wonderful? — is so convoluted she probably confused tying on her sneakers with tying up the loose ends of a sham essay better suited for Saturday Night Live.
(The headline on this essay is borrowed, without apology, from Ms. Banks’s commentary that has established her as the Pulitzer favorite for Ditzified Dupe of the Year.)
In the “house Negro” tradition, Ms. Banks deftly curtsied to her all-white audience. She daintily tippy-toed off-stage to resume peeling potatoes, with one hand, behind her back, for the amusement of her mostly white Times’ colleagues.
Is there no level too low for the pride-less Ms. Banks to stoop to conquer? The bad news is, not so far.
Ms. Banks, who sold her pride as a condition of being a Times essayist of color, is believed by her critics to be soul-less. She has carved a nifty little career at the Times by converting the once honorable virtue of racial Victimhood into the mockable new 11th Commandment.
The concept has not yet been thought up by fellow race-baiting liberals that has failed to victimize Ms. Banks. She shops for pity with the aggressiveness and regularity that you and I buy cereal at our favorite market.
When a Democrat such as the sinless Mr. Reid spits on a person of color, liberals always can unearth a latter-day “house Negro” who will validate the slur du jour and swear the weather forecast promised showers.
When Ms. Banks awakens, long after dawn, she extends her arms to the maximum, yawns on cue, and exclaims loudly enough for her employers to overhear, “I feel so gosh-darned good today. I think I will be a victim again.”
