I Don’t Care About Black People

In light of both recent events and long-simmering racial issues in this country, I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s time for me to state my sincere and forthright position on race relations, specifically those involving the black population. So here it is: I don’t care about black people.

In our age of Totalism, this needs some clarification. Totalism means that there is no middle–one must either love something with all of one’s heart and be willing to work tirelessly for its benefit, or (clearly) one must hate it and wish to see it destroyed with maximum force. By no means can there be any in-between. This paradigm is a tool of control–one common in history, but particularly loved by Puritans, which means that it is now primarily in the hands of the puritanical left. Few want to be seen as so heartless or vicious as to hate something–or, commonly, some group of people–enough to wish destruction upon it. And so, accepting the Totalist frame, most people feel compelled to insist that they do love it, and would bear any burden for its betterment. They dare not take the risk of being painted as a villain (which these days usually means someone who doesn’t believe in the sacred dogma of equality). But there are some of us who know better, and who reject the frame given us. And that is what I mean to do here.

I don’t care about black people, which means by definition that I don’t hate them. In order to hate something or someone, you must care about them deeply. Hate is a serious, long-term emotional investment, and one must actually care very much about the object of one’s hatred in order to make it. As is often said, hate is not the opposite of love; indifference is. And I have come to be very indifferent about the fortunes of blacks.

I don’t care about black people. Their problems are not my problem. Their enemies are not my enemy. Their concerns are not my concern. I feel no need to understand them or their ways, and I don’t care whether or not they understand me or my ways. I wish them well–in fact, I know not a single white person, no matter how outwardly racist, who does not wish that blacks were doing better than they are, if for no other reason than that we must all live with the effects of their failures. I hope that the issues that seem to ceaselessly dog their community all get solved somehow. I have no desire to do them and theirs injury, except as punishment for injury done by them against me and mine. But I don’t care about them–there is nothing more I want from them other than to simply leave me alone, and in exchange, I will gladly leave them alone as well.

Lest one think that this is all motivated by sheer meanness and lack of charity, there is another reason for my lack of enthusiasm for the cause of helping black people. The truth is that I don’t know how to help them, and I don’t know anyone else who does. For at least fifty years (more like a hundred and fifty, really) whites have been trying to find a way to solve the problems of black people. We must now be realistic and admit that all of these attempts have failed miserably. Fifty years into the War on Poverty, drive around a black ghetto (if you dare) and note what you see. It is indeed certain to look like there has been a war there, but it is equally certain to not look like any victory over poverty has been won. What you’ll find there is the result of whites having tried everything they could possibly think of to uplift blacks, and of it all having either not worked at all or having actually made things worse. As evidenced by the wars in Vietnam, Iraq, and Afghanistan, Americans are notoriously slow to understand that their plan hasn’t worked and to accept defeat, but at some point, reality asserts itself in a way that is undeniable.

So here is the undeniable reality: when it comes to whites trying to solve the problems of black people, none of our plans have worked, and we’re pretty much out of ideas. I, certainly, have nothing new to add on the issue–believe me, if I did, I would. I have no secret, sadistic desire to see blacks suffer, and I, too, must live with the results of their failures. But like everybody else, I don’t have any more solutions to offer.

And I am not alone in my sense of resignation on this topic. Some are angrier than I am, and frequent, horrific reports of interracial crime–statistically almost all black on white–give them reason to be. Among many others, what has been termed “negro fatigue” has set in–an exasperated feeling of just being sick and tired of constantly hearing about blacks and their seemingly endless problems. Even on the left, which instinctively senses that the excuses and rationalizations for the failures of the black community (most especially its disproportionate rates of criminality) are wearing thin, the effects of this can be seen. One aspect of the establishment left’s recent push for gay rights is that they are quietly but visibly dumping blacks as their most favored oppressed minority in favor of gays. This is largely a simple matter of political practicality. When nice white ladies of the sort who often vote for Democrats turn on the TV and see large groups of feral blacks burning down Baltimore, it makes an impression. Doubtless so too have the nice white ladies’ own previous encounters with lower-class blacks. Say what you will about gays, but they are, as a group, not greatly given to torching senior centers or stealing purses. It makes their cause an easier sell.

In addition, it seems obvious that the left is as out of ideas about how to help blacks as everyone else. The election of Barack Obama was supposed to make all of this better, but it plainly has not, and the only other idea that the left has been able to come up with is trying more of what has already spent half a century not working. There is no reason to believe that any of it will suddenly start working now, and the need to defend the absurd notion that it might is, even with the mainstream right being as feckless and cowardly as it is, a serious political liability. Best to simply move on to the next big thing without any further comment.

As for my own solutions to the state of race relations–which are bad, and getting worse–I have precious few. Voluntary separation based on freedom of association would seem a wise and humane way to handle things. But grown adults deciding for themselves who they want to be around is prohibited by federal law, and is harshly punished where discovered. Ethnonationalism, in which each race lives in its own territory, under its own system, and makes its own laws, which it is itself responsible for enforcing, also seems to be a decent and viable solution. But this will not happen without the breakup of the United States and/or a civil war, which, while inevitable, is not on the immediate horizon.

So it seems that neither I, nor anyone else, have any workable answers to offer. It is time then, I believe, to invoke the spirit of the Serenity Prayer, and to learn to accept that which I cannot change. Again, I wish blacks all the success in the world; I hope they can find a way to do better and that a solution to their problems makes itself apparent. But other than in a vague Christian sense of wanting the best for my fellow man, I can no longer bring myself to care about them.

Thus, to black people, my message is simply this: Good luck, but don’t call me for help.

P.S. There is a long list of other people who I similarly don’t care about, including but not limited to: homosexuals, transgenders, Jews, Latinos, and all manner of exotic peoples in faraway countries. I wish them well, I’ll never go out of my way to harm them without provocation, I hope they get right with the Lord, and I’ll be happy to say a prayer for their souls while I’m in church. But I’ve had my fill of hearing about their problems, and I’m done caring. Whatever plagues you, work it out yourselves. Leave me alone.