The Trouble With Blacks

August 13, 2011

Multiple Pages
The Trouble With Blacks

“I’m not a racist, but…”

It is how most conversations with a Londoner start when discussing the prevailing ethnic—and specifically black—issue. Make no mistake, an issue it is, as the recent rioting across Britain proves. Look at the areas affected. Look at the instigators. Look at the feral aggression. Look at the jewelry, the designer goods, the cell-phone and sneaker stores looted. Look at the faces of those arrested. I think the demographic—in spite of reflexive attempts by broadcasters and the liberal left to play it down—is pretty clear. The majority of thugs out on the street are black. Quelle surprise. Oh yes, there will be the platitudes and excuses, the talk of poverty and deprivation and disenchantment and social exclusion. As one rioter put it: “We is protestin’ by thievin’.” And it is all utter bullshit. Yet you will never find a politician or self-appointed community leader with the balls and bottle to say it as it is, to break the taboo, to speak it out aloud. So let me spell it out for everyone—THE BLACKS HAVE A PROBLEM.

Only they would tell you that raw criminality is somehow a political act of defiance. Only they could shift the cause for their pillaging and arson to the system that apparently invites it—after all, a department store can seem so bright and shiny and provoking. Sure, many Afro-Caribbean citizens are law-abiding, but many also—including a vast percentage of young black males—are not. Check the statistics. Indeed, blacks carry out the majority of London street crime and two-thirds of firearms offenses. And the excuses come thick and fast.

“Funny, I always thought respect had to be earned.”

Few play the blame game or point-the-finger exercise quite so avidly as the black community. Few have evolved such an advanced culture of victimhood from which their overdeveloped sense of grievance and entitlement has grown. They have the same education and opportunity as anyone else, but—oh no—they are special, are downtrodden, are misunderstood. We must atone and respect (or “respek”) them because they exist. Because of their gangsta rap. Because their young men wear hoods or carry knives or manage to walk in a menacing pimp roll. Funny, I always thought respect had to be earned. How white, outmoded, and middle-class of me.

Pervading all is the attitude that it is not their fault and never ever their responsibility. Should a young black be excluded from school, it is not because he is lazy, disruptive, or stupid, but because the education system is against him. Should the police stop him, it is not because he acts suspiciously or his kind commits most robberies, but because the police are inherently racist. Should he fail to gain a job, it is absolutely the employer’s fault and not because the applicant was sullen, lippy, and barely house-trained. So it goes on. And on and on. Complaint rather than effort and attainment has become the cultural norm. The liberal apologists are ever there to explain away and facilitate the mindset. Just like Muslims who will not accept jihadi extremists draw on the Islamic faith or environmentalists who cannot admit population growth is a key root of global warming, so few in the black community—even when the evidence is plain, even when the police run Operation Trident directly to tackle black gun crime—will put up their hands and say with honesty: “We have a problem and it is our own fault and our responsibility.”

To utter such words would be construed as heresy, would be to stray from the adopted liberal-left consensus that every ill, every crime, every mishap within the black community is due to slavery and oppression by the whites. No matter slavery in Britain was abolished in 1833—we must still suffer the rage and allow plasma-screen televisions and top-of-the-range footwear to be looted from a burning store.

Welfare has institutionalized the belief in something-for-nothing, the attitude that the state will provide and pick up the pieces, the bill, and the broken glass and replace work and absent fathers with ready cash and immediate housing. No point in parenting when someone else will do it for you. It is fine to smash a shop front when insurance or the taxpayer will help the owners restock. It is fine to ruin a livelihood when you have no concept of earning. It is fine to take something that is not yours when it is on display and your gut and jungle logic tells you to possess it. This is what the sixty-year experiment in state handouts has achieved. The work is available if the indigenous black population seeks it. Indeed, Britain brings in tens of thousands of Gambians and Ghanaians and other migrants to staff hospitals and care homes and fill a “labor shortage” that does not exist. In accepting that Afro-Caribbeans have not needed to work, we have entrenched them in their postcode gangs and their ghetto. Softly, softly, the police and social services have gone. Regard the situation.

Education used to be the way up and the way out. No more. A generation of blacks feels no need, does not see the point, has no fathers or family to kick their backsides and tell them to strive. After all, it is so much easier to smoke ganja, to shoplift, to snatch a purse or bag, to hold a knife to a throat and rape a “bitch.” If all they are told is that they are the victims, the Earth’s rightful inheritors, and that cash can be generated without much effort, then they will follow their peers and the path of least resistance. The young offender institutions are full of them. Certainly there are doctors and lawyers and accountants in the black community, but they are few and scattered, and their middle class lacks depth and robustness. The knock-on is lack of aspiration.

What is left is a misplaced emphasis on street culture and the Afro-Caribbean way. Forgive me, but if what I had brought to British life was goat curry, carnival floats, crack cocaine, violence, and hip-hop, I would not be that proud. There are good people out there, people who strive and struggle and do their best. But they are undermined by both white and black apologists, by acceptance of indiscipline and of felony as occupational right, by a conspiracy of silence that prevents open debate. I have not heard a single BBC reporter say the word “black.” The situation would be absurd were it not so serious and the problems so deep.

The black American comedian Chris Rock once declared: “On one side, there’s black people. On the other, you’ve got niggers. The niggers have got to go. I love black people, but I hate niggers.” If the Afro-Caribbeans in London do not themselves confront and address the embedded flaws in their outlook and society, such things will be said with hatred and not laughter.

As for future riots—and they will come—the political class will continue to talk soothingly of “British” policing when all we really require is effective policing. Personally, I did not vote to allow London to become Jamaica’s brutal cockpit. I will thus be leaving my front door wide open and scattering a trail of glittering objects and designer wares to entice the raiders to my home. And I will be waiting for them. Then we can play.


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