Greetings, Comrade, from Detention Block 7!
Oct 5th, 2012 by Unamused
Having been detained, indefinitely, by Eric “My People” Holder’s Civil Rights (for Everyone but Whites) Division of the (Social) Justice Department of these United States of (Post-Racial) America as a “thought criminal” guilty of numerous “hate crimes” (including “Reckless Intolerance,” “Receiving Stolen Privilege,” and “Grand Theft Human Dignity”), and thus having little else to do but whittle shanks and peruse ancient tomes, scrolls, parchments, etc., I am currently reading the 1864 book “Savage Africa: Being the Narrative of a Tour in Equatorial, South-Western, and North-Western Africa” by British historian and explorer William Winwood Reade (1838–1875). What I have found is as funny as it is sad. Truly, when it comes to race relations, nothing ever changes.
The subject of Chapter IV, “The Paradise of the Blacks,” is Sierra Leone.
It is one of the chief peculiarities of the Sierra Leone negro that he hates, with an intense and bitter hatred, this white man to whom he owes every thing. [...]
This hatred of the white man becomes really dangerous in a court of justice, when cases of black v. white come before black juries. These men do not want for intelligence; but they form no idea of the sacredness of their calling, and give verdicts at will where their private feelings are concerned. This explains how it is that trial by jury has only been adopted by refined nations. In a savage or semi-civilized state, the heads of the people alone are qualified to judge.
It is a common story here that if you call a black man a nigger you are liable to a fine of five pounds for defamation of character. I do not know if this is really the case, but any thing broader than mere insult is perilous in the extreme. A gentleman who had discharged his servant was annoyed by the man entering his private yard. He ordered him out; the negro was insolent, and refused to go. The white man then did what most Englishmen would have done: he took him by the scruff of the neck and kicked him out. The case was brought before a black jury, who fined him £50.
I had anecdotes of negro jury injustice from so many respectable informants that I could do no less than believe it to be common. I was a little staggered, certainly, when I read in the Rev. J. Leighton Wilson’s work on West Africa the following paragraph:
“But perhaps the most interesting point of view in which the liberated Africans are to be seen, and which will render their moral condition most intelligible to those at a distance, is when they sit at the Quarter Sessions as petty, grand, and special jurors.”
But the following evidence from Sierra Leone, a work written by Mr. Shreeve, who had resided many years in that colony, will prove, I think, that Mr. Wilson’s remark must be intended for irony. Nothing can render their “moral condition more intelligible” than these extracts; though whether it is an “interesting point of view” to those white men whose liberties or fortunes may be at stake, I will leave the reader to judge.
After observing that the negro’s system of physiognomy tends to represent all men bad who happen to be white, and that the white man can not obtain justice in Sierra Leone; after quoting an instance in which a man who had killed another (probably a white victim) was found Not Guilty in spite of all evidence, “a decision at which even the culprit himself appeared astonished, and a virtuous indignation from many ran through the hall,” Mr. Shreeve observes:
“Another reprehensible practice, or rather vice, in which many jurors indulge, is ardent spirits, from which may be traced their frequent, hasty, vociferous, and unjust decisions: this baneful indulgence is evident to all in court; and upon a late trial, at which I was present, a juror was so disorderly that the judge was obliged to impose a fine of £5, and lock the Bacchanalian up till it was paid. Another matter of serious importance, and often fatal to the course of justice, is the common practice of private communication of interested parties with jurors upon their retiring to find a verdict; and again, that of parties being permitted, through the absence or favoritism of the bailiffs, to eavesdrop at the door of the jury-room, and not only to overhear their deliberations, but actually communicate in the native language with those upon whose impartiality at the moment perhaps a life depends.”
Finally he adds, “Here Justice should be painted like Le Brun’s Revenge, with a bowl and dagger, not with the balance and the sword.”
You will perhaps suppose that this dislike for us has proceeded from acts of cruelty and oppression. But no, they have less to complain of in that way than our laboring classes at home. We are their liberators, their shelterers, their protectors — but we are really their masters. They acknowledge our supremacy, but they detest us for it; they do not love the hand which showers gold upon them from above: they prefer the baser metals, which they can grub up from beneath their feet. Paramount in their own paradise, they find themselves pigmies when they stir abroad; the politest words which they receive are tinged with a condescension which goes through them like a sword. Sensitive and vain, they hanker for dominion; possessed of neither patience nor persistence, they can never obtain it save in their own small spheres.
Funny stuff. Well, I’d better wrap things up. It’s almost time for my daily corrective brainwashing session. “Black good! Brown good! White bad!” (They poke you with a pointy stick if you ask about the J*ws.)
See you in Detention Block 7!