Big Bill’s Black Mama Vs. The SJW Cat Ladies

The first thing you have to understand about Big Bill is that he’s a good kid. I know this because his auntie Marie told me, and auntie Marie doesn’t lie when it comes to things like that – if there’s a bad apple in her family tree, she’ll tell you true about it. But she’s proud of Big Bill, and talks about him a lot. Last time I ran into her – down at the Emeryville Public Market, where we caught up with each other over some ramen and shared a box of macaroons – she got onto the subject of what he was up to these days, and the news was not all good.

Big Bill is one of only four black students at his high school in “upscale” (read: heavily white/east Asian and ranging from upper middle class to Silicon Valley rich) Marin County, just north of San Francisco. Marin County is the galactic center of limousine liberalism – electorally, they’re even further left than San Francisco itself (believe it or not), but that doesn’t stop them from consistently voting down public transit initiatives so that the riffraff don’t have any way to get into their neighborhoods. Big Bill’s family isn’t exactly rich – they get by okay – but they’ve lived in Marin since it was a lot less expensive than it is now, and the house has been paid off since Big Bill’s grandmother’s day. This leaves Big Bill as a token Non-Asian Minority in a school that is highly-rated and flush with cash, which is, all told, a pretty nice situation. Big Bill loves his school, and his school loves him in return. Like I said, he’s a good kid. He gets decent (not exceptional, but decent) grades. He’s popular with his classmates. True to stereotype (and Big Bill is the first to laugh about this himself), he tried out for the school football team and became a star running back in no time flat, which made him even more popular than he already was. Big Bill is happy with everything at school, and so is his mama – or at least, they were until recently.

The trouble started almost immediately after the new school year began. There was an announcement over the PA system calling Big Bill to the office. For a few moments he was genuinely worried – thoughts of a family member in the hospital – or worse – came to mind. In fact, he was being called into a private session with the new school counselor; a white lady in her 40s with short hair, a social work diploma, and impeccably progressive social views. For two solid hours, she interrogated Big Bill, looking for any evidence that he had been the victim of bigotry-driven mistreatment at the hands of anyone at the school. He repeatedly explained to her that he hadn’t. Racism? Nope. Classism? Nope. Homophobia? “No! Look, I’m not even…” Transphobia? “Wait… what?” Toxic masculinity? “I’m on the football team for heaven’s sake…” Bullying? “Did you hear the part about being a football player? I’m 15 years old, 6′ 3″, and 250 pounds, so…” Teasing or hazing? “There’s the normal teammate locker room banter, but I’d feel left out if they didn’t…” AHA! What do they say to you? “Look, it’s not even important. Can I go back to class now? We have a math quiz coming up at the end of the week, and if I don’t…” Are you SURE you haven’t experienced ANY racism? Think hard about this! “Yes! Really! I’m sure! Now can I please just go back to class?!” And on it went. Finally, a deeply dissatisfied counselor sent him back to class, with the pleading assurance that her door was always open if he experienced the slightest degree of bigotry and would like to inform her about it. He promised he would, and other than telling mama what happened that evening, gave the matter no more thought.

Until the event repeated itself three weeks later – this time with both the counselor and someone from the district office (another 40something white lady with short hair, Big Bill noted) there. This time, Big Bill ended up missing something important in class, and at the end of the week, missed questions on a test that he knew he would have gotten right if he hadn’t been in the counselor’s office having to tell her over and over again how fine everything was. Big Bill went home very annoyed by this, but not as annoyed as mama was when he told her about it. They had the good fortune of living in a nice neighborhood, but neither of them was so far removed from the streets that they didn’t recognize someone trying to play Captain Save-a-hoe when they saw it. But Big Bill isn’t a hoe, and didn’t need saving. They both hoped that now that he’d told them twice that everything was perfectly okay, maybe this would be the end of it.

It wasn’t. A month later, he got called in for a whole afternoon, which included missing football practice. On this occasion, a board of five short-haired white ladies grilled him about any possible signs of bigotry, including asking more than a few questions that Big Bill thought were intentionally worded to trip him up. They also gave him some kind of multi-page form with a bunch of questions on it that he had to write out answers to. After they finally let him go, he was both genuinely angry and no longer naive enough to think they would stop until he’d given them what they wanted (whether it was true or not), which he had no intention of doing.

That’s when Big Bill’s mama decided that she’d had enough. She arranged an afternoon off from work (which wasn’t as easy for her to do as it would be for most of Marin’s limousine liberal population), made an appointment with the counselor, put on her Sunday best, and marched up to school to put a stop to all this nonsense. In no uncertain terms, she informed the crestfallen counselor that Big Bill was fine, that the only two personages allowed to save him were 1) mama and 2) Jesus and that all other potential saviors had best mind their own business, and that if Big Bill was pulled out of class at any time and for any reason other than that he was in imminent danger of death and was being rushed to the hospital, mama was going to be back down to the school to make the lives of everyone there extremely unpleasant until they agreed to cut this bullshit out. And with that, she wished the counselor a good day and left.

So far, this seems to have worked. It’s been two whole months, and Big Bill has been left alone to get on with his high school days in peace. When I asked auntie Marie whether that meant the short-haired white lady brigade had simply moved on to one of the other three black students in the school to see if they’d have any better luck at getting them to crack, she shot a worried look down into her empty ramen bowl and said that she sure hoped not. She didn’t sound very optimistic about it, though.

* * *

Much like one of Rod Serling’s protagonists surviving an encounter with the Twilight Zone, Big Bill and his mama seem (for the moment) to have survived their encounter with the zeitgeist of the age. The decisive factor here was both mother and son’s unusually keen understanding of one critical fact: none of what went on was happening in order to actually help Big Bill. There is a difference – and one that perceptive people must always be attuned to – between cause and pretext. Here, the SJW cat ladies’ pretext for all this bother was to help Big Bill overcome the oppression that surrounded him (so thoroughly, in fact, that like a fish in water, he might not even realize it was there). But the true cause of it was that Big Bill’s nonexistent oppression is a force that gives them meaning. Too late in their lives, they discovered that a cubicle and a cat were not emotionally-fulfilling substitutes for a husband and a family, and it makes them quietly miserable. With their innate instincts toward motherly protection unable to be focused on children that they never had, they redirect them outward toward one world-saving cause after another. Where none exist, they will do anything they can to create one – out of thin air if need be. The fact that the external object may either not need help, or that reality shows us they have not really been helped by the actions taken, is irrelevant. Half a century after the “war on poverty” was declared, the nation’s ghettos do indeed like like a war has been fought there, but there is little evidence of any victory against poverty. The effort to save black people has ended up with W. E. B. DuBois’s “talented tenth” being brought high in white society (in the process, leaving blacks without the leadership of their own natural elites), while millions more of them are left to rot in hellish, crime-ridden squalor. As for the effort to save women, the very SJW cat ladies from which Big Bill managed to narrowly escape serve as testament to its failure. But none of that matters to those who began or sustain those moral crusades, which is why bringing their failures to their attention never works at getting them to reevaluate their strategies. If you try, you’re just engaging the pretext instead of the cause, which is all useless.

Nietzsche once counseled: “Beware those in whom the impulse to punish is strong”, and while this is certainly true, it is also true that the history of the world since his time has shown us that those in whom the impulse to save is strong can be even more dangerous. All too often, what is at their core is a misery born of the helpless feeling of needing their own form of salvation, and of being unable, either through bad fortune or (more often) their own limitations, to ever find it. The emptiness inside them makes them desperate to feel important, to feel needed, to feel as if they can save somebody, even if it can never be themselves. Their desperation turns to fanaticism, and that fanaticism inevitably produces more misery, sustaining the cycle infinitely. The only way out is to understand all of this, and to pick your saviors carefully. Know who’s playing that role, and why – and be doubly cautious about it if the one struck with the savior impulse is you, because the impulse to save run amok destroys both those the potential savior and those who they wish to save.

Big Bill is a good kid with a good mama who saved him from the savers. If only she could deliver our whole society from them!


Psycho Dish and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week

Psycho Dish found a dead black youth in his backyard last Friday. It was the capstone of a remarkably awful week.

His mom died the Sunday before. It wasn’t a surprise to anyone – she’d been suffering from Alzheimer’s for a long time, and it had been plain for the last year or so that it was only a matter of time before she went. When death comes slowly for someone, the people around them begin the process of mourning and letting go long before they die. When they finally do, it’s almost a relief. Not that anyone’s happy about it, but if there’s such a thing as an easy or pleasant way to leave this world, Alzheimer’s certainly isn’t it. Now that ordeal was over for her, and, in all honesty, for Psycho Dish’s dad as well; he’s getting up there in years, and taking care of her was constant, hard work that would have been tough even for someone half his age. But now she was at peace, everyone said; things could start going back to normal, and they could all remember her the way they wanted to – young and full of life and energy.

Psycho Dish is between jobs (again), and since he didn’t need to be anyplace in particular on Monday, he threw a gym bag with some clothes in it into his old rattletrap of a car and drove the 250 or so miles up to his parents’ place. He stayed for a couple of days, and everyone appreciated the effort, but all the arrangements had already been made well in advance and his dad and sister had been emotionally prepared for this for a while, so they didn’t need much by the way of a shoulder to cry on. And so on Thursday he said his goodbyes, with hugs exchanged all around, and drove home. He got in late, worn out from the drive and from the weight of sad and reflective thoughts, and had just enough presence of mind to take the trash out for collection the next morning before he flopped into bed and passed out.

The next morning, Psycho Dish woke up early, put on some coffee, and went outside to drag his trash cans back in. That’s when he spotted the dead black youth lying face-down in his grass, patches of which around the body had been stained red by pools of semi-congealed blood. He walked back inside, called 911, and occupied the time until the authorities arrived by washing out a couple of extra coffee mugs for the policemen who he figured he’d be spending the next few hours talking to.

As anyone who read the story I wrote about him last year already knows, Psycho Dish is the sort of guy who’s perpetually broke. There’s some bad judgment involved with that, along with some genuine hard luck. But no matter the reason, the result is that he’s a part of the large population of poor whites who can’t afford to pay the premium that more affluent whites pay to not live around black people. Or, put another way, the premium they pay so that their kids never end up discovering a bullet-ridden corpse on the lawn when they leave the house for school in the morning. Psycho Dish lives in a bad neighborhood in a city that’s seen far better days. It’s the sort of neighborhood in which, if a loud noise is heard, the question of whether it was a car backfiring, a firecracker, or a gunshot is not an idle one. It sucks, but it’s all he can afford, and he’s lived in worse places.

Psycho Dish hadn’t heard anything that night, but he had been exhausted and had his mind on other things when he went to sleep, so it’s not a surprise that nothing woke him up. Besides, the police said that the dead black youth had most likely been shot outside a place a few houses down, and stumbled down the sidewalk for a while before he collapsed on Psycho Dish’s back lawn and bled out. They told him the dead black youth was 22 years old, lived with his grandmother a block or two away, and had a few convictions for petty crimes on his record. They mentioned his name, which was one of those that you’d never hear and think it belonged to a white man. As for the neighbors – pretty much all black – nobody saw anything, nobody heard anything, nobody knew anything, which appeared not to surprise the policemen at all. In fact, everyone involved with the investigation seemed to approach it with a weary sense of routine, as if they had seen this kind of thing countless times before and knew exactly how it would go. By lunchtime, they were all done. They gave him a printed handout with some contact information on it and told him to call them if he found out anything new. Then they left, and things started going back to what in that neighborhood counts as normal.

This past Sunday, exactly a week since his mom died, Psycho Dish went to church and talked with the congregation about everything that had happened to him in the past week. (I’m terribly unfamiliar with how Protestant worship services work – at my own church, the Mass is sung in Latin – so whether this was a part of the service itself or was part of a meeting afterward was a part of the story that I wasn’t clear on, but didn’t bother asking more about.). He also asked for help; yet broke as he is, his request wasn’t for himself. The grandmother of the dead black youth, he had learned, is an elderly shut-in who needs assistance with daily tasks. With her grandson gone, she had nobody around to take care of these things for her, and he pled with the congregation for help on her behalf. As his church is solidly white and middle to upper-middle class, full of generous and good-hearted folk with some extra income to spare, I’m sure that such help will appear.

What Psycho Dish did was a decent thing to do – a true act of Christian charity, and I’m sure that God smiles on him for it. It isn’t only the matter of him trying to find material help for someone in need; it’s also that his thoughts were with someone else and their problems even in his own time of grief. Beneath his gruff exterior, Psycho Dish really is a good guy, and I have not a word of criticism to offer for what he did. And yet…

And yet a troubling thought or two linger that I cannot quite rid myself of, no matter how much I’d prefer to see things with only charity and forbearance in my heart. Though I would rather not harbor these thoughts myself, for the sake of honesty I will nonetheless share this rotten orange with my friends. And so, in the presence of all of you, I ask these questions:

Why is it that the lingering consequences of this this situation – and many more like it, for stories like this are not uncommon – end up falling to white people to deal with? Why are the efforts of blacks themselves not sufficient to shoulder these burdens? Why is it the job of white people, like the policemen who spent Friday morning drinking Psycho Dish’s coffee (and unlike an entire neighborhood full of black residents who all saw nothing, heard nothing, and knew nothing about the crime), to seek justice for their murdered youth? Why is it the job of white people, like the good-hearted Christians at his church (and unlike an entire neighborhood full of black residents who live a few steps away), to find ways to care for their needy elderly? Why, instead of relying on white people to help them, do they not take care of each other, as Psycho Dish’s family did through his mother’s long illness?

Will it ever not be the job of whites to deal with the seemingly-endless problems of, and to clean up the seemingly-endless messes left by, black people? If so, when? How? Under what circumstances? What will be the secret ingredient that finally makes it happen after decades of fruitless trying? More ethomasochistic self-flagellation on the part of whites? More kowtowing before window-smashing protestors? Another black President, who presumably will have that last extra bit of magic that the current one seems to have lacked, despite all the promises he made when we elected him?

Blacks have been in this country for four centuries, have been free for a century and a half, have been legally equal in every sense for half a century, and have had the full coercive force of the Total State kicking down every door and destroying every opponent that stood in their way for decades now. They have for a hundred years been sent to free public schools which by law they must attend. Moreover, free public libraries, cheap and universally-available internet service, and taxpayer-supported public television and radio give them access to a limitless store of cultural, historical, scientific, economic, and philosophical knowledge. So when are they going to start acting like white people, as the Blank Slatists long ago promised that they would once unfair laws stopped oppressing them and they were liberated from the shackles of ignorance by access to education? Or, if that question seems a bit too culturally imperialist for you, when will their actions, their attitudes, and their social structures stop resembling those of genetically-similar but geographically-distant Africans more than the whites who surround them in America? Why in black-run or majority-black places in America do we see “Big Man” cronyism, endemic corruption, warlordism and tribalism in the form of urban gangs, and loose sexual morals under weak matriarchy – all features of life seen commonly in sub-Saharan Africa or the black Caribbean, but not in white communities just a few miles away in a majority-white country?

Why is it that, if anything, the process of black acculturation and assimilation into our majority-white society seems to have backslid dramatically over the past half century? Why is it that, fifty years ago, blacks gave their children names like “David” and “Lisa”, but now give them names which, like that of the dead black youth, one would never find attached to someone of any other race? Why is it that, as Mencius Moldbug pointed out, in every big city in America there is a feral, burned-out ghetto that was once a thriving black business district? Why is it that the more coercive the laws establishing utopia at gunpoint become, the farther away anything that any rational person would call a decent and functional society seems to get?

We are told – those who style themselves our moral betters make sure we hear – that “Black Lives Matter”. To whom, I wonder? Judging by the rate of black-on-black murder, and by the rate of abortion among black women, not to blacks themselves. And if not to them, why to me? If they can’t be bothered to raise their children (Why was the dead black youth living with his grandmother? Where were his parents? Dare I ask?), protect their young people, and care for their old and infirm, by what right do they burden me and mine with those tasks? Do we not have enough to do in caring for our own?

Yes, there is Christian charity. But nothing about that stops me from asking questions about the assumptions of individual and group equality that serve as the foundations of the society in which all of this has happened. It doesn’t stop me from noticing that decades, or even centuries, of actions based upon these assumptions have made things worse instead of better. It doesn’t stop me from seeing that, in the name of bettering things for blacks, whites killed each other by the thousands at places like Shiloh and Chickamauga, allowed our own ancient and hard-won rights (such as those of free association and commerce) to be taken from us by laws like the Civil Rights Act of 1964, and spent trillions of dollars that could have gone into space exploration, medical research, or high-tech public transportation – and yet in the end all of these seem to have been wasted efforts that have gained us little except insufferable moral bragging on the part of those who have championed them and who react to their manifest lack of results with neverending calls for “More! More! More!”

It doesn’t stop me from wondering: How much is enough? By what deadline will we either attain success or admit defeat? What precisely has to happen – how many more years of dismal, pointless failure have to go by – before we are allowed to call into question the doctrine of universal human equality? Before we are allowed to ask: “Where is the proof – scientific, historical, or otherwise – for this belief? Where, even, is the proof that belief in it has made things better in any way other than letting some people feel good about themselves for believing in a comforting dream?”

What happens if – when, really, for unreality can only hold reality at bay for just so long – we finally do? And what do we do until then? What about poor whites like Psycho Dish, who can’t afford to flee from the perpetual disaster that is black dysfunction in America? Do we just tell him to accept stepping over dead bodies on his way to take his trash cans in as normal?

The human capacity for holding on to pleasant delusion until reality comes crashing down on us seems to be limitless, so I expect that’s what will happen in this case as well. Events are in the driver’s seat, and things will play out as they will, which will almost certainly be extremely unpleasantly. I think it would have been better for everyone just to have kept our society based on observable reality all along, but nobody (or at least, nobody in a position of power) asked me.

Well, then, I will do the only thing I can do, which is to extend my condolences to Psycho Dish for his serie noire this week. I’ll buy beer the next time we get together – though, I hope you understand, I’d rather we meet somewhere other than your place.

What If HBD Is True?

For those who may still be new to, or still somewhat unfamiliar with, the Dark Enlightenment and Neo-Reaction, one of their hottest and most talked-about concepts is that of HBD, or Human Biological Diversity. This concept is one that is most popular among a certain subset of Dark Enlightenment thinkers – those who tend more towards the atheistic and scientifically-minded end of the spectrum. The inimitable Fred Reed has a column on it here, in which the basics are explained in his usual straightforward manner, and it is a good primer on the concept for non-scientists. In short, it has to do with evolution (it depends, in fact, on that concept), and the evolved differences between diverse groups of human beings; specifically, between the races. Most controversially, it posits that one biologically-ingrained difference between the races is a persistent, measurable, significant disparity in average intelligence between them, with East Asians and Ashkenazi Jews at the top of the chart, followed by whites, South Asians, mestizo Latinos, and, lastly, blacks. As anyone who has been paying attention to the progress of race issues in the west, and especially in the United States, over the last half-century or so can tell, this is an explosively controversial issue to say the least.

I am not here to make the case for or against HBD. I certainly have some issues with some of the assumptions that underlie it; with Darwinian evolution and the ability of IQ tests to actually measure what they are claimed to measure at the top of the list. And yet there is a lot of solid evidence behind it, much of it empirical. It isn’t just IQ tests that reflect this stratification – just about every measure of applied intelligence, from SAT and GRE scores, to Nobel Prizes in hard sciences issued by country or ethnicity, to percentages by race of people employed in intellectually-demanding fields, to GDP of nations that have a majority population of one race or another, reflect the same thing. Half a century’s worth of attempts in the United States to equalize these results through remediation, increased education funding, Affirmative Action, government-imposed equal opportunity laws, and many other schemes imposed from above have produced little by the way of tangible results. The problem seems absolutely intractable, and excuses that keep egalitarian myths intact are beginning to wear thin.

I will not, however, offer an opinion here on whether HDB is true or not. I am not a scientist, nor am I even particularly scientifically-inclined, and so I am unqualified to offer an informed opinion. I am, however, philosophically and politically inclined, which puts me in a position to answer an underexplored question regarding HBD, which is: What if it is true? What will it mean? What do we do then?

This is what Fred Reed once referred to as the “Oh God, what now?” question – the question that society cannot bring itself to face, as its implications are simply too terrible to even consider. However, this is really only true of a society wedded to an unrealistic egalitarian ideology. For a society more grounded in realism, answers are perhaps possible to arrive at. We avoid these answers, partly because of true belief in the ideology underlying them, but in some cases also for less altruistic reasons. And yet failure to consider them, I contend, in the end benefits only a select few.

Let us first consider what the implications of HBD (again, if true) really are. HBD means, essentially, that some minorities (blacks especially – here let us just be honest about who we primarily mean) are on average less capable at some kinds of thinking – particularly academic and technical thinking – than others. And yet this is not truly a grave insult. Let us remember that aptitude in academic and technical thinking were skills that, for the vast majority of the human race over the vast majority of human history, were really not all that crucial. From the caveman to the 18th century farmer, some extra skill in these areas might (or might not) have provided a moderate advantage, but it was hardly critical to survival. It is only in the last 200 years or so that these skills have become important, and only really now, in this hyper-technological age of cognitive haves and have-nots, in which it is loudly proclaimed that “Average Is Over”, that these skills seem to have become critical to success. Is being less apt in areas that have only recently become very important really such a condemnation?

As for the social problems facing blacks – the crime, the drugs, the illegitimacy – the truth is that blacks can do better than they have. We know this because they did do better – far better – than they are now doing, back in the days before the left showed up to “help” them. It has become something of a running joke among rightists that the media will run headlines along the lines of “Tornado Strikes Oklahoma: Women, Minorities Hardest Hit”, but those hardest hit by the social rot brought about by Cultural Marxism really have been women and minorities, and blacks especially. Through centuries of hardship, the three pillars that black America stood upon were family, faith, and community. These have been destroyed by leftist modernity, and the replacements that have been provided, such as welfare and Affirmative Action, have disastrously failed, not just at allowing blacks to rise, but at preventing them from falling further to the bottom of society than ever.

And here we come to the ways in which Blank Slate Theory actively hurts blacks. Blank Slate Theory, as practiced by modern egalitarians, is essentially the opposite of HBD – the idea that all people (and just as importantly, all groups of people) are born with more or less the same innate capacity to be good at any particular given task. This theory was most famously advanced by Malcolm Gladwell in his book Outliers, which put forward the idea that the most important factor in being able to master a skill is practicing it for a certain amount of time, which Gladwell estimated at 10,000 hours. Now let us consider the state of American blacks. No one has been hit harder by the destruction of the American industrial base and the slow erosion of its middle and working classes than have blacks. It is difficult to believe that it is mere coincidence that the spike in social problems among (especially urban) blacks started, not just when leftism started taking hold in their communities, but (nearly simultaneously) when the American industrial base began to decline starting in the 1970s. Over this period, a large percentage of what was once the black working class has become the back welfare class, as the working-class jobs they once held have been taken over by the tidal wave of Latino immigrants that has swamped the country in the past forty years. So bad have things become that vast numbers of blacks are leaving the big northern industrial cities to which their grandfathers and great-grandfathers came during the Great Migration of the early 20th century, looking for factory jobs and other working-class opportunities which have long since disappeared. They are largely moving back down to the south – some to large southern cities, but many to the rural south from whence their ancestors came.

And yet if Blank Slate Theory is true, then this is a problem that can be overcome. All it will take for the huge black underclass to be transformed into investment bankers, metallurgists, and software developers is for that magic elusive fix that will finally erase the academic and technical performance differences between races to be found. Add some “opportunity”, which would presumably include the opportunity to put in 10,000 hours of trying in their chosen field, and presto – the problem of inequality will be solved. If all this is indeed the case, then the displacement of blacks from the working class – by legal Latino and other immigrants, by illegal aliens, and by machines – is a fixable problem.

But what if it isn’t the case? What if HBD is true, and most blacks will never become those things because they fundamentally cannot become them, no matter how much effort is expended on trying to make it happen?

And here is an even more pointed question for our cynical age: What if some large chunk of the powers-that-be know on some level that HBD is true, and yet continue to push Blank Slate Theory in order to gain economic or political advantage? For the supposedly-egalitarian politicians of the left, a large number of people dependent on government-run social welfare schemes amounts to a virtually-guaranteed bloc of voters for themselves. For those whose business models depend on cheap labor, having an excessive pool of employees or potential employees around allows them to keep wages low – this is simple supply and demand. What if this is all, to some degree, intentional? I do not mean to offer an answer to those questions here, but they do seem to be worth asking.

But now let us turn to solutions. If HBD is true, what do we do? What happens next? First, we must be realistic about what will not happen. First, blacks are not going to disappear from American life, nor should they be required to. By right of history, it is their country as much as it is anyone else’s whose ancestry is not American Indian, and the idea that that many people are going to go… where, exactly?… is sheer fantasy. What else will not happen is that the current welfare state will not continue at anything close to its current level for all that much longer. The economic writing has been on the wall in terms of that for a long time now.

This latter truth may be a motivating reason behind the reversal of the Great Migration, which in itself may be one of the solutions for the question of what does, and ought to, happen next. Blacks, perhaps not on average technologically or academically inclined (if HBD is true) but still no fools, may be sensing which way the wind is blowing, causing them to leave the cold, atomized, and dependent life of the northern cities for places where the bonds of community are stronger, where the cost of living is cheaper, and where more self-sufficiency is possible. If – when – the welfare state collapses, blacks located in such places will be far better off than those who aren’t.

Here too is another necessary part of any possible solution – restoring the pillars of family, faith, and community that long sustained black America. Perhaps outside of the industrial megacities, this becomes more possible.

Economically, if HBD is true, a Buchananite protectionism seems to be wise. Immigration and outsourcing should, in that case, be severely restricted by law, and tariffs raised sharply to protect American-made products. Some limit to the degree of mechanization of jobs might also be worth considering. This would do much to return to America – and to Americans, black and otherwise – the sort of working-class jobs that do not require exceptional academic or technical abilities.

Socially, it seems as if some degree of voluntary separation may be advisable. Despite centuries together, right next to each other, blacks and whites remain vastly different from  one another in innumerable ways. Perhaps an acknowledgement of that reality, instead of further attempts to erase it when all previous attempts have failed, is the better course. The worst possible way to make some people genuinely like others is to try to force them to do so, and the sad reality of human nature is that good fences often really do make good neighbors. Perhaps some more space, with each group able to live more in accordance with its unique culture, attitudes, and worldview, yet still free to voluntarily associate (or not associate) with each other as they please, would do something to reduce tensions between the races. It seems to be at least worth trying – certainly nothing else that has been tried so far has proven to work very well.

In terms of criminal justice, too many blacks are imprisoned now. Certainly some – those who prey on the person or property of others – should be imprisoned, and few blacks would disagree. But many more are imprisoned for victimless drug offenses, and this should end. The War on Drugs has been a dismal failure, and should be discontinued, with drugs decriminalized. The problems associated with drug use among blacks should be handled by the black community itself.

This brings us to another idea – that black social problems require black solutions. Among whites, there is a widespread and growing feeling – far more desperate than hateful – that they have tried everything they can think of to solve the social problems of the black community, and none of it has worked. Perhaps this is because white solutions to black problems cannot truly work. And even if they could, would blacks really want them to? Would they really want to feel that they could not solve their own problems without whites there to deliver solutions? Here, again, separation may help. Much of the behavior of the black underclass is deeply self-destructive, and as anyone who has dealt with a self-destructive person knows, the worst possible thing to do with them is to allow them excuses for their self-destructive behavior. Perhaps with some separation from whites, with the ability to use the race card to get more largesse from the public fisk off the table, and forced to face its own problems head-on, the black community will begin to come up with the solutions it needs to its problems.

These are my suggestions, and I believe them at least worth considering.

Finally, I wish to reemphasize that I am taking no position on whether HBD is true or not. I again mean here simply to start a conversation about a heretofore underdiscussed aspect of the issue. Some of the possible solutions I’ve suggested strike me as ones that would be wise no matter what the truth about HBD may be. Do I actually expect any of them to happen? Not particularly. Americans are far too much idealistic and far too little realistic. This results in a strong tendency to do nothing about difficult problems in the Panglossian belief that everything will somehow work out fine in the end, until the point is reached at which a problem becomes a massive and basically insoluble crisis. Nothing in recent American history suggests that this tendency has gotten any better over time – just the opposite. But I have made it my mission to say the things that must be said, no matter who will or won’t listen.