History is not kind to its victims. It excoriates them, it rebukes their very existence and it challenges the victims to be stronger next time around when the iron-swords which define history march on with clanging-blood. History rarely seeks to make amends. History does not believe in an apology for its victims. Or so it seems now. It seeks not to make a better civilization.
And so is the history, the Colonial History of Africa. So is the Slave History of its children in the diaspora. These histories seek one thing: to further unleash academic violence, mental and psychological torture on its victims. It has created, within the laboratory of western science and philosophy, an idea called the Negro. A phantom Black man (in most cases, who has no sense of self, and for that matter of his own history). And with this Negro definition, Africans who hail south of the Sahara, and Blacks who source their origins south of this impenetrable Sahara must conform. The history of these Africans must be made narrow and inaccessible—devoid of access to civilization. And the histories of the rest of the world around it must be made impenetrable to any Negro influence—past or present.
So the Negro hails from sub-Saharan Africa, but he hates his own origins. So the Negro lives in Africa and often among Africans. He cannot be stopped. Africans cannot get rid of him because he is a powerful creation of the writers of history—the victors of history. This is my curse.
Let’s be specific. The history begins, for instance like this:
The Moors were not Black. That Black is an anachronism. So shouts the House Negros. Negros especially, fearfully and wonderfully constituted with the victor’s history education. But you know, the Negro says, the Greeks you see, they were white. They laid down the foundation of The European Miracle. The Romans, they too were white. They carried the torch and expanded Northwards and Westwards this European Miracle. The European Intellectual Miracle, which hold that out of only Europe did the conditions of academic prowess become incident upon the Human Race is the central dogma of all House Negro education.
This European Miracle is what feeds Weber’s theories of Modernization and strokes the feathers of the House Negro who actually believes that only through Globalization can a place so desolate like Africa behold and even enjoy the fruits of the European Miracle.
The Moors were not Black. Black is an anachronism. But the Greeks, yes, they were white. The Romans, yes, they were white. And White is not an anachronism because the Greeks and the Romans both knew that they were white. The Cretans, the Greeks and the Romans skied, ate raw meat and celebrated Christmas. They were the brothers and sisters of Vikings and the Saxon.
The House Negro has learned a theory, or may I say, he has been bathed and baptized in the waters and spirits of the European Miracle. On one hand he believes in the European Miracle via the Greeks. Which is another way to say that he believes in the Caucasian Miracle via the Greeks. On the other hand he cannot link his own African present to the great past of the Moors who once upon time brought great civilization to Southern Europe, nor can he link his sorry current state to the great past of Kemet, or of Nubia, or of the Sudan. He believes that since he cannot appreciate his Black present, he must have had no history and he must have lived only in the thick forests of the Congo and the Amazon. He was only a Negro then. And a House Negro now. He remains no matter his education, the House Negro. The House Negro has been baptized in White Supremacism and he has been fed a diet of his own hate. Black hate.
First, it was his claim to the Caucasian Miracle, which held that nothing [good], nothing civilizational, came out of Africa. And then when that theory was thrown; when that theory of white Cretans, white Greeks and white Romans were thrown out, the House Negro turned to a second theory—an even more pervasive and insidious theory: Nothing Good Came Out of Sub-Saharan Africa.
The House Negro believes that the Sahara was so thick and so severe a terrain that Africans largely morphed into two separate races on either side of it: the Black and the Gold. The Gold of course now includes the Berber but not the ancient Greeks, nor the ancient Romans. The Black, south of the Sahara, well, are incapable of civilization. They are Negros. The theory continues: If Africa influenced ancient Greece, or if the Cretans received their civilization from Kemet, or if the Moors conquered and forced Europeans to stop eating from where they defecated, then these influences must have come via the Gold peoples of North Africa.
Even then; even then the Berber, although they are Golden, can be sub-divided further into the Black-Golden, the Gold-Golden and the White-Golden. The White-Golden Berbers, the Hamites, still wield their Miracle influencing art. The Gold-Golden Berbers can lay claim to having some influence on the Caucasian Miracle. But the Black Berbers, that is the Negros, nothing. They are below human, just like their sister Negros and brother Negros south of the Sahara. And so the Caucasian Miracle never ceases to amaze and astound the humble reader of its paralogism.
In the final analysis, we know how the story ends. There’s no saving the House Negro, you see? He is after all, now a disciple of the mythical arts of White Supremacism. The product of confusion, of self-hate and self-pity. The sad part of the existence of House Negros in Africa becomes obvious. It is that these House Negros abound; and they wield big crosses from the temples of their Viking gods. And they kill for it with pungent hatred. They wield degrees in the Caucasian Mythical Arts (the sciences, sociology, history, philosophy, maths, etc.) enough to fill any man’s head with round-a-about logic, with utter hate, and enough to feel any man’s heart with utter despise for the thing they have crafted for themselves—the Negro! Alas, we live in an era of the Negro Invasion without the possibility of an escape.
This is the state of many intellectuals in Africa in the twenty-first century. This is my curse!
Narmer.
