An old friend from the 1980s, Jim R, contacted me to tell me that there was an interesting talk going on at a church on East 96th St.
I said, “Sure,” as I usually do to these things.
The talk was by a crazy little woman who teaches at Fordham and has written what looks like a self-published book called The Sin of White Supremacy. Everything about the program looked hilarious.
For one thing, the title of the book is a double shibboleth: “sin” can be a good or bad thing, depending on your point of view. But let’s accept it’s a bad thing, a mortal sin or a venial sin, and figure the author is making a theological point.
Thus “white supremacy” is something like a moral sin. But what is this “white supremacy” anyway? It’s a cant phrase used largely by Jewish Communists in the 1940s and 50s, to describe segregationists of that era.
As a thing it never existed. There are race-realists, white nationalists, white separatists, civic nationalists, ethno-nationalists. “White supremacists” are just a Communist invention. Rather like “racist,” another concoction of these people.
Anyway, I went to this talk, part of a program called “Pop-Up Theology” in the basement of the St. Francis de Sales Church on East 96th St. Attendees were mostly old folks. Cat ladies, funny old men, some oddball youngsters. Mainly white, a few coloreds.
The little lady who supposedly teaches theology at Fordham was a lively, articulate sort, but her slide-talk was even worse than I could have hoped. Her thesis is that helping to improve the spiritual situation of nonwhite savages is somehow a “sin.” I don’t know if she is Catholic, but I doubt she is.
A few of my colleagues arrived, the usual gang of idiots. Besides me and Jim, we had old Rob in his funny coat and shuffle-shoes, and Basil O’Connor, our 40ish balding guy who’s a bland, generous supporter of all race-realist groups. Jim asked a long but concise question about how white people are being dispossessed in their country, and how little attention is being paid to this, along with such crises as the Sacklers’ promotion of opioid addiction.
Too much furious steam was coming out of my ears for me to raise my hand. But a nice old lady beside me queried me afterwards, having noted my anger. I told her the whole premise of the talk was sacrilegious. Leading the American people to race and national suicide is the truly huge, grave sin on the table.
The old lady’s head was full of cottage cheese. She corrected me repeatedly when I referred to illegal aliens. She wants to call them “undocumented.” I said documents are not the issue. She took issue when I told her the “indigenous people” (Red Indians) were not indigenous at all; they came over from Asia. This bit of anthropology was known to every 6-year-old when I was little 50 years ago, but apparently it was news to the Old Lady.
Afterwards I and my three confreres went next door to a tiny “Italian” pizza place run by Mexicans. I think we each had a slice and a few laughs.
