Election Blues

By Nicholas Stix

December 7, 2000
Toogood Reports

In recent days, black strangers have approached me, in subways and supermarkets, in Brooklyn and Queens, as a “Republican.”

One thirtyish fellow started up a conversation with a chuckle, as we exited the subway in the heart of largely West Indian Flatbush, Brooklyn. I don’t know where he was from, but either he was born abroad or his folks were. Another, silently scowling black man listened to us. He appeared to be an American black—judging by his features AND his silent scowl.

The last time I met an American black man who could tolerate a white man contradicting him, it was New Year’s Eve four years ago, in an Irish saloon off Times Square, and he still made a point of suggesting I was a racist.

While discussing the election in a Queens supermarket with a middle-aged, black Caribbean security guard I’m friendly with, another, younger, Caribbean-born black man who was waiting for his wife by the checkout counters asked me, as a “Republican,” “Why do you say they’re stealing the election?” He then suggested, diplomatically, “We shouldn’t even be talking about politics, anyway,” as opposed to more important matters.

Before stating my case, I noted to the man that I am a registered Democrat. While the guard and I spoke, he noted bemusedly, that a young black cashier a few feet away was trying to eavesdrop on our conversation. I then noticed another employee, a young gay Puerto Rican guy, who was standing by me, studiously looking away, obviously doing the same thing.

The young girl, who couldn’t be more than 20, had just made a point of lecturing me on my violation of morality, for putting 17 items on her “15 items or less” check-out, even though no one was behind me.

The gay guy has seen me for years, and is so nasty that the last time, he refused to take the money from my hand. He made me lay it down.

Why not go to another supermarket? This is New York.

There is no other supermarket in the neighborhood. The others, farther away, all close earlier, are no friendlier, and are all closer to, or already in, one of the most violent, racist areas in America, Far Rockaway. I lived in “Far Rock” for three years, before “escaping” to this area.

This is as good as it gets.

Why mention these people in a column on the election? Because during the fifteen years I’ve lived in New York City, people like them—black Americans, and to a lesser (but rapidly increasing) degree, Hispanics—have increasingly felt that based on who they are, and based on who I am, that they can openly disrespect me. They seem to think it’s their country, and I’m just visiting.

From 1980-85, while living in then-West Germany, I frequently thought to myself, When I get home, I won’t stand for this second-class status.

Social work supervisors, college department heads, prosecutors and police officers told me differently. When I complained about the racism, they called ME a “racist.” I call the system they have imposed, “Jim Snow,” a mirror image of the Jim Crow system of the Old South.

A Puerto Rican acquaintance suggested I leave the country, because, as my wife has argued, I would get a much better job teaching high school, and more respect from my students, were we to relocate to Trinidad.

Meanwhile, my best friend has already had to leave the country, seeking work. A convicted white male and suspected heterosexual, he spent most of his adult life in college and graduate school. Having just finished his doctorate at a state university, and in spite of a packet of sterling teaching evaluations after years of college teaching as an “adjunct” (a “part-timer,” no matter how many classes one teaches), he was never going to get an offer of a full-time professorship at any American campus.

And so, I beat the drum for him to accept a job offer in a country where, as a Jew, I am forbidden by law to visit him.

And now, they’re telling me—they being the racist “persons of color,” and their white allies—that even my vote doesn’t count.

And it really doesn’t. Despite all the talk about how important the franchise was in a close election, Al and HILLARY! romped in New York. And though George W. Bush won the election, the idea that he will do anything about anti-white racism is less realistic than a belief in Santa Claus.

In 1993, when Rudy Giuliani was finally elected New York City mayor, in spite of the DDD voting bloc—Dead Democrats for Dinkins—New York blacks began a disinformation campaign before Giuliani had even been inaugurated mayor. According to this campaign, which has never let up, Giuliani is the white man’s mayor, and has led a war against minority males, in the form of “racial profiling,” and an otherwise racist City Hall.

The reality was that Rudy accelerated affirmative action in the NYPD, accelerated affirmative action in the treatment of black criminals, and rather than cutting the welfare rolls, switched welfare recipients to much better-paying, federal supplemental security income (“disability”). Anti-white racism got uglier and more open throughout the Giuliani mayoralty, with nary a peep from “Hizzoner.”

I expect nothing different from President Bush.

On Election Day One, I joked to my wife, “I’m going to vote for Buchanan, and send your ass back where you came from!”

Buchanan, who commanded, “Lock and load!” and who spoke of “peasants and pitchforks,” was by far the most entertaining candidate of the ‘96 campaign. As I told my largely immigrant students, “Know thy enemy.”

(The oddest thing about the Buchanan candidacy, was that it vindicated the image the mainstream media had been painting for years, of xenophobic, “angry white males,” when American blacks comprise the most consistently xenophobic group I have ever encountered.)

But Buchanan was more than just entertaining. He wrote his own ad copy, and his own speeches. He had no planning group of Avenue K spinmeisters. He had little money, preferring as he said, to “live off the land,” relying on fanatically dedicated supporters.

Buchanan was everything so many socialists had been calling for, for so many years: He connected directly with the people; he wasn’t the puppet of Big Money and special interests.

And yet, the socialists hated Buchanan, and came up with tortured arguments about how Buchanan wasn’t “really” a populist.

Pat’s problem, rather, was that he wasn’t a socialist. Not that I ever seriously considered voting for him. Instead, I held my nose and voted for “the Senator from Archer Daniels Midland,” Bob “What’ll We Do Without Affirmative Action” Dole.

Truth be told, no one had “a Chinaman’s chance” of unseating Bill Clinton in ‘96.

This time around, things looked better. The most attractive candidate was Ralph Nader.

I had always thought of Nader as a gawky, geeky kind of guy. But when a Latin immigrant public school teacher from Minnesota—who proudly identified her school, and proceeded to act like a politburo official—tried to intimidate him, with talk of “back-alley abortions,” if Bush won, based on the defections of Gore voters to Nader, he showed some moxie:

“Don’t try that. You’re not going to have any more conservative Court under George Bush than under his father. There are three reasons for that: 1. he’s not too bright; 2. he’s lazy; and 3. he hates partisan battles.”

And so, his environmentalism and his socialism aside, Nader was my guy.

(Just imagine a defender of the Second Amendment identifying himself as a public school teacher, including his school’s name!)

Pat Buchanan was around again.

What a sorry sight. The high point of his campaign, was when he hired goons to keep his Reform Party opponents out of the Party’s San Diego convention.

In the early ‘90s, I had given Buchanan a pass—with reservations—when he was accused of anti-Semitism, based on his criticism of “Israel’s ‘amen corner’” in Congress.

My rationale was, Hey, I’m a big supporter of that ‘amen corner,’ shouting along back home. I can’t condemn the man, simply for speaking the truth, can I?

This time around, though, the truth was much uglier. An independent scholar named Jamie McCarthy dug up a column from 1990, in which Buchanan had echoed Holocaust-denier claims, insisting that half of all Holocaust survivors’ stories were false, and that a particular, early form of execution, through diesel truck exhaust, couldn’t kill anyone. I’d once been sucker-punched by an old Nazi in West Germany in 1982; I wasn’t letting another Nazi sucker-punch me. As if to dispel any lingering doubts, Buchanan sought after Arab support, and his “Buchanan Brigade” members did pretty good imitations of ventriloquist’s dummies—and the ventriloquist was Yasser Arafat.

We heard continually from these people that the Israelis had poisoned the Arabs’ water, murdered Arab women and children, etc., etc. Well, hey, Arabs and Nazis go way back.

Then there was the number-two man (i.e., third-in-command) of the most criminal administration in history.

It’s really important, I find, to state the obvious. So let’s roll out the credentials of Al “No- Controlling-Legal-Authority” Gore: He was the loyal supporter of President William Jefferson Clinton throughout Travelgate, Filegate, Monicagate, and the impeachment. He collected illegal campaign donations from Buddhist monks, a felony. He made illegal campaign solicitation calls from the White House, another felony. He changed his persona more often than I change my shorts. And to think, I voted for this guy in a New York State presidential primary once (1988, I think it was).

There was, however, one very good reason for voting for Gore in 2000: A Gore victory would likely have been the only way to prevent a HILLARY candidacy in 2004, were she to win against Rick Lazio. And as we know, she beat poor Lazio. When I think of HILLARY, I never compare her to politicians. In terms of the American scene, she rises above such comparisons. I think rather of the likes of John Gotti, Al Capone, Lucky Luciano, the Honorable Elijah Muhammad. Since November 7, Al Gore has taught me to hold him in contempt; I fear HILLARY. Heck, her own husband is afraid of her, and that’s good enough for me.

That left “W”: a younger, more attractive Bob Dole. This time, I didn’t need to hold my nose; I’d gotten used to the stench.

* * *

When I was twelve years old, I played poker with the Katz brothers, Harry and Gene, at their house. I kept beating them, and they kept playing “double-or-nothing” with imaginary money. Eventually, they won, took my week’s worth of very real newspaper money, and sent me on my way. I haven’t gambled for money since.

What Al Gore is trying to do is no more justifiable than what the Katz brothers pulled, way back when.

As a kid, I idolized Richard Nixon. Nixon was tough. He didn’t suck up to commies, or anyone else. He knew that you negotiated from a position of strength, or not at all. In the 1972 election, Democratic Sen. George McGovern of South Dakota, said he would get down on his hands and knees, if necessary, and beg Hanoi to return U.S. POWs.

So much for George McGovern. The day Nixon resigned, in August 1974, I was in black Jamaica, Queens, a token white in a federally-financed, black supremacist program. When the news came over the bus radio that night, a black kid tried to celebrate. I yelled, “Shut the f--k up!” And he did.

Two years later, when I left home for college, my mother gave me the book, All the President’s Men, by Washington Post reporters Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward.

The book was a compilation of the reporting that had taken down, for the first and only time, an American President.

In reading All the President’s Men, I realized that Nixon had indeed been wrong. In covering up the break-in at the Democratic National Committee headquarters in the Watergate Hotel, he had committed high crimes and misdemeanors.

That the Watergate Committee and investigation was partisan was beside the point. That the public had not yet been told the truth behind the icon of “Saint Jack” Kennedy might have been pertinent, had we known.

The Republican Party got blown out in the 1976 elections; Nixon’s vice-president and successor, Gerald R. Ford, lost a squeaker to Jimmy Carter.

Come to think of it, Carter’s victory may have been illegal.

You see, my vote—my first ever—was illegally cast.

Local election law in my college town required 90 days to establish residency. I had just moved in around September 1. That left me about four weeks short, and I admitted it, but the nice lady from the Fire Department’s Ladies Auxiliary let me vote anyway.

I voted for Jimmy Carter, the Democratic former governor of Georgia. (Maybe Carter really lost to Ford. Maybe we need to review all of the 1976 election’s ballots!) Voting Democrat was what my family did. We knew the Democrats were good people, and the Republicans were bad people.

FDR was a Democrat. JFK was a Democrat. Nixon was a Republican. Case closed. (I was the only member of the family who liked Nixon.)

I kept on voting for the “good people” through the 1992 election. That meant Walter Mondale and Michael Dukakis (in 1980, my application for an absentee ballot from my university campus was rejected), and even the one-man crime wave. Now, I understand that you don’t vote for “good” vs. “bad” people; you vote for politicians. That means choosing bad over worse.

Already by December, 1992, I was asking myself, publicly, how I could have voted for that sleazy draft dodger.

For over thirty years, Democrats and their various racial socialist operatives and allies—call them “civil rights activists,” “progressives,” “black power advocates,” “Afrocentrists,” “feminists,” “multiculturalists,” “progressives,” or just “liberals,” have taken over the courts, the mainstream media, the schools, the universities, the federal bureaucracies, and even Big Business.

These operatives have effected a “Gleichschaltung,” a consolidation of power, such that it was supposed to become psychologically impossible to think in a manner that could tolerate the freedoms of the Declaration of Independence, the U.S. Constitution, the Federalist Papers. And if someone managed to continue believing in the ideals of the Founding Fathers, he would be fired, censored, silenced.

Such people were tarred and feathered as thought criminals, “racists,” “sexists,” “homophobes.” At the same time, those same forces have taught us that crimes that are committed by members of certain “oppressed” groups really aren’t crimes at all.

During the present campaign (on July 28th), NBC’s Tom Brokaw called for federal censorship of the Internet, under the guise of combatting neo-Nazi “hate groups.” [Web of Hate.]

Why does this Jew suspect that most, if not all places publishing his work would qualify as “hate groups,” in Tom Brokaw’s view? As if cable weren’t bad enough, the Internet has cut deeply into Brokaw’s audience, not to mention his credibility.

And yet, somehow enough of the American people managed to think otherwise, and elect George W. Bush. And so, at the end of the spiral of crime, violation of unprotected groups’ civil rights, and endemic abuse of power, can we be surprised that Vice-President Al Gore has sought to steal an election? Of course, we can.

What to do?

What people are already doing: Demonstrating, calling their congressman, e-mailing Florida Secretary of State Katherine Harris with congratulations, and President-elect Bush with advice to stay the course.

Some observers, among them the estimable Peggy Noonan, have called for new laws. Frankly, I don’t see the point. There was nothing wrong with the Florida election laws. The wrong was in Democratic election supervisors refusing to follow the law, and the seven judges of the Democrat-dominated Florida Supreme Court aiding and abetting the Democrats.

What would a new law say, “Follow existing state Election Law; see above”?

New laws are worthless, if officials—including judges—are themselves lawless. They also confuse matters even more.

So, now we have a spectacle in which the President-elect and the usurper’s (I’m sure they’ve forged enough votes by now) lawyers will argue before the U.S. Supreme Court on Tuesday, rebut each other on Thursday, and the Court will decide the election—in December.

Whatever the Court decides—to reject the voodoo vote counts, accept them, or refuse to intervene—the lesson, in my eyes will remain the same.

Millions of people have seen the destruction of this Republic since the 1960s, and done nothing. Said nothing. Oh, in private they’ll say, with smug self-satisfaction, “It’s a waste of time arguing with these morons.”

And then, when someone had the cojones to argue with the morons, the self-satisfied “Republican” watched in silence, as the dissenter got done in. Or maybe the Republican helped.

These people know who they are.

Those of us still fighting the good fight, must not quit. We must especially reach out to young people, who have not yet grown cynical, or learned their elders’ rationalizations.

And we must never forget, as we make our own “march through the institutions,” that elections are important, but the Founding Fathers, in their wisdom, saw them as secondary in importance, to the institutions of family, church, property. For without strong fundamental institutions, elections are meaningless.

Good luck to you all. Good luck to us.