Friday, March 16, 2018

Re-post: Stranger Than Fiction

Originally posted at Da Tech Guy blog on November 19, 2013.

Please forgive the many "I, me" and "my" references in this post. Readers will understand the apology as they get clued in to the subject.

Assuming that most of Peter's readers have never heard of me, let me tell you all a bit about myself. I have been blogging under the nom de guerre 'baldilocks' for just a bit over ten years. The main topic has been conservative politics, but I will talk about most anything that strikes my fancy or torques me off...or at least I used to. Haven't felt so much like blogging since November 2008.

I am an Air Force retiree and, most recently, a novelist. Until the end of last year, my primary concern was the well-being of my great-aunt. She passed away in December of 2012 at age 91. A good, long life.

But there are some other things about me that readers may find...interesting.
  • I was born in August of 1961.
  • My biological father is Kenyan and of the Luo tribe; my mother is American.
  • My parents met when both were attending the same American college.
  • My parents divorced when I was very young; afterward, my father returned to Kenya.
  • For half of my childhood, I was raised by older relatives of my mother.
  • My mother suffered from ovarian cancer.
  • My maternal grandmother died in 2008.
  • One of my half-sisters is nine years younger than I am. She is married to a man of a different race than she.
  • I am left-handed.
Some of these things may seem familiar, if innocuous. But one thing it certain: all of these things are also part of the biography of a man named Barack Hussein Obama. And some of the dissimilarities have symmetry.
  • I am a woman.
  • I am a conservative.
  • Both of his parents and his step-father are dead. Both of my parents and my step-father are living. (My father, Philip Ochieng, appeared in the documentary, 2016: Obama's America, and was a friend of Barack Obama, Sr.)
  • I was raised by my great-aunt and great-uncle in the first half of my childhood. President Obama was raised by his grandparents in the last half of his minor years.
Since Barack Obama came on the scene almost ten years ago, I have lived in a low-level state of astonishment and I'm not even talking about the type of president he has turned out to be. (That was predictable to anyone who was paying attention.) I'm talking about the personal facts of both our lives.

Considering his character, the notion that he absconded with my identity has come up in my mind a time or two, but there are things that could not be faked--like the malady that beset both of our mothers. My mother was diagnosed several year after his was.

And, in the years since President Obama was elected, I seen all manner of crazy notions pop up about the Luo tribe.
  • That the tribe is mostly Arab. (One look at any of us disputes this. The name 'Obama' is Luo, not Arabic. Fun fact: in Dholuo, 'Obama' means 'bent' or 'crooked.')
  • That the tribe is mostly Muslim. (The Luo are 90% Christian--including me. Most Kenyan Luo are Anglican or Seventh Day Adventist.)
  • That the tribe is a "communist tribe." (That assertion seemed weird, until I remembered that most of the Africans who were educated in Western countries in the sixties--like Barack Obama, Sr. and Philip Ochieng--were sponsored and well-indoctrinated by the Organized Left. My now very conservative mom says that communists were everywhere when my father was courting her.)
And here's one really crazy notion that the ascent of Barack Hussein Obama has put in motion: that most black American Christians are adherents to the I-deology known as Black Liberation Theology. In reality, the only black American Christians who are even familiar with the tenets of that abomination are the minority who are Catholic. Nothing against our Catholic friends, but it is in that denomination where (insert ethnic group here) liberation theologies have mostly taken root, the fact that President Obama's old "church" is "Protestant" notwithstanding.

But I digress.

What does having a cosmic twin who happens to be the President of the United States and who happens to be systematically destroying that same person's country do for one's psyche? It brings humility and, ironically, it also shows that there is a God and that He does have a "wicked" sense of humor. Joke's on me...and, as it appears, the rest of us.

Here's the important question: which one of us is the Bearded Spock?

I guess that depends on whom you asked. If you were to ask President Obama, he'd get the fictional character confused with the real-life Dr. Spock. And then, you would have your answer.

Two Kingdoms Offer Protection to Their Children

Disclaimer: I'm biased towards this Kingdom.
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Compare and contrast.

In this post, I opined that the Devil is not only the progenitor of lies, also the architect of all that is false.
God is building His kingdom, and so the [Devil] is building his.

This adversary does deal in simple falsehoods, but those aren’t his most lethal weapons. He is an imitator of his enemy, God, and therefore, his deceptions are high, wide, deep, broad, complex—and, long-term.

These types of deceptions are four-dimensional at the very least; they are his weapons of mass destruction.
If you take everything you know about the God of the Bible, you'll notice the Devil -- and his servants -- will always try to copy those things. But the parodies will always be a far inferior and will, ultimately, be a curse.

Case in point coming.

In Psalm 91:1-2 (KJV), David observed that
He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.

I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust.
The implication is that if a person trusts in God and everything that entails, that God, in turn will protect that person. (Pertinent note: a person's core self is his/her spirit and soul and, in this Psalm, God offers conditional protection to a person's dwelling. While you're wearing it, your physical body is the dwelling of your spirit and soul. This is important to remember.)

Robert Spencer points to a milestone on the highway of postmodernism -- a building in the parody kingdom.
The Orlando Weekly’s Xander Peters frames the story this way: “Orange County middle school teacher has an incredibly racist Twitter account.” According to Peters, this teacher “retweeted an anti-Muslim post by Identify [sic] Evropa, a white supremacist group that aims to create a white ethnostate.”

Neither the Orlando Weekly nor the Orlando Sentinel, which also covered the story of this “racist” teacher, shows you a photo of the offender. That is probably because the accused “racist” and “white supremacist” teacher, Sundai Brown, is a black woman.

What race is she supposedly attacking? Jihad terror and Islamization. Islam, as any sane person knows, is not a race, and Muslims are not of a single race, but of all races. But the Orlando Weekly and Orlando Sentinel are out to destroy Sundai Brown’s career and livelihood, for the crime of opposing jihad violence and the spread of Sharia to non-Muslim countries. They have targeted her because she reportedly tweeted that “imans [sic] worldwide instruct muslims to invade western countries, outbreed them, overthrow governments, kill infidels and implement sharia law.”
Understand this: Ms. Brown, is, under the chaotic laws of Leftism, a "white supremacist." Under that law, a white supremacist is anyone who openly disagrees with any idea, anyone, or any group that the Organized Left (OL) takes under its wing of protection. Also, understand this: the OL can confer, withdraw favor on an idea person, or group at any time for any reason.

The OL also takes these privileges to itself:
  • Promotion of one idea/person/group over another, regardless of previous status. Black people used to be the OL's faired-haired boys and girls, if you'll pardon the irony. But now, the OL has demoted black people in its hierarchy of "children."  have been displaced by Muslims, illegal aliens, and women.
  • Denunciation of heretics. As is demonstrated by the treatment of Ms. Brown, any member of one of the protected groups who "attacks" one of the groups higher that his/hers, will be publicly denounced, shamed, and, if possible, driven to financial ruin.
  • The OL can and will promote an idea, then denounce it later; often seconds later.
That list is far from exhaustive.

Thus are the foundations on which a person/group takes refuge under the wing of protection offered by Leftism ever shifting and, ultimately, unreliable. Those foundations are composed of the sand on which postmodernism -- a kingdom of lies -- are built. This is a "perfect" counterpoint to the solid foundation that God provides.

Is it harsh to say that Leftism is of the Devil? Yes, it is. Harshness is often necessary. 

And here's something else that the Kingdom of God and the kingdom of the Devil have in common: you can die -- be removed from your present dwelling place -- due to reliance on either.

Where subsequent results diverge -- what comes after that.

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Thursday, March 15, 2018

Disjointed Musings on Slavery

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 Most people say that they don’t want to be slaves. What they mean is that they don’t want to be subject to the will of another human being under pain of punishment or of death. But I believe that slavery and slavers are often subtler. And I also believe that many only give lip service to their abhorrence of slavery.

Many black Americans are still angry about the enslavement of their ancestors, but that anger is selective. They are only mad at white Americans about it. Never the Europeans or the Arab/black Muslim, or the various African tribal rulers. And they certainly aren’t angry at any form of present-day slavery. So, what gives?

White Americans are closer by than Europeans/Africans/Arabs; additionally, it's easier to shame the former. It's also much easier than extending forgiveness. (Anger perceived to be righteous is a heavy ball and a chain, but it's also like an opioid. You think you can't live without it.)

But no one is ever free, not really.
19 … You are not your own; 20 you were bought at a price.
This is a partial quote from Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians (1 Cor. 6: 19-20), an observation for all Christ-followers.

When someone is bought and paid for, what does that make them?

Many times, Paul referred to himself as a slave of Christ, though the word is rendered as ‘servant’ in English translations of the Bible.

This truth is offensive to some people and that’s unsurprising. But it’s not about what we want, but about what is.

An additional truth is this: those who refuse God’s yoke are captives to the opposing force, either actively or unwittingly.

There is no third choice.

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Saturday, March 3, 2018

Metaphors and Doggedness (UPDATED)

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If you haven't done so already, read this first so you'll know what I'm talking about.

People tell me that I’m smart, but, often, I feel like a blithering idiot especially when it comes to the things of God. The good thing, however, is that, with some topics, I have the intellectual habits of a dog with a bone; I’ll chew that bone down to the marrow.

Sometimes, I try to talk with others when I’m dissecting a topic, but with most, I can sense their impatience. This isn't a criticism, but an acknowledgement of how implacable I can be when I’m trying to figure something out. Some say I like to argue, and that’s true. How else are we able to figure things out, especially when we discern that some links in a given chain are missing?

Then there’s God who always listens and who will, more often than not, reward us with yummy marrow, especially with things He wants us to see.

Very often, during prayer, I envision things that God wants me to see as a physical door that I have closed and that needs opening. Sometimes when I open that door, it’s an issue that I’ve hidden from myself -- usually a character trait I thought was harmless or natural, but one that He finds unpleasing and, therefore, cannot use. Using a separate metaphor, He points to weed in my soul that I’ve been watering or ignoring. When I see it, I pull it up out of the soil in which it was planted, examine its origin, and then discard the weed and its origin. And salt the dirt.

Other times, it’s when I’m afraid, sad or angry and He will remind of something that dispels the fear, comforts my sadness, or extinguishes the anger. This door/weed stuff was part of my prayer life well before I remembered God’s early rescue operation.

And very, very rarely, He can get me to view things from a new perspective.

Only last night did I realize that His rescue operation was a two-pronged vision! The vision was of one of the places He is supposed inhabit in all our lives here on earth and one of Heaven!

It’s like this.

This world is a dark, small, lonely place and seems inescapable, like my toddler-view of the apartment. The Enemy will tell us that this world is all there is and to stay there. But if we lift the blinds – if we remove the barriers to spiritual sight -- we can see God.

And He will show up – often unexpectedly. And one of those times, it will be to take us home. All we have to do is open the door.

It was no accident that I didn’t remember it.

UPDATE: Confirmation.
I am the door: by me if any man enter in, he shall be saved, and shall go in and out, and find pasture.
-- John 10:9 (KJV)

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Friday, March 2, 2018

My February 2018 Post Digest from Da Tech Guy Blog

Who Runs Things?
I feel as though we have been living in a house infested with termites for decades. Centuries? It has to be God’s grace that keeps it standing.
CIA, NSA to FBI: We May Be Younger, But We Have Outlived Our Usefulness Too
I wonder what would happen if all the “intelligence” agencies were disbanded. I have a dream.
Why I’m Against Black History Month…and For It (Part 1)
Carter G. Woodson

Dr. [Carter G.] Woodson [creator of Black History Week; later, Month] posited that teaching Black History to black American students would make them equal to other Americans in their own minds -- where it counts -- and, thereby, make them better citizens.
Why I’m Against Black History Month…and For It (Part 2)
So what is the big deal about not knowing the history of one’s people? I am often shocked to hear Americans who celebrate the vision and foresight of the American Founders ask that question. We—all Americans—rightly hearken to the ideals on which this country is based in order to get some perspective on the present and as guidance on how to proceed in the future.
Why I’m Against Black History Month…and For It (Part 3)
[M]ost of us — meaning most Americans — like to celebrate the good parts of our country’s history, but we often ignore the parts which might make us uncomfortable or cause us to reach uncomfortable conclusions about other Americans.
Imagine There’s No Money and No Guns
They always tell you what they’re planning and the plan always involves control of two things: you and your money.
We’re Not Disarming Fast Enough for the Left
The attacks on the NRA seem pointless, but I don’t think the Organized Left cares about taking down the NRA. Not really. A mindset is being planted.
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Friday, February 23, 2018

The True Root of the Square-Root Debacle (UPDATED)

Prehistoric woman draws inscrutable glyphs on ancient monitor.
The events outlined in this story indicate more than mere blithering idiocy.
A discussion among students at Oberlin High School in Oberlin, La., about a mathematical symbol led to a police investigation and a search of one of the student’s homes, according to the Allen Parish Sheriff’s Office.

On the afternoon of Feb. 20, detectives investigated a report of terroristic threats at the school, where they learned that a student had been completing a math problem that required drawing the square-root sign.
Students in the group began commenting that the symbol, which represents a number that when multiplied by itself equals another number, looked like a gun.
The county sheriff's office didn't search the home of the student who knew the purpose of the symbol, but that of another student.
After several students made comments along those lines, another student said something the sheriff’s office said could have sounded like a threat out of context. Police searched the student’s home, where they found no guns or any evidence that he had any access to guns. Authorities also wrote there was no evidence the student had any intent to commit harm.
The most frightening part about this story isn't that the kids failed to recognize the symbol. It's that the authorities acted based upon that ignorance.
“The student used extremely poor judgment in making the comment, but in light of the actual circumstances, there was clearly no evidence to support criminal charges,” the department wrote, adding that the school board had been contacted to determine any disciplinary action for the student.
All emphasis mine.

Why couldn't the circumstances have been determined before a search warrant was issued?

And who issues search warrants? Judges and magistrates. Adults. Arbiters of law who cannot even recognize a symbol from seventh-grade level math and make reasonable decisions therefrom. Simply put, too many of them are ready, willing and able to sign a warrant allowing Law Enforcement to invade your home regardless of context.

I can't get mad at the group of students who didn't recognize the square-root symbol, because it isn't their responsibility to teach themselves. I can't even get mad at the sheriffs.

Ignorance breeds fear and it is the credentialed -- the ones who sit in classrooms and courtrooms and shape/misshape the lives and the thinking of the rest of us while being paid by us -- who seeded this crop. And they've been at it a long time.

It can be stopped. But we have to want it bad enough.

(Thanks to Joe Hale)

UPDATE: What really happened ... so far.
"The whole notion that there was a SWAT raid over a math symbol is absurd," Hebert told PJM. "I got a call from a KPLC that they had a serious threat of a shooting at the school, so we went to the house to verify. There was no search warrant, we just sent two [deputies] to knock on the door," chuckled Hebert. "This is a small parish and everybody knows everybody and we found out very quickly there was no crime and no threat."

In spite of that declaration, the student is facing expulsion. In the wake of the shooting in Florida the school board set a new policy. According to KATC, "Any student accused of talking about guns or school shootings will be investigated by three entities: the school board, the sheriff's department, and the district attorney's office."
If I had kids, I'd homeschool them. And I'd teach them about guns, not to mention math.

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Tuesday, February 20, 2018

That Time When the Scales Fell Away From My Eyes

I like listening to accounts of miracles; stories of what the Living God has done for people. I don’t call them testimonies because, in the Bible, only God has testimonies, but in the accepted vernacular, that’s what they are. I have many of them, but one stands out.

Occasionally, I have dropped information about things He’s done in my life, but in that area, I haven’t talked of how God has pursued me.

Allow me to meander to the point.

When one enters the military, at the beginning of Basic Training, the recruit is asked whether he/she wants a religion to be engraved on his/her dog-tags. I was 19 when joined the USAF in 1981 and, reflexively, I had 'Christian' engraved on mine.

Not long afterward, I looked at the tags. It seemed silly. At best, I acknowledged God’s existence and that was all. I spent my young adult years ignoring Him, which seemed only fair. He had been ignoring me since I was born – or so I thought at the time. Neither of my two sets of parents were Christians when I was growing up. (They are now.)

A lot of people remember the exact date that they became Christians. I don’t, not even the year. However, I’d read parts of the Bible and never dabbled in atheism.

Then, 1995-ish, I read the Bible cover-to-cover for the first time and “decided” that I believed what it said, and that Jesus the Christ was my Lord and Savior. But, as I look back at that point, it was the end of one journey and the beginning of another.

My conversion happened when I was in my mid-30s. There was no big incident that precipitated it, nor was there any miracle that followed it, at least not one that I could discern. I didn't radically change my behavior. I didn’t become a “super Christian,” or start trying to convert everyone in sight. But if anyone asked what I believed, I told them.

I used to watch Christian TV programming and hear people get up and tell about these huge, awesome miracles that God did for them. But, even after I became a Christian, I was skeptical because God never did anything like that for me …

For many years following my conversion, I thought like this. I don't anymore because ... well, you'll see.

I’ve told of my unusual origin and upbringing before, but I will again – with some additional information.

I’m the child of a Kenyan father and an American mother. I was born in Chicago and raised in Los Angeles. My parents divorced when I was a baby and my father returned to his home country. My great-aunt and great-uncle, Alma and John Simpkins, raised me from ages one to nine in Los Angeles. When I was nine, I went to live with Mom and her new husband, also known as my American dad when I’m talking about these matters. He’s just Dad, actually. (Love you, old man.)

What I haven’t mentioned is that Dad is Mom’s third husband. Mom was married to my biological father for about a year, and she and Dad have been married for close to 50 years. But, in the interim, she was married to an Ethiopian immigrant named Tamaru Feyessa – at the time, a grad student.

Relax. There are no ugly stories I have about Tam, at least nothing that I experienced personally. The acknowledgement of his existence, however, is essential to the telling of this story.

When Mom was married to Tam, I remained in the custody of Aunt Alma and Uncle John and would visit Mom and Tam on the weekends. One weekend, not long after Mom had picked me up and brought me to their home, she received a phone call from her employer, Southern California Pacific Bell, the old, local incarnation of  AT&T. She was a telephone operator, one of the very few black ones at that time. (If you ever hear Mom speak, you’ll know why. Perfect diction; my sisters and I admit to mimicking it when we want to impress.)

Pac Bell had an emergency and needed her to come to work and that’s what she did. Tam and I remained.

Tam was never mean or anything like that; he simply tolerated me as if I were a temporarily visiting guest, one which would be gone soon. I sensed it back then, though I could put it into words only later, of course. Long after they divorced, Mom told me that he urged her to allow Auntie and Uncle to legally adopt me – something she never did.

After Mom left for work, Tam looked at me. “I’m going out," he said. "Stay here and don’t open the door.” And he was gone. I don’t remember if he locked the door with a key or did so from the inside, but it was one or the other.

I was three or four years old, but no more than that.

I’ve mentioned before that, as a child, I had a terrible fear of never seeing my various parental entities ever again, and my upbringing makes plain why this was so. (I could do a whole gazillion posts on how this fear has wreaked havoc on my adult love life.)

When Tam walked out, that fear kicked into overdrive. I remember feeling lost, alone, and afraid, as if I were the only person left on earth.

I looked around the ground-floor bungalow apartment. In it, there was nothing of me. I don’t recall toys or a bedroom. It was so different from home -- the warm, happy place where my aunt and uncle spoiled their only child.

Nothing to do but wait.

Then, for some reason, I decided to look out the front window. It had horizontal Venetian blinds and they were closed. Instead of opening them, I lifted one of slats and took a peek.

Directly in front, there were two small plots of grass separated by a concrete pathway leading to the front door, and, behind that, a parking lot, all of which were in clear view. And when I looked out, I saw …

… my Uncle John closing the door of his truck and walking along the pathway towards the apartment!

Uncle John worked for the City of LA, and, therefore, routinely worked on Saturdays. This particular Saturday was no different, but, for some reason, he decided to drop by Mom and Tam’s place. I never found out why he did it.

Tam’s warning about opening the door was immediately null and void. I opened it, ran down the few steps, ran up to Uncle, and jumped up into his arms.

I want to go home I said.

And that’s where he took me.

This story’s purpose isn’t merely to make you say “wow,” or to induce tears – in spite of the fact that I always leak a little when I tell it. It isn’t told to make you mad at anyone or admire anyone. I tell it for one specific reason.

Up until a few years ago, I had totally forgotten about it!

And do you know who reminded me of the story? Do you know who reminded me that God has been doing me solids even when I was too young to see it and even after I got older and was too blinded by fear to see it, even after I became a Christian?

My beautiful and wonderful Mom, that’s who.

Decades after Tam was out of our lives and years after Aunt Alma and Uncle John had gone home to their rewards, Mom reminded me of how much God loves me and has always been looking out for me. She did this even at the expense of her own image in my eyes.

When she reminded me, the memory came back like a flood and so did memories of the many, many other times that God intervened in my life. I’m sure there are more I have yet to remember.

And now that my eyes are opened, I see His miracles all the time, almost daily. Some of them are pretty overt. Right, Joy McCann?

I have never been in the vicinity of Miss Goody Two Shoes; I have always been a selfish person, particularly so before converting to Christ. Recently, after finding out about the death of someone who I loved deeply – and who I hurt just as deeply – I was reminded of this.

God has, of course, always known who and what I am; He kept after me anyway and He began before I was even old enough to pay attention. He kept drawing me to Him. I don't know why, but I am so grateful.

Now, I’m ready to do my meager part in closing the distance.

Every Tuesday and Saturday, I blog at the award-winning DaTechGuyBlog (Main Site is Back). Latest post: Why I’m Against Black History Month…and For It (Part 2)

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Monday, February 12, 2018

Great Black Patriots in the House of Representatives

In honor of Black History Month, the following is a repost from seven years ago at my old blog. Spoiler alert: it's not about these HoRs.

Several links in the original post -- from NYU and from YouTube -- are dead. I will look for others, but in the meantime, here you go.

UPDATED: NYU's new URL on the topic.


In the immediate aftermath of the American Civil War and during what is known as the Reconstruction period, sixteen black American men -- several of them former slaves -- served in the US House of Representatives with most being from states of the former Confederacy.  All were quite literate and some were self-educated.  What is certain is that these men saw hardship and racism that most of us 21st century brats of all colors cannot begin to conjure.

What is also certain is that each of these men were Republicans and for a very good reason: the Democrat Party of that time was the self-described Party of Slavery and remained the Party of Black Oppression long after.  (Arguably, this legacy continues.)

Linked here [Ed. 2018: link is dead] are the fascinating biographies of each congressman and some of the speeches the men gave during the debates for the Civil Rights Act of 1871—also known as the Ku Klux Klan Act—and the  Civil Rights Act of 1875.

The site linked is called Neglected Voices and the voices of these men have indeed been neglected but the title is so…weak.  These men were anything but weak, hence the title of this post.  I’m sure, however, that they’ve been spinning in their graves of late at the words and deeds of those for whom they set precedent.

These men didn’t have to invent tales of racial epithets hurled or of racial violence; such were their constant companions throughout their lives.  Yet they did more than muddle through life, they soared.  These were real men, not victims; our current crop of representatives looks microscopic next to them

At any rate, here are excerpts of a speech from Richard H. Cain, in which he contradicts overt assertions by his white colleagues regarding the black race’s alleged inferiority:
Mr. Speaker, the gentleman states that during the struggle for freedom four millions of negroes lifted no hand to liberate themselves; that no stroke was made by them to deliver themselves from their thralldom; yet a few moments afterward he makes the statement that their kind-heartedness prevented them from rising up and destroying the wives and children of the rebel soldiers who were at the front. I accept the admission. Sir, there dwells in the black man's heart too much nobleness and too much charity to strike down helpless women and children when he has a chance to do so. No; though the liberty of
Richard H. Cain
our race was dear to us, we would not purchase it at such a dastard price as the slaying of helpless women and children, while their husbands and fathers were away. I would scorn the men of my race forever if they had lifted their hands at such a period as that against helpless women and children, who were waiting in silent anxiety the return of their natural and lawful protectors. Our strong black arms might have destroyed every vestige of their homes; our torches might have kindled a fire that would have lighted up the whole South, so that every southern man fighting in the army would have hastened back to find his home in ashes. But our race had such nobleness of heart as to forbear in an hour [of] such extremity, and leave those men their wives and children.
Sir, I mean no disrespect to the gentleman, but I think the facts will bear me out in the statement that on every occasion on the battlefield where the black man met the white man of the South there was no flinching, no turning back, on the part of the black man. He bravely accepted his part in the struggle for liberty or death. 
The gentleman says he still looks upon the whites as the superior race. That may be the case in some respects; but, sir, if they educated us they certainly should not find fault with us if we follow out what they have taught, and show ourselves obedient servants. 
But, Mr. Speaker, there is another point. The gentleman states that we would make no movement to achieve our liberty. Why, sir, the education which those gentlemen gave the southern slaves was of a peculiar kind. What schoolhouse in all the South was open to the colored race? Point to one. Name the academy where you educated black men and black women as lawyers or doctors, or in any other department of science or art. Point out the county. Give us the name of the district. Tell the name of the school commissioner. Name the teacher. I will name one. Her name was Missa Douglas. And for the attempt to educate those of our race she was incarcerated in prison, and remained there for five years. That is the only instance, so far as I remember, of the education of the colored people of the South. 
Examine the laws of the south, and you will find that it was a penal offense for any one to educate the colored people there. Yet these gentlemen come here and upbraid us with our ignorance and our stupidity. Yet you robbed us for two hundred years. During all that time we toiled for you. We have raised your cotton, your rice, your corn. We have attended your wives and your children. We have made wealth for your support and your education, while we were slaves, toiling without pay, without the means of education, and hardly of sustenance. And yet you upbraid us for being ignorant; call us a horde of barbarians! 
Tell us of our ignorance--the ignorance of the colored race! Why, Mr. Speaker, it appears to me to be presumption on the part of the gentleman to state that we--we whom they have wronged, whom they have outraged, whom they have robbed, whose sweat and toil they have had the benefit of for two hundred years; whose labor, whose wives, whose children, have been at their beck and call--I say it ill-becomes them to taunt us now with our barbarism and our ignorance. Sir, if he will open to us the schoolhouse, give us some chance, we would not have to measure arms with him now. But even now, Mr. Speaker, although there is such disparity between us and him so far as relates to education and resources, even now we fear not a comparison in the condition of education in the last eight years between the whites and the blacks of North Carolina. 
The gentleman, moreover, states that the reason why they did not educate the colored race was that the colored man was not ready. Not ready, Mr. Speaker; if I had that gentleman upon the floor, with my foot upon his neck, and holding a lash over him, with his hands tied, with him bound hand and foot, would he expect that I should boast over him and tell him "You are a coward, you are a traitor, because you do not resist me?" Would he expect me to tell him that when I had him down under my foot, with his hands tied and the lash in my hand lashing his back? Would he tell me that, in conscience, I would be doing justice to him? On, no, no! And yet such was the condition in which he had my race. Why, sir, the whipping-post, the thumb-screw, and the lash, were the great means of education in the South. These were the schoolhouses, these were the academies, these were the great instruments of education, of which the gentleman boasts, for the purpose of bringing these barbarians into civilization. [Applause.] When men boast, they ought to have something to boast of. When I boast, Mr. Speaker, I shall boast of some noble deed. I will boast not of the wrongs inflicted upon the weak; I will boast not of the outrages inflicted upon the indigent; I will not boast, Mr. Speaker, of lashing the weak and trampling under foot any class of people who ought to have my sympathy, nor will I reproach them for being ignorant, when they have been kept away from every means to educate them.
Ironic how so many so-called proud black persons disdain education today. It is easy to see why the stories of such men are left out of the NEA-approved lesson plans--and easy to see why they should be re-remembered.

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I Don't Miss George W. Bush Anymore

Need $350 for electric and part of rent and that's it!


A few days ago, Former President George W. Bush said this:
Americans don’t want to pick cotton at 105 degrees, but there are people who want to put food on their family’s tables and are willing to do that. We should thank them.
This brought to my mind the old slave-owner justification for black slavery. I’m not alone.

Victor Davis Hanson:
Bush put a 21st-century spin on 19th-century plantation owners’ pleas that they needed imported chattel African labor because American workers were neither acclimatized to heat nor inexpensive enough to pick cotton in scorching Southern temperatures.
Additionally, gentleman-farmer Hanson points out that there is more than one area in which the former president demonstrated his cluelessness.
To wit, cotton picking (which I used to do as a child in the 1960s on my father’s small 40-acre cotton allotment) has been widely mechanized for over 50 years. And agriculture now only accounts for about 10-20 percent of illegal alien labor. 
Mechanization has revolutionized farming, even in crops once deemed impossible to automate such as nuts, olives, raisins, and delicate Napa Valley wine grapes. New computerized and laser-calibrated breakthroughs will likely mean that even soft fruit and vegetables will soon be mechanically picked, matching ongoing labor reduction in weeding and irrigation.
Read the whole thing.

Bush’s defense of illegal aliens – essentially a criticism of Donald Trump – wasn’t a surprise to me, though his location while doing it, in Dubai, was(!) After all, as president, he advocated the proposed Comprehensive Immigration Reform Act of 2007, which put many of his defenders in near revolt, including me.

Also, I remember when neither the former president nor most of his representatives would even try to rebut the Liberal/Leftist attacks on that administration and its policies. They left that up to the New Media: conservative bloggers. Stupid us.

After Barack H. Obama became president, GWB remained silent about his successor, even when the former repeatedly blamed him for bad things that happened from 2009 to 2017. I understood GWB’s stance at the time, and it also made me think that he was being consistent; he had little to say about his own predecessor, one William J. Clinton, even in the wake of the horror in 2001 which, in my own opinion, was the crowning achievement that rested on the many Islamic terror attacks on the US which occurred during the Clinton Administration and went unanswered by it. (That opinion is why I voted for George W. Bush in 2000.)

The silence during his own administration and the silence during the Obama Administration seemed characteristic of GWB. He let his actions do the talking, or so it seemed.

But now Trump's presidency seems to have loosened GWB’s tongue.

Bush's criticism of President Trump itself isn't the point; it’s where he did it, his own hypocrisy, and most importantly, what his criticism is.

I have blogged here about how hard it is to get a steady job here in the sanctuary state that is California even with skills and experience. (I’m pondering a possible 2019 escape.) What about the other Americans citizens here who don’t have skills and experience – especially the very young? I guess they don't matter.

George W. Bush thinks we should all thank the illegal aliens for picking the fruit and vegetables that I can barely afford, does he? (I’m a huge berry fan. Strawberries run over $3 a pound. But if I wanted to eat shit, literally and figuratively, pennies.)

And, it’s a safe bet that the families of Katie Steinle, Jamiel Shaw II, Kayla Cuevas and Nisa Mickens would have two words other than 'Thank You" to say to illegal aliens and to George W. Bush.

On the other hand, one of those word is probably ‘you.’ Co-sign.

UPDATE: Thanks, Glenn. And thanks for the donations, folks!

Every Tuesday and Saturday, I blog at the award-winning DaTechGuyBlog (Backup Site). Latest post: CIA, NSA to FBI: We May Be Younger, But We Have Outlived Our Usefulness Too

When you hit the Tip Jar, it helps pays for: A Roof Over My Head, Food, Gasoline, Car Insurance, the writing of My Next Book(s), and Utilities--especially Internet and COFFEE! Yes, coffee is a utility.

Saturday, February 10, 2018

My January 2018 Post Digest from Da Tech Guy Blog -- The GoDaddy Must Die Special

Thank you! A little under halfway there!


This digest is a little later in the month that is normally so; right after I finished composing the usual digest content -- this past Tuesday -- I went to Da Tech Guy Blog's URL and discovered that the website was down and it remains so as of this morning. Peter has been tweeting about his struggles with DTGB's host,, and even though GD (heh) claimed yesterday that the site was back up, it remains a no-go.

So now Peter has reverted to his backup site where DTGB will go forward for now and where we, his group of bloggers styled as The Magnificent Seven, will go forward as well.

But that means that this last digest will be linked to the web archive and that all of my other digest posts will have to be relinked as well. Suffice it to say that I'm not starting on that task today, nor will it be a short-term project. I've been posting these digests for a few years.

Moral of the story: download your blog content periodically. I do it for this blog about once a week.

Sometimes It's You
Libyan Slave Markets and Jumping into the Fire
Border Wall Mind Games
Halfrican Keeps it Real About Why 3rd World Immigrants Come to America
The New Fun Tastes Funny
News Flash: California Shakes Often
The Great Twisting
Who Can Investigate the Investigators?
The Black and the White SOTU Rebuttals
Notre Dame’s Next

By the way, if you don't want to donate to me, I'd suggest that you donate to

AFTERTHOUGHT: Looking at the title and the meme, I'm thinking maybe I watch too much Sci-fi ... Nah.

Every Tuesday and Saturday, I blog at the award-winning DaTechGuyBlog. Latest post: Who Runs Things?

When you hit the Tip Jar, it helps pays for: A Roof Over My Head, Food, Gasoline, Car Insurance, the writing of My Next Book(s), and Utilities--especially Internet and COFFEE! Yes, coffee is a utility.