Thursday, December 18, 2014


So, you want to give a gift, or you have to give a gift. Either or both.

Do you pick the gift that you know the person wants? Do you genuinely try to satisfy their desire and give them the thing that they most want, cross-referenced with the list of your realistic capabilities in that regard?

And if you want to give them the gift that they most want, do you make things more efficient by asking them what that thing is? Or, is what they most want to be surprised by someone who knows what they want without them having to tell? Or or, is what they most-most want to be surprised by someone with the intelligence to ask them, given how impossible the conundrum is otherwise, what it is they actually want, and who is helpful enough to just ask them beforehand, because that shows what true friends you are that you're not bound by ridiculous and hyper-modernized notions that no longer apply in an age when everyone you know that well already has the essentials met and is the only one who knows how to pick vinyl that will fit perfectly with their record collection, and would be irritated at having to return or destroy something that you, in your best heart of hearts, picked incorrectly due to your inability to understand the exact right kind of woodworking equipment and/or silent film collection that will match with what they already have?

What if they're clever enough to drop hints about their philosophical feelings on the matter beforehand, so that you don't have to ask? What if they're not that clever, but think they are, or are that clever, but you're not, and neither one knows what the other one knows about what the first one knows about what s/he wants to receive?

To preserve the surprise, do you ask the future recipient to give you a list of things Recipient likes, or just a generalized range of things that Recipient likes, and choose from among them, so that there's at least some element of surprise, if not totally? And what if, by supplying you that list, they were only providing you with a more complex test? I.e., "She knows what I really want"?

What if they don't want anything, and they're going through with it only because they think that allowing you to give them something will make you feel old-fashioned? What if they're groaning about how much you spent, and where they're going to store it, and how they're going to remember to not give it back to you next year, but to someone else, instead? What if you've seen the inside of their back closet, where they store all the gifts from prior years with labels that remind them who gave them what, and who they should re-gift the gifts to? Should you still give them one?

What if Recipient is facing the same conundrum, but knows that she can never tell you this, because you might only be projecting your own struggles with the same conundrum in order to relieve her from the pressure of the conundrum with regards to you? Do you know each other that well? And, if you blow everything off to prove that love matters the most, and it turns out one of you faked the other out through no fault of your own, will it destroy your relationship, or perfect it?

And what about quality? What defines true selflessness? Do you give them the gift that you know they want, or do you give them the best gift? Do you give them a collection of fine cigars, or do you give them a free membership to the local quit-smoking club? Or a box of nicotine patches, as though those help with cigars? Fine, pretend it's cigarettes, then--do you give them the smokes they want, or the "best" thing for them?

If you give them what they want, does it prove that you're sweet and good and non-judgmental? Or does it prove you're enabling them? Ten years later, when they quit smoking, will they remember how you gave them the cigarettes they wanted, and think of you as part of "the bad phase" of their life? Or will they think, "Gosh, she really respected me, even when I was a f- up"?

If you give them what you know they really want, are you lazy? Should you have made something homemade, instead? Or, if you make them some homemade crap that nobody wants, does it show that you're too cheap and arrogant to give the gift they really want, or does it just make them feel terrible inside because you're so genuine and all they did was get you another bottle of expensive scotch in an even-more-expensive laminated carton that comes pre-printed with pictures of embossed griffons having sex with a variety of types of oceanic waves?

And can you trust them if you ask them beforehand, and they promise you it's fine to give ________, and only ________, and nothing but ________, because ________ is what they've wanted ever since last year, when what they also wanted was ________? No, you can't trust them. We can't none of us trust another, because the higher the stakes and the more genuine the relationship, the more rides on the decision, and the more motivation to give the greatest gift of all: lying to them that it doesn't matter, or, telling them something little and cheap so that they'll be tricked into thinking that it did matter, but feeling better about it because they've satisfied your explicit requirement. They'll suspect you of doing that, and you'll suspect them of the same, but then if you both back out and get the other nothing, you're left sweating until the first instant of Boxing Day, wondering if you're the one who's about to get suddenly gifted, and become the secret scrooge whom everybody loudly praises for practicality but privately talks about over the pillow after the party's over, should you feel bad, helpless, or righteous?

What if you want to show everyone how painful it is, so you give them the best gift you can honestly think of, a nice meal with everyone who showed and lots of genuine love, but not a new electric razor or European waxing kit or E350? If you ask everyone to help make the fudge or sing along, are you giving them real memories, or are you just a cheap sonofa? If that's what you actually think is a gift, are you still a vile bastard? And if they thank you from the bottoms of their hearts and then give tangible gifts at a ceremony separate from you next year, does it make you feel vindicated, bad, or piteous? If you give in, and just buy the damn E350 in iridium silver metallic with the cold weather package, and give everyone a gift basket with their very own hand-imported Peruvian fudge and new smartphone, does that finally satisfy things, or does it make you the pompous clown who's trying to buy happiness and doesn't really understand the holidays?

And how in-between is "in-between"? You can't just get Cracker Jax, and maybe the XJ series is pushing it, so, err, is a space heater so practical that it conceals your lack of imagination? If you give everyone reasonably priced self-inclining massage chairs, and then your best friend just reads the room a poem she took a week off from work to write, and everyone congratulates her and wipes away tears, do you wish you could go back in time, forsake the couches, and write your own poem? Or do you pity your friend for not realizing everyone's going to be hating her in secret as they vibrate their back muscles in the chairs you had delivered to their homes before the party, getting electronically massaged while they laugh about how naive and cheap Becky is for coming up with a poem she probably plagiarized from Dickinson anyway?

Let's make a deal. I'll buy you a vegetarian cookbook, you buy me a Bible, and we both promise not to argue for one year. No, even better--get me a carton of Marlboros and I'll print you up a coupon to have your leaves raked out of your yard the next fall. Then you'll laugh, and make me re-print it along with a disclaimer of any rescheduling in the event it starts to rain on the day you ordered the raking, and another one for no dirty looks at the house while work is being performed.

Monday, December 15, 2014

Who's Crazy Now?

Imagine that you are a human being born on Earth who possesses the senses of sight, smell, hearing, touch, and taste. Imagine that you were kidnapped by a hexapedal alien civilization that had no sense of hearing, and these aliens produced loud screeches when they walked, the said screeches originating from a series of gills located on their squiddish lower appendages, which vented shrieks of hot gas whenever they processed calories to move. Every time one of them walked close to you, you were hit with sound waves so powerful that you clutched your ears in pain and fell to the floor. You developed headaches. Alien doctors determined that you were clearly insane, for feeling the presence of something that was not there.

Despite their inability to hear, they were a brilliant race. Within weeks they had adjusted their advanced visual computer programs to translate the movements of your mouth into their native sign language, and you became able to talk to them. Using their computer-aided translators as a medium, you pleaded with them that things called "sound waves" existed, and that they didn't know how to monitor them simply because their culture--though it possessed advanced spaceflight capability--had never learned about sound.

In time, when you were permitted to walk outside, you learned that this species had arisen from a planet with a core of compressed nitrogen, which slipped into the atmosphere hundreds of times each minute, only to be sucked back inside, producing an endless cacophony everywhere outside. Very few organisms on this planet have evolved hearing organs, as such a development would have precluded higher thinking functions and/or survival. Occasionally babies are born who never stop twitching, experience terrible pain, and die of unknown neurological causes in a matter of weeks; the planet's healers call this phenomenon "Random Expiration of Babies," or "R.E.B.," and devote the bulk of their money and attention to other, newer diseases.

One unorthodox alien scientist, convinced that you might be onto something, makes you some earphones, trusting that this will diminish your pain. It does, although by then, you have lost much of your hearing anyway, due to the constant barrage of noise. This scientist tries to work with you to better understand the nature of this supernatural concept known as "sound." Everyone else feels that she is crazy and irrational, but she persists. Your friend studies your ears, taking a number of highly detailed internal photographs, and presents her findings to her colleagues, suggesting that these insensible genetic dead-ends might have something to do with visualizing a different spectrum of light, which your culture might have deified as a demigod known as "sound." Her colleagues lambast her with examples of other useless or marginally useless organs found in their own bodies, including many misunderstood portions of their two-part brains, and suggest that your "E-A-R-S" are similar to many of the "dark regions" that characterize their own neurology. When your friend persists in pursuing her radically irrational supernatural fantasies, she loses her license, and is no longer granted access to the giant hospital where you are being stored along with test subjects from other planets.

Who's crazy now?

Saturday, December 13, 2014

Holidays and Heroes

Holidays and heroes are our failures. We look to the hero as a vessel for all the things we've let slide. All of our wrongs, weaknesses, and cowardice, we push into the closets of our minds, waiting for someone else to clean everything out and exemplify what we've already known we should have been doing. We can idealize the hero, when he finally appears, only because we've already known what was missing. We demand her as a sacrifice to appease our collective guilt. We revere how he has finally proven that it wasn't necessary for us to have done anything at all.

And the hero does suffer, always, even if he's glad to have done so. We fail in tiny bits, excusing just a little bit of interest here, a few bodies there, waiting for a child to sacrifice in our names; an example who proves that we do actually understand what we've been doing wrong this whole time. The hero never solves anything, because in order for her to be there, to be a hero, we have to be so shamefully lazy and timid that we're able to recognize a hero when he comes. Once we've destroyed him, we can continue being inadequate, awaiting only another hero. How long until the next hero comes?

You can't recognize a holiday in a good place, except by its sadness. In good civilizations, holidays are moments of sadness for the past. In better ones, there aren't any, because it's all happening right now.

Antilife marks calendars and epochs and individual points of light. Antilife catalogs, conforms, organizes, and spreadsheets the process. This day is for love. This day is for equality. And so forth. The sweetest expressions of "holiday" can only exist when other "days" fail to conform to the false ideal; the holiday is the back of the last person to throw down his sword and run away, sniveling, after ten thousand others have already done the same. The holiday is merely the fattest soldier in the army, unable to keep up with others when they flee before shadow.

Your own reflection lies in that shadow from which you flee. You cheer for the special days, because marking those days, those very special days themselves, as a reminder of something you should be living constantly, is like buying your own affection on the cheap. A goalpost; a marker; a golden sculpture that never grows smaller, no matter how many things you buy or refuse to buy. The hero, the holiday, can only visit lands of failure.

Sunday, December 7, 2014

Child Abuse, Violent Adults, Miller and Silber (Updated)

In response to Race Realism and Quantifiable Superiority, Sven writes:
I think Silber's psycho-social argument is very convincing too, so its hard to quantify the relative effects of nature and nurture.

Arthur Silber's arguments about "tribalism" (which he uses to mean primarily parentally-imposed conformity) are mostly an American retelling of Alice Miller's arguments. For those not familiar with Miller, she was a Jewish woman who managed to leave Germany before the concentration camps really began to fill. A heavily simplified summary of her work is takes on how excessive adult physical and emotional responses to children's behavior (abuse) tend to produce children who are reliant on, fearful of, and obedient toward authority. Famous primarily for her work on parenting styles during Nazi Germany, she and her supporters suggest that German traditions of emotionally and physically assaulting children created adults who were willing to idealize their parents in order to repress the truth about what their parents did to them, because to acknowledge the truth would be too painful. Ergo children must, as adults, revere authority figures who abuse them, because they've learned to believe that abuse is love. They had to believe that, to keep their minds intact after being raised with a desperate need for love from parents who treated them poorly. Parents who literally hurt them, in secret ways that go beyond what most people dare discuss in public.

Ergo Americans, Miller's argument might go: poor whites vote for Republicans who cut taxes on the rich and cut jobs for poor whites, and the laboring minority poor and white-ish middle class votes for Democrats who cut social benefits, raise taxes on the middle class, and ships all their jobs overseas. Actually, I guess it works out the same for either group, no matter what they call themselves or why they think they're doing it.

It sounds like a great argument, particularly in the context of fascist America or Germany; all the parts seem to fit. Why do these idiots keep cheering on those who abuse them? Because they have to. Their entire mind has been developed around the foundation, Those who hurt me and lie to me and fail me actually love me. They will spend the rest of their years vesting understanding and respect in some distant authority figure who goes out of his way to ruin their lives. They will violently resist any and all attempts at logic, because logic hurts so badly; to perceive that Obama lied about net neutrality or healthcare would be the same as perceiving that Mommy Didn't Love Me, and Thou Shalt Not Be Aware of that.

(Incidentally, I know a guy who's the heavily-beaten son of a Nazi and didn't turn out that way [so far as his associates know and his radically anti-authoritarian politics would suggest], but Miller would say he must've had a "helping witness" along the way, or just been an aberration for some other reason.)

Miller certainly had a point, but the parenting theoretically exhibited by many African Americans (e.g., a higher degree of physical coercion of children, on average, than whites) would earn more of her ire, rather than less.

And yet, African Americans are more likely to resist totalitarian regimes--even though, per Miller's work, they should be more conditioned to accept authority, rather than less. At the same time as Miller suggests that harsh German parenting made Germans susceptible to fascism, modern white supremacists suggest that non-white parenting makes non-whites less respectful of authority: more rebellious, more defiant, more likely to resist politicians and police officers. How the heck does that work out? Certainly, there's some correlation between violent upbringings and violent people, but not everyone (or not even most) who has passed through violence has become violent themselves. Rather, it seems more likely that some humans are violent, and there's always a way to retroactively justify it when it happens. This isn't to say that no aspect of hindsight is correct; rather, the African American experience shows us that political totalitarianism is more aided, not less, by the kind of touchy-feely helicopter parenting that docile middle class white populations offer, rather than the firm reality (if you will) that (in theory) more African American populations offer.

Anecdotally, we should all know older people who were raised by a belt or a switch, or who were raped, or whatever, and turned out to be either assholes, or normal, or incredibly sweet and almost pacifistic. For many people, surely, childhood repressions have shaped their personalities--but remember the story about twins who were separated at birth, then rationalized their cleanliness around the house by saying...first twin: "I guess my parents were so dirty I just had to be clean once I had a place of my own" Second twin: "My parents always taught me that cleanliness was the most important thing in the world."

No, not making an argument for genetic determinism. This one thinks Miller's scholarship has a lot of merit to it. But like analyzing the "why" behind African American family violence, the studies are often being used by the wrong people, for the wrong reasons, paid for by the wrong money, in order to get a bunch of proles to believe something. Even if black athletes were hit too many times as children--a truth--that doesn't mean the motivations, or social-policy conclusions, of the respected researchers are good or correct.

Miller's work is very interesting, but the application of her theories ultimately fails. Of secondary importance, there are several unfortunate problems with her personal and professional situation that may have contributed to this failure. Firstly, Miller is a suspected child abuser of the children that she had with her Roman Catholic husband shortly after World War II. One of her frightened sons initially lied to the public about how it had only been the father, and how Alice had intervened to help him; later in life, he changed his story to confirm that she had "been present," but "not intervened."

Uniquely Evil

Secondly, Miller's fame was wrought on the Anglo-American train designed to turn little truths into the new-Versailles-style of scathing explanations for Germany's loss. The retroactive crafting of the twentieth century's history has been one of blaming the "assassination of an archduke" and "accidental secret alliances" on the battle over a bunch of unspeakably filthy emperors to divide up Europe and Asia and Africa between themselves, where every party involved had concentration camps, assassination squads, and gunned enemy serfs into mass graves. And yes, Nazi Germany was a land of vile bastards--a suitably historical companion for the peasant-starving, Jew-beating, white supremacist, mass-imprisoning tyrants who ruled the other great empires.

American soldiers routinely anally-raped Japanese prisoners with glass Coca Cola bottles, beat them to death, and gang-raped all the Okinawan chicks they could get their hands on; if you want to remove the Asian from the equation, and just focus on the horror that comprised each of the empires of World War II, pick up a copy of Savage Continent, and read all about the British and French raping every woman and shooting every baby they could get their hands on after the peace had already been declared.

But Germany lost, so everyone else is sweet and lovely (except, sometimes, Stalin), and Germany becomes the unique shithole of the world. No one can say "Me so solly" on American TV anymore without being called a racist, but put some flamboyant actor in an Oktoberfest scene, give him the smarmiest "German" accent in the world, and suddenly, racism and bigotry is progressive.

Subhuman German Scum

Miller's career was built around the rationalization of Germany's "unusual" behavior--a case of intelligence agencies using science™ to prove that Germans were different. And they did that by using operatives like Miller to take basically-true things (such as, too much child abuse can hurt people psychologically) and twist them into targeted models. At first, this became Germany, early in her work. Later, as Germany once again become an industrial and energy powerhouse with cleaner streets and better medicine than America (and a bulwark against the then-latest completely unique evil, personified by the same mustachioed madman who sat with Emperor Churchill and Emperor FDR at Yalta), it became cool to use those analyses on others, but the unique hatred for Germany's interwar anti-interest banking policies cannot be let go by the world's great creditor-priests. So London and America have never stopped trying to obsess over how utterly unique and different Nazis were.

The lamentably obvious irony was that these critiques became, as such critiques must, eerily Hitlerian in their expression. If you're familiar with academic literature, for example, you'll know about Daniel Goldhagen--the Jewish academic from Harvard (which is not affiliated with the CIA) who is literally worshiped in some circles, for his conclusions that Germans are evil subhuman scum. Yes, you read that right. His Mein Kampf, a.k.a. Hitler's Willing Executioners, is almost a direct parallel to Hitler's work in its employment of collective judgment and discussion of ethnic purification and racial inferiority. (Goldhagen's parents, incidentally, just like Alice Miller's, managed to make it safely out of Germany just before World War II, so that they were not killed along with the gypsies, communists, homosexuals, and darker, poorer Jews.)

Goldhagen's work, like Miller's, has some merits, in that it discusses some of the ways that ordinary people can be led to commit atrocities by social conditioning. No reason to examine anywhere but Germany, of course, being that Germans are such an inferior race. Don't worry, though: academics continue their work on a final solution to those silly-accented Nazi clowns!

For other academic work on the subject, consider Lloyd DeMause. Of the three major figureheads we've discussed, his work is the most interesting, because he discusses the history of child abuse in great detail (although he sites it exclusively in the hands of individual parents, rather than where it belongs, in courts and various State organizations. Still, a great read, with a lot of interesting and useful research).

Subhuman Arab Scum

The British Empire turned the banks loose onto anti-banking Russia and China, then Africa (foothold via Palestine), almost immediately after it had crushed Germany, so during the twentieth century, we've seen not only the subhumanization of Germanic peoples, but also the same treatment levied upon Russians, Chinese, and Arabs. The major problem with the type of research that we've considered in this essay--Goldhagen, Miller, and DeMause--is that their conclusions all explain why Britain and America are essentially good, while Germany is essentially evil. Goldhagen is explicitly racist in his work, while DeMause is more indirect.

Here's one specific example: DeMause argues that British society was superior to German society because the British were kinder to their children. Now, in so making such an argument, he has to do a number of big, blinking things that give him away:

1) Ignore British workhouses and orphanages;

2) Ignore British colonies in Ireland;

3) Ignore the abandoned/exposed children of all western Europe, which were often called "gypsies" (or just Scotsmen or Irishmen) when they managed to fall in with a group and survive to adulthood.

If you know anything of any of those subjects, you know that there is nothing--nothing--Germany could have done to its children to outdo Britain. Of course, Germany did the same things as the other fascist empires throughout the 19th century; Germany created its own sub-class of "barbarians" and "traveling folk" by exposing (not in the "naked" way, but in the "left in the forest to die" way) unwanted infants. But DeMause, like Goldhagen and Miller, compares the worst German examples (the abuse or abandonment of children by working class Germans) to the best British examples (the governesses and expensive boarding schools of higher class Britons), and decides that, therefore, Britain (and by extension, America) was better with children than Germany, ergo more intelligent and smarter.

Updated: Pinker Modernizes Old Methods

The national security agencies' work in that time period mirrors that of Steven Pinker in the present. A brief bio of Pinker reveals that the renowned professor at Harvard [which is not affiliated with the CIA] self-identifies as a white-non-observant person of Jewish heritage, who married into a family that also produced some moderately-popular corporate authors and poets. By combining some genuinely good historical research on human behavior in one place, then selectively comparing it to choice pieces of modernity, Pinker, like the rest of the crew, uses the "half-truth" approach. The research is all real, but by omitting vital details, a plausible, well-supported narrative can be created; an isolated slice of evidence can prove, by ignoring the effectiveness of modern trauma wards, that deaths from assault actually are lower (and they are; see the latter link), but then twist that conclusion into an argument about moral improvement, rather than improved surgical equipment and faster EMT response times.

Child abuse in Britain, unlike Germany, came perhaps primarily from roving gangs of unsupervised children, nuns, teachers, and boarding school headmasters. Parents in Germany were likely to strike their own children, whereas Britain had begun the modernized process of delegating abuse to the 19th century's equivalent of "daycares"--terrible, starvation- and disease-ridden children's poorhouses, where children raped and molested and beat and killed one another. But that behavior doesn't appear in the record if security agencies look only at "parental" abuse. It also doesn't look at the proportion of abuse committed on street children by unrelated adults, which is a vast and staggering number in the London the world knew before Dickens showed up to portray a nicer version of the place.

In Germany, then, parents struck children for disciplinary purposes; in Britain, parents pushed children outdoors, where they were beaten and molested by older children and homeless adults, or "fagged" by older students in boarding houses as part of hazing rituals. Look only at recorded, biologically parental acts, and Germany seems to have a worse record of child-rearing. The whole picture, though, shows quite the opposite.

So too with modern America, where black fathers are statistically more likely than white fathers to spend time with their children. Generic white people leave their kids in filthy, overpacked daycare hells, where unsupervised bullies beat and terrorize younger, smaller, or queerer children; then, because their own hands are "clean," they can claim that they are better at raising children than people who actually raise children. This tactic is similar to how modern Americans (and Pinker) claim that they are less violent than regimes of old. Because their rape/torture/murder is more confined to "foreign policy" and "legitimate prisons" and "peace officers," a white community can congratulate itself on being "more peaceful" than a lynch mob of old Georgia--even when more people are being beaten and killed and raped overall, selective social partitioning can make the process appear cleaner.

That's all the more ghoulish a way to do it. In actuality, the deceptive sanitizing of our violent habits produces more violence, and more sustainable violence, along with a disconnect from reality that turns the world into a consequence-less game of Call of Duty XIII. (If you've come to the point where you understand that, it's time to take your own look at the connections between the people and methods used in the deliberate sanitization process.)

Resuming Subhuman Arab Scum

DeMause takes the dehumanization arguments of his fellows farther, calling Britain and America the most advanced, modern way of dealing with children. As opposed to those evil Chinese "tiger moms" we keep hearing about, who are subhuman and who force their kids to, like, study and learn to play the violin. (The one who wrote the recently popular book on the subject is not actually writing about her Chinese children, but her Jewish-Chinese-American children, who are the children of her husband the Harvard professor, and Harvard is not associated with the CIA, it's simply a private university.)

If you enjoy news about Palestine, you'll also be interested to know that DeMause says that American and Israeli children are peaceful, because of their parents' exceptionally good and advanced parenting practices. However, Arab children, says DeMause, are raised by mothers who emotionally abuse them. This is why there are suicide bombers. It has nothing to do with the military empires, oh no. It's because of bad minority parenting.

How can you get your children to be more giving, peaceful people? Teach them to follow the ways of the British and American Empires. Make sure they don't pick up anything foreign, or they might get violent.

What separates Balrins from Barians with regards accepting life as tax livestock? Is it that Africans genetics are, actually, more able to provide a sense of individual autonomy and collective responsibility than European genetics? Do African Americans apply corrective violence to children in a different way than German Americans? Do African Americans really abuse more heavily than whites, or are they simply more honest, because they haven't been taught, like whites, that you're not supposed to repress things?

Do "indigenous peoples" or "rediscovered tribes" really abuse children the way European archaeologists like to believe they do? How loaded are the questions that researchers ask, when they visit a tribe with money and supplies to learn about how corrective violence is applied?

When a child is struck by an adult in a tribe, as part of a necessarily swift lesson within a warm, functional community that proves its caring daily, is it a completely different act than when a child is struck by an irritated adult in an atomized modern family? Certainly. How does this interact with African genetics in making African American punishments more effective at causing children to respect individual liberties, privacy, and physical autonomy more than whites, who are so happy to be patted down by men in thick black armor? And if the Germans were just "the empire that lost" rather than "the uniquely evil empire," what does it say about Anglo-American universities funding so much research about how (1) African peoples are terrible parents because their children don't respect authority, and (2) German peoples are terrible parents because their children overly respect authority?

Saturday, December 6, 2014

Inside the Cartel

HSBC (one of the world's biggest banks, a British outpost in Hong Kong), is an openly avowed drug cartel, in as literal a sense of the term as possible. When the British were raping China to seize control of the world's opium trade, HSBC was set up to launder drug money, control Chinese currency, finance the targeted murders of local gangs, crush peasant rebellions... And while they were there, the British Empire also traded in tea, spices, and souls.

Two hundred years after Nineleven, it's no longer a conspiracy to say what really happened. And HSBC is still here, laundering billions for pharmaceuticalists and their armies, just as it was when it was founded by the Dutch East India's inbred Londoner and Qing spawn to murder millions during the Opium Wars. You can read about it in any textbook. But don't worry; in any date beginning with "19" (or later), God declared that no one would ever again conspire. So there's no problem whatsoever with HSBC still playing such a major role in the world's financial situation. The 1700s are, like, totally over.

There was heroin in more places than China, though. The gooks had it, too, which is where BNP Paribas came into play. France, the little bitch that it always is in these situations, got the poorer half of the dandy's agreement with Britain to dominate Asia, trading China and India in exchange for Indochina. France definitely couldn't handle China, but equipped with mercenaries and heavy artillery, even the French could manage to pacify a few thousand pre-gunpowder tribes. And there was tin there, too, and rubber, and souls, and tight new ladyboys, and all the stuff the French like, and what any good empire needs is a foothold, so BNP Paribas was happy to launder blood tin and heroin francs. Finance the ships, tithe the Republic, build bases, yada, yada.

Nothing to see here. BNP is now a responsible bank. It's green. It donates to charities and it gives its employees good benefits and it tries to make loans to small businesses to help out the ordinary person. It supports women's rights and fights climate change and invests in community rebuilding. You forgive it, right? After all, what's a few million napalmed babies between friends? Think positive.

Y'all know B of A and Chase Bank and Loomis Wells Fargo and Citi, right? Early Morgan/Peabody money came from America's involvement in the Opium Wars--partnered with the London scum, as always--and the "preferred nation" status that papered over the U.S.' own drug expansion. Since Americans don't feel the deaths of millions of Chinese as keenly as they do the enslavement of Africans, if you're an American, forget about the Opium-Wars part. Write it off. You just can't care about that particular mass murder; you've been conditioned to treat it as irrelevant. More striking for Americans by far would be the connection between Morgan/Peabody wealth and American slavery, then Jim Crow and Reconstruction. Heroin cartels aren't known for their niceties, Chase Bank no less, and while Americans don't give much of a damn about HSBC or BNP Paribas, they can at least empathize a little bit with how the direct capital accumulation of America's biggest known domestic banks came from land seizures during tribal genocide (Chase/Citi), railroad carteling (Wells/Loomis), and heavy international heroin and slave trading (Citi/BoA).

People hear about "bankers" being a net loss for society, and they think, "Oh, it's because they overcharge me for overdraft fees," but really, there's a subconscious reason Americans are drawn to crap like the Sopranos. And it's all still here, it's just a few miles away at a local branch, happy to set up a small checking account for you.

Can't anyone else see all the dead children? The white and blue, red and blue banners, hanging at every tenth street corner, slapping you in the face like proud swastikas the size of mountains? Four hundred years of bloody galleons and dirty needles, bayonets and firebombs; a bulging belly lacerated with open scars, leaking wads of sticky crimson cash where'er it goes.

Glamorous Pizza

One of the many misapprehensions that characterizes the Stupid Intellect/Neutral Morality spectrum's take on capitalism is perceived merit, or perhaps perceived responsibility. This plays out in the marketplace in interesting ways, where different levels of supposed players--individualized economic actors playing their own micro-game theory of rational self interest--act in ways that (as so very many parts of the real world do) demolish the horse-blinders style economic rationality as any kind of basis for predicting human behavior.

Pizza Economics

For a hypothetical illustration, presume that I used to deliver pizzas six or seven nights a week in a very ritzy, cosmopolitan area, exposing me to a pretty good spread of actors. In the first corner: minor politicians; semi-retired second-tier financiers and real estate developers; post-heart-attack corporate lawyers and administrator-slash-doctors; the occasional lotto millionaires or rich twentysomethings three years away from bankruptcy; and, the kinds of insurance agents who have insurance agents working for them who have insurance agents working for them, which latter group rents storefront offices and sells actual policies. You know the crap; everyone has at least one BMW no more than two years old, which they actually drive, but they've got a "project" car in the garage, like a 1960s Ferrari they've been "working on" for the past few years, and maybe a "special occasions" car, like a Maserati with 3,000 miles on the odometer that they drive when they're going out to eat. And Jacob Junior has his lifted truck or his Corvette that he always parks in the traffic circle next to the fountain by the front door (which no one ever uses except guests), and little Sarah has her boutique Jeep for a slutty image, or possibly just a new Honda Civic for a modest, ordinary-folk, "not until you get into Vassar" one.

And there are trees, and putting greens, and occasionally a tennis court; little comm systems outside the driveway gates, and special tiled seating areas built apart from the pool, so that once or twice a year you can have a drink and watch the sunset or the ocean over the hills, and talk about how wonderful it is here. You know; all that shit.

In the second corner: the apartment-dwelling scum who helps rich elders toilet; the apartment-dwelling scum who bags groceries and delivers pizzas and counts deposits and helps read you the form over the phone. And the working class families who think they're middle class because they own a heavily-mortgaged wood-frame home that isn't prefabricated, and work in a place fifteen minutes down the road where the walls are glass and the boss makes a lot and if I keep trying hard I'll eventually be something like the boss by the time I hit retirement age. And they shop at nicer supermarkets that are catering to Terri Leigh Hargrove-Frankfurt when she swings her daily BMW by the grocer's to pick up a single tub of that newfangled Greek yogurt. Seeing Terri makes them feel good, like it's all a community of shared prosperity. On their way home from work, button-shirt sagging, they see Terri in her latex capris, her freshly permed shoulder-length doe-brown hair covered by a non-ironic black baseball cap with an art gallery logo on it, silicone Ds testing the limits on a $65 sports bra as she forgets that she left her racket in the cart and breezes out the sliding doors, a hapless bagboy running after her to hand it back like a knight taking knee before the queen. You know, all that shit.

If I'd been some kind of academic from the right kind of place, delivering so many pizzas to the lot of them would've classified as quantifiable field research, but apparently I never got the right kind of grants. Studies suggest...

Subject: Retired MLB player, white, a little rednecky, early forties. Quote: "Here ya go, sweetheart." Location: boringly token mansion, $2-3M 2014. Weather: beautiful sunset. Tip: A crisp twenty plus the change off his round-up on the last dollar his pizza cost. Security: none.

Detail: Nice guy, wearing his old team hat, wouldn't've known who the hell he was if Boss hadn't told me ahead of time. He's out by the garage working on his stunt car project with a couple obviously low-class friends, who obviously know more about mechanics than he does, and whose damaged older cars are parked farther up the drive. When he pulls out his wallet, his friends protest, "No, no, you got the last one," but he ignores them and pays and winks at me.

He doesn't particularly know or care what money is, except to the degree that he covers the buddies who help him feel like he's a car guy, too. Good show. He worked hard to do his stuff and wants to pass it around. Other drivers report he's a regular and always gives a twenty or higher, and that he gives away signed crap if you care about that sort of thing. Great guy, but I bet an investment firm somewhere has been raping him in the books for the past couple decades. Unfortunately, when you have to pay someone to be trustworthy, they know you think they're trustworthy.

Subject: Lonely, aging, but practicing surgeon, early fifties, white, maybe Italian or Jewish, no strong accent (e.g. California). Quote: "Hey." (nervous eye-shift). Location: undeservedly postmodern house covered in untended landscaping, $850K 2014. Weather: last vestiges of twilight. Tip: Four dollars precisely. I carry the extra change back to the shop. Security: His community's gate was left powered off and open.

Detail: Sleepy, unshaven guy who doesn't turn on his lights when he's alone in the house at night ordering pizza. Stethoscope and a bunch of dirty (but no, not bloody) blue latex gloves literally left on the end table in the foyer--an end table, like his house, that someone else must've told him to buy, since other nearby indicia of taste proves the table is an aberration foisted on him unwillingly by an interior decorator.

He knows people know he's a doctor, so he's expected to tip high, which to him is four dollars. He's also expected to own an attractive home, but he couldn't care less about it as long as pizza sometimes shows up. He's probably going to eat a few slices and then fall asleep in the dark in those soiled once-white sweatpants he's got on. His dentist is going to feel secretly triumphant over MDs when the guy's teeth are next examined.

Patient: Harried mother of four, mid thirties, white, messy brown hair, cheap golden cross necklace. Quote: "Oh, oh, I'm so sorry!" Location: fourth story of an apartment building that is sort of new and even relatively nice but already has stairs out in the stairwell by her unit, despite the immaculate exterior landscaping. Probably $1,100/month 2014. Weather: Late afternoon cloudy but warm. Tip: $8.50, counted carefully. Security: community callbox skipped because some lady was talking to her friend through the security door downstairs.

Detail: You dear fool, I felt bad for you and wouldn't have minded a lower tip. Don't tell me how much daycare costs for that many kids, you're scaring me. Yes, I'm sure your husband's a jerk, wherever he is.

She answers the door in a frenzy, having arrived home from work less than a minute before I got there. Fussing extravagantly, she tries to put the kids in various mismatched chairs while apologizing to me for letting the pizza get cold. She drops her phone in the sink and doesn't notice. Thank God she doesn't hit the disposal switch while she's getting her purse. She confesses that she is very sorry for bothering me while she counts change and dirty bills out of her purse. One drifts into the sink. I consider the finer aspects of morality before warning her. She flushes as she notices the phone and money, apologizes for the dishes, and knocks several plates and last night's greasy chicken bones out of the sink and onto last night's grocery deli case sitting open on the countertop.

I notice the child care learning exercises in the colorful binders stacked on the floor by her door. If she really does pick her kids up from that place, she's about two streets over from the pizza place. Why is she going to tip me for driving the pizza here when she was just by it? She goes up to $8.50, starts adding nickels and pennies, then gives up and sticks with $8.50. Oh, bless your heart, lady, first call of the evening and going above and beyond. I promise her I'll spend it on college or something, and she gives me a six-second hug before letting me escape with my thermal bag.

Subject: Black guy, early thirties, sad, drooping eyes. Quote: "Yeah." Location: Exterior ground floor apartment. Probably $700/month 2014. Weather: Cool evening. Tip: $5. Security: none.

Detail: every sixth job. Hey, hi, here, thanks, night.

Subject: Retired Jewish woman, pretty damn reasonable guess at a New York accent, mid-to-late forties, conflicting brown dyes in bouffant. Quote: "Thanks." Location: modest big house with two guest houses and unused greenhouse, $1.2-1.5M 2014. Weather: Torrential downpour. Tip: About eighty cents ($13 for a $12-and-some pizza). Security: gate with guard, two minute check-in process with a line forming behind me.

Detail: I ring the doorbell. Half a minute passes. A minute; two minutes. I abandon the shelter of the entranceway and turn back to the car. Down the lane, through the sets of pillars, go I.

A door opens violently behind me. "Oh, you're the dinner?" I raise my sodden eyebrows and turn. I walk back to the little front patio area, expecting her to come to meet me. A pregnant moment passes.

"You're the pizza?" she asks, keeping the left side of her body behind the really impressive nine-foot solid wood door with complicated designs on it.

Another moment passes. She leers at me like I'm here to rob her, and even though she mentioned the pizza, I wonder if she's holding a phone or a gun behind that door. I work up the gumption to take the remaining steps to the door. (I was never again to presume someone would come on out.) She takes the thermal bag, and I help her get the pizza box out. She reaches into a dish on an unseen table and hands me thirteen dollars. "Thanks." Door shuts. An outdoor light comes on between the pillars--I hurry to my car. Halfway there, the light shuts off. Undaunted, I make it there.

(*&@#(*&(*&#$#$ not even a dollar?!) A familiar refrain.

Subject: Brassy woman, some kind of midwest, 5'11" and pushing 225, and not all fat. Mid fifties, white bouffant that's not offering much coverage anymore, used to be white but now tanned to hell and back. Quote: "Come on in!" Location: Ridiculous mansion with a view not entirely ruined by a trendy new commercial development about half an acre away, $6-8M 2014. Weather: same torrential downpour as the last one. Tip: five bucks. Security: According to the warning to residents posted by the automatic gate, when the lady gave the manager the gate code while ordering her pizza, she was violating her community's safety policies.

Detail: She's waiting for me with her door open when the car pulls up. Rarely a good sign. I hurry around these pretty-crappy statues of dolphins leaping through a fountain that has nothing but rain inside. "Watch out for the tree!" she says, and I realize that one of her trees is somehow letting more rain through than reaches un-shielded areas of ground. Ducking and dodging, I make it to the lovely overhang and open the bag. "Come on in!"

Suddenly, she's taking me through a lovely tiled foyer, past an almost-grand white staircase, and into some kind of media room that smells like dog breath, fresh cigars and wet pussy. A couple big TVs hang on the wall; three scary-looking guys are spread out on cheap couches watching both an action movie and some kind of smooth-jazz saxophone concert at the same time (shit you not), and this huge old lady is telling them the pizza is here. They mumble incoherently and hold previously-used paper plates over their shoulders. One, a bald one who looks like an utter perve, smiles at me. I notice he has a dog in his lap--in fact, there are dogs everywhere. There might be six dogs in just this room, and now I realize I walked by a different one out by the staircase and never noticed it. It's completely black all around the rest of this giant place and its sprawling grounds. The only lights are from the TV and from the spa on the patio outside, where some semi-cute redhead in a bikini is stewing herself. Under an umbrella. If she had sunglasses on, it would be Kafka, but she didn't, so it wasn't quite.

Why the hell am I here for the eating part? The lady is offering me slices as she sets out their four larges on the wetbar that might've made this "media room" look classy if it weren't full of dogs and perverts and discount couches with stains on the vinyl backing. Whenever I try to slip out, there's either an excited dog or a big brassy lady blocking the door. I'm smiling, no, they give me pizza for free at the end of the night, I've got another delivery on my front seat, maybe Mom was right and going to people's houses at night isn't the safest job. Oops, did I start to say that out loud? Well, no one noticed, at least. Jesus, how long is that saxophonist going to keep repeating the melody? Finally, finally, the lady looks like she wants to sit down on the ottoman-thing and eat her pizza. She says the money's "in the kitchen." I step over a very friendly Labrador, scanning the haunted caverns beyond for a kitchen. Twenty steps. Oops, a bathroom. Around the corner, nope, a bedroom. Shouldn't they keep the dogs out of there if they were just painting? Not my business. A hallway, back to where I started, oh, there, the kitchen was right by the front entrance. What the hell? This place has all these rooms, and the kitchen's right off the front? No, where's the fridge? I find the lights, and it's a kitchen, but this perfect, untouched kitchen, with a sink too small to be the real one. Money on the counter, thank God, off lights, outta here.

Final Subject: Tanned, graying, deceptively-fit-looking old white dude and his nearly-identical friends. Expensive polo shirts and hilarious half-thigh summer shorts. Late forties/early fifties. Quote: "Her tip'll depend on..." Weather: sunny later afternoon. Tip: $20. Security: Several layers of flamboyant resort staff; one layer of beefy, asexually-aggressive resort staff.

Detail: After I get past the front desk people, the pool people, and the paranoid manager who wished he hadn't been cut from the police academy, I find Mr. Special and his friends having drinks in plastic cups by the pool. Boss had pre-warned me it was some former Congress-guy and his friends who aren't from here but are staying at the resort. Seven of them, no girls, seven pizzas. Boss had given me an extra sack of stuff to carry--napkins and plastic knives and forks and packages of "Parmesan" cheese. I hand over all the stuff, and the lead guy has me stand there for several minutes while he checks each and every one of the pizzas over. "Her tip'll depend on..." After the pizzas, he discovers the bag with the supplies in it, and counts out the utensil packages, the napkins, and the cheese. When he's done, he gives me a nod of condescending approval. "You remembered to put it all together." I get a twenty and suddenly I'm not there anymore.

The bastard--great tip, but what if the kitchen guys had messed up one of the toppings, or the boss had forgotten the extra forks? They had the pizza money--the boss' money--all counted out ahead of time, but the tip money was dependent on me having shown up with stuff the boss and/or kitchen people had to prepare, which I hadn't even known about. I was adjudicated by a communist standard, but rewarded on a capitalist standard.

Pizza Analysis

What did pizza teach this one? Diminishing marginal utility exists, in the sense that "the rich" get no additional satisfaction out of their money-compressed minutes inside rich bodies, but diminishing marginal utility doesn't adjust behavior in a correspondingly rational way. Over years of glamorous pizza, I tended to get smaller tips from wealthier people and bigger tips from poorer people. And no, that's not "why" the rich people were rich--we're talking differences of a few bucks, here, amounting to less than a thousand dollars a year. So the poor people weren't poor because they were overtipping, nor the rich rich because they were hoarding. The rich were more often willing to use their time--even if they were guys who made a thousand dollars an hour, or who'd graduated from high school with millions already in their trust funds--to count out coins and one-dollar bills.

Which latter result is a weird one, given that if they'd spent one day more at the office in their late twenties, before retirement, they could have saved probably twenty days of their mortal lives by not thinking about tips at all. By death, they'd end up with more time, more money, and less mental exertion on a task made pointless by that single additional day of sitting at the office signing the occasional piece of paper. Compared to people who got paid five bucks an hour, the rich guys and gals were willing to spend a substantial portion of their lives counting out change to pizza vendors, waitresses, cashiers, etc. Their return was probably to save a grand or so over the course of their lives: a pile of sweaty old twenties, mangy pennies and quarters, representing all they'd "held back" in exchange for thinking really hard about the extra off every non-electronic transaction. That's the decision of an irrational economic actor, and it destroys game theory, as nearly every real-world occurrence does.

As to tipping specifically, the rich suck at it. The rich with some kind of public image, like really minor politicians, or B-list entertainers, tip well themselves, but the really big dogs have staff or junior family members order/pay for things on their behalf, so that cheap tips can be blamed on the doorman rather than the guy who actually ordered the food.

"The poor," or rather, the laboring class one medical bill from bankruptcy and homelessness, tend to be better tippers; not only tippers, but customers. The poor don't whine about the quantity of the toppings the kitchen guys put on there, and they do things like walk out to the parking lot to meet you, and call you "ma'am" or "pro" and stuff, without any hint of irony. When gas prices are higher, they lament the state of your job and throw in an extra buck, and they apologize for not having gotten the door right away, rather than give you a foul grin/sneer when they finally hear you knocking because someone went inside during the backyard party to restock the poolside cooler.

Monday, December 1, 2014

Race Realism & Quantifiable Superiority

(Another great post © the Full Information Security Project!)

Why do more-closely African-derived peoples ("blacks"), have a track record of lower overall test scores, and higher crime statistics, and stuff like that?
Stories about blacks getting into confrontations with cops, security guards, store owners and others are so common as to be hardly worth mentioning. And yet there is a basic reason for this, which should be understood by all who share any social space with blacks...[Whites] drink or smoke dope inside their homes, rather than on the street, carry knives rather than guns, drive by themselves or with one other guy in a pickup, have wives or girlfriends who help keep them out of trouble, and don’t get confrontational with cops. Blacks do frequently the opposite- drink or smoke dope on the street or in their front yards, carry guns, ride with four guys in an old sedan, and have girlfriends or baby mamas who really don’t care if they are locked up or not.

[Some seem] to ascribe this behavior to ignorance by blacks, but I think there is a totally different cause. For blacks, dominating and acting out in public, social space is an end in itself. It is about power and control for them. And they are very successful at it, because any space where a black person appears will mostly be controlled by that black person- they will intimidate whites and Asians in that space, although maybe not Latinos.
From Blacks and the Domination of Social Space.

So, there's The Bell Curve, along with a well-populated host of other data indicating quantifiable differences in test scores among different races, sexes, et cetera. We'll assume you're aware of that, and what a "mean" is and stuff, but if you're not, ask away. For now, keep in mind some of the generic, currently popular and fairly accurate numbers, putting blacks at a 70 IQ mean, whites at 100. There are some other cute variations in there, like how east Asians and Ashkenazi Jews are at 105, southeast Asians are closer to blacks, and maybe Germanic or Scandinavian peoples are higher than other "whites," blah blah.

IQ-based planning is an interesting subject, because most of the people who really like those numbers, and who advocate for their implications, are decidedly against implementing the necessary conclusions of their own reasoning. For example, the white people who like the idea of being part of a presumed group with a 30-mean advantage over blacks would prefer that blacks be confined and controlled by higher-IQ groups. However, they would not like to be themselves confined and controlled by the People's Republic of China (east Asian), Hillary Clinton (IQ 140), or a council of self-professed "Ashkenazi Jews." They also wouldn't like to discuss more detailed breakdowns of what makes white "white," or why certain white people get to claim to be either white, Hispanic, Ashkenazim, Sephardim, Native American, Inuit, or some variety of Asian. They love throwing around IQ numbers to an extent, citing the infallible supremacy of numbers, but only if they are allowed to arbitrarily make up categories into which the numbers can be divided.

Rather hilariously, the white(ish) "race realists" who advocate for standardized test social-control theories are vastly overpowered in IQ by white liberal academics/politicians who decree race realism as a lie, so such groups are necessarily shooting themselves in the heart every time they advocate a challenge to the high-IQ PC "Cathedral." It's self-contradictory, hypocritical, and representative of myriad other failures when angry low-to-middle-IQ whites dare challenge the likes of Hillary Clinton or Barack Obama (145).

Nonetheless, there remains some level of quantifiable differences in these test results, as to the lower-performing groups specifically, such as blacks. Popular explanations abound:

1. Unfair tests. Goodness knows, as this one will always attest, multiple choice tests are tautological, presumptive, simplistic dross, more suited to the crossword page than to an association with intelligence. However, the lengthy screed of arguments against IQ testing remains almost equally ridiculous. Yes, those kinds of intelligence tests are overblown and wasteful on the whole, but within the fantasy-land of primitive logical structuring, they do reveal something. There are right answers to the questions about numerical relationships and abstract concepts, which answers bear no relationship to cultural prejudice, but are representative of the contemplating mind's understanding and perception of the concepts most of the questions address. The questions themselves are cute little puzzles, fun to play with, and some people can figure out the number/shape/metaphor relationships faster and/or better than others. And that does measure something, and it's something related to intelligence.

The pro-IQ people, being most often comparatively crippled in other areas, respond angrily to suggestions that their beloved riddles aren't about capital-I Intelligence, because they can speak that part of the language, while the anti-IQ people, being somewhat often comparatively crippled in abstract realms, respond angrily to suggestions that their cultural appreciation classes aren't as objectively measurable, or even as universal, as the ability to select units from a set of prepared furtherances of intra-triangular shapeform sequences.

By and large, the pro-IQ people seem to rightly understand the inaccuracy of the cultural diversity whiners, while the latter group, though it delightedly embraces evolution and open-mindedness and genes and science, refuses to consider whether different DNA might produce brains more or less attuned to IQ-type problems.

2. Test taking strategies, too, fail to explain away the gap, because decades of massive institutional prepping for gapless scores have failed to substantively change anything, 20 years after The Bell Curve and another 20 years after the same sort of stuff, that latter stuff being another 20 years after the same sort of stuff. And this is an ongoing process; the racist/race-realist whiners are justified in their complaints that, generations after slavery, generations after Jim Crow, nearly-generations after affirmative actions and quotas, their beloved test results are still bearing out quantifiable racial differences. The initial arguments of anti-correlation people (i.e., the proponents of "there are no genetic differences between people") predicted equal results for blacks and whites as soon as freedom was achieved, and then as soon as civil rights were achieved, and then as soon as some wealth redistribution happened, and this hasn't happened, and it seems like it will never happen, and--presuming tests still show these same sorts of racial divisions in a hundred or two hundred years, which they will--it's not going to happen.

3. Family income and social class and schooling and familial expectations haven't closed the gap either. Here's a cute little picture for the SAT; there are plenty of confirmations of this stuff elsewhere:

4. Institutional oppression goes along with 3. above, and we do see things like black cops killing white teenagers with no one making a fuss, while, y'know, Michael Brown and stuff gets sustained national media attention, although yes, the numbers are different overall which could contribute but it's so rare (like never) that the reaction is the same when the cops murder a white child, since the kid's obviously some stupid redneck and no one marches for the kid and the cop doesn't go before a grand jury let alone a real one. So the bigots do, occasionally, have a point, just like anyone criticizing Earth 2014's mass media is almost always correct.

History is all about dead white men, and attempts to ascribe numerous of the "great western inventions" to blacks usually turn out to be frauds; here's a Snopes on the subject (this one dislikes linking to CIA sites, but in the instant situation, their chart is essentially sound). So why didn't they have better inventions in Africa, yes, I know the Europeans were invading all the time, but the Europeans were invading each other, too, so how come none of the Africans managed to invent a light bulb or a printing press somewhere in between all of that, the way various Europeans sort of did?

(Doesn't stuff like that sometimes make you wonder, even if just for an instant, in the most shaded part of your mind, if there isn't really some difference there? It's not something we want to talk about, I know, it makes you feel wrong in that kind of fuzzy, embarrassing way, and you'd never admit it out loud, but maybe, just maybe, there's some difference there, right?)

Slave Patrols and KKKops are certainly out there, a major force in society, and American black children are more likely to be homeless, going to school hungry, without parents who care or have the time to care about their education or welfare, or to help them with schoolwork, or convey that it's important, and all of that, and that's massive, but this numerical gap in tests exists, even when the black kids are raised in the best suburbs and attend private schools and test-prep classes, it happens consistently. And presuming it does keep happening, what do we do? It's nearly 2015; how long do we go with different numbers on various charts before every explanation breaks down and we're forced to confront that yes, genes may actually have to do with more than melanin?

Dealing with Black Racial Superiority, Section I: Accepting Invasive Methodology

The quantifiable superiority of African peoples takes on many forms, both in areas that Earth 2014ers would call "intellectual" and "physical." While the nomadic farm managers and livestock of some parts of Europe and the Middle East have developed testing apparatuses to verify their own relative strengths, producing a convincing veneer of superiority among host populations, the testing itself has been an immensely wasteful ritual, a narcissistically iatrogenic conjunction of cause and effect that has increased the genetic myopicity of both brood managers and the most compliant, numerous strains of livestock.

The presolar nomadic population of "white" (insert your preferred term/understanding within the quotes) humans now here (Earth 2014) have been developed in accordance with principles of docility, obedience, and labor. "Intelligence Quotient" tests, and other games disseminated in binary or finite-response systems, capitalize on these physical traits, providing simple, verifiable emotional boons to the fragile cross-field mental relationships suffered by many such white populations. Their tests exemplify the things in which they do excel: sitting still; following orders; ritualistic progression; demonstrative mental cycling, and fixed systems.

These tasks, as pejorative as their presentation may make them sound in the previous list, are highly valuable in certain settings. The ability to easily abey one's judgment in favor of obeying a perceived authority figure has its short term values, particularly in primitive coordinated group combat; so too the short term boosts to productivity and development caused by contemplation through "sitting still, quietly," as opposed to more vibrant, erratic, higher-net-gain innovative strategies. In certain situations, this type of doldrums intellectualism may even be the most efficient course of behavior for a civilization, provided its practice is stemmed as soon as the danger has passed.

More wholly valuable in the long term is ritualistic progression--the ability of whites to tenaciously, pedantically, self-interestedly develop narrow avenues of technology through a painfully expensive process of full-spectrum testing, e.g., figuring out which thing to use by having a hundred people try a hundred different things, then promoting the lone survivor to management and worshiping his god. In the presence of danger, or in the absence of creative channeling, this is a useful social ritual, virtually guaranteeing a slow, droll, standing-on-the-shoulders-of-geniuses pace of psialtic ("material") gain. For the disconnected, the crippled, it is really the only way to go. At the expense of billions of lives and more to come, all forms of technology, from ideas to drugs to machines, are tested upon varying stages of subjects, generally with wasteful consequences, often with extremely dangerous ones, and very rarely, with successful ones.

Ritualistic technological progression is an unnatural progress, akin to building wealth through capital gains and interest, which is why it so appeals to elites during their time here; it's also why "The Tortoise and the Hare" is a popular fable, even though hares would and do win any such "races," having covered more ground overall per-unit than tortoises, despite what the moral of the story claims (even though slow and steady is just fine in some situations, so the moral can be useful, but really, you always realized the hare could've won, right?).

(Again, the reference to ritualistic progression--the "take the next step" discernment applicable to the question-begging imperative interrogatives of multiple choice tests--seems pejorative, but keep in mind that there are less successful systems out there than Sol's, so there's no need to exaggerate when discussing Earth 2014's comparative stupidity.)

Demonstrative mental cycling, or proving the proven as a test of mental strength, is the non-barbell-analogous act of taking tests to demonstrate merit. In its current celebrated form, it's mere dross; it's like the white fascination with subjectively-scored sports, from ballet to gymnastics to the 1974 Sex Olympics. It's male-bonding retreats and team-building exercises, in a way, to hold IQ tests where a bunch of people practice answering questions to which the answers are already known, and measuring their intelligence against it. Doing a form rather than fighting someone, if you will. Now, that sort of stuff can be fun, or even beautiful, just like watching a good kata or finding out you did well on some test, but its relationship to intelligence is tenuous at best. As Mensa points out on occasion, it hosts triple PhDs and high school dropouts, multi-millionaires and the impoverished, and Marilyn vos Savant makes less money and gets less attention than Oprah.

Fixed systems thinking models are perhaps the most harmful imports recurrent within standardized tests. These methodologies ape creativity while stifling it--for example, how can you turn this eight-pointed shape into a nine-pointed shape by moving only one triangle? Easy: by breaking it apart and rebuilding it with nine points. By making do with the eight-pointed one while building a nine-pointed one from scratch, then using the eight-pointed one for something useful. By building a one-hundred-pointed one to begin with, so that vast quantities of resources are not spent every year, or every few generations, "upgrading" the previously-built, now-inefficient structure.

So much of so-called "white" test-taking strategies revolve around concepts of "having already fucked it all up." Standardized tests present a fixed-grid problem, propose only one right answer (which has been precalculated by the test's creators), and then purport to gauge holistic intelligence (and that's what they think, even when they claim to allow for people who have special talents or other ways of thinking), all while disallowing any variation of their rules. Standardized tests are godlike, in this, because you can't draw your own lines or find a new resource hitherto undiscovered. Rather, you work within the constraints of the set of lofty dunces who thought up the riddle.

Why is a raven like a writing desk, indeed? We've learned through Alice not to try to answer that particular one in the "right answer" way, although of course there are plenty of right answers--even some correct ones. But the Hatter was full of mercury, just like the people who think up and take IQ tests; it's not meant to be a model for intellectual behavior.

The deadly by-products of fixed systems thinking models, like those of narrative structure, is the reliance they create on the "cloud" of centralized authority. For all the vaunted intelligence quotients of today's brightest--venture capitalists, writers, doctors, lawyers, PhDs, whatever--their test-taking years have crippled them with a reliance on someone to set the boundaries of a game before they can play it. When someone tells them to think outside the box, they eagerly listen for strategies on how to do so, while still punishing each other when someone figures out how to actually do so; they can talk for decades about the theories of the past, but they have nothing themselves to offer, because fixed systems thinking preparation has taught them only how to present the best pre-selected answer from ages past. Dawkins can only harp about Darwin, and Hawking can only chatter endlessly about Georges LemaƮtre, and they're the one-eyed men in the land of the blind, kings with no depth perception who can only read back to us stories that others have already written, yet who genuinely believe they are accomplishing something, because after all, there were so many rewards after those test questions they answered "correctly," way back when. All the movies are fan-fiction and all the seasonal designs are retro.

Dealing with Black Racial Superiority, Section II: Grappling With Origins

For millions of years, basic Ecomaterianism has taught that planets develop dense atmospheric nerve endings, or trees, and complex autonomous nerves, or humans, which possess exofibrous coatings ("bark" or "skin") colored in coordination with the dominant chemical composition of their planet's soil. The most common such planets are browns, which produce Balrin humans, having coatings in varying shades of brown, pursuant to their developmental soil. Less common but still quite numerous red-brown or red planets produce Barians, which can range from very light brown to nearly pink, and yellow planets, which produce Bajirin humans, with according and complementary developmental effects. The exceedingly rare Bazins come from blue planets (not like a PBS special about places with water, but based upon the underlying carbonated soil structure, prettyish azure, like nothing we see near Sol).

The shortcomings of finite-response modes of thinking, as alluded to in the previous section, produce very tangible results, which can be systematically observed based, not (necessarily) on IQ score patterns themselves, but on the culturally associated relevance of said IQ scores. Planets whose humans develop finite-response models achieve rapid, unsustainable growth, and often end up so advanced that they become regressive wastelands. In the case of "Africans" on Earth 2014, we observe a population of native Balrins making excellent progress through hundreds of thousands of years of healthy econeural growth, then being gradually set upon by roving populations of Barians and Bajirins who are very different, and who seem to have developed long habits of settling, destroying, and moving on, hopped up on some kind of civilizational steroids that leave them great at killing, but not so very good at surviving long term.

In the meantime, up above in the sky not so far away, in two different directions lurk two relative spherical hells: burned out, abandoned whores of pink and yellow, badly scarred and apparently down on their luck. Though covered in methane or freezing, depressurized winds, stripped of their lifeblood, and seemingly impossibly far away, these hells are eerily prominent in the newcomers' cultural memories as possessing long-established characters and habits. The newcomers begin concentrating slave populations over tilling-based, unsustainably-extractive agricultural project-fed, urban resource voids, and a few K later, someone notices that everyone has nukes and the lights are starting to go out. The invaders just haven't been able to let the natives go this entire time; they're obsessed with coming there, interbreeding, stealing things to make up for what they've already cleaned out of their own benighted colonies, and subjugating the populace to prevent sustainable development--an occurrence that, were it to be allowed to continue to progress, would destroy forever the cherished subconscious instinct, "We were not to blame for what happened. It was inevitable. These people couldn't have done it any better."

Refusing to learn from past mistakes or adopt newfound semi-ancestral connections to their lands (almost like it's a rental apartment and not a family home), the invaders treat the new place as disposable, doing their best to drag locals away from the lands where they grew, while rushing through a dangerous technological procession that has, as its end goal, "We gotta get outta here, this place is gonna blow, time to colonize space in the pursuit of gobble-worthy resources."

(Just a bit of fiction, there, to make things interesting. Put it aside and move on.)

Dealing with Black Racial Superiority, Section III: Practical Proofs

However we cut the cake or dress it up, presume as true the future's persistent racial gaps in test scores, economic success, and violent crime. Assume that all our cards are on the table, and that it's not just decades, but centuries, of affirmative action later, and whites and east Asians are still winning at test scores and salaries.

Systemic Failure

The connection between salary, social success, and whiteness (or any other "ness"), is not a positive one. In societies this horrid, widespread social or financial success is not a good thing. The destructive, toxic nature of wealth and political power are indicia of bad individual and group qualities, rather than good. It is a sign of racial superiority that Africans have resisted inclusion into this model.

Disposable diaper islands, private prisons, humanitarian intervention, department head of economic science, director of emerging layoffs--this is the standard to which they should aspire?

What a blessing it would be, to the violent white nomads, if they could somehow make the blacks more like themselves--successfully confined within finite-response models, better at quickly extracting resources from an area, then leaving it a poisoned wasteland, dying off, and moving as battered survivors, anxious and depressed, to a new place for a new rape.

Deference to and Perpetuation of Evil

Why, hello, Mr. TSA man! Still working on that GED? Well, no problem--would you like to slip your hand between my labia, cup my young son's testicles, and blast all of us with cancer? Oh, it did? Okay, we'll go to the special waiting area for an interview. Gosh, it's nice of you to coordinate rolling our tickets forward to the 9PM flight. Yes, I will try to get to the airport earlier next time. Wait, what's wrong with my soda?

What's that, Officer? Why, yes, I've been drinking tonight--two glasses of mineral water, and one iced tea. What's that? You want me to get out of the car? Okay. Where should I stand? (Crud, the movie starts in twenty minutes!) Oh, no, those are my husband's. No, he doesn't "put marijuana in there and make it a blunt." Yes, I'm here of my own free will. Well, I was, up until you showed up. Um, no, I already told you, he doesn't "put marijuana in there and make it a blunt." Yes, I understand if I confess it now you'll let me go with a warning...fine, then search it. Yes, I know if I say no you can say my behavior gives you reasonable suspicion, just go ahead. (sigh) Well, the tire jack's under there, that's, you have to move the carpet--sorry! Sorry! I'll just stay over here!

Oh, sure...yeah, I've just got my billfold and some stuff in there...oh! No, those are just birth control pills! Er, no, but who carries their prescription slips around with them? What? Oh, well, if I can pick it up on Monday... (But I've got a lunch scheduled that day!) Oh! Teehee! Yeah, I've carried that ever since I got mugged when I was seventeen. Wait, why's it a 'class 2 weapon'? It's just pepper spray! I haven't even remembered it was in there for the past six years! No, no, I'm sorry...yes, thank you...that's very kind of you not to make it a misdemeanor charge, and no, I don't want an arrest on my permanent record...thank you so much.

You mean, they killed her? Shot her dead in her own living room while her grandkids were watching? What's that mean, "wrong address"? And the DA won't press charges? Well, that's it! I'm going to, to sign an online petition!

Nine years old? And they've cleared themselves of wrongdoing? What kind of insane person would think that's in any remote way a reasonab...that's it--it's time for an indignant blog post!

Well, they say he had a gun in his hand, but it wasn't registered to him, so he must've stolen it. Sounds like a criminal. That other cop who died in the motorcycle accident a few days ago was going to testify about an unwritten department understanding of planting evidence, it's terrible he had that accident, but I still think the response was a little overblown...guess I should call my Senator's aide's secretary and ask that they look into it know, when they can get the time, and after a few more elections when he's got some seniority and becomes a sub-chair of the sub-committee on public safety...

Dealing with Black Racial Superiority, Section IV: Compelling Humanity

Inside the murder machine, over a thousand years of historical evidence shows how resistant Africans have been to white diseases. Far prior to the European Dark Ages and the First White Invasion of Palestine ("Crusades"), African scholars had developed mathematics and astronomy, and built capitals with libraries and paved roads. At a certain curious point in history, this suddenly-evolved group of pale people showed up and started burning things, in a process that has not yet ended. Whites--including Persians and paler-skinned Egyptian leadership classes--have constantly enslaved Africans, exploited Africa's resources, and tried to turn the continent into a model of what has already happened in the exo-Caucasian zones of Europe and Asia. Africans have developed modern-style genocides and warlords of their own, but only when they've been infiltrated, armed, deceived, and heavily coerced by foreign powers. From countless outright invasions, to the most subtle of modern financial ploys, Africa has been a target for destruction.

Yet throughout it all, Africa has been resistant. It has consistently--even in the face of pressure from the banking cartels representing the entire rest of the world--returned to ideas of nationalized resources and guaranteed employment or minimum income. Time and again, Africans recover from western bombs, rebuild villages, hold constitutional conventions, and establish nations based around sustainable use of natural resources--whereupon they suddenly become a "security threat" to wherever the western imperial seat is at the time, and pass through twenty years of warlords. And when the people finally overthrow the western-backed dictator, and set up a new country, there comes BHP Billiton to make that government an offer it can't refuse on a foreign-operated copper mine...but a thousand years later, Africa is still there, and Europe is even more poisoned and jealous. The destruction cause by the white "Jews" of Israel is phenomenal, but still technically in Asia. Yet another Anglo foothold against the Zulu wreaks terrible, bloody havoc, piling up millions of dark bodies, as the Crusaders dig in for the long haul. Yet another push into Africa; yet another attempt to invade and displace those troublesome natives who just keep on living. Will this one prove any more durable than the last? Netanyahu is only Rommel's dumber, meaner successor, conducting a less-effective push into north Africa to replace brown populations with anti-inclusive white ones.

The trans-Orwellian nightmare of western civilization has arrived at terrible cost. Almost all of the technological advancements achieved by whites have been the by-product of dangerous, secretive rushing. Afraid to share their technology with others, whites have established thousands of years of intellectual property controls, creating staggered progressions of planned obsoletion, whereby millions of factory workers live in poverty and sickness, for decades, spending their lives to centralize and buttress the control systems that allow for the development of the steam engine. As they work, white managers think only of the objective, disregarding the "means" and poisoning their own habitat, such that their great grandchildren begin hosting cancer, and their great grandchildren face starvation. Like the perennial chant of "let your anger power you," the white industrial revolution came faster, harmed its creators, and produced an unsustainable mess.

Africa would not have this. And Africans, faced with the exploitative hell of western civilization, have shown themselves more humane, and more willing to stand up for dignity, than whites. The African American backlash against slave patrols and COINTELPRO is a healthy reaction, while the white tendency to submit willingly to genital groping, lack of access to liquids, and irradiative scanning, is the deadly submission of a population that has already given up.

African Americans do have more trouble with law enforcement, and it's for the right reasons. More people should be getting into altercations with cops--more citizens should be refusing "reasonable requests" from law enforcement, and flagrantly disregarding laws against victimless drug use or commerce. More people should be following the African example, and getting indignant and belligerent when some paramilitary asshole in an armored car pulls up to ask you questions about where you're going and what you're going to do there. Personal privacy, free speech, free association, and all other aspects of resisting dystopia are being exemplified by the African Americans who put their lives on the line for human dignity, even as the majority of whites and Asians are happy to sit, speak, fetch, shake hands, and "Go lie down!" whenever a KKKop tells them to.

Unfortunately, most of the tax-farmed livestock cultivated by white broodlords over the past millennia has left whites docile, afraid, and obedient--great at scoring high on multiple choice tests, great at avoiding homeless gazes, great at replacing the onsite IT staff with a company from New Delhi, but not so great at maintaining human independence and dignity. Whites have long accepted the idea of being powerless, bleating livestock. They report problems to the manager, get nervous when someone speaks up, avoid contentious issues to be polite, mind their own business, and get calmly put on hold by customer service. All of the undignified hell of the corporate war-world is lost on most whites, who seem more than happy to embrace it--while many blacks are willing to disobey unjust laws, fight back when some intruding totalitarian harasses their family or friends, and destroy property when the propertied are the ones paying for the kill squads.

All this is highly troubling to docile whites, who are definitely the best-behaved cattle in the industrial feedlot, not wanting to stand out or make any trouble. So many whites low in dismay whenever they see someone--white or black--make a break for the fence, gore a roving slaughterhouse employee, or lash out at the nightmare in any other way. Be reasonable! Be realistic!