Earlier this year when Bill O’Reilly referred to her James Brown wig, she responded with defiant racial pride:
I am a strong black woman. I cannot be intimidated, and I’m not going anywhere. #BlackWomenAtWork
Amid the gleefully idiotic choruses of “You go, girl!” and “Dat’s right!,” no one seemed to notice that this was an unambiguous statement of racial pride that far exceeded anything that alleged “white supremacist” Donald Trump has ever said, because Donald Trump has never claimed he was proud of his skin color, nor has he ever directly addressed white Americans by name. Not once. I dare anyone to prove me wrong about this.
Yet in this climate, the proud-to-be-black Maxine Waters, who is always directly addressing black Americans by name in clear appeals to their race, is afforded the privilege of accusing others of being “racist”—evidence be damned—while being protected from all accusations of racism, because, well, that’s just impossible.
Her skin color also shields her from all accusations of being as dumb as a tree stump. It’s “racist” even to point out what’s obvious to anyone who isn’t as brain-damaged as Reginald Denny was after Damian Williams smashed in his skull during the LA “rebellion.” And she’s either too stupid or ungrateful to realize what a rare privilege she enjoys in this regard.
At last, Waters has been outed as a paranoid whinger—or even worse, a Poverty Pimp who lives in a $4-million house surrounded by white people while her black and Hispanic constituents linger in poverty when they aren’t tearing one another to shreds.
Relax, Auntie Max—as much as it may pain you to hear it, I doubt anyone wants to kill you. You’re far too entertaining being alive, loud, and proud.
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