TO THE TOP: The Exploitation of the Model: Gullible Black Man

TO THE TOP

The Exploitation of the Model: Gullible Black Man

I just listened to Jay Electronica’s new CD “A Written Testimony” and was pleasing surprised to hear the first song of his soundtrack began with a short introduction from one of Minister Louis Farrakhan’s messages.  For a moment it was refreshing to hear from a man that has been held in such high esteem by many from the Black community. I expected to be inspired and enlightened with a message from a man of growth. I hope and prayed to hear something other than a rant against Christianity and Jews. But in that single snippet, Minister Farrakhan set up the argument that Jews are the descendants of Yakub and Blacks in America are the true chosen children of Israel. That last referenced piqued my curiosity, as the implications are massive for blacks.   It’s gratifying in many ways to go from slavery to suddenly realizing you have descended from the progenitors of salvation.  Intrigued I continued to listen as Farrakhan defend this statement.

The message had been delivered on June 26, 2010 in Atlanta, GA.  The platform at the Atlanta Civic Center had been beset with plants and elite black folk.  Black faces riddled the audience and the vibe of astute anticipation must have resounded in the atmosphere, as it seeped through the video.  It felt momentous, like the lead up to the Million Man March back in 1995.

Minister Farrakhan appeared that Saturday Morning like a ray of the sun, decked out in an ivory-colored suit, with golden gazelle-like frames.  He was a cross between a preacher and a teacher and exuded an intellectual prowess only matched by scholars whose ascensions had been made long ago.   With an oratory style that reminded you of Martin and Malcolm, he addressed the captivated audience.

He delivered a message bound tight with biblical scripture and an overabundance of African American history. He expounded upon stories from the Pentateuch.  Those stories of Abraham and Moses, Jacob and Esau.  He carefully intertwined the New Testament.  He spoke with gravitas of Revelations and Jesus Christ. 

He encroached on my beliefs when he relegated Christ to a prophet.  His derision and disdain for Jews filtered throughout the message as he insidiously twisted scripture to support a narrative.  He demonized the patriarch Jacob.  Misconstrued the biblical account of Jacob.  He doubled-downed on the NOI’s belief that 6,600 years ago Jacob, or Yakub grafted a white race designed to enslave the true children of Israel or blacks.  Minister Farrakhan declared Jacob was not a son of God, but a son of Satan.  Farrakhan discredited the story of Moses and the Exodus of Israel from Egypt after 400 years of bondage.  Stated there were no historical documents that prove the Israelites were ever in Egypt.    

According to Farrakhan and the belief of the NOI, the prophecy God had given to Abram in Genesis 15:13 wasn’t designed for those white-faced Yakub who practiced Judaism in Israel.  Farrakhan purports Genesis 15:13 was a prophecy specifically designed for African Americans in the United States.  He expounded on how our persecution was foretold by God and he articulated the degradation our ancestors faced as slaves.  With intentional iteration he broke down:  the 1877 Compromise; the emergence of Jim Crow; and the larceny of sharecropping.  He explained this persecution was caused by the Jews—or the Yakub.  He didn’t stop there.  He went on to illustrate the current condition of black enslavement.  He expounded upon how we blacks, are still enslaved by the Yakub, even without chains.  Our continued subjection includes the least and the greatest amongst us, those who live in ghettos in profound poverty and those who’ve had the pleasure of being hosted in the white house.

What’s chilling about Farrakhan’s message was his sound argument.  The facts are real, which is why I can understand how some would believe in the lies he spewed.  But the application of his words was untrue.  It very well may be the case some African Americans are the descendants of Abram.  It’s not hard to believe, God had told Abram in Genesis 15:13, his seed would be unmeasurable, they would outnumber the stars in the sky. 

It’s also a reality, those of us born with black skin are persecuted. We consistently face racism in all forms.  Consider the most recent evidence:  the death of Aubrey Ahmad.  The young 25-year old that was thirsty and because he went and got a drink of water behind a house under construction, he was murdered in cold blood by two white men.  Combine the death of an innocent black man, with the implications of COVID and the sudden realization, blacks are dying from the virus at disproportionally higher percentages.  Now discussions around blacks and the COVID death rates are silent, as shouts to open the economy ripple across our airways. 

Farrakhan uses the story of Jacob and Moses to disprove certain Christian theological beliefs yet uses those same scriptures to defend the premise that African American’s are the chosen children of Israel.  He uses the story of Jacob breeding the sheep in Genesis 30 and intermingles this story with the story of Yakub.  Maybe there’s some truth to the grafting of the white man, but relating this with Jacob creates a problem with timing.  More importantly, I’m of the mindset that God is not limited by what he can Create.  He created man and woman without any assistance.  I happened to believe he created a black race and a white race.  The same way he created Israel, Islam, and Christianity.  God doesn’t need some obscure-big faced black man to create anything for Himself.  He speaks things and they exist.  Farrakhan would have us believe that Jacob is Yakub and that all white men of Jewish descent are devils.   That’s not Godly, God’s love has never been restricted to race.    

As I watched and listened to Minister Farrakhan, I realized he was using a Modeling technique.  The same way businesses use models to structure companies.    Farrakhan used the model created by white slave owners to deal with black slaves.  The same model was used during the 1877 Compromise and Jim Crow.  Farrakhan used a model that exploits the credulous black man.  It’s this idea that black men are so gullible they will believe any story told to them and will go for anything that promises something enchanting.  The continued success of this model depends upon blacks being ignorant of the truth and the mindset they’re too lazy to determine truth for themselves.  The lack of intellectual capital increases profits. 

The way to keep blacks blind is to embellish on some truth and hide the facts from sight.  Black slaves were taught scripture interpreted by slave owners and then made it illegal for them to read or write.  Farrakhan touted a great deal of information in Atlanta.  He advised his brothers and sister to get his two books and read them for knowledge and understanding, and he and shunned education.  Farrakhan learned from the tricks of the white man.  To anchor his model, he used visible and interactive techniques.  He supported the lies he told with scripture, facts, and slides.  Like 12-years a slave and like the black men that sold their black brothers and sister to the white man, reducing their troops, the gullible black man believed every word Farrakhan spewed. They took in all the wiles of the devil. 

While business models are designed to net companies a prophet, I couldn’t help but wonder what was Farrakhan’s motivation for using the model of the gullible black man?   I believe Farrakhan intent is much more insidious than simple money.  The man is in his mid-late 80’s so I can’t imagine at this point in his life money is of any real concern.  But legacy is something different.  If we take the sum-total of his argument it points to legacy.  His argument, if Israelites weren’t persecuted for 400 years in Egypt and if Jesus Christ wasn’t the Messiah, it means the promise God made to Abram in Genesis 13 has yet to be fulfilled.   If we conclude those stolen from the shores of Africa and brought over to the United States are the chosen children of Israel, who are persecuted by the Yakub, we can also conclude that Elijah Muhammad, was the one spoken of by the Prophets in the Old Testament, the one that would come before the Messiah.  And if such is true, that makes Farrakhan the Messiah.  That becomes his legacy. 

It’s needless to say, that logic presents a problem for Farrakhan and his teachings, especially when you impute Malcolm X into this equation. Malcolm X exposed the fallacy of the Yakub belief after he returned to US from his visit to Mecca.  He repented and admitted the errancy in his belief.  Malcolm X also exposed Elijah Muhammad for the womanizer he had become, having affairs and birthing more than 23 children between his wife and other young women that worked for him as secretaries.  As Christ gathered an array of followers because of his teaching, so Malcolm X was leading a lot of black men to the truth. 

If you had factored in Malcolm X it would be easier to conclude he was the Messiah, as he enlightened a nation that believed a lie and he was murdered by his own.  But if Malcolm X was the Messiah, that would make Farrakhan more like Judas.  Perhaps that’s what’s driving Farrakhan to elevate himself to the rank of Son of Man.  We’ve lived long enough to learn Malcolm X didn’t raise from the dead, as Jesus Christ had done.  Malcolm X may very well have been a prophet, but he was certainly no Messiah, and Farrakhan is no Judas, though he commits blaspheme.

That brings me back to Jay Electronica and that soundbite, I wonder if he believed the picture he painted throughout “The Written Testimony.” According to social media Jay had an affair with a Yakub and that would make his disdain for the Jewish Race fake. He becomes more of a hypocrite when I consider this body of work. I think Jay is motivated to ignore his own hypocrisy because he has something intentional in mind. In fact, I believe Jay Electronica, Louis Farrakhan, and Jayz (who is one of my all-time favorite rappers) are all trapped inside of Satan’s web.  They’re all guilty of using this same model to dupe the black man into believing a theory they know to be false. To exploit the black man for vainglory and as Jay Electronica profits financially, just like Jay Z profits in power and Farrakhan keeps rising.

The rights to the content/images on this page are owned by Jacqueline Session Ausby,  and you do not  have the right to use any of the content/images without her expressed permission.  If you would like to contact Jacqueline Ausby, please email jacqueline@dahtruth.com.  Thank you.

My Opinion Article.

Pre-Introduction to my Novella Summer To Sodom

Prologue - A Dream

I talk about my Novel Grace & Mercy Self-Publishing New INDIE Novella entitled That Summer Day in Sodom I read Prologue to That Summer Day in Sodom

Solomon had a monkey on his back.  The imp had paid him a visit in the late hour of the night when he was fast asleep.    Solomon was aware he was in a deep sleep, he couldn’t open his eyes.  He was dreaming.  It was a trick dream as it started out very smooth, very casual.  He stood in a room lit by a dim red light.  He walked around and got himself dressed in a brand-new black suit. He buttoned his pressed black shirt, put on a black tie, and his black socks and he tied his new shiny black shoes.

He stepped before the mirror to check himself.  He was indeed handsome.  He was reminded of his father during the old days, those Sunday mornings before they left for church.  Black was his father’s favorite color. 

As Solomon stood before the mirror and admired himself, Atarah appeared in the background.  She wore black as well and her smile lit up like a star in the midnight sky, “handsome,” she said.  He stuck his chest out.  He was astute a true gentleman.  He turned around and watched as she disappeared beyond the darkness.  

When he returned his gaze to the mirror it was then he noticed the blood on his freshly cut hair. It splattered like spilled paint over his head.  His heart started to pound in slow intervals.  He was confused and when he took a closer look at himself the blood began to gush and fall over his forehead, it dripped over his eyes and his beard, and landed on his fresh black shirt.  His heartbeat harder.  He lifted his hands and glanced at his palms--horrified, as they were covered with red blood.  The blood dripped onto his shiny black shoes.  He dropped down to his knees in fear, but then he was awakened by the lite brush of Atarah’s body against his skin, and the quiet moan from her peaceful breathing.  The pounding in his heart subsided as he stared at the ceiling.  He relaxed as he realized all it was.

The rights to the content / images on this page are owned by Jacqueline Session Ausby,  and you do not  have the  right to use any of the content / images without her expressed permission.  If you would like to contact Jacqueline Ausby, please email jacqueline@dahtruth.com.  Thank you.

COME FORTH

Death arrived on an early morning in February. It was a deceptive morning.  A bright sun gleamed through the curtains, and a cold breeze drifted through the opened window, but the birds chirped, as if they were not allowed to fly south, until they marked the Death Angel’s entrance.  We ignored the melody of impending dread that fluttered through the window, we were busy making dinner arrangements.  It was Valentine’s Day, February 14, a day celebrated by lovers across the world. Unbeknown to us, we were excluded from the festivities.

The Death Angel swooped into our window and put a stop to our plans.  My love was pushed out of bed.  With a loud thump, he landed on the floor and lost all movement on his right side.  I rushed to where he’d fallen, helped him out of the corner and propped him up against the wall, so that he didn’t wobble over.  It was then the handwriting came across the wall, but I put on rose-colored shades, blinded the red writing from sight.  When he cast his round helpless on me and said, “Babe, it is finished.”  I refused to listen.  Instead I called the ambulance.  “You’ll be just fine,” were the words I repeated over and over and like the men that carried the man with the palsy, I was determined to do everything in my power to get him to the place, where his life could be saved.  I just knew the healthcare industry was going to assist in this feat.  I thought the medical professionals held the balm of Gilead.  They purported to possess the power to repair and restore.  Surely, they would delivery him from this affliction.  I just needed to get him to that place, even if it meant tearing the roof off the hospital’s foundation.

I never thought my fight was with the divine.  I never once imagined that God would allow me to be plunged into a black cistern.  The police and the paramedics came and after assessed the severity of the situation, they rushed the stretcher that held him out the front door.  I followed behind, stepped outside into the sunshine.  The great, big sky was bright and blue, the clouds where white and fluffy, they stared down on us as if they were rejoicing with the other angels.  My mind registered darkness and pain.  I was in the pit of despair unable to comprehend the magnitude of the situation.  Unable to decipher reality.

I was stunned, shocked by what was happening, but tears failed me.  I didn’t shed one.  In those moments I put on my wife’s cloak.  The cloak I’d hidden since the day we had taken that solemn oath, before God and the Minster:  the promise to love one another in sickness and in health.  I had fooled myself into believing I put that cloak on after I unfastened my white gown and removed the tiara from the top of my head.  But that’s not how things work.   We don’t dress for this role or assume position until the time comes to make decisions only a wife in battle could make.   Decision of life or death.  We say, “I love you in sickness and in health,” and we enjoy those years of health.  Those years of being together on one accord, loving and laughing; we never realize this promise does not manifest until sickness strikes.

When he reached the hospital, the staff didn’t waste a single moment to prepare him for surgery.  There was no time for small things, but we were afforded one final interaction, our last cognitive interaction.  A brief second.  While they prepped him for surgery, he repeated, “my wife—my wife.”  When the nurse saw me enter the doors, she said, “she’s right here.”  He turned his head and after he saw my face, he reached out his left hand and grabbed hold of mine.  We stared at one another and dwelled in the space for one last moment in time.  It ended when the nurse pushed him forward.  He held on, my hand locked into his, until we lost reach. 

There’s so much truth to the scripture, no man knows the day or the hour, I’m taking this out of context, because it’s true we really don’t know when Jesus will return, nor do we know when he’ll call us home.  But I will say that when God dispatches his Angels to bring home another Angel, there is no mortal bad enough to reverse that mission, except for Christ Himself.  The bible says when Martha told Christ that Lazarus died, that he wept.  I always thought that was an odd scripture, but when my husband had his stroke on that faithful day, I was enlightened. Jesus wept because those who knew him, didn’t understand Lazarus rested with his Father.  This grieved Jesus.  Those who walked among him didn’t get that death had no power, so to shore up their foundation, to procure the faith of Mary, Martha, His disciples, and the world, Jesus called Lazarus forth.

It dawned on me, as I stood in the in the hall at the hospital and watched my husband’s hand disappear beyond the emergency surgery doors, that I was waiting for the same thing Mary, Martha and his disciples had waited for:  Jesus.  I waited for Jesus to call out, Lazarus--

The rights to the content / images on this page are owned by Jacqueline Session Ausby,  and you do not  have the  right to use any of the content / images without her expressed permission.  If you would like to contact Jacqueline Ausby, please email jacqueline@dahtruth.com.  Thank you.