Nkechi Diallo was recently charged with welfare fraud in Spokane, Washington. Back in 2015, Diallo was the con artist formerly known as Rachel Dolezal. She has since reinvented herself. Once more.
Ms. Dolezal, if you’re from Deep Space, is the lily-white woman who, in 2015, had dared to “identify” as a black woman.
The “Racism Industrial Complex” is populated with frauds, shysters, imposters, phonies and morons; black, white and 50 shades of gray.
Ms. Dolezal had been posing as all of these, teaching mumbo-jumbo studies at the bush college of Eastern Washington University.
Our American Idiocracy confers the respect and the authority of a pedagogue on many like her, allowing them to spread the disease to college kids and beyond. So, why not Rachel?
Why, the Age of the Idiot sees killers exculpated, just because they kill. As the faulty reasoning goes, if an individual has murdered, raped, robbed or defrauded—then he or she must have been abused, neglected, racially oppressed (if black or brown); not wealthy enough, mentally ill, lacking in self-esteem.
Anything but plain bad, slothful, sociopathic or parasitical. The more aberrant the crime; the more thrill-seeking, vulgar, immoral or wicked the conduct—the more elaborate, fanciful and scientifically baseless the excuse-making.
This is if B then A, backward, erroneous reasoning. Around it an industry has arisen. It’s called psychiatry. The psychiatric endeavor—voodoo, really—is premised, for the most, on the medicalization of misconduct.
These days, it is de rigueur to consider everyone who acts immorally to be medically impaired.
But not Rachel Dolezal. Alas, the country is still barking mad at her, forever poised to heap scorn on her box-braided head.
The reason Ms. Diallo, aka Dolezal, has been denied the benefits of this excuse-making industry is that she has encroached on black supremacy’s turf.
To be black in America is more than a pigment; it’s an identity, a politics, an entitlement, a one-upmanship. This protected turf is like a medieval guild or a modern trade union. In cahoots with the state, the “Racism-Industrial Complex” protects its members from competition by limiting entry into the professionally aggrieved class.
Poor Nkechi, aka Rachel. She painted her face orange, gave herself a Sideshow Bob hairdo, and adopted the ideology of the eternally oppressed.
Most of America’s race-grievance agitators are phonies who’ve never been oppressed. Unlike many of them, Dolezal—by the admission of the president of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People’s Washington-State chapter—had actually done “quality work” to “elevate the issues of civil rights.”
“I just want to feel beautiful, and this is how I feel beautiful,” said this mixed-up woman rather plaintively.
Yes, Dolezal is the white face of parental and societal racial displacement. Why am I the only one to still find her pitiful, even deserving of pity?
You see, America is not racist. In America, black is beautiful. To be black is to be more righteous, nobler; carry the heaviest historic baggage—heavier than the Holocaust and the Trail of Tears—and be encouraged to perpetually and publicly pick at those imagined, oozing injuries.
To be black is to have an unwritten, implicit social contract with wider, whiter society.
To be black it to be born with a lifetime of IOUs (I Own You); it is to be owed apologies, obsequiousness, education, and automatic exculpation for any wrongdoing. Reparations, too, if the Democrats have their way.
Why can’t Rachel have a piece of that? Was not Ms. Dolezal displaced for real in her parents’ affections?
Rachel’s story should begin with parents Larry and Ruthanne Dolezal, who adopted four children, “three of whom were African-American while the other was from Haiti.”
Does this fashionable adoption not send a message to a vulnerable white girl that she and her biological brother are too pale for their pious parents?
Spokesperson for the quasi-black Brady Bunch is brother Ezra Dolezal. Ezra grew up in the diversity worshiping, evangelical, Dolezal household. He now upbraids (pun intended) his estranged sister about her shenanigans in blackface. The Chutzpah!
Without a doubt, the once anemic-looking, fair-skinned Rachel was raised with a real sense that she was not black enough for her parents. Why do I say “real”? Because, like Angelina Jolie, Larry and Ruthanne Dolezal kept acquiring kids more “colorful” and exotic than their own.
Kids are needy creatures. Parenting is a complex endeavor. However great their reservoirs of love, sense of fair play and goodwill—two parents do not have enough of the good stuff to spread among six kids. Mark my words: Brangelina’s beautiful, biological offspring will also one day display the scars of anti-white, childhood abuse.
Lest I be called on the carpet (or the mosaic floor, rather) for deploying the faulty reasoning I previously denounced (if B then A), let me clarify: I am not here psychologizing Dolezal’s perplexing behavior. No need.
By reality’s standards—not those unscientifically set by psychiatry’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM–∞/eternity)—Rachel (and lots of whites like her) was racially displaced.
Ms. Dolezal has thus recreated the primal scene of her childhood by becoming in adulthood—experientially, at least—blacker than her adopted brothers and sisters.
She deserves a break.