ok doser
lifeguard at the cement pond
Got to break a few eggs to make an omelette
If you feel guilty about what was done in the past, feel free to hand over all your wealth and that of your children to make amends.
Source of white hatred of blacks identified
- Thread starter marke
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If you feel guilty about what was done in the past, feel free to hand over all your wealth and that of your children to make amends.
Broken treaties? Yes, people of all races have broken treaties and thought nothing of it. That reminds me of the Budapest Memorandum the US signed with Ukraine that Obama promptly ignored when Russia invaded Ukraine in 2014. At least democrat leaders like Biden made millions by exploiting Ukraine's suffering as a result of Obama's abandonment of the US obligations under the treaty.
Keep America’s Word Again—and Protect Ukraine
Robert McConnell writes that Bill Clinton made assurances when Kiev gave up nukes. Then Obama broke faith. Trump can restore it.
www.wsj.com
Modern blacks show little appreciation for how God delivered enslaved blacks from brutal African slave owners into the hands of slave owners in Christian nations who offered them more hope and better living conditions.
annabenedetti
like marbles on glass
You're a real piece of work.
Appreciation for this?
Life With a Slave-Breaker (1833)
BY FREDERICK DOUGLASS (1845)MASTER THOMAS at length said he would stand it no longer. I had lived with him nine months, during which time he had given me a number of severe whippings, all to no good purpose. He resolved to put me out, as he said, to be broken; and, for this purpose, he let me for one year to a man named Edward Covey. Mr. Covey was a poor man, a farm-renter. He rented the place upon which he lived, as also the hands with which he tilled it. Mr. Covey had acquired a very high reputation for breaking young slaves, and this reputation was of immense value to him. It enabled him to get his farm tilled with much less expense to himself than he could have had it done without such a reputation. Some slaveholders thought it not much loss to allow Mr. Covey to have their slaves one year, for the sake of the training to which they were subjected, without any other compensation. He could hire young help with great ease, in consequence of this reputation. Added to the natural good qualities of Mr. Covey, he was a professor of religion—a pious soul a member and a class-leader in the Methodist church. All of this added weight to his reputation as a "[redacted]-breaker." I was aware of all the facts, having been made acquainted with them by a young man who had lived there. I nevertheless made the change gladly; for I was sure of getting enough to eat, which is not the smallest consideration to a hungry man.
I left Master Thomas’s house, and went to live with Mr. Covey, on the 1st of January, 1833. I was now, for the first time in my life, a field hand. In my new employment, I found myself even more awkward than a country boy appeared to be in a large city. I had been at my new home but one week before Mr. Covey gave me a very severe whipping, cutting my back, causing the blood to run, and raising ridges on my flesh as large as my little finger. The details of this affair are as follows: Mr. Covey sent me, very early in the morning of one of our coldest days in the month of January, to the woods, to get a load of wood. He gave me a team of unbroken oxen. He told me which was the in-hand ox, and which the off-hand one. He then tied the end of a large rope around the horns of the in-hand ox, and gave me the other end of it, and told me, if the oxen started to run, that I must hold on upon the rope. I had never driven oxen before, and of course I was very awkward. I, however, succeeded in getting to the edge of the woods with little difficulty; but I had got a very few rods into the woods, when the oxen took fright, and started full tilt, carrying the cart against trees, and over stumps, in the most frightful manner. I expected every moment that my brains would be dashed out against the trees. After running thus for a considerable distance, they finally upset the cart, dashing it with great force against a tree, and threw themselves into a dense thicket. How I escaped death, I do not know.
There I was, entirely alone, in a thick wood, in a place new to me. My cart was upset and shattered, my oxen were entangled among the young trees, and there was none to help me. After a long spell of effort, I succeeded in getting my cart righted, my oxen disentangled, and again yoked to the cart. I now proceeded with my team to the place where I had, the day before, been chopping wood, and loaded my cart pretty heavily, thinking in this way to tame my oxen. I then proceeded on my way home. I had now consumed one half of the day. I got out of the woods safely, and now felt out of danger. I stopped my oxen to open the woods gate; and just as I did so, before I could get hold of my ox-rope, the oxen again started, rushed through the gate, catching it between the wheel and the body of the cart, tearing it to pieces, and coming within a few inches of crushing me against the gate-post. Thus twice, in one short day, I escaped death by the merest chance. On my return, I told Mr. Covey what had happened, and how it happened. He ordered me to return to the woods again immediately. I did so, and he followed on after me. Just as I got into the woods, he came up and told me to stop my cart, and that he would teach me how to trifle away my time, and break gates. He then went to a large gum-tree, and with his axe cut three large switches, and, after trimming them up neatly with his pocket-knife, he ordered me to take off my clothes. I made him no answer, but stood with my clothes on. He repeated his order. I still made him no answer, nor did I move to strip myself. Upon this he rushed at me with the fierceness of a tiger, tore off my clothes, and lashed me till he had worn out his switches, cutting me so savagely as to leave the marks visible for a long time after. This whipping was the first of a number just like it, and for similar offences.
I lived with Mr. Covey one year. During the first six months, of that year, scarce a week passed without his whipping me. I was seldom free from a sore back. My awkwardness was almost always his excuse for whipping me. We were worked fully up to the point of endurance. Long before day we were up, our horses fed, and by the first approach of day we were off to the field with our hoes and ploughing teams. Mr. Covey gave us enough to eat, but scarce time to eat it. We were often less than five minutes taking our meals. We were often in the field from the first approach of day till its last lingering ray had left us; and at saving-fodder time, midnight often caught us in the field binding blades. . . .
Mr. Covey’s forte consisted in his power to deceive. His life was devoted to planning and perpetrating the grossest deceptions. Every thing he possessed in the shape of learning or religion, he made conform to his disposition to deceive. He seemed to think himself equal to deceiving the Almighty. He would make a short prayer in the morning, and a long prayer at night; and, strange as it may seem, few men would at times appear more devotional than he. The exercises of his family devotions were always commenced with singing; and, as he was a very poor singer himself, the duty of raising the hymn generally came upon me. He would read his hymn, and nod at me to commence. I would at times do so; at others, I would not. My non-compliance would almost always produce much confusion. To show himself independent of me, he would start and stagger through with his hymn in the most discordant manner. In this state of mind, he prayed with more than ordinary spirit. Poor man I such was his disposition, and success at deceiving, I do verily believe that he sometimes deceived himself into the solemn belief, that he was a sincere worshipper of the most high God . . .
If at any one time of my life more than another, I was made to drink the bitterest dregs of slavery, that time was during the first six months of my stay with Mr. Covey. We were worked in all weathers. It was never too hot or too cold; it could never rain, blow, hail, or snow, too hard for us to work in the field. Work, work, work, was scarcely more the order of the day than of the night. The longest days were too short for him, and the shortest nights too long for him. I was somewhat unmanageable when I first went there, but a few months of this discipline tamed me. Mr. Covey succeeded in breaking me. I was broken in body, soul, and spirit. My natural elasticity was crushed, my intellect languished, the disposition to read departed, the cheerful spark that lingered about my eye died; the dark night of slavery closed in upon me; and behold a man transformed into a brute!
(Boston, 1845), 57–63 passim.
Why don't you quote the rest of what Frederick Douglass has to say on racism and slavery? He comes to far different conclusions than you do.You're a real piece of work.
Appreciation for this?
Life With a Slave-Breaker (1833)
BY FREDERICK DOUGLASS (1845)
MASTER THOMAS at length said he would stand it no longer. I had lived with him nine months, during which time he had given me a number of severe whippings, all to no good purpose. He resolved to put me out, as he said, to be broken; and, for this purpose, he let me for one year to a man named Edward Covey. Mr. Covey was a poor man, a farm-renter. He rented the place upon which he lived, as also the hands with which he tilled it. Mr. Covey had acquired a very high reputation for breaking young slaves, and this reputation was of immense value to him. It enabled him to get his farm tilled with much less expense to himself than he could have had it done without such a reputation. Some slaveholders thought it not much loss to allow Mr. Covey to have their slaves one year, for the sake of the training to which they were subjected, without any other compensation. He could hire young help with great ease, in consequence of this reputation. Added to the natural good qualities of Mr. Covey, he was a professor of religion—a pious soul a member and a class-leader in the Methodist church. All of this added weight to his reputation as a "[redacted]-breaker." I was aware of all the facts, having been made acquainted with them by a young man who had lived there. I nevertheless made the change gladly; for I was sure of getting enough to eat, which is not the smallest consideration to a hungry man.
I left Master Thomas’s house, and went to live with Mr. Covey, on the 1st of January, 1833. I was now, for the first time in my life, a field hand. In my new employment, I found myself even more awkward than a country boy appeared to be in a large city. I had been at my new home but one week before Mr. Covey gave me a very severe whipping, cutting my back, causing the blood to run, and raising ridges on my flesh as large as my little finger. The details of this affair are as follows: Mr. Covey sent me, very early in the morning of one of our coldest days in the month of January, to the woods, to get a load of wood. He gave me a team of unbroken oxen. He told me which was the in-hand ox, and which the off-hand one. He then tied the end of a large rope around the horns of the in-hand ox, and gave me the other end of it, and told me, if the oxen started to run, that I must hold on upon the rope. I had never driven oxen before, and of course I was very awkward. I, however, succeeded in getting to the edge of the woods with little difficulty; but I had got a very few rods into the woods, when the oxen took fright, and started full tilt, carrying the cart against trees, and over stumps, in the most frightful manner. I expected every moment that my brains would be dashed out against the trees. After running thus for a considerable distance, they finally upset the cart, dashing it with great force against a tree, and threw themselves into a dense thicket. How I escaped death, I do not know.
There I was, entirely alone, in a thick wood, in a place new to me. My cart was upset and shattered, my oxen were entangled among the young trees, and there was none to help me. After a long spell of effort, I succeeded in getting my cart righted, my oxen disentangled, and again yoked to the cart. I now proceeded with my team to the place where I had, the day before, been chopping wood, and loaded my cart pretty heavily, thinking in this way to tame my oxen. I then proceeded on my way home. I had now consumed one half of the day. I got out of the woods safely, and now felt out of danger. I stopped my oxen to open the woods gate; and just as I did so, before I could get hold of my ox-rope, the oxen again started, rushed through the gate, catching it between the wheel and the body of the cart, tearing it to pieces, and coming within a few inches of crushing me against the gate-post. Thus twice, in one short day, I escaped death by the merest chance. On my return, I told Mr. Covey what had happened, and how it happened. He ordered me to return to the woods again immediately. I did so, and he followed on after me. Just as I got into the woods, he came up and told me to stop my cart, and that he would teach me how to trifle away my time, and break gates. He then went to a large gum-tree, and with his axe cut three large switches, and, after trimming them up neatly with his pocket-knife, he ordered me to take off my clothes. I made him no answer, but stood with my clothes on. He repeated his order. I still made him no answer, nor did I move to strip myself. Upon this he rushed at me with the fierceness of a tiger, tore off my clothes, and lashed me till he had worn out his switches, cutting me so savagely as to leave the marks visible for a long time after. This whipping was the first of a number just like it, and for similar offences.
I lived with Mr. Covey one year. During the first six months, of that year, scarce a week passed without his whipping me. I was seldom free from a sore back. My awkwardness was almost always his excuse for whipping me. We were worked fully up to the point of endurance. Long before day we were up, our horses fed, and by the first approach of day we were off to the field with our hoes and ploughing teams. Mr. Covey gave us enough to eat, but scarce time to eat it. We were often less than five minutes taking our meals. We were often in the field from the first approach of day till its last lingering ray had left us; and at saving-fodder time, midnight often caught us in the field binding blades. . . .
Mr. Covey’s forte consisted in his power to deceive. His life was devoted to planning and perpetrating the grossest deceptions. Every thing he possessed in the shape of learning or religion, he made conform to his disposition to deceive. He seemed to think himself equal to deceiving the Almighty. He would make a short prayer in the morning, and a long prayer at night; and, strange as it may seem, few men would at times appear more devotional than he. The exercises of his family devotions were always commenced with singing; and, as he was a very poor singer himself, the duty of raising the hymn generally came upon me. He would read his hymn, and nod at me to commence. I would at times do so; at others, I would not. My non-compliance would almost always produce much confusion. To show himself independent of me, he would start and stagger through with his hymn in the most discordant manner. In this state of mind, he prayed with more than ordinary spirit. Poor man I such was his disposition, and success at deceiving, I do verily believe that he sometimes deceived himself into the solemn belief, that he was a sincere worshipper of the most high God . . .
If at any one time of my life more than another, I was made to drink the bitterest dregs of slavery, that time was during the first six months of my stay with Mr. Covey. We were worked in all weathers. It was never too hot or too cold; it could never rain, blow, hail, or snow, too hard for us to work in the field. Work, work, work, was scarcely more the order of the day than of the night. The longest days were too short for him, and the shortest nights too long for him. I was somewhat unmanageable when I first went there, but a few months of this discipline tamed me. Mr. Covey succeeded in breaking me. I was broken in body, soul, and spirit. My natural elasticity was crushed, my intellect languished, the disposition to read departed, the cheerful spark that lingered about my eye died; the dark night of slavery closed in upon me; and behold a man transformed into a brute!
(Boston, 1845), 57–63 passim.
annabenedetti
like marbles on glass
Why do you have a problem with what I quoted? Does it make you uncomfortable?
ok doser
lifeguard at the cement pond
At the same time that Barack Obama's ancestors were operating as slave owners, at the same time that Kamala Harris's ancestors were operating as slave owners, my ancestors were welcoming Frederick Douglass to upstate New York and helping him set up to publish the North Star.
I'm a white Christian conservative. Show where I have ever said a positive word about the things you've listed that were done to the American Indians? When I've said something about them it's been a negative comment. I actually have a few heroes among American Indian leaders: Chief Joseph, Mangas Coloradus, Tecumseh, Looking Glass, Captain Jack, Cochise and a few more. These were truly remarkable men.
The 3/5 person thing was done to limit the political power of slaveholders. The slaveholders logic was that blacks were animals. So the non-slaveholders said, OK. If you want to count animals as voters we will count all of our draft animals as voters too. As the north had far more draft animals than the south had slaves the slave owners objected to that too. So, as the slave owners never allowed their slaves to vote as they were too afraid of the power voting gave them, the north limited the voting power of the slave owners by limiting them to 3/5 of a vote per slave. It limited slaveholder's political power and forced an unwilling admission from them that blacks were people. The assertion that this compromise is anti-black is pure fallacy. It was purely anti-slavery. It was about limiting the political power of slavery. But then with your ideology, anna, I don't expect you to be truthful.
You know who did all the internment camps, anti-chinese legislation, anti-japanese legislation, the separate-but-equal, lynchings, etc...? It was your political buddies the Democrats. They were both the slave owners and the racists.
And also show where I have ever said anything about you that was based on race. I differ with you on a lot of things. I've criticized your logic, your thinking, the ideology you have swallowed whole, etc.... But I've never attributed any of our differences to the colors of our skins. I've never race an issue.
Because you've taken it out of the entire context of his life. You've made his relationship to a single slave owner, known to be a vicious man even among his fellow slave owners, sound like it was the norm for all US citizens.
I've read almost everything that still exists of Frederick Douglass' writings. He's another one of my heroes. I look up to that man. I hate to see his writings twisted into what they do not say. Shame on you for your duplicity and deceit.
Yeah. There were a lot of whites that helped Douglass get his life established. He acknowledges this in his writings. Anna's picture of a slave who had been whipped was not of Frederic Douglass. He refused to have pictures made of his scars because he knew what an emotional hot button they were. He had far more integrity than that. Unfortunately people like anna do not have his integrity.
annabenedetti
like marbles on glass
Why are you diminishing his experiences?
And no one brought up "all US citizens" except for you.
Shame on you for for your lies. I didn't twist his writings, I quoted them exactly, without interpretation.
Apparently I quoted a part that's struck a nerve.
I am not diminishing anything Frederick Douglass went through. I simply stated the truth of the example you used. You know you left out a bunch of that story.
I didn't lie about anything. You quoted an excerpt of Douglass' writings. Not the whole of Douglass' writings, and not the whole of what he has to say about that Maryland slaveowner. As usual for you, you use dishonest editing to say what you want to say. Shame on you, anna.
Yeah, you struck a nerve. A nerve that always gets irritated at dishonesty.
annabenedetti
like marbles on glass
No. This isn't about you, or what you know, or what you've read.
Oh, please.
You've insulted me and lied about me on just about everything else except race.You can keep your damning with faint praise, it rings so, so hollow.
annabenedetti
like marbles on glass
Ridiculous. You lied when you said I twisted his writings. For once, why don't you own up to something?
I don't have to post "the whole" of his writings, that's just a lame dodge on your part.
Shame on you, ffreeloader. Such dishonesty.
Where have I ever given you any praise? I don't know that I ever have praised you for anything. I've just not made race an issue. Unlike you. You're the one that always makes race an issue.No. This isn't about you, or what you know, or what you've read.
Oh, please.
You can keep your damning with faint praise, it rings so, so hollow.
Here's a bunch you left out of what Frederick Douglass had to say about that slave owner.
The follow quote comes near the end of the story in which, Covey, the brutal slave owner, and Douglass fought for an entire day and Douglass had backed Covey down and made him afraid of Douglass.
So, this Covey jerk was a typical coward. And, all slave owners were nothing like him. He was afraid to beat borrowed slaves.
As you can see Douglass eventually beat his own cowardly master until the man was afraid to touch him. See how much anna leaves out of the story? She leaves out that the episode, of which she tells a part of the story, is a coward and a bully known for his ferocity and cruelty even among fellow slave owners. A coward and bully, not a man.
annabenedetti
like marbles on glass
Never mind. You missed the point and I'm not gonna explain it to you.
You're the one with a fondness for always and never.
I gave an excerpt and a link, all that was necessary.
How odd that you'd lie about me twisting his writings, apparently because you wanted to control what I excerpted.
You have done it to yourself again. I have a large library which includes Frederick Douglass' life story.
annabenedetti
like marbles on glass
Well, if you ever give up your ideology, one day you'll be able to deal with reality. Until that day, not so much.