Ch. 20: My Relationship with Facebook is…Complicated

How a House Negro and a Dufus Asshole on Facebook helped me find the secret of life

It was August 3, 2018. The day of my 16th wedding anniversary and two days before my own daughter’s wedding. My wife, daughter, and mother-in-law were all out shopping and celebrating the pending nuptials of my daughter. For a whole host of very complicated reasons that go beyond the scope of this book, I was spending it at home alone.

So, here I was. Frustrated. A little salty. And missing my wife. Then I see a BlazeTV video by African American talk-piece for the Republican Party, Daneen Borelli. Borelli was a Fox News political columnist and author of Blacklash: How Obama and the Left are Driving Americans to the Government Plantation. She was laying into LeBron James for his statements against Donald Trump.

I fucking lost it, and I called her something I have never, ever called another black person in my entire life. Here’s what I wrote on Facebook that fateful day.

MODERN DAY HOUSE NEGRO

Straight up, African-Americans like Deneen who so publicly support #45 and denounce those making a stand to raise awareness of social injustice are examples of modern-day house negroes! There I said it. They put the “Uncle” in Uncle Tom. She (and those like her) are to African-Americans what tax collectors were to the Jews.

And let me be clear. I am NOT talking about African-Americans with conservative values. Having conservative values is not mutually exclusive to recognizing social injustice and making a stand against it.

At the end of her total sell-out tirade on her now-canceled “Here’s the Deal” segment on BlazeTV, she says:

“…only in America can a person earn nearly 1/2 billion dollars and criticize the president, and that freedom of speech is something he should respect.”

I finished my tirade as thus:

WHAT THE HELL LADY! That’s what this is all about. In the same video, you criticized Kaepernick and the other NFL players for exercising THEIR freedom of speech, and you ironically are attacking LeBron’s because he chooses to criticize the president?”

If you need a primer on what a “house negro” is, watch this:

I called Mrs. Borelli a house negro because here was a black man, LeBron James, using his wealth to uplift the black community by creating the I Promise School for At-Risk youth in Akron, OH. Did Mrs. Borelli make a point to talk about the benefits of education in at-risk communities? No. In acknowledging her political difference from LeBron did she at least also acknowledge that he was doing something that has always been a foundation of the black conservative movement—reinvesting in the black community to help its inhabitants rise above the crime, drugs, and violence that plague so many black communities. Nope.

What she did do in that video was spout off a deluge of anger, vindictiveness, and judgment on LeBron. Why? Was it because he committed some form of white-collar crime? Did he misuse the funds or cheat the school (like President Trump had been accused of doing which led to him paying millions in court-ordered damages). Did he commit some form of sexual harassment or assault against any of the women he worked with? (yet another set of accusations made against Trump, and even something he’s bragged about.) No. The terrible and awful deed LeBron James did was highly criticize President Trump. And that didn’t sit too well with Mrs. Borelli.

One of the tell-tell signs of a house negro back in the days of slavery was the speed and passion with which they would defend their white masters should a field negro get out of hand.

LeBron James = Field Negro

Daneen Borelli = House Negro

A turning point

I can easily say that this post was a turning point for me in my evolution as a black man recognizing, speaking out against, and fighting injustices in this country. I just couldn’t take listening to her ridiculous drivel.

In that same post, I then went on to write how Martin Luther King, Jr. was as hated by white people in his day as Colin Kaepernik is today. And it was this post that introduced me to that Dufus Asshole from Atlanta I referenced way back in Chapter 2. Allow me to share with you how we met. In response to my description of MLK, he wrote:

Dufus Asshole Simply not true, Ron. I grew up in Atlanta. I know about Dr. King. I remember him. I heard people speak of him as I grew up. He was a Christian minister and no one could ever accuse him of being disrespectful. Did he ever advocate disrespecting the Anthem? No. Yes, protesting the Anthem is a good tactic. It gets attention. So would throwing a handful of feces in the face of the Prez. Would you defend that? Lastly, I have to say, your comments about “holding onto privilege” — THAT is racism. White people shall not be allowed an opinion. Sad.

Me Dufus Asshole 1) It’s obviously apparent you know little about what was happening around the time King died. You remember him? Really? Dude, how old are you? What exactly do you remember? (For the record, he’s only a couple of years older than I am.)

2) Nowhere in the world did I say a white person can’t have an opinion. You are grasping for straws now.

3) I no longer have time to educate you. I appreciate the civil discussion, but this is going nowhere.

Go do some research on King. Read a book that really looks at his life. Or read any of the multitudes of articles about what this country thought of him at the time he was killed. Then, after doing that, I’m happy to have a discussion with you.

Oh, I probably should make it clear, Dufus Asshole is not his real name. I mean, you probably figured that out already, but just in case. (Trust me when I say this made-up name really suits him.) As I wrote back in Chapter 2:

The inane comments that vomited out of this dude’s psyche will forever go down in Facebook lore as some of the most incomprehensible, circular logic and tone-deaf drivel ever to come from the mind of a privileged white man in the south.

STOP. CUT. SLOW MY ROLL.

(cue audio sound of a record scratch)

I have a problem

I can’t keep telling you this story. Dufus Asshole doesn’t deserve the time or pages in my book, and frankly, my need to talk about it is part of my personal problem. I think I’m addicted to Facebook attention. There. I said it.

My name is Ron Dawson, and I’m a social media-holic.

I have spent an ungodly amount of time having vapid, futile, pointless, infuriating, indulgent, ridiculous, petty, pedantic, immature, obtuse, and soul-sucking debates on Facebook that would probably make Gandhi himself get up and say “RON! GET THE FUCK OFF OF FACEBOOK! JESUS MAN!”

I want you to picture it. That sweet, old, frail Indian man known for his quiet, even demure disposition, getting so fed up that he would actually say this to me. But that’s how bad it’s gotten.

There’s a part of me that thinks I’m making a difference. You know what I mean? I am by no means even close to an Instagram “influencer” with millions or even hundreds of thousands of followers. Between all my various social media channels, as of this writing, I have around 10,000 followers. It’s nothing to sneeze at, but let’s be honest. It’s not going to make a dent in changing the mind of the political zeitgeist.

So why. Why the bloody hell do I insist on continuing to use it to scream into the void of social media? Trump supporters aren’t going to change their minds. As I once wrote on Medium, debating with a Trump supporter is quite literally like debating a Flat Earther. No amount of video or audio you show them—one where any other sane human can see Trump is a narcissistic, racist, misogynistic, baby-man-child—will convince them he’s not the second coming of Jesus.

Likewise, those who are against him are already against him. I’m therefore preaching to the choir. Right?

So. Why? Why as of this writing have I continued? I have given it a lot of thought, and like most profound revelations in my life, the answer can be found in a movie.

One

I’m a huge fan of Billy Crystal. I can think of very few (if any) cinematic moves he’s made that I do not like. From Miracle Max in A Princess Bride (“Have fun stormin’ the castle!”); to Harry Burns in the paragon of all rom-coms, When Harry Met Sally (“Men and women can never be friends because the sex part always gets in the way.”); to his history-making stint as host of the Oscars throughout most of the 90s. B.C. is funny, charming, loveable, and his presence in a film increases its watchability exponentially.

One film that can easily be classified as a Crystal classic is the 1991 film City Slickers. In it, Crystal stars along with Daniel Stern and Bruno Kirby as three best buds who go to a cattle farm to re-find their manhood. Once there, they meet the chief cowboy, Curly, played to Oscar-winning perfection by Jack Palance.

Curly scares the shit out of them for most of the film. His rugged exterior, quiet demeanor, and give-zero-fucks attitude make him a formidable “opponent” to the pansy-like antics of Crystal and company.

In one of the most touching and poignant scenes in the film, Curly teaches Crystal’s character the secret of life. He holds up his index finger to indicate the number “one.” He tells Crystal that the secret to life is “One thing. You figure that out, and everything else don’t mean shit!”

The reason I continue to pontificate on social media, Medium, and in this book, screaming into the proverbial “void,” is One. “One thing.” Or in this case, one person. It’s that one person who reaches out to me every now and then in a private message to tell me “Thank you. Thank you, Ron, for sharing your stories and helping me better understand where you’re coming from and the issues that face black people.”

That one person who privately reaches out to me to say “Thank you for so eloquently expressing exactly what I’ve been feeling but unable to express myself.”

The one person who although disagrees with me, decides to engage with me civilly, privately, without thousands of potential commenters. And in that engagement, their hearts, minds, and sometimes even their “eyes” are opened.

For every 100 futile and frustrating comments, there’s one—one individual who I was able to reach through the noise. One individual who’s life was changed or whose heart was touched.

Perhaps that one person is reading these words right now. Perhaps that one person is YOU. And if it is, let me say, thank YOU. Thank you for reading. Thank you for opening your heart and mind. May you have the courage of your conviction to use whatever platform YOU have to do the same. Because at the end of the day, it’s usually one person who changes the world. And that’s enough for me to continue to fight the good fight. (Albeit, with far fewer futile debates with brainwashed automatons who’ve lost all ability to think for themselves. Their souls have been swallowed by “The Nothing” and there are no amount of Luck Dragons that can bring them back.)

…at the end of the day, it’s usually one person who changes the world.

Unfortunately, one black man’s “good fight,” is another white man’s burden. Apparently, raising issues of racial injustice is super-inconvenient for some wypipo.

Be sure to follow this publication to be notified when the next chapter goes online and gain insights into the book’s writing. Visit Dungeons-n-Durags.com to learn more about the book and ways in which you can get early access to future chapters, and some of the same insights.

Next chapter

Previous chapter