John Derbyshire writes:
What nonsense! Even in slave times, a white man who killed a black slave in the South could expect some measure of justice. “Ten-year sentences were common, and occasionally the death penalty was invoked,” says Eugene Genovese in Roll, Jordan, Roll. Were matters actually worse in 1926? Could the producers of The Butler not afford a historical consultant—not even one who was, like Genovese when he wrote that book, a Marxist?
Well, well, I guess all is permitted in the promotion of black grievance culture. Stick around: Another movie or two, and we shall see the white folks at dinner served up with a black baby that is roasted, basted, and stuffed.
The Butler goes downhill from there. (…)
Watching it and reading what Ms. Winfrey has said about it, you realize how deeply and narcissistically absorbed American blacks are in this romance—the romance of American blackness. Nothing else really exists for them.
