The White House - This Racist Name Must Be Changed! The Racial Evangelism Of LaShonda Ellis

LaShonda Ellis was the leader of Black Women For Racial Justice, a group organized around the principle of eliminating any and all traces of white supremacy from America.  Many streets in her native Northern Virginia had been changed, and her greatest success was the renaming of both Lee and Jefferson Davis Highways, major thoroughfares in one of America's wealthiest counties.

Since Virginia had been the heart of the Confederacy, the task had not been an easy one.  Robert E. Lee was its most prominent general, and Jefferson Davis its Father. No matter how much white, unreconstructed crackers hammered on about the integrity of history, learning from the past, and the complex legacy of a state which produced Washington, Jefferson, and Madison, LaShonda and her crewe of radical reformers were undaunted.  

The South, region of racial hatred and segregationist brutality, would have to be removed from history, expunged, deleted.  Only complete erasure would clean the slate.  No longer should little black children have to be reminded of their ancestors' oppressors and their bullying, ax-handle wielding, attack dog hatred. No longer should the descendants of these white, backwoods coon dogs be recognized.  Her battle against the Old South was a scorched earth campaign against white America. 

'Obama? Fuck him', she said. 'He was a white boy in black skin, an Uncle Tom, more like his lily hippy mother than his African father, put into office as a political sop to black people and Jews'.  This said when she launched into her 'White' House tirades.  

The fact that a faux black man, a pseudo-brother had been President did nothing to dim her crusading vision.  The name of the White House should be changed now and forever.  'White' house had been the perfect name for white, slaver-mentality, political grandees ever since Washington and Jefferson, plantation-owning rapists and fools. 

By this time she was seething with hatred and feeling invincible thanks to the complaisance of white liberals who had agreed with her.  These black wannabes, these white trash pricks who think they know something about the black experience, will get what's coming to them, she said. They will be dumpster fill, racial detritus, worth nothing, ground up with diapers and chicken wings and used for landfill.

She became unhinged, the Mad Woman of Chaillot, Queen of the Asylum, a ranting Old Testament prophet, an avenging angel, a crazy, demented wild thing. 

Her supporters, even the near-hysteric, wild wolverines of Black Lives Matter paused at her increasingly deranged attacks. While they supported her principles, this maniac was stealing headlines from them, the legitimate black insurrectionists of America, the group that stood for racial retribution, vindication, and restoration.

Even those teddy boy hooligans from England had got it right:

I wanna see it painted
Painted black
Black as night
Black as coal
I wanna see the sun
Blotted out from the sky
I wanna see it painted, painted, painted
Painted black, yeah

'Paint the fucker black', LaShonda shouted to her supporters gathered on Farragut Square opposite the White House, turned from the crowed to the white shibboleth across the street, and spat and snorted and sneered and raised her fist in anger and protest.  'Black now, black tomorrow, and black forever', she shouted in a deliberate reprise of George Wallace's segregation forever speech before the doors of the University of Alabama. 

 

'Black is good, white is bad' sang the crowd in unison, their dimwitted, unconscious reprise of Orwell's 'four legs good, two legs bad' revolutionary chant.  

'What's it all about?', the President asked his Senior DEI Advisor. 'They're mad about something'; and she tried to explain the group's grievances and agenda.  'Paint the White House black?', the President said completely nonplussed. 

On second thought, maybe these black people had a point, Why stop at renaming a few schools, streets, and military posts? Why not go after The Big Kahuna? It certainly would send a message to good, otherwise thoughtful white Americans.  Of course it could never happen.  The Constitution forbade it.  Or did it? Something about the three-fifths rule, Negro partial suffrage, but whites had always been in rightful control, as it should be. 

Here the President shook his head in disbelief that such apostatic thoughts could have popped into his head. There was no such thing as rightful white anything, and this LaShonda woman was bloody right! I must ask her to come in and have a chat, he thought. 

Meanwhile The Scourge Of The Beltway, as LaShonda Ellis had been dubbed, continued her slash-and-burn campaign to rename every street, byway, school, public building, and golf course.  The list of prominent black men and women was sparse, and all schools could not be named Malcolm X or Elijah Mohammed, so she resorted to African kings like Mansa Musa and Shaka Zulu until a lieutenant in her legions reminded her of the slave trade that went on universally in African kingdoms. 'Can't have that', said LaShonda and gave Huey Newton and H. Rap Brown to James Madison and Thomas Jefferson High Schools.

 

'Black thugs', said one conservative member of the school board who had done his homework.  'Jailbirds, traitors'; but LaShonda was not easily cowed and said while they had suffered at the hands of the white man, they were her people's heroes and giving the schools their names would restore them to their proper place in the American pantheon. 

These were all brushfires, LaShonda opined, skirmishes that distracted her and her movement from the real prize, the White House; and while she was at it, the Capitol, built with slave labor to house a cabal of redneck white boys, the C&O Canal, also built by enslaved men and used as a commercial trading route to build white supremacy. There was no end to it. 

It was only when LaShonda had become a whirling dervish, a St. Vitus' dancer, a totally unhinged prophetic lunatic that her seconds yanked her from the stage, muzzled her, and kept her out of sight.  She was so far gone that she didn't realize she had been removed, and only thought that the nice frilly, lace-curtained and macrame bedroom where she was interned was a reward for her efforts. 

Her successor was not quite as loose-marbled, and had none of LaShonda's maniacal passion, so the whole White House thang was forgotten, an alliance with Black Lives Matter and access to their sumptuous resources negotiated, and all was back to normal in racial radicalism.  Predictable howls, taunts, and demands, but nothing as loony as a black White House.