When DEI Gets Nasty - A White Feminist Gets Left On The Curb By Her Uppity Black Sisters

Karen Musgrove had been a profound liberal since she could remember.  Child of privilege but of modest intellectual furnishings, she found herself rejected at the nations' top universities, but accepted at the best of the second tier.  Vassar it wasn't, but according to The National Academic Review, it was 'a worthy competitor to the Seven Sisters'. 

 

At first she languished in the Midwest - the cornfields and prairies were far from her Philadelphia Main Line home - but soon found her place among the radical feminist cadres for which the college was increasingly famous.  Lavinia Hurd, perhaps the most recognizable of the leftist firebrands whose insistent demands gave them unusual influence in faculty hiring and admissions policy, had published widely.  Her Cunts On Top - The Rise Of Bitches In A Cock's World, published first in a San Francisco underground journal, then cleaned up and edited by The Atlantic and circulated widely - gave her national credibility and academic cachet. 

When Karen met Lavinia, it was an automatic guru-chela bonded relationship.  Karen would do anything for her mentor, and for her first year she was the woman's sycophant, acolyte, and gofer.  Thanks to Lavinia Karen also was also published although still in undergraduate journals, but by the end of her senior year, she was accepted by The University of Chicago School of Communications, and began her academic career.  

The School of Communications was as radical as that of Karen's alma mater, but had more salience and political influence because of the reputation of the university of which it was a part. Academicians in lesser schools paid attention to what came out of Chicago, and the uniquely radical feminist creed which had originated there spread quickly and universally. 

The problem with the School of Communication (SOC, pronounced 'suck') was that it was still white - far too white said the dean and far too Jewish, so it was time for the talent search to expand to the ghetto.  DEI was still legal and current - the Supreme Court had not yet ruled against Harvard - so beefing up the faculty with black sisters was no problem. 

The problem was the PhD. While some black women had managed advanced degrees in education and social work, there were few in the higher orders of academia; so when Chicago found LaShonda Washington who had been a star at Duke's School of Cross Cultural Studies and an intimidating presence, they opened the doors to the treasury and made her a generous offer. 

Now, LaShonda had no intellectual weight whatsoever, and she was one of the reasons that the Supreme Court had finally slammed the hammer down on Harvard.  Enough recruitment on the basis of race, gender, and ethnicity and a return to excellence, justices noted in the majority opinion; but LaShonda had been appointed and secured before the SCOTUS judgment, so she was a protected species.  A nasty bitch of a woman who had laid waste to her former colleagues at Duke, the university had been glad to get rid of her; but of course said nothing about her vileness to prospective employers. 

The worst part of it was, she was no feminist, only appeared to be that way because of her arrogance, stupendous posture of black entitlement, and take-no-prisoners ambition.  While her Chicago colleagues were squirreled away in their carrels writing screeds about 'the neo-socialist rise of the committed woman' and penning 'Buggery - Sex, Plunder, and Womanhood', LaShonda simply shot her mouth off at one conference after another about black women.  

'Booty is power', she shouted to a crowd of white women at Grinnell, 'so shake that thang, shop some poontang, and get yo'self done, I mean done, honey' but all that did was to make the slim-hipped, booty-less women in the audience feel bad about themselves. They could never be black and be ho's and bitches like LaShonda. 

 

Karen was not unlike these Grinnell women - she was not only a feminist but a black wannabee, and did everything in her power to be as black as possible without being a poseur or appropriator.  So when LaShonda brought in her crew of black women from Anacostia, the inner city Washington ghetto where she grew up, Karen was initially proud and happy.  The more color the better, and the university would have to endow the SOC with significantly more funds. 

The black women came on board, but the university was stingy with its finances. 'You'll just have to make do', the Purser said, which of course meant making room.  Someone would have to go. 

Much to everyone in the department's surprise, the next six months was a time of unexpected racial enmity.  All the white women there were hard and fast progressives for whom the jewel in the crown was race.  There were no social issues facing the nation to compare with white supremacy, oppression, and the persistent legacy of Jim Crow, and each faculty member, although hired to promote the cause of femaleness and gender supremacy, could not forget the forever lurking problem of systemic racism. 

So when these new black women, scarcely credentialed and as nastily uppity as LaShonda, started their concerted campaign of intimidation, threat, and retribution, their white colleagues were taken aback.  Black people were not supposed to act this way.  They were after all, children of the forest, endowed with native sensitivity to community, environment, and righteous behavior who would soon once again sit atop the human pyramid. 

Yet the black women were offensive, bullying, dismissive, and insufferable.  'Get yo' lily white ass out my way, cunt' said one to Karen as she moved in uninvited to Karen's office.  At first the old nostrums ruled - this was a person of dignity who had suffered at the hands of the white grandee and deserved every grace period, every consolation, every consideration possible - but then the bile rose and Karen was miffed, offended, and angry.  This wasn't just a case of one bitch, but the existential suggestion that there were more of them out there; and then what was she to do?  Black people were not supposed to behave like this. The blush was off the bloom of the rose.

Yet the soul sisters were behaving like this, and one by one offices of Karen's white colleagues were occupied by the black women, and before long the whole department, the whole School of Communications had become a ghetto no different from any one of the slums east of the Anacostia River in DC.  At least for now there were no men, no pimps to speak of, but before the decks were swept clean and the place was a black redoubt, gold chains and steel grills started showing up, and dudes smoking Havanas. 

Karen had been sandbagged by this turn of events, but found she had been caught up in a DEI jamboree. Chicago and Duke were not the only places occupied by black ghetto sisters.  The onslaught had been universal.  The sequelae were worse than the assault.  Schools of Communication, never the brightest stars in the academic firmament but wildly popular, were losing their funding; and the principal locus for feminist studies was becoming a goner. 

There are few places for a minor academic to go these days, so it was Walmart cashier or the poor house until she could figure out what's what.  A PhDs had to be worth something generically, and some fungibility was built in, but still, it was an uncomfortable period for Karen. 

She did find a part-time adjunct position at a small Idaho college teaching English as a second language, but after that neither hide nor hair of her could be traced. 

The moral of the story? None to speak of in postmodern America.  Morality is a white thing, a colonial, racist thing, a thin-lipped thing.  Bitches rule, cunt heaven is upon us, so get out the way and move on.