What is Michelle to us, or we to Michelle, that we should give a hang about her?

(Note: See, below, the announcement that White Guilt is dead.)

A reader writes from Britain:

I was just listening to 1960s Dylan on random play when this verse, from “Positively Fourth Street,” popped into my consciousness:

And though I know you’re dissatisfied
With your position and your place
Don’t you understand
It’s not my problem?

An image of Michelle Obama came immediately and irresistibly to mind.

LA replies:

Yes, she is dissatisfied, and yes, her dissatisfaction is not our problem, or at least it should not be our problem. And as far as I’m concerned all of the the hyped-up dissatisfaction of all of black America is not and should not be our problem. But if her husband gets elected president, her dissatisfaction—and everything else about him and her and them—will be our problem.

Also, the rest of the song (here on youtube), which is about a treacherous friend, does not quite fit Michelle, as she has never pretended to be a friend but is an open, life-long enemy.

Bill Carpenter writes:

Re your comments that the hyped up dissatisfaction of blacks should not be our problem. You could paraphrase the parable of the madman and the death of God in Nietzsche’s The Gay Science: “Hasn’t anyone told them that White Guilt is dead? O, who could erase that sun from our sky? etc.”

LA replies:

Neat idea. Like taking one of Dylan’s liberal lyrics, e.g., “When the Ship Comes In,” and turning it into an anthem for conservatives:

And they’ll raise their hands
Saying, “We’ll meet all your demands,”
But we’ll shout from the bow,
“Your days are numbered.”
And like Pharoah’s tribe
They’ll be drowneded in the tide
And like Goliath’s
They’ll be conquered.

LA continues:

Ok, here goes. This is the Parable of the Madman, adapted from Nietzsche’s The Gay Science:

THE MADMAN——Have you not heard of that madman who lit a lantern in the bright morning hours, ran to the market place, and cried incessantly: “I seek White Guilt! I seek White Guilt!” As many of those who did not believe in White Guilt were standing around just then, he provoked much laughter. Has it got lost? asked one. Did it lose its way like a child? asked another. Or is it hiding? Is it afraid of us? Has it gone on a voyage? emigrated?. Thus they yelled and laughed.

The madman jumped into their midst and pierced them with his eyes. “Whither is White Guilt?” he cried; “I will tell you. We have killed it—you and I. All of us are its murderers. But how did we do this? How could we drink up the sea? Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the entire horizon? What were we doing when we unchained this earth from its sun? Whither is it moving now? Whither are we moving? Away from all suns? Are we not plunging continually? Backward, sideward, forward, in all directions? Is there still any up or down? Are we not straying, as through an infinite nothing? Do we not feel the breath of empty space? Has it not become colder? Is not night continually closing in on us? Do we not need to light lanterns in the morning? Do we hear nothing as yet of the noise of the gravediggers who are burying White Guilt? Do we smell nothing as yet of the divine decomposition? Ideas, too, decompose. White Guilt is dead. White Guilt remains dead. And we have killed it.”

Here the madman fell silent and looked again at his listeners; and they, too, were silent and stared at him in astonishment. At last he threw his lantern on the ground, and it broke into pieces and went out. “I have come too early,” he said then; “my time is not yet. This tremendous event is still on its way, still wandering; it has not yet reached the ears of men. Lightning and thunder require time; the light of the stars requires time; deeds, though done, still require time to be seen and heard. This deed is still more distant from them than most distant stars—and yet they have done it themselves.”

It has been related further that over the following days the madman forced his way into several universities and there struck up his requiem for White Guilt. Led out and called to account, he is said always to have replied nothing but: “What after all are these universities now if they are not the tombs and sepulchers of White Guilt?”

(Sect. 125, Walter Kaufmann trans.)

Posted by Lawrence Auster at May 19, 2008 11:32 AM | Send