let’s indeed see what goes down

Not “famous people,” no.

Just belly-slithering frauds like yourself who merely (and perversely) aspire to some kind of useless and pathetic notoriety at the direct expense of a people whose struggle made your grubby-handed, bag grabbing existence here in America possible.

That’s what gets you picked.

And you can bet your bottom grant dollar that if and when I ever do decide to sit down at the desk with you on my mind, you won’t be ready for what follows.

But tell whoever told you I was coming for you that they got it twisted. Why would I need to come for you? There’s an entire movement going through you right now. Do you not see it? I can see it. I can see it when you panic tweet like this for an entire afternoon. And I know it’s just a matter of time before I’ll be watching you mourn your disgraced reputation in the movement’s wake, the sad and wretched and obscene little techno-grift that you tried to make for yourself.

The movement is already writing your ending, Mutale. I’m just here as a reader.


And each with their slingshot drawn took aim.

Check out the hero’s journey in the Twitter bio of Mary Drummer.

Are you impressed? You’re supposed to be.

Mary is impressed. She is stuffed with self-regard, and she literally cannot imagine you feeling anything but the same sense of marvel and reverence and admiration that she feels when she reflects on her being “Harvard published.”

It’s sort of like when a toddler grabs your hand and drags you off the couch toward the toilet. How they are almost horizontal to the floor and saying “C’mon! C’mon!”, so eager to show you the poopie they made. Pointing at it with sheer excitement and looking up at you, searching your face for evidence of amazement and approval.

But of course Mary is not a toddler. And so it seems that, in her third decade of life, the felt need to show off to people the poopie she made manifests as just sort of humblebragging in her Twitter bio and wearing cartoonish eyewear that is meant to pre-empt and neutralize anyone’s idea that she takes herself too seriously or that she might be the sort of person who desperately clings to status markers like Harvard University.

Except that that is exactly the sort of person that Mary Drummer is. She is aware enough to know the dictate of crafting an ironic detachment from her deep-seated feelings of superiority, but not quite aware enough to know how completely transparent that whole calculated affectation is to everyone who is not in the little club that she’s in.

Ah, but the beauty of being in that club is that you get to be made to feel that the truest, most indisputable thing in the world is that those people who are outside of it simply do not matter whatsoever. That what those outsiders believe and what they say— despite whatever evidence they may submit to support their criticisms—does not warrant a mote of your concern because, as a member of the club, you know you have the full backing of an institution that’ll do whatever it needs to do in order to keep up the absurd farce that what you’re a part of isn’t purely a vehicle for sponsored opinion.

Mary Drummer is among those who are first in line when the call goes out for beings who place affiliation before principle. That’s the only way to honestly characterize those who—as Drummer was— were involved with Disinformation creep, a journal article so breathtakingly stupid and wholly contra to reality that its publication should fill you with a kind of disgusted fascination before emptying you of all faith in academia. The existence of a journal like Misinformation Review (where Disinformation creep appears) ought to vanquish any suspicion that academia is not a site of graft and teeming corruption, and which is—beneath all the noble-sounding bullshit—simply a cesspit of strivers trying to realize their desire for social gain and popularity.

And when that reality is struggling to be brought up to the surface (as is now happening because of the #ADOS movement’s refusal to be lied on in front of the whole world without reprisal), being in the club means that Harvard Kennedy School’s Shorenstein Center is there like a mother’s soft hand on its researchers’ cheeks.

Yes, the affiliation with Harvard assures these people that there is no need to acknowledge, no need to engage, no need to worry; they can be very secure in the awareness that they will never need to consider the fundamental dishonesty of what they’ve just done. It wraps them in a warm blanket of certainty that Misinformation Review‘s circulation is for people who have absolutely zero interest in looking for the actual facts of what’s presented to them in its pages, they only want their assumptions parroted back to them, and so go ahead and say literally whatever the hell you want as long as it helps kill whatever glimmering possibility of repair is happening outside of the official channels of power. Make shit up, confident that you are backed by the highly-extolled institution of topsider-wearing liberals and classes that explore African female power through the lens of a Beyonce album. Throw literally fucking anything at the wall and do not give a second’s thought to what it might mean for your credibility; being in good with the propagana appendage of Harvard Kennedy School means never having to say “I’m sorry.”

For the past week now, a staggering number of tweets have demonstrated how, in so many ways, Disinformation creep directly contradicts the journal’s own professed ethic of truth-telling. We should be absolutely amazed that we are even having a discussion about a retraction of the article, one which is so thoroughly contaminated with lies. The fact that it has gotten to this point is evidence of the utter failure of academia to perform its most basic function, and the ongoing reticence of Harvard Kennedy School and those at the Shorenstein Center attests to just how immensely disdainful and actively hostile they are to Black Americans seeking to tell their story and properly inform the public.

Calling for the retraction of a journal article is not as sexy as marching on Washington. It is tempting to think that this particular journal article’s goofy bullshit—its total lack of integrity—will be its own undoing and that it will simply go away. It will not, because that is not how the world is made to work. The gravitas of Harvard—artificial and empty though it most certainly is—will override and eclipse everything. And I promise you that if Harvard cannot be compelled to issue a retraction on something as verifiably bereft of fact as this, then the reparations project beyond this moment faces unimaginably grim prospects. The implications of this thing could not be more significant, and the movement has put in way too much work, and is at way too pivotal a moment right now, to throttle down on full-throatedly demanding that Harvard retract.

Make no mistake: Harvard set out to destroy the #ADOS movement. Let’s keep calling. Let’s keep e-mailing. Let’s keep faxing. Let’s keep tweeting. Harvard’s path to victory is paved only with the dismissal of such work.


Forgive Us Your Sewage: Pan-Africanism’s Radical Program of Forgiveness for ADOS

Just a theory: the Pan-Africanists who hate #ADOS don’t hate #ADOS because of the latter people’s actual politics. Pan-Africanists hate #ADOS because the people who are involved in that movement are pointing out something that no one else will: that Pan-Africanism in 2021 feels like a response to a question that basically no one really even asks anymore. That for all of their grand pronouncements—the epic and almost mythic sense of their project’s historical certainty—it’s becoming harder and harder to ignore how Pan-Africanism today just sort of feels in a lot of ways like the soggy nub of a joint being passed around at a dwindling party.

Think about it. Does the strangely visceral opinion about #ADOS held and oft expressed by Pan-Africanists really spring from the former’s politics? Yeah? Really? Well, what is it about the #ADOS political agenda specifically that they so hate? Is it that they would like the U.S. government to continue holding onto the trillions of dollars that it owes these people? Is it that they approve of chemical plants and refineries and waste dumps being strewn throughout black American communities in such a way that basically ensures those residents—simply by going outside and inhaling oxygen—contract what are 100% lethal diseases?

Or is it more likely that these people feel somewhere deep down that ADOS are like some kind of apparently lower form of oppressed subjects? And that, as such, they simply aren’t entitled to (or even capable of?) determining their own fate. Is it that they feel ADOS are being insubordinate and unmanageable and refractory and childish? Is it that in their assertion of agency and in their unsparing critique of the international movement that has patently failed them ADOS are hurting the feelings of many people who are—let’s be honest—way too emotionally overinvested in what’s mostly become just a quaint area of scholarship in our universities’ Africana Studies departments?

Just a theory! But doesn’t that seem like maybe a more honest answer?

Maybe those Pan-Africanists just hate that #ADOS has been quite successful in its reparations advocacy despite the movement’s refusal to conform to Pan-Africanist orthodoxy. And maybe it’s that these Pan Africanists have a faint notion that wounded pride isn’t exactly a sophisticated reason to critique #ADOS, so they instead invent some bullshit political pretext about how #ADOS’s advocacy is ‘ahistorical’ or totally reactionary or that those in the movement are corrupted by a strain of American exceptionalism or whatever.

That, anyway, is the basic defensive crouch position from which Broderick Dunlap writes his recent article, “A Dose of Reality for the ADOS Movement”. Adhering tightly to what is now the standard formula for a Pan-Africanist-Critique-of-the-#ADOS-Movement think piece, Dunlap’s essay is deeply fucking boring, stiff, and backward-gazing. It is obsessed with identifying earlier modalities and pointing out the completely obvious fact that #ADOS’s approach does not correspond with them (which, given the failure of those forms of identity and resistance to offer a bulwark against something as basic as inadequate sewage treatment, let alone unify an entire continent, well, duh!). But mostly Dunlap’s essay just aims to persuade the reader that reparations isn’t about money; that the real and most vital question that black people in America need to consider (black people who are forced to live under regularly occurring boil water advisories, mind you!)—is: “what will it take for Black folks to forgive the United States?”

It is true that, in the #ADOS political literature, this inquiry into the capacity of black people to forgive their victimizer is never raised. It also seems true that it is difficult to imagine a less radical and more insulting position than that, but, anyway, I digress. Thirdly, the suggestion that the only thing that #ADOS is concerned about is a simple transaction of overdue funds—after which they just sort of dust off their hands and raise a glass to victory while beginning to contemplate their new investment portfolios—is totally absurd, very easily disproven, and yet another example of the strong tendency among Pan-Africanists to feel that it is their right to define the #ADOS movement however they like.

But if the demand for monetary compensation to be paid to their group is what makes #ADOS a supposedly purely avaricious movement—if that is why they must be vilified and opposed and viewed as a blasphemous and debauched form of a black liberation movement—then what is one to make of similar demands for material redress made throughout the diaspora directly to that nation’s former colonizer? Here’s one such example involving Barbados’s demand for the United Kingdom to pay it reparations. Or when Hilary Beckles, chairman of CARICOM’s reparations commission explains that the organization of Caribbean member states is “focusing [our reparations claim] on Britain because Britain…made the most money out of slavery and the slave trade – they got the lion’s share,” where is the prolonged outrage from the Pan-Africanists who would otherwise decry the omission of other diasporic groups from this one-nation-in-the-crosshairs look at who owes who what? Why don’t the people making the argument for those reparations get accused of merely wanting “crumbs” from the old imperialistic British pie or whatever? Again, we are asked to believe that the Pan-Africanist antipathy toward #ADOS is rooted in a fundamental political disagreement, or like some inviolable set of internationalistic beliefs. But when demands that are analogous to those of #ADOS receive effectively none of the hostility and outright disdain that the #ADOS’s demand for reparations appears to singularly attract from the rest of the diaspora, it sure becomes hard not to see a more cynical motivation at the core of the their ‘critique’ of the movement’s political aims.

Here’s what I think: I think that the refrain of reparations not being about money is a slogan that is 100% designed to sheepdog would-be serious reparations advocates into supporting business as usual forever here in America. I think once you say something like that you have been brought right into the Democratic Party’s orbit and the DNC will make short work of turning your little proclamation of righteousness and purity or whatever the fuck it is into a feel-good campaign of money-free ‘justice.’ I think the accusation that monetary reparations for ADOS are viewed by that group not as the seeds to self-determination but rather as the harvest itself is a lie concieved in malice and spite—that it is a mischaracterization that strives to bastardize a project that has only ever argued the need for a significant restructuring of the (highly group-specific!) maldistribution of wealth in America before their group could ever meaningfully participate in any kind of internationalism. But what I really can’t account for though is why ADOS saying that activates some serious lizard brain shit in a whole lot of people. Or why those people apparently feel the need to gussy up that brute emotional response in some bogus political principle that they can’t really criticize without hypocrisy: it is OK for CARICOM to explicitly exclude ADOS from their reparations claim against imperial powers (and merely refer them to another organization trying to make additional pecuniary arrangements for Caribbeans), but it is a cause for moral outrage when #ADOS tries to take their group’s case to the U.S. government? I don’t know. That sort of unevenness of application strikes me as people who are motivated way less by actual ideas and more by the people themselves who are doing what they’re doing. And what are ADOS even doing that’s so totally unconscionable anyway? Turning to one another and becoming passionately invested in their shared experience instead of performing a committment to something that is no longer really a relevant force in the world but which will get them meaningless approval by lots of strangers? Again, I don’t know. It just seems like a lot of the time that what governs opinion about #ADOS involves a lot more high school lunchroom behavior than what those people would like us to believe.


love in the time of covid, mockery in the time of the vaccine: our attitudes toward ADOS across the plague’s divide.

With the vaccine rollout gesturing at a kind of normalcy in America, Saturday Night Live evidently felt there was no time like the present to gauge how the old stereotypes of ADOS now fit onto their audience’s new (and presumably refined) sensibilities about race in America. After all, its primary audience was surely among those out marching in support of black lives over the past year. We had devoured White Fragility and spewed out its limp doctrine on Zoom meetings during smalltalk with co-workers. We’d performed the requisite self-flagellation online, confessing the discriminatory filth of our unconscious and our destructive complicity in making this place one-hundred percent inhospitable to black people. We’d scolded our relatives and distanced ourselves from degenerate friends who didn’t speak in tongues of wokeness. We’d decolonized our children’s dollhouses, arranging little POC and white figurines together in mise-en-scènes of anti-racism. We became—it would seem—new collective subjects who’d undergone a genuine conversion in our values, attitudes, and our felt sense of duty in helping bring the machineries of injustice set upon ADOS for centuries now to a grinding halt.

But if this development in the social sphere generated any anxiety within industries whose revenue streams have always depended on there being a healthy absence of pro-ADOS sentiment in the consumer market, then this past week’s SNL must surely have inspired a great sigh of relief. And maybe that was the point.

Because insofar as there is a spectrum of possibility for how we can interpret, identify, and encounter the ADOS experience, then one manufactured pole of that is as a dependable punchline. The other is as an actual plight that is deserving of every single ounce of our energies, nothing of ourselves withheld as allies in the struggle for justice for ADOS. I don’t need to tell you who is in charge of managing popular perception of the ADOS experience, nor are you probably unaware as to which of those two extremes these executive committees prefer to hew when packaging it for our consideration. But if there was a dim promise for the post-covid, post-George Floyd landscape of America, it was that white liberals were tacking hard in the opposite direction. It was as if maybe we really had plumbed the depths of our experience and arrived at a point of authentic understanding that would, if properly guided, admit no alternative but a complete giving over to the cause of repair for ADOS. At the very least it seemed that we had moved into a space where the old derogatory tropes about ADOS—that their poverty is voluntary, that their lives are just long stumbling negotiations in ignorance, that they choose to be victims—simply were not going to have any further traction, no further purchase among whites whose consciousness of systemic racism had been so dramatically intensified and deepened in the early spring of last year. Such ideas about ADOS belonged to a benighted past and it was our responsibility now to rail against any effort to rid us or rob us of our awareness of how profoundly and enduringly vulnerable their group has been made to be. Or so it seemed.


Given SNL‘s history as a venue for elite interests to announce whether it’s OK for white liberals to laugh in the aftermath of a reality-fragmenting event, it’s not surprising to see them trotting out anti-ADOS tropes as we haltingly piece society back together after the trauamtic interruption of the pandemic. No, no, not to worry now. SNL is here to inform us that the first order of business in a vaccinated America is an immediate revival of our quaint ridicule of the American Negro. In fact, post-pandemic America (SNL would like to suggest) provides us with a whole new environment into which we can now port our enduring national prejudices about them. Oh, those vaccine-averse blacks! Isn’t it just like them to knowingly avoid doing the Right Thing? Sigh.


Here’s something to consider: the teeming possibilities of the face(s) of vaccine skepticism in America. Fully 1/3rd of the U.S. military expressed an unwillingness to receive the vaccine. Large swaths of the nation’s rural area residents (31%) are on record saying they would rather wait and see what happens before they offer a bare arm at a vaccine site. You could do Trump voters (47%), or Republican men in general (57%). White evangelicals? Yup: 40%. Hell, 50% of construction workers in America are declining to take the vaccine. You could talk about the failure of TikTok to adequately gin up vaccine enthusiasm in the youth. We have a whole menu of reluctants from which to choose and what do we do? We instead rush to pour scorn on the exact group of people whom we have just spent the entire past year trying to impress other liberals with our newfound awareness about (and apparent empathy for) how that group’s experience in this country has essentially been a four-hundred-year unfolding catastrophe.

Obviously the grotesque racism on display in the skit was repulsive. But it’s the surge of repressed anti-ADOS sentiment in this particular moment, and its warm reception, that evokes a real horror. If you are the sort of person who can transition from insisting on systemic racism as that which shapes every aspect of ADOS’s lived experience, to then laughing along with a late-nite comedy skit’s idea of those same people as being deserving victims, then you are a monstrous semi-human whose innate viciousness is all the worse because you make such an obscene spectacle of pretending not to be the absolute lumbering contradiction that you are. It is all the worse because you affect such moral panic one minute, and disclose your obvious complicity in the whole thing the next. I know that it’s comforting for you to see what that SNL skit offered—confirmation that it’s still acceptable to view ADOS as that which fundamentally exists to inspire mirth (what else could really signal the resumption of normal affairs in America!)—but the realities that it tried to lampoon are (warning: obvious point ahead) far more complex.

Who cares though, right? Yeah, who fucking cares. Let’s just hector them into getting the vaccine. Let’s subject them to a barrage of abuse—give it a comic gloss—until they do the sane and reasonable thing and take the damn substance that they are so foolishly refusing. Nevermind that many are not in fact refusing, but rather are falling victim to the same merciless, brutal, and rotten system that has sorted out their non-access to just about everything in America since their ancestors’ time on the plantations. Nevermind that they are the same group that the U.S. government, a century and a half ago, earmarked for a reconstruction effort that never took place and instead simply left them to a world intended to collapse. A world that is not your world but is one I guess you think you can laugh at when you’re not busy stroking your chin and filling up reams of paper with your thoughts about how oppressive it is and about your privilege in relation to it. A world that for you and I is unfathomably distant, a thing about which neither you nor I have really even a fucking fraction of actual understanding. A world that is full of people who have been made to bear the traces of their ancestors’ material ruination and whom (despite that!) we apparently feel no real unease of conscience when it comes to caricaturing them in skits as people whose decision-making apparatus is irredemably and hopelessly broken; to paint them as people whose thought-capacity is so crude and primitive it’s a wonder that cranial slime doesn’t just leak out of their earholes all day; ludicrous beings whose stories in this moment must not be shown to resemble actual occurences like this one: “As the nurse swabbed his arm, [Richard Hopkins] began explaining how he’d been trying to find the shot for months. Selma, the nearest town of any size, had run out of doses. Birmingham was too far, and he did not have a smartphone or Internet connection to secure an online appointment, anyway. ‘Seems like they looked over me some kind of way,’ he said as the shot went in the arm of a man who had been in Selma for the famous civil rights marches of 1965, and then moved to New York City, and then returned home, where he did not want to die of covid-19.”

We are the hopelessly broken ones.


Let Us Now Praise ‘White Allies’

Is there is always some hideous aspect to white allyship? An appalling specular instinct? A need to experience ourselves as being seen through the eyes of others?

Sure isn’t a ton of evidence to the contrary. Consider the surging narcissism it takes to write those words: praised me.

Those words come from the ancient, fetid reservoir of attitudes and convictions somewhere deep inside the white ally. “White ally”. Seal it between scare quotes whenever referring to any one of us. Feel about us as you would an approaching flock of ragged vultures, flapping and colliding with one another in our rush to feed. Repeatedly inform us that our allyship is regarded as being one-hundred percent provisional and that we should probably go ahead and keep our coats on because there is every reason to believe that it is just a matter of time until one of us casually utters a phrase like “praised me” to—and about—black people.

Our fuck up quotient in this space is in a class all its own. It has been for centuries. And eventually, despite all the solemn avowals and heartfelt assurances of us being Not Like That, a bubble from the bed of the ancient swamp rises up and breaks on the surface like a sulfurous belch for everyone to see. I really just can’t get over all you blacks and how you used to praise me… It’s amazing how so very loved I once was by all of you.

What Gabriel so luridly demonstrates is that if you give us an inch we will make it our business to moralize about the movement and the psychologies of those in it. Let us perceive ourselves as having suffered the smallest of slights and we will declare the movement to have gone completely astray from the path of righteousness it once was on. We will whimper and agonize about how we were so badly abused and make pious attempts to steer the movement back onto its supposedly true course, which it seems is only ‘true’ insofar as it is fulfilling whatever wretched need(s) we may obscenely demand of it; only ‘true’ insofar as the likes and retweets and comments make us feel like we are the master-signifier; as long as they feed into the idea of ourselves as a fixed exemplar. If you let us carry on with that for too long, we will just create monsters.

And so may the banishment of whites who cannot slaughter their revolting need for adulation in the movement be swift, merciless and permanent. May we work to hasten their excommunication at the very first indication that they are here leeching online to ask ADOS for signs of their favor and not to ask them only how we fit into their political project. And may I—please God—be summarily purged if I ever begin interpreting myself as being ‘praised’ by the people in this space, people who deserve so much better than having a white person who is here because of some nameless, listless, attention-seeking boredom and who pats himself on the back for just doing the obviously right thing. Be sure of one thing about the person who talks like Gabriel: they are using this space to have you construct for them an idol of themselves, and that aim towers over any other goal.


Certificate of Adoption

To take over the leadership of ADOS? Lol…no.

No one has any interest in trying to prove that you were ever imagined—even by Darity—as capable of being installed as a leader of a justice movement. Trust me. Absolutely no one besides your little coterie of egocentric windbags considers you leadership material. After all, Nyhiem, one really has to wonder: how could you ever be expected to carry a whole movement when you can’t even lift a pen? 👇

Nearly a month later, and it’s all crickets and tumbleweed over there on your Medium page.

I told you: don’t. I told you to keep my name out of your mouth, but I see you just stay talking about me on Twitter. That’s OK. I get it. I get it, Lord Blah-Blah. You can’t help but just talk way too much. But all I hear when you run your mouth like that on Twitter is really just a plea for me to make you my son, so I want you to consider this article the official Certificate of Adoption.

I went to your Medium page and read your one essay. It reads like it was originally written in crayon.

And I’ll be honest, now that I’ve actually read your stuff, I shouldn’t have said I was a better writer than you. What I should have said was that a dog pissing on a fire hydrant is a better writer than you are.

You need to stick to transmitting your thoughts orally. At least your actual voice is dynamic enough to animate and quicken whatever stunted nonsense that tiny nub sitting inside your skull manages to squeeze out. Because on paper, without any such enhancer, your voice enters the reader’s head like water dripping from a rusted old tap. I had to read your article twice because the first time I tried to read it—instead of hearing the actual words on the page—I got about a sentence in and started hearing only an eerie, echoey fairground music inside my head. That’s how barren and dull and vastly empty your prose is, Nyhiem. Lethal with a pen my ass… Your pen is about as lethal as a Nerf dart. You’re not even worth me shifting into a higher gear.

You little movement hobo. That’s all you are. You and your whole politically-dyslexic clique. Loud vagrants. You saw the #ADOS train coming ‘round the bend and you hopped to it on the double, running alongside it, tossing your little satchels of toxicity and chauvinism into an open car and then yanked yourselves aboard. No one is saying Darity “created” you for leadership. Darity looked upon you and BTP for exactly what you are: a little hype squad for his book and his H.R. 40 commission ambitions.

Let me show you what you are to him. Consider it our first and final father-son talk.

Here’s Darity in June of last year doing what he does: heaping praise on people like Nikole Hannah-Jones who—for all intents and purposes—has written about reparations as though she’s reporting on an alternate universe where #ADOS simply doesn’t exist.

Here—a few days later in response to Nikole Hannah-Jones—is Yvette doing what she does: defending the presence and the work of the ADOS movement in bringing the country to this point.

As Darity himself later admitted, Yvette’s defense of the movement (here labeled as an “attack”) from someone who is openly dismissive and contemptuous of it is what led to him distancing himself from the movement’s leadership.

Do you think it’s a coincidence that the first time he *ever* starts tweeting about BTP is the day after Yvette made it clear she would never put kid gloves on when it came to defending the movement from Darity’s colleagues? Understand that you were picked by Darity to serve him in a way that Yvette and Antonio had always refused: promotionally.

You are being used. I know you don’t care that you’re being used. But I also know that—for all your alpha male this alpha male that talk—that’s a pretty beta position you so proudly inhabit. That’s what can be proven as it relates to BTP and Darity. He saw you as a submissive bunch who would not hesitate to devote their entire platform to advertising his work. He didn’t create BTP; he just made you into his free merchandisers.

You’ll probably be tempted to respond to this. You’ll probably feel like you need to respond to this. I wouldn’t. If I were you, I would honestly stop talking altogether. I’m not even saying that to be mean; I’m giving you advice. I’m saying that it’s literally in your best interest to just stop talking. You and Logic. Because—and I’ll leave you with this—there is a demonstrable negative correlation between the amount of times you open your cavernous mouth and the amount of people who, in turn, just tune you completely the fuck out. Just look at the phenomenon play out over the last month…

Keep up the great self-destructive work. Darity sure knows how to pick ‘em.



Nyhiem: don’t ever think you can pick up a pen and come into this space as equals with me. You can’t. Not ever. I will body you in every single sentence. I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that the reason you even thought you could pull up like that in the first place is because the compression shirts you are so fond of wearing are cutting off the blood supply to your brain.

Understand that this—the last piece, this piece—this is me writing in a very low gear. Do not make me shift out of first.

You and your little boy scout troop can take your casual, giggly relationship to wishing death upon people somewhere else. Go try and build your own national movement around that sort of rhetoric and behavior. Go try and build a national movement out of your absolutely blinkered and childlike understanding of how electoral politics in the U.S. works—a deficiency of thought that was on display for everyone during last year’s Tamara Johnson-Shealey campaign and subsequent defeat. Take whatever little adolescent traumas are fueling that boisterous machismo and strongman braggadocio and just go. Go be loud and fussy and preen online and stay consumed with your petty grievances. Do whatever. But keep everything of actual substance that was painstakingly developed by Yvette and Antonio long before you arrived here out of your mouth while you go off and fail spectacularly. Take your habitual movement vandalism elsewhere.

And for anyone who thinks that I—as a white person—am ‘out of pocket’ for addressing Nyhiem like this, the only pockets you should be concerned with are your own—the ones that will never see a single cent of reparations money go inside of them so long as Nyhiem and the rest of the self-styled ‘intellectual titans’ of BTP are allowed to take this movement and help run it aground on the barren shores of HR40 campaigns or tank it in some fatuous, imbecilic third party fantasy.

These people will tie bigotry in the public sphere and total failure in the political arena to the very heart of the movement’s identity. And white people—even those who are most sympathetic to the cause of your group’s repair—will write off Nyhiem and BTP and anything associated with them without a second’s hesitation, I promise you. Whatever value you think they might bring to this space will be forever siloed here, static and inert with all of its toxic hatred and infantile babble. It will steadily bleed out every drop of sacred possibility that now courses through this movement. Every last drop.

If your feathers are ruffled by me pointing out this obvious guarantee of what awaits these messengers in white America—how these four individuals will lead you down their road to failure—I don’t particularly care. My reasons for writing about the #ADOS movement are myriad, but being liked by anyone is decidedly not one of them. I am here because of the simple recognition that would compel any justice-hungry person to be here: the fact that four-hundred and two years is an unspeakable amount of time for a group of people to be forced to live inside an idea from another human’s mind—to live in someone else’s monstrous idea about what your life in America is supposed to look like; a seemingly never-ending idea of what your life and your children’s lives should mean or not mean in this country. The #ADOS movement is the answer to finally halt the consequences of that idea from continuing to ricochet throughout your lives—and in many ways all our lives. And there is nothing more detrimental to that end than the sort of grandiose egos and resentful intrigues of a handful of people who deep down just hate—hate—that they couldn’t come up with it first and that they couldn’t actuate its possibility in the people.


Less is RealMoor: The #ADOS Movement Without Nyhiem Way-El & BTP

There’s this great little adage that goes: “If you meet an asshole in the morning, you probably met an asshole. If you meet assholes all day, you’re the asshole.”

It conveys the basic truth that those people whom most frequently accuse others of being (x) are—to virtually everyone else’s recognition but their own—in fact the embodiment of (x). And I think that anyone who has ever been exposed to this stunning lack of self-awareness understands just how insufferable that sort of behavior is, and how intensely weary one grows in its presence.

Mercifully, that presence is often short-lived.

The behavior itself is so self-marginalizing that the person is forced to drift from one group to the next, always seeking out a new set of ears into which they can moan and gripe and whinge endlessly on about whomever the fuck.

And so it seems only natural that this sort of person would gravitate towards movement spaces. After all, there is certainly no shortage of available ears in movement spaces, and it’s probably pretty likely that the individual will find a good number of other people who’ve also sought out the fertile territory of movements to unleash and satisfy that particular personality disorder that needs to denounce so and so as definitely being (x).


Nyhiem Way-El—undoubtedly the loudest lil’ yipper from Sandy Darity’s puppy mill of promoters—seems to be something of a serial movement provocateur in precisely this vein. A quintessential galley-growler. The asshole in the story who goes around telling everyone else about all of the other apparent assholes that constantly surround him.

But what Nyhiem’s incessant clamoring on about phonies and frauds aims to conceal is (of course) his own inauthenticity, his own inability. Consider just how new he is to this space of a politics anchored in lineage. Here he is in late 2018, a time when the concept of ADOS lineage as it informs one’s direct political action in America was already well-established…

Here he is the following year, after having obviously consumed the education provided by the #ADOS movement’s co-founders, Yvette Carnell and Antonio Moore.

Or, this one…

And while he purports to have long been an advocate for reparations, there sure isn’t a lot of activity prior to the #ADOS movement’s emergence into the mainstream to suggest much of an interest in the topic…

That’s four (!) whole years without so much as a peep made about the long overdue repayment for his people’s contribution to this country. Then again, saying nothing at all is probably preferable to saying something as fatuous and daft and gooey as this…

But what we are witnessing now with respect to his constant disparagement of the co-founders and their followers is simply what Nyhiem does. It appears part of a pattern of him coming into movement spaces and eventually starting to yell about the teeming presence of ‘clowns’ and ‘cult leaders’…

Blah, blah, blah, “I alone recognize the true depths of this problem!” “I am the last responsible man!”

Of course, Nyhiem’s competitive righteousness is only cover for his personal ambitions to ‘lead’…

Which is how it becomes sort of apparent that a big part of his present grift is obviously to apply the whole ADOS framework developed by Yvette and Antonio to the Moorish movement and make it seem like he is contributing a set of original, powerful and reorienting ideas.


The timing of Nyhiem’s (and BTP’s) voluntary expulsion from what is being built is so interesting. Because for the second year in a row, the movement has undergone an extremely healthy cleanse. And January again finds the useless excess just sort of shedding itself from the solid mass of the movement.

Remember 2020? Whoosh there went FBA. There went the doxx-happy hundreds who sink all of their debased energies into that troglodyte leader of theirs. A man who has no actual program for his people. No actual politics. A man who just sort of meanders on Twitter. A purveyor of bigotry who tried to repurpose #ADOS into serving as his personal automated-teller movement, and then—when that failed—opted to go into the keychain and miniature flag-making business.

BTP’s self-purge from the movement should inspire a sigh of relief in anyone who is actually serious about advancing the #ADOS political project. Because there is virtually no light whatsoever between the reprehensible and movement-sinking attitudes that seem to proliferate among Tariq Nasheed’s followers and the hateful, homophobic and misogynistic perspectives of BTP.

A strong and growing movement like #ADOS is absolutely right to reject the childish intrigues of a smattering of egoists who themselves have built nothing. These people are like tiny whitecaps cresting on the ocean’s surface, scornful and in total denial of the deep, churning swell in the waters below, something that long preceded them and which gave them their meagre rise and form.

It is quite a thing to watch them mistake this moment absolutely. To go on and on about how they’re ‘exposing’ the movement and—in their myopic haste—misconstrue as some kind of triumph that which is pure transience, the beginning of the end of their fleeting and toxic presence in this space.


This is how you lose: thoughts on the Biden win.


Sing like no one is listening. Love like you’ve never been hurt. And dance like you’ve just exhausted your absolute last weapon against neoliberal reign.

The above should be mandatory décor in every U.S. democratic socialist’s kitchen. And each morning they should look at it while they sip their espressos as the permanent rearguards of society, dreaming about how they will one day be the first to glory in the revolution that they have in fact done their utmost to retard.

The most reactionary administration that we have seen in our lifetime did not, it turns out, create the conditions favorable for socialism. It did not discredit gradualism. It created the conditions for Joe Biden, the standard-bearer for incrementalism if ever there was such a figure in American politics and someone who you’ve just gotta imagine is very eager to sit down with McConnell & co. and do some tough-minded budget math to bludgeon those entitlements in the name of ‘efficiency’.

The left will get nothing. What was presented to them as concessions were in fact the Articles of Surrender. Here, you cretins. Here is your slop.


2020 is a sort of hideous non-response to the past four years in the United States in general and to one particular group’s last four-hundred years. But at least that group—American Descendants of Slavery—can proceed upright, knowing that they said no; that they said, “We’re not doing the thing we’ve historically done, which is the quadrennial plank walk where we get shoved inside the voting booth and told to rubberstamp one party into the presidency because they show us the kindness of bleeding us out slower than the other one does.”

Alternatively, the left as it is currently constituted ceded all credibility as a legitimate threat to the status quo and then did like a fucking celebratory pub crawl once the election was called. There can be no doubt that their coalition and their politics are both now merely a new branding strategy for the center-left establishment.


I don’t know. In a certain way it’s so interesting. Biden’s victory seems to mark the divergence of two political forces in America; the American left, which is absolutely in decline, and #ADOS, which is in ascension.

I have no doubt whatsoever that the left will repudiate the suggestion that they gave #ADOS no genuinely hopeful place to go, but that is simply a fact of their program over the last four years. The left has instead just bullied the group about how socialist policies are good for them and that they should shut up, which is about the dumbest and most offensive strategy I can think of, and was one which they advanced with mouthbreathing ignorance right up until the day of the election. Forget the left’s answer to the question of what’s possible when it comes to ADOS; they have in fact consistently sought to diminish—rather than work to raise—both their own and ADOS’s expectations about what’s even right.

But the left can be assured that ADOS being able to secure what is right for them absolutely has implications for the left’s own goals. And it is at their own peril that they continue to pretend that rectifying ADOS’s specific oppression is not every single bit if not more of a public responsibility as are the fights for whatever other freedoms can be accorded to us as citizens under big, expensive government programs. It will be a lesson that the left will learn to their sorrow: they cannot—they simply cannot—reshape the economy in a democratic, egalitarian way if they do not prioritize reparations for ADOS. This is an insight that has somehow been so thoroughly forgotten—so banished from memory—that if the left would only allow itself to really think about it, it would undoubtedly feel like a revelation. It would lead to a victory genuinely worth dancing in the streets over.