I’m about as disgusted with Cornel West’s political and personal attacks on President Obama and the ensuing back and forth among the academic punditocracy as I am with hearing about Arnold Schwarzenegger’s fornication, everything to do with any Kardashian and Oprah’s never-ending farewell. Frankly, it’s both boring and appalling that this verbal battle has taken center stage, now joined by various supporters on either side and by media that love a Negro brawl just as much as the sponsors of the battle royal did in Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man. The protagonist thought he was there for intellectual reasons, too, until he was pushed into the ring and heard voices shouting, “Get going in there!” and “Let me at that big nigger!”
Given the dismal economy, the political and cultural landscape, the rise of the New Confederacy, and the general air of depression and malaise pervading the country, there are many more important issues to discuss and things to do than listen to West, his supporters or his detractors.
If anything, the conversation over who’s right and who’s wrong in his or her assessment of President Obama merely serves as a heartbreaking reminder of how lacking in serious leadership black communities (as opposed to the nonexistent monolithic “black community” that hucksters pretend they represent) are when we so desperately need it. Where there are effective local organizers, they’re too busy doing the work to become talking heads, or are drowned out by the voices of the professional commentariat.
This spectacle also shows how out of touch those academics are — and how easily distracted they are from the issues of unemployment, poverty, mass incarceration and a failed education system when offered the opportunity to attack another member of the self-anointed class of public intellectuals.
Too bad West didn’t get tickets to the inauguration for his family, but neither did most of us. And what about the millions who wouldn’t have had the means to go even if they had been invited? West exposes his privileged-class roots when he sneers that “the guy who picks up my bags from the hotel has a ticket to the inauguration.” This from the man who proclaims himself the great defender of the Ray Rays and Jamals of the world — both iconic and suspect names to be trotted out as needed to evoke the downtrodden and conveniently speechless black masses.