Excerpt from Chapter 3 The Root of All Evil by Gregory Stantin Jones and Gibran Tariq

Chapter 3

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The Root of All Evil
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by Gregory Stantin Jones & Gibran Tariq

ISBN: 1401063950
Format: Paperback, 399pp
Pub. Date: November 2002
Publisher: Xlibris Corporation

Book Excerpt
Book Two, Chapter 3,
Pages 205 – 207

“It wouldn’t be pretty. This is perhaps the biggest threat white America has ever faced and I shudder at the thought of what they would do with their immediate future in jeopardy.” Petersen remembered Rosewood, the incident at Fort Pillow, Tennessee, and in his mind’s eye could vividly see dark, black bodies swaying from southern trees. “It wouldn’t be pretty,” he repeated sadly.

“But if Jamal went to the Supreme Court and put his case before them, wouldn’t they have to honor -------?”

Petersen laughed loudly. “I pity the fool who convinces himself that this will translate into anything other than bloodshed.”

“The law ------“

“Law?” Petersen muttered. “Infringing the law is nothing new to this country. Besides this is too dangerous to be handled under any assumed protections of the law.” For a long moment Petersen gave the impression he was inwardly grieving. “I venture they’ll kill us.” He sighed “Niggers have never been one of this country’s hallowed institutions and if we yield to the temptation of trying to compel white folks to concede to Paul Madsen’s plan, they’ll pick us off like fish in a barrel.”

Jamal’s throat grew dry. “I know they would want to kill my family, and we have lived with this fear all our lives, but why would they kill all black people?”

“To dramatize their deep – rooted obsession for getting down to the nitty – gritty. Eliminating all of us would be a calculated risk they would take before they let us stake ownership to one acre of this country. Here I am locking horns over reparations and they won’t budge an inch. Can you imagine what would result if I told them that we no longer were satisfied with reparations, that we now wanted . . . . . . . . . everything? Oh my Lord,” Petersen groaned, “any concession bigger than a window with a view is overdoing it.” He rubbed his head, groaning pitifully. “This is Apolcalypse.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Jamal confessed.

“What’s not to understand son? It’s as plain as the nose on my niece’s face. While I commend you and your family for recognizing the gravity of this matter, what sort of restraint do you think we can expect from the others come October when the certificates are disbursed? Suppose some poor, dirt farmer down in Mississippi got one say awarding him ownership of a big tobacco company; do you think he is going to consider anything except his good luck? It would be like lightning striking the poor house and nothing or no one would be able to stop black folks from staking their claims. Almost overnight, you’re going to have niggers, who just yesterday, didn’t have a boot to piss in suddenly finding themselves CEOs and captains of industry.” Petersen stared at his young guests. “And do either of you think white America is just going to accept that. Right now I feel that our best chance of riding this out is to pray that the documents in the Swiss bank accounts are discovered.”

“But that -----“ Venus began.

“I know. I know,” Petersen remonstrated, waving away the question. “This will put all the pressure on your boyfriend and his family, but it would be a whole lot easier to hide and protect one family than it would be to hide and protect every black man, woman and child in the country.”