“But what if our child inherits my body and your brains?”
– Attributed to George Bernard Shaw, his riposte to a shapely dancer’s eugenically-flavored proposition.
The title of this post is in jest, but this post’s amicable spirit toward the long-time commenter and occasional pain-in-the-ass whose handle is an anagram of “Trickin” is in earnest. My man Trickin has been both lurking and commenting on the fringes of Alt-Right’s discussions for years and it’s high time to address his contrarian point of view.
To readers unfamiliar with him: Trickin describes himself as a forty-something former rock-n-roll scene journalist, now comfortably settled in the frozen mid-West. Most apropos our interests, he also notes that he is a biracial American man, the son of a Black father and a White mother, an outlier in that he grew up in a happy upper-middle-class home with both parents. So without further ado, let’s meet Trickin:
No, that’s not him, I just couldn’t resist because this is how I imagine him to appear, his protestations notwithstanding. I actually have no idea what he looks like.
The original impetus behind this post is a meme that society pushes, and one that Trickin himself occasionally advances with varying degrees of seriousness, namely the melding of the European mind with the African body through intermarriage as evolution’s direction toward a superior new man.
There is a time for dialectic on miscegenation that encompasses one’s feelings about it, as well as an objective analysis of its viability. But I am not doing that in this post. Rather, my aim in this post is to acknowledge and try to grok Trickin’s perspective on his biracial identity. He wrote something recently to poignant effect:
there is a sorta purely physical aesthetic imagining that comes back repeatedly; a sorta idealized figure that i’m sure is tied to my id and history —- a halfrican with appealing features that nonetheless cover the vastness of its essential being…. I have some haunts along this line of personal inquiry; such a figure just might not be a pure figment in terms of me and my past.
You may now be wondering about this idealized Halfrican physiognomy. Trickin may have already given us a hint. He has asserted — in earlier denials of the photo at the top of this post — that he looks similar to a former NBA player, pictured here:
That’s not a bad looking fellow. I have no reason to doubt Trickin’s claim and if true, then it would appear that he has drawn well in genetic card-dealing. In magnanimous detachment, I ventured to accept, as a thought experiment, the Mischling as an integral part of the continuum of our own communities.
But then I saw three things in the real world: a young White woman one evening, she walked lightly. The streetlamp’s glow kissed her flowing hair and caressed her shoulder. A birthday party full of White children playing. Their bright faces were God’s own joy. A White man, his solid face and clear eyes, and I knew that I am looking at the only man in this world whom I can trust.
There is the world of the European man, with its aspirational supremacy, and in that world there is little room for impure blood. And there is also, as confessed by Trickin, an idealized home aligned with his Mulatto identity, implicitly one with its own standards of purity. Like two free men who visit each other’s worlds but then part ways, the European returns home and so does the Halfrican head for his own.
But where does the biracial man go? The one who got the best of both heritages is free to enjoy this moment in history among Whites as an interesting stranger. But once he tires of Circe’s feast and is back at sea, he becomes like Odysseus but with no crew and with no Ithaca, on open water between the unreachable light of Europe and the wild call of Africa.