Gillian Schutte
Gillian Schutte

Don’t touch me on my Facebook!

It seems the revolution comes in many packages, as seen on Facebook in the form of scantily clad sexy babes who sell radical black revolutionary speak, along with perfectly trimmed stomachs, silicone breasts, voluptuous derrieres and overtly sexual profile pictures. Now I know anything to do with black radicalism is dangerous territory for a whitie to tread, but I am convinced that these girls are not for real and can even provide some narrative to support this claim.

A couple of months ago I was avidly following a “Guru of new black radicalism’s” Facebook debates around issues such as Negrophobia and circumcision, when I was invited to be friends by four of his Facebook friends. Their names were innocuous enough and they came from a bona fide Facebook site, so I clicked yes, not bothering to check their profiles. It was a few weeks later that I picked up on a vitriolic Facebook fight in which the “Guru of new black radicalism” openly congratulated himself for exposing one of the four Facebook friends as a “white, CIA agent impostor”. Intrigued I checked out her profile and photo album and was amazed to find that her album sported only four photos of herself, taken from various angles in a teeny tiny bikini. I have to say that it smacked of website soft porn rather than an empowered sexy, young woman.

And I say this as a sex-positive feminist with no real issues around porn. I decided to check out the other three friends who had invited me to be their friends at about the same time and discovered that two of them were even more scantily clad and equally sexually alluring. Underneath their posed studio pictures were plentiful messages from men who had fallen prey to their own horniness and written blatantly about what they’d like to bite, among other lusty overtures. This is obviously a heady concoction to the revolutionary male species — a half-naked sex goddess who throws out revolutionary speak with alacrity. Judging by some of the comments, a politically radical sex kitten is a rare species.

One of the profile pictures in question sports a woman photographing her own ample and naked buttock cheeks in the mirror. She is alluringly contorted as she leans her cellphone over her shoulder while perched rather precariously on a basin. If you look closely enough you will see that she has some semblance of panties on. Another of the profile shots sports a woman flashing her naked crotch through crossed thighs and the other sports a woman lying provocatively on her stomach with her sumptuous naked buttocks creating a heady background from over the top of her head.

By now I was totally hooked and my naturally inquisitive mind had gotten the better of me. I had to find out more about who was behind these apparently phoney Facebook personas and what exactly they were up to. After all, they had appeared in my life through their invitation and if they were spying on me I had every right to spy back. I was beginning to feel like a character in Enid Blyton’s Famous Five. Unfortunately I looked like one too — as it turned out I was indeed the only white person on their friend list. Camouflage was going to be my first problem and since I am ethically against the procuring of a phoney identity, I had to come up with a plan that would involve me in my original form. I decided to post one scantily clad woman a message, asking for her contact details so that I could interview her for a documentary I am (genuinely) making on interesting, young South Africans. As I expected, this in-boxed message was ignored. My next move was to post the same question on her Facebook page for all to see. This sort of forced a response and she replied that I should inbox her as some people have accused her of being a spy. I did just this and received no response.

At this point she had begun to spew forth a new form of radical anti-system, anti-white, anti-capitalist rhetoric at a startling rate, and was eliciting revolutionary responses from her list of 641 Facebook friends. I also noticed a cluster of activity all coming from the same four people, who seemed to send messages at exactly the same time and spurred each other to greater heights of so-called revolutionary speak. Their language changed rapidly from day to day and they swapped ideologies like nobody’s business. Currently they all speak the same postmodern, anti-phallogocentric rhetoric and slogans such as “power to the black pussy” abound.

Finally it dawned on me that this little cluster could be no more than the same group of people and was doing little more than gathering information on young, black South Africans with revolutionary spirits. In the meantime various genuine black radicals continued to paste warnings on their Facebook pages about these impostors. No one seemed sure though of who they were exactly and some suggested it was either the CIA or a right-wing, South African-based organisation. Still others suggested they were the National Intelligence Agency.

My curiosity took me further into the world of subterfuge and shady character theft. I began to check out all the right-wing websites and was very surprised to come across one in which the “Guru of new black radicalism’s” every move, meeting and article was recorded — along with much racist paranoia about how he plans to get the “blacks” to kill every “whitie” in South Africa, how savage the blacks are and that they (the Boers) are most definitely the superior race. My stomach turned at the block-headed surety that such stupidity could even imagine itself to be superior to a movement that at least has reason to exist.

My next move was to ask openly (on the scantily clad friend’s Facebook page) whether anyone actually knew the person in the teeny tiny bikini — had ever met her, went to school with her, dated her or knew her family. I mean Port Elizabeth, where she claims to be from, is not a huge place and seemingly she had no family or real friends … just hundreds of revolutionary acquaintances. At this point the insults began to fly from all four scantily clad friends. Suddenly I was a “white liberal who thinks that blacks cannot run their own revolution without my help”. I was a white woman who thought I had a ticket to blackness because I “fuck black penis”, an “Aryan racist witch”, “a slut”, and many other profanities largely based on black cock euphemisms. Then one of them began to talk insultingly about my film Chasing the Ancestors, which I shot at least four years ago. The lightbulbs were going off in my head. I had often wondered when the Afrikaner right-wingers were going to take issue with this film in which I essentially retell the story of Tjaart van der Walt, a legend in Afrikaans history who happens to be one of my ancestors. I expose him as a genocidist in this film and the story is partly told from an oral Xhosa perspective. Only the white supremacists could take umbrage to this. It was also becoming clear that the above-mentioned white supremacists had begun to do some of their own research on me.

At this stage of my investigation I lost all patience and strategy and posted a message in response to a profile message from scantily clad, in which she states that “darkies must all organise and join community organisations to bring down the government”. I asked her directly which community organisations she would suggest and which ones she belonged to … or whether we are to assume that she is merely throwing out these revolutionary statements in order to gather information on her Facebook friends?

That is the last I ever heard of her as she blocked me from further destruction of her carefully-built web of delusion. Her three other friends continued to throw out insults, name me and accuse me of all manner of evils … all the while making reference to my film Chasing the Ancestors and of course “black cock”. By now my own friends had begun to pick up on the fray and I got a few concerned messages from my relatives, who thought I was under threat from a bunch of scantily clad, young, black revolutionary women who were out to get me. “Not to worry” I assured them “these are white, right-wing males who are intent on getting rid of my meddling ways on Facebook, not a bunch of internet, soft-porn models who will attack me with stiletto heels, G-strings and bone-crunching thigh holds”. They were not convinced. But I am.

If the aforementioned right-wing website, which is keeping tabs on the “Guru of new black radicalism”, has pasted his Facebook messages and plenty of other information about him on their site, (to warn their people about his “evil intentions” against them) then why have they ignored the scantily clad bunch of potential revolutionary “terrorists” who daily throw out anti-white statements that could incite violence against the aforementioned paranoiac Boers? Why are they ignored? Well because they do not exist, other than in photos lifted from the internet, along with borrowed names and phoney profiles. They are probably in fact the same white man, with moustache, boep and quite a sense of humour, even if he doesn’t know it himself yet. Yes there he is sending out his revolutionary speak in the voices of scantily clad women, feeling quite clever and compiling files on many potential black activists … and possibly a white lefty or two. He is the new terrorist of the internet — and Facebook is the ideal forum for this subterfuge activity.

These impostors are, however, fairly easy to spot. They send messages out in clusters so a response to a comment happens simultaneously — a dead giveaway. If incited properly their disregard for blackness is evident in their comebacks and they over-speak new revolutionary talk. They never follow up proper discourse on the topics they enthusiastically throw forth and seemingly lack the intellect of the “Guru of new black radicalism” in conversation and debate techniques. But most of all the fact that they choose beautiful black babes in bikinis as their alter egos is telling. The complex psychology of this particular choice of profile is in fact what gives them away.

For those who might think this is a thumb-suck — shortly after the expose — they all disappeared into the ether.

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