“African slaves!” The words are shouted by someone out in the audience.
“That’s right, African slaves. ‘Other people’ who weren’t treated as people at all, because they were owned by white Americans as property, traded and sold like animals. They were being counted as three-fifths of a human being not so that they could vote for members of Congress but so that their owners, their white masters, could have the power of this franchise added to their own. White slave owners could increase the power of their own vote by buying more slaves. This was the incentive, the inducement carved into the cornerstone of the Constitution at the nation’s founding-AND THESE WORDS ARE STILL THERE!” Scarborough pounds on the podium with this, his theme. “Read the book,” he says.
The chant of “Take it out…Take it out…Take it out” starts to rumble through the audience.
He may be a writer, but Scarborough knows how to work an audience. He is a firebrand. Whether you like him or not, I would be willing to take bets that at this moment he is not pretending. This is an issue in which he clearly believes. He allows the chant to continue for twenty or thirty seconds before he cuts it off with his hands in the air.
“Read Article One, Section Nine, of the Constitution, where it says, ‘The migration or importation of SUCH PERSONS’”-he holds up his hand and shakes his finger to emphasize the words-“would not be prohibited by Congress but by the various states then existing. Were they talking about people who wanted to migrate here from Norway or France? NO! So who were they talking about?”
“African slaves!” Now it comes back automatically from the audience, more voices and much louder.
“Yes! They were talking about African slaves, using nice words like ‘imported,’ as if they were fine wine or cheese-human beings dragged here in chains, all at the will of the various states.
“Do you believe that these words should be removed from the Constitution and thrown into the dustbin of history?”
“YES!” A crushing chorus from the audience.
“WHEN?”
“NOW!” This is even louder. The speakers from the set we are watching vibrate under the strain.
“Everywhere you look, they concealed the dirty deal by avoiding the words. They wanted to traffic in SLAVES, all right, but they certainly didn’t want to say it, not so that the whole world and posterity would see it in print. And if the avoidance of language is not evidence of their guilt, then I will produce it,” he says.
“The founders will tell you that they tried to end slavery but they were not able. STICK AROUND,” bellows Scarborough, “because I will tell you the truth. The sequel to this book”-he holds up Perpetual Slaves-“Volume Two, will end the myth of American history once and for all. I will tell you what really happened, why they avoided the words. What propelled their fear, their trepidation? You won’t find it in any history book,” he says. “So don’t bother looking.
“We are talking about a continuing national insult to more than twelve percent of the nation’s population, more than thirty-five million people, and about the absolute stone silence of the country’s leaders on this point. They run for office. They’re out there now on the stump, but ask them about this and they will dodge and weave and avoid the question. They will tell you that the Constitution is the province of the Supreme Court. They will tell you anything that avoids a commitment to take the words out-to remove the offending language.”
The chorus of “Take it out” starts again.
“Some of them will tell you, ‘NO, leave it there as a historic relic, as a reminder of what white masters did to their black slaves.’ But the permanent and enduring stigma of these words, the offense that they carry, is deep!” says Scarborough.
“Ask yourselves…ask yourselves why these ploys on language, these aging, offensive euphemisms, have not been removed? They will pull down the Confederate flag, but they won’t remove this from your own Constitution? It says ‘We the People,’ but the words remain offensive,” he says.
The chant starts up again, but Scarborough shouts over the top of it.
“Can they sweep it under the table as the founders did?”
“NO!” The entire audience is on its feet now, hands cupped to mouths, clenched fists pumping on the ends of raised arms.
“Because I will tell you something more. I will give you another document, a document that the world has never seen, a secret letter written in the hand not of one of the founders but the founder, confirming the darkest deal in American history. If you want to see the original sin of slavery unmasked at its inception, evidenced in the handwritten words of God himself, then wait for the sequel,” says Scarborough.
Tumultuous cheers, diagonal blue lines across the screen, as the video ends.
Less than twenty-four hours after Scarborough’s speech, a rally in downtown Chicago, demanding action to remove the words of slavery from the Constitution, turned violent when police moved in and clashed with demonstrators.
The next day the national media picked up snippets of Scarborough’s speech, and like a trail of gunpowder, flashes of violent confrontation followed his book tour across the country as sales of the book exploded.
“My question is, how did the guy live so long?” says Harry. “If I talked like that, I’d have blown a fuse years ago. And how did he get so close to the Supreme Court?”
“Did he?”
“That’s certainly the image he projected,” says Harry. “The ultimate in-the-know Court watcher.”
“Maybe it was just that, an image,” I tell him.
Scarborough had argued a single case before the Supreme Court almost ten years ago now and won, not a landmark decision by any stretch. He had coupled this with an uncanny ability to hang on the social fringes of the Court and get his picture taken.
It was rumored in his earlier career that he coveted a spot on the Court for himself. However, given the passion of his politics and its public airing, he had little chance of being nominated and none whatever of being confirmed in the Senate. Some might argue that bitterness over this only drove him to further excess.
Harry and I look through a number of film clips, mostly interviews of Scarborough on his most recent book tour. The screen flickers between clips, and another face appears, a different venue this time.
“This is what I was telling you about,” says Harry. “This is Scarborough’s literary agent.” Harry looks at his notes. “Guy named Richard Bonguard.”
The other image on the screen is familiar to anyone who has ever turned on a television set, Jay Leno.
“This was two days after the murder,” says Harry. “Scarborough was supposed to appear with Leno that night, the night he was killed. From what I was told, the agent filled in.”
The interview is somber, not the usual fare for Leno. There is a text bar under the picture, AUTHOR MURDERED.
Leno: “So you two guys knew each other a long time? Not just an agent, you were his friend, right?”
Bonguard: “That’s right.”
Leno: “You have our sympathy. We really appreciate you taking the time to come in here and talk with us. It can’t be easy. It’s absolutely shocking. I can’t even imagine. We were expecting to see Mr. Scarborough as a guest here on the air that day, the day he was killed. You can imagine the surprise when we heard the news. Do the police have any idea who might have done it?”
Bonguard: “Right now, as you can imagine, everything is a bit sketchy. From what I understand the cops are still in the hotel room as we speak, looking for evidence. They’re being very careful. I don’t think anybody knows exactly what happened or why, at least not yet.”
Leno: “Except for the murderer.”
Bonguard: “Well, yes.”
Leno: “It’s just crazy. Do you have any idea why he might have been killed? Do you think it had to do with the book?”