Dear MAGATs, This Is What America Would Look Like If Black People Went Back to Africa

Y’all better stock up on sunscreen, mayonnaise, and Kid Rock albums because it’s about to get real dry, real quick.

Photo by Evgeniy Smersh on Unsplash

“Go back to Africa!”

Oh, this old chestnut. This is the laziest, dustiest, most tired, played-out line in the racist playbook. Y’all been recyclin’ this one since Abraham Lincoln, the so-called “Great Emancipator” who loved to drop the n-word like it was punctuation, tried to send us back to the Mother Land after the Civil War.

You MAGATs throw this line in our faces with all the confidence of people who’ve never set foot in Africa. Y’all don’t know a damn thing about Africa except what you saw on a dusty UNICEF commercial from 1987.

In your three-celled brains, Africa is a whole county. It’s one giant jungle, where people live in huts, eat bugs, and ride lions to work. There are endless sand dunes full of abandoned kids with distended bellies, flies on their faces, and wildebeest running past them. Meanwhile, your own own inbred cousins are bathing in rivers in West Virginia, still living in towns with names like Possum Hollow and Buttermilk Creek. You people think reading is optional and spelling is for communists. And I heard y’all hold annual town festivals with wet t-shirt contests for toddlers and raffles to see who finally gets indoor plumbing.

But why do you MAGATs really say this to us?

Because y’all like to project your own insecurity onto us. Because deep down, y’all know that your ancestors were bootlegging across the ocean from Europe’s dirty, disease-ridden slums. Your people weren’t Europe’s finest. They weren’t kings and queens. They were broke peasants dodging plagues, getting hung for stealing bread, or burning women at the stake for owning too many cats. They came here running from their own collapsing societies, dragging their criminality and violence across the sea, and now y’all want to pretend they were the chosen ones.

Let’s keep it all the way real: your ancestors were the ones who couldn’t hack it in their own countries, so they fled like rats off a sinking ship. They were the type to sell their kids for a pint of ale, dump chamber pots out the window, and die of syphilis before they hit 31. They were the greasy, lice-infested, toothless, unwashed masses crammed onto boats like human trash, coughing up blood and praying they didn’t get tossed overboard when they started to stink. That’s your lineage . . . riffraff.

The real so-called “Dark Continent” wasn’t Africa. It was Europe. The birthplace of plagues, torture devices, inquisition chambers, and blood feuds over goats. That’s where the darkness festered and y’all just exported it here like a bad colonial care package.

Meanwhile, y’all keep telling us to “go back to Africa.” M’kay, MAGATs, let’s talk about Africa. You mean the continent where the world’s youngest, fastest-growing economies are booming? The largest reserves of natural resources like gold, diamonds, oil, cobalt, lithium are sitting right there? Where billionaires, architects, innovators, and world-class cities are rising up everywhere? Where the culture, music, fashion, art, and the tech is absolutely thriving? Where there aren’t mass school shootings, mass incarceration, or opioid epidemics, and a bumbling ex-felon president is out here pardoning felons?

Meanwhile, America can’t keep the power grid on in Texas. The water is still poisonous in Flint and Mississippi. The country’s infrastructure is crumbling. The schools are under attack and they still beat kids with wooden boards. The politicians are corrupt as hell. Billionaires are hoarding wealth while millions struggle to pay for groceries and healthcare. Everything is an economic trap.

“Go back to Africa!”

M’kay, let’s play this all the way out. Let’s imagine what happens if Black folks packed up and dipped from America while it’s being made “great” again. Let’s see how America holds up when it’s just y’all and your Waffle House brawls.

Here’s your brand-new, all-white paradise:

Your MUSIC scene will collapse into a sad, off-beat hot mess. Won’t be no hip hop, no jazz, no blues, no R&B, no rock (yeah, we invented that too). Y’all g’on be stuck with Kid Rock on repeat, dancing like wet spaghetti noodles at your third cousin’s gender reveal party. Just a sad-ass loop of Toby Keith, Nickelback, whatever the hell Florida Georgia Line is doing, and the sound of Bud Light cans cracking open. And y’all’s Spotify playlists will look like a Klan rally mixtape. Hope you like polka, banjo twangs, and “Sweet Home Alabama” on an endless loop.

Say goodbye to SPORTS. No more NBA. No more NFL. Y’all can watch golf, cornhole tournaments, and competitive fishing while crying over highlight reels of a Black-and-gold era you can never get back.

Good luck with the ECONOMY, boo boo. Black people’s spending power in the U.S. is over $1.7 trillion. Without us whole industries will collapse. No Black entrepreneurs, no Black businesses, no haircare industry, no fashion, no media. You’ll be on Etsy trying to sell homemade butter churns for $5 a pop.

Black folks didn’t cause the 2008 housing crash or the current inflation mess. That was your white Wall Street daddies and billionaire overlords who did all that. Without us here to blame, you’ll have to explain to your kids why y’all can’t afford eggs while Elon Musk is building penis-shaped rockets with your tax dollars.

Black excellence in EDUCATION, gone! No Black scholars, teachers, or students. Your universities collapse. No HBCUs. No Black STEM professionals. No Black history month—just a whole lotta Februarys where y’all pretend George Washington’s wooden teeth are the peak of innovation.

No more blaming Black kids for dragging down the test score averages and failing schools. Without us, it’s just little Hunter and Emma struggling to read at grade level while y’all cut school funding to buy another tank for the sheriff’s department. Can’t wait to see y’all try to explain why little Liam can’t pass a basic math test when you’re the only ones left in class.

Your HEALTHCARE is gonna be even more screwed. All them Black nurses, doctors, and caretakers? Gone with the wind, bitch! Good luck finding someone to wipe your ass in the nursing home, Barbara.

Hope Cletus from the meth clinic knows how to check your blood pressure, ‘cause that’s your new nurse now. And let’s keep it 100, Chad can’t even spell “stethoscope,” let alone use one.

You think Karen’s gonna come through for your old ass? Hell no, she’s too busy arguing with the pharmacist about ivermectin and essential oils. The waiting room will be full of white folks Googling their own symptoms and sprinkling prayer oil on each other while the real medical talent is gone.

No more Black doctors catching your cancer early, no more Black nurses saving your life after your third heart attack, no more Black home aides helping you shuffle to the toilet. It’s just YOU, a can of Ensure, and a prayer circle of folks who think “COVID is a hoax” and “germs are a deep state conspiracy.”

Whew chile, your FOOD is gonna be bland, beige, and boring as fuqque. No soul food, no BBQ, no jerk chicken, no gumbo. Just a sad plate of boiled potatoes and overcooked chicken breasts that taste like Manifest Destiny deferred and saltless white tears. Don’t even think about calling it “soul food” because y’all ain’t got none.

No more ribs dripping sauce, no more collard greens seasoned with love, no more cornbread that makes you slap your mama. Just soggy tuna casseroles, funeral-style ham, and potato salads so sad they come with a trigger warning. And yes, y’all are still puttin’ raisins in it because flavor is illegal in the land of the bland.

Meanwhile, your bodies are about to turn into a damn biohazard site. Y’all already on the struggle bus with obesity rates climbing like gas prices, but now y’all ‘bout to hit new levels of bloated, backed-up, and gassy. Y’all g’on be farting so much it’ll sound like a symphony of whoopee cushions. Toilets gonna be working overtime.

And let’s not forget about your farms? COLLAPSED. Y’all ran off all the immigrants who were keeping the fields going, so now it’s just you, a John Deere tractor you don’t know how to use, and fields of rotting crops. Y’all g’on be livin’ off factory-farmed, genetically modified, hormone-injected, antibiotic-soaked, cancer-causing Frankenfoods and wondering why your colon’s giving you side-eye.

Enjoy that beige buffet of disaster!

No more AFFIRMATIVE ACTION AND DEI. Say goodbye to your favorite scapegoats! Without Black folks, who will you blame for "stealing your spot" at college, taking your jobs, or for the "woke" policies you claim are ruining everything? Affirmative action and DEI programs have long been targets, but here's the twist: white women have been among the greatest beneficiaries of these initiatives. So, in our absence, you might just start pointing fingers at your own family members. Imagine the awkward Thanksgiving dinners when Uncle Bob realizes his niece got that job because of the very policies he rants about.

You’ll be stuck with each other. And good luck—because when y’all turn on each other, it’s going to be the Real Housewives of Bumfuck Nowhere, but with more guns and fewer teeth.

Oh, and y’all can’t blame us for your DECLINING BIRTH RATES either. That’s on you.

Y’all love to scream “replacement theory,” whine about the white race going extinct, and blame Black folks and immigrants for “stealing your future,” but let’s be honest . . . y’all ain’t even having sex. White women would rather crochet sweaters for rescue cats than let you fumble around in bed for six and a half minutes. They’re too busy taking selfies, running Etsy shops, and sipping oat milk lattes while dodging your sad attempts at courtship like Neo in The Matrix.

And when y’all do manage to get laid you’re either shooting blanks, relying on expired Viagra you bought off Craigslist, or needing a team of nurses and a prayer circle just to get it up. Y’all defunded sex education, tried to ban abortion, and now you’ve got a generation of anti-vax, “alpha male” weirdos out here.

Black folks didn’t make y’all infertile, didn’t shrink your balls, didn’t make you a generation of limp, lonely, conspiracy-pilled incels. That’s your own mess.

No Black folks means no culture, no innovation, no creativity, no resilience, no joy. Just a dying empire in its final stages of decay—grasping at nostalgia for a greatness you never actually had.

Who y’all g’on blame for CRIME? Won’t be us. Without Black folks, y’all would finally have to admit that white-on-white crime is the real national pastime. Who you gonna blame when Billy Ray robs a Dollar General, or when Karen stabs her husband for liking a bikini pic on Facebook? The nightly news is gonna be nothing but meth lab explosions, unlicensed exotic pets, and toothless cousins fighting over a scratch-off ticket.

Your sons will be building arsenals in their basements, plotting mass shootings, and posting manifestos about “the war on men.” Your neighborhoods will be full of domestic violence shelters because y’all can’t stop beating on each other. Your serial killers, 99% white dudes, will continue collecting fingers and teeth like Pokémon cards, storing women in freezers, or wearing other people’s skin like it’s Fashion Week at Buffalo Bill’s house.

And let’s not forget the DRUG ABUSE. Opioids, meth, fentanyl will have white America face down in the gutter with a needle in its arm and a Confederate flag bumper sticker on the back of its Ford F-150.

So yeah, when we “go back to Africa,” crime won’t leave with us. It’s gonna stay right there with y’all, stewing in your gene pool and multiplying like rabbits in a barnyard.

Once we’re gone, who you gonna scream about taking WELFARE AND GOVERNMENT HANDOUTS, eh? When you’re filling out your 18th application for food stamps? It’s been white folks holding down the food stamp lines for generations. But without us, you’ll have to look at Aunt Tammy, whose fridge is stocked with government cheese, a 24-pack of Dr. Thunder, and frozen chicken nuggets, and admit: y’all been living off Uncle Sam’s titty like it’s a free buffet at the Cracker Barrel.

What about BROKEN FAMILIES AND FATHERLESSNESS? No more throwing around cherry-picked statistics about Black kids being born out of wedlock. Nope. Now it’s your turn.

Without Black fathers to drag, you’ll finally have to talk about white fathers dipping out to join militias, leaving Becky and the kids to fend for themselves while he’s out chasing conspiracy theories and beer specials at Applebee’s. Your “family values” crisis won’t be hidden behind coded language anymore, it’ll be right there in your living room, on your porch, in your family court docket. And in your gene pool because your granddaddy is also your uncle’s step-brother and your cousin’s ex

No more OVER-POLICING and MASS INCARCERATION? No more Black folks for the cops to hunt, harass, and kill on camera like it’s COPS: White Supremacy Edition. So, who you think they comin’ for next, MAGATs?

Your uncle’s “Blue Lives Matter” flag won’t save him when Officer O’Reilly kicks in his door over a missed child support payment. Your cousin Chad’s “Don’t Tread on Me” bumper sticker won’t stop a cop from unloading a clip into his F-150 when he “looks suspicious” or “fits the description.”

Your daughter Paislee’s sweet sixteen will get SWAT-raided because y’all threw a bonfire without a permit. It’ll be white folks getting tased, tackled, and pepper-sprayed in front of Dollar General while screaming, “I CAN’T BREATHE!”

It’ll be white folks screaming, “STOP RESISTING!” while Karen gets dragged out of a Hobby Lobby for unpaid coupons. It’ll be white folks getting choked out at the farmer’s market for trying to return a half-eaten rotisserie chicken. It’ll be white folks holding mass protests, laying down in Walmart parking lots on yoga mats, screaming “White Lives Matter!” while Becky fake-cries and Todd tries to get the whole thing trending on Facebook Live.

Say goodbye to GENTRIFICATION! Without Black neighborhoods to “revitalize,” y’all will be stuck flipping mobile homes in the middle of nowhere trying to sell a double-wide as a “tiny home with rustic charm.” Good luck gentrifying a town that already has five Dollar Trees, three pawn shops, and a vape shop called “Freedom Clouds.” You’ll be out here charging $2,700 a month to rent a two-bedroom trailer with a raccoon infestation and a busted septic tank.

And who’s gonna call the cops on little white kids selling lemonade? Who’s gonna be the neighborhood watch hero kicking toddlers out of the pool? Who’s gonna show up at BBQs with a measuring tape like, “Excuse me, sir, is that charcoal or propane?”

Without us, it’s just Karen yelling at other Karens while George Zimmerman’s ghost wanders around looking for someone to profile and kill.

Your overpriced coffee shops will be serving pumpkin spice protein shakes to your cousin Cletus, and your yoga studios will have three customers, all named Heather.

And finally, y’all won’t be able to accuse of us of “MAKING EVERYTHING ABOUT RACE.” No more Black folks to accuse of “playing the race card.” But here’s the twist … y’all still won’t be able to stop talking about us because y’all are the descendants of colonizers who fuqqued up the planet because they couldn’t mind their own business. You’ll be sitting in your all-white Walmart parking lots, screaming about “the good old days,” sobbing into your Kirkland Light, and wishing you had somebody, anybody, to scapegoat for your own mediocrity.

So go ahead and scream “Go back to Africa!” all you want. Go on ahead and make America great again. But remember, we built it, and y’all can’t even go back to Europe...because they don’t want your degenerate asses either because they remember.