How Ben Crump Makes White Americans Hate Black Americans | Jason Whitlock Harmony

**Jason Whitlock** (0:00)
Ben Crump knew.
He knew on July 5th. A government document, the Mississippi Department of Marine Resources, not a Conservative blog, listed it in plain English.
Nolan Wells had been drinking heavily with his friends on Horn Island before he drowned, 18 years old, the 4th of July. An American tragedy that belonged to one grieving family. This week, it finally broke wide. ABC News reported that witnesses told authorities that Nolan Wells had a heavy alcohol intake in the hours before he vanished into the water. TMZ ran it, the same news cycle. The headline, plain as day, Nolan Wells was drinking before his death. Not a rumor, not a right-wing theory. Witness accounts in the official record matching a government document that existed on July the 5th, the day before his body was even recovered. The alcohol was always there. Crump knew, and he flew to Chicago anyway, stood at a podium and waved the shirt of Emmett Till over a boy who drank too much on the 4th of July and never made it home.

**Shemeka Michelle** (1:20)
This is that fire. Grab your popcorn.

**Jason Whitlock** (1:25)
None of this should surprise you, because in 1972, Gordon Parks Jr. put a man on a movie screen who explains Ben Crump better than any law degree ever could. His name was Young Blood Priest, Superfly. Priest is a cocaine dealer in Harlem, sharp suit, long leather coat, cash falling out of his pockets, and America walked out of that theater thinking he was the coolest man alive. Curtis Mayfield, the R&B singer, was the original Eazy-Eat, the founder of NWA, the promoter of drug dealing culture. Mayfield wrote a soundtrack for Superfly that was like auditioning in front of Jerry Heller for membership in Nick Rose with Attitude.
Listen to Pusherman and tell me it's not the R&B version of Eazy-Eat's 1987 Dope Man song.
I'm your mama, I'm your daddy, I'm that N-word in the alley. I'm your doctor when in need, want some coke, have some weed. You know me. I'm your friend, your main boy, thick and thin. I'm your Pusherman.
The Pusherman sells himself as your family-friendly criminal. The one who shows up to soothe your pain. He gets you high, tells you he loves you and empties your pockets while you float. That is Ben Crump. He doesn't push cocaine. He pushes grievance. He pushes victimhood. And there is no stronger high in America right now than the belief that you're suffering with somebody else's crime. Here's the thing about Ben Crump. The cable news networks will never say out loud. Every drug has a buyer and a seller. But the dope Crump moves has a second victim, one who never bought a thing, never signed a retainer, never sat in the press conference. And that second victim is the entire point.
Follow the transaction. Crump sells grievance to Black America. That's a front of the store. He tells a grieving family, a neighborhood, a movement, the system murdered your son, and I'm the only man alive who will make them pay. And it feels like power. It feels like justice is finally coming.
Watch what that same product does on the other side of the counter. Every time Crump turns a drowning into a lynching, a self-defense case into a modern emirate till, there is a white American watching, a white father, a white teacher, a man who had genuinely decided to see his black neighbor as a neighbor and not an adversary. And he watches Ben Crump, a black man in a $5,000 suit flanked by cameras and NAACP accuse people who look like him of murder based on nothing. And when the facts come out weeks later and the story collapses, that white American gets no apology, no correction. He just gets the next case and the next. And somewhere around the fifth or sixth time, he stops trying. He stops giving the benefit of the doubt. He looks at the next black tragedy on his television and thinks, here we go again, another hustle. And a piece of the trust that Frederick Douglass and Booker T. Washington spent their lives building dies in that living room. That is the product, not the settlement, not the go fund me. The product is the death of trust between black and white Americans and Crump manufactures it on an industrial scale.
Sit with this. You cannot run this play for 14 years. Watch it collapse this many times and count the money every single time and still call the wreckage an accident.
A man does not step on the same rake a hundred times. A man who profits every time he steps on it isn't clumsy. He's in business. And a divided America is a very good business for Ben Crump. As who goes broke the day black and white Americans decide they trust each other. The race hustler, the grievance industry, the cable panels, and the best dressed man at the funeral every time is Ben Crump. Ben Crump's entire fortune rests on a guarantee that black and white Americans will never stop seeing each other as enemies. So he makes sure they don't. He's not working to end racial division. Racial division is his inventory. A healed country is a threat to his revenue. No man in America has done more in the last 14 years to keep the wound open and bleeding. Not with a hood and rope, but with a podium and a press release. 14 years. Let me show you the sales record. His first big score was a dead teenager named Trayvon Martin in 2012 The prosecution star witness was a young woman named Rachel Jeantel. She testified under oath that she was the last person to speak to Trayvon on the phone with him in his final minutes and that she heard the confrontation with George Zimmerman. She was the emotional center of the state's case. The Voice America was told connected that boy to his killer.