Black senator lectures Trump on racism and supports conservative causes

He backed posting the Ten Commandments outside the Charleston City Council before it was declared unconstitutional. He is anti-abortion and opposed to same-sex marriage. He belongs to a large evangelical church in Charleston, formerly serving on its board.

So how did Tim Scott, a black Republican Senator from South Carolina, find himself sitting across the desk of Donald Trump, lecturing the president about racism in America?

His improbable ascent in the political world has God’s fingerprints all over it, because at a fractious time in American life, he’s become a leading conservative voice on racism, straddling the divide between Democrats and Republicans.

By all accounts, his unique position is a tightrope walk.

Senator Scott knew he would be called a sell-out if he remained mum. But he risked incurring the wrath of his president and party if he spoke out.

“When you’re criticizing the president of the United States, talking about the compromising of moral authority, it can strike a nerve with someone who is not typically a person who listens well in those instances,” he told the Washington Post.

But Trump listened intently, nodding his head and focusing without distraction. At the end, Trump asked what he could do to help people who might have been offended, and Scott presented him with the idea of setting up Opportunity Zones to facilitate investments in poor neighborhoods. It was incorporated in the Republican tax overhaul of 2017.

“Am I trying to make up for comments made by the president? Definitely not,” Scott says. “What I am trying to do is make the country stronger, and I can do that by working with the president.”

Tim Scott — a strong Christian whose conservative values were formed in a Chick-fil-A — has managed to fill the at-times contradictory roles of ally and agitator with aplomb.

He’s helped pull down Confederate flags and championed police reform legislation as part of the GOP response to George Floyd’s death. (Democrats had criticized his police reform legislation as being “token,” a not-so-veiled racially-charged term that implies skin color must dictate voting patterns. Scott took the floor and with tears in his eyes and recounted how police brutality is real and under-reported. Ultimately, his bill didn’t pass.)

Scott is a monolithic figure in the Blexit movement, which encourages blacks to actually read the Democratic Party platform and see it if lines up with their values. (Blexit, which stands for “black exit” from the Democratic Party, is a term adapted from Brexit).

Scott grew up in North Charleston and struggled academically. “When you fail both English and Spanish, they don’t call you bilingual,” he quips. “They call you bi-ignorant.”

His mother was single and worked 16-hour days as a nursing assistant to provide for her three boys. His grandfather became an inspiration for him; the man maintained his dignity through the 40s and 50s when people abused him with the N-word regularly. Grandpa was illiterate but pretended to read the newspaper in front of young Scott to inspire him to study.

Scott loved football and excelled as a high school running back. He hung out at the local Chick-fil-A where the franchise owner took him under wing and became something of a mentor for him. John Moniz was a Christian who encouraged Scott to pursue football and talked extensively about conservative politics.

The love for football ended in a partial scholarship to Presbyterian College. The conservative politics ended in a campaign for the Charleston County Council, which Scott won in a landslide with 80 percent of the vote.

After a stint in the South Carolina legislature, he launched his long-shot candidacy for the U.S. House of Representatives and trounced Strom Thurmond’s son in the primary. He managed to dodge the controversy that fellow black freshman Allen West courted, put his head down and worked on many issues besides race.

For his quiet and effective work, he won the approval of both the Tea Party and the Republican Party, which the Tea Partiers despised.

When Jim DeMint stepped down from the senate in 2013, then-Gov. Nikki Haley tapped Scott to fill the seat.

Scott’s appointment was historic. He was the first African American senator from South Carolina since Reconstruction.

Nevertheless, the New York Times chose to celebrate the feat by race-baiting. Political analyst Adoph Reed in an op-ed said his appointment “obscures the fact that modern Black Republicans have been more tokens than signs of progress.” Read the rest: Sen. Tim Scott Christian conservative sensitive to racism.

From drugs pusher to Jesus pusher, this man charts his path out of the Democratic Party

Vincent Dorsett was Blexit before there was Blexit.

Blexit is a shortened version of “Black exit” as in from the Democratic Party because blacks tend to be more socially conservative than whites but continue to vote Democrat despite the radical positions on abortion up to nine months and transgender surgery at eight years old.

Blexit is a knockoff from Brexit, a shortened form of “Britain exit” from the European Union. Blexit is being led by Candace Owens, who recently married one of the movers and shakers of Brexit.

Blexit is a movement that started in 2018 and accounts in part for a recent surge in black voters turning to Trump. A HarrisX-Hill poll found in August that Trump’s approval rating among blacks shot up to 60%, a fact that could swing the election in his favor.

This is all good news to Dorsett, who himself was raised in a family 100% Democrat. He left the Democratic Party sometime after he got saved.

Dorsett, now 68, became a drug pusher in New York. He was the kind that never used drugs himself, a trick he learned from a girl in high school who, taking advantage of her own attractiveness and his loneliness, swooped in to corrupt him.

He made lots of money selling drugs, but noticed that other pushers caught the eye of authorities when they bought fancy cars and eventually wound up in jail. Savvier, he used taxicabs and dressed formally.

Dorsett’s operation grew to impressive levels. He even had cops on his payroll.

But he didn’t like the person he had become. All through high school, he had wanted to be a Treasury Dept. agent and bust traffickers. But now he was one.

“I really didn’t like what I did for a living even though I was very successful,” he says.

He thought he would leave behind the old life with a change of scene, so he moved to Tucson, Arizona.

“I thought my problem was New York. I thought if I left New York City, I would change. I was a drug pusher. I was running away from me,” he remembers. “But when I came to Tucson, I found out the same Vincent was here with me. I found that the drugs were even cheaper here and I could become a very powerful person here very quickly. I started to do that.”

He purchased drugs and recruited pushers for the street, but two days before the illicit business launch, he got distracted. He was with his girlfriend when he heard a man yelling at a Christian on the street.

“He was saying the blood of Jesus was a lie.” Dorsett remembers. “He said the blood of Jesus was the same as anybody else’s.”

His curiosity piqued, Dorsett — who had worn on his gold chains a Muslim crescent, a Catholic crucifix and a star of David without knowing what any of them meant — sidled up to the angry man and asked for an explanation.

They set an appointment for later that afternoon at Dorsett’s house.

The man never showed up.

The next day, Dorsett spotted him on the local basketball court and approached him to ask why he had left him hanging.

“You were the guy who said the blood of Jesus was a lie,” he said to the confronted and mystified man.

It turned out to be a case of mistaken identity because the man invited him to a Bible study. “He looked at me like I was insane,” Dorsett says.

The man distanced himself from his unbelieving lookalike.

“The blood of Jesus has set me free,” he said.

At the study, Dorsett wondered secretly at the evident joy of the other guys, so when the leader asked openly if someone wanted to experience that same joy — as if he read his thoughts — his hand shot up. It was 1974.

Upon accepting Jesus into his heart with a prayer of salvation, Dorsett felt nothing.

But they gave him a little booklet that he read at home in his recliner. When he saw that his sins were forgiven and he was made a new creation, he experienced something supernatural.

“It felt like somebody poured something all over me,” he said. Then the joy came in waves. “I started laughing so hard that I fell out of the recliner I was sitting in.”

When his girlfriend came over, he was still on the floor. She started to hug him, but he took her arms off of him.

“We can’t do that anymore,” he said.

“Why?” she asked. It was strange because Dorsett was very much given to sexual sin, he says. Read the rest: Why are Christians conservative?