Thomas is often described as a "complicated" personality, but that's just a euphemism for being a self-loathing ally of the worst sections of the white ruling class.
Clarence Thomas is a deeply troubled man -- a grotesquely twisted, "Down Home"-grown Black personality at war with the demons of his dark-skinned, dirt poor youth. Although Thomas has accumulated many "enemies" -- earned and imagined -- since his entrance to the white world in the 10th grade in Savannah, Georgia, his core pathology is Black-directed -- a trait so obvious it was immediately perceived by a succession of white Republican racists who rocketed him to the U.S. Supreme Court with obscene haste to become a hit-man against his own people.
Thomas is a perverse right-wing joke played on Blacks and, being of above average intelligence despite his mental illness, he knows it. But it is a knowledge he cannot endure, a burden that has made him a pathological liar, who blurts out contradictions so antithetical to each other that they cannot possibly coexist in the same brain without a constant roiling and crashing that puts him at flight from himself and all those who remind him of his now hopelessly entangled torments and tormentors.
If African Americans had our own insane asylum, Thomas would be welcomed in and cared for, with proper compassion for the sorely afflicted. But there are no such facilities available to treat a man who forgives whites for Jim Crow and every other aspect of past and present discrimination -- indeed, embraces the most racist among them -- but can never forgive Blacks for the way they treated him in Savannah, Georgia and the outlying shanty town of Pin Point.
Thomas, the affirmative action kid, should have gone to Yale, where he proved to be as adept at navigating the curriculum as at least half the rest of the class. He should not have ascended anywhere near the U.S. Supreme Court, or to any government agency that affects the fate of the people he despises, and has since childhood felt despised by: African Americans, the only group that could make his young psyche scream by calling him "ABC" -- "America's Blackest Child."
Thomas titled his first and only book My Grandfather's Son , in honor of grandfather Myers Anderson, who physically rescued him from the abject poverty of Pin Point at age seven, at his destitute mother's request, but never let young Clarence forget that he was born in the mud of deepest, lowest class, Gullah-speaking (Geetchie) Blackdom. "Whenever he'd get angry at Clarence," a childhood friend of Thomas told Washington Post reporter Juan Williams, in 1987, "he'd say, 'Oh, you from Pin Point.' " Grandfather Anderson, a self-made, semi-literate businessman, alternately wielded "Pin Point" as the most cutting insult to the boy's value as a human being, and as the low-life nightmare to which Clarence must return if he did not show himself worthy of elevation above the mud.
Grandfather Anderson was a committed member of the NAACP, a regular contributor of money to the cause. He coerced Clarence to read his good grades aloud in front of NAACP meetings, an experience the shy child found painfully intrusive. When Clarence gained entrance to an almost lily-white Catholic seminary, with vague ideas about becoming a priest, old man Anderson warned, "don't you shame me and don't you shame your race.'"
Too much pressure for the emotionally fragile kid, who had been ceaselessly reminded that his Pin Point background was a shame on its face, and that he must begin his climb up from a deep hole to rise to the standards of the upscale-dominated Savannah NAACP -- a tall order for "America's Blackest Child." In a 2002 interview with Washington Post Reporters Kevin Merida and Michael A. Fletcher, Thomas said he "can't think of any" good the NAACP ever did. Civil rights leaders, in general, just "bitch, bitch, bitch, moan and moan, whine and whine."
The overbearing, unrelenting Granddaddy Anderson pinned his hopes on Clarence graduating from the Catholic seminary and using his credentials and education to assist other Blacks. However, Clarence quit in 1968, and Anderson put him out of the house. Thomas' lying memory begins to dominate the narrative at this point in his 19-year-old life, with estrangement from his Black anchor and hate-love object, Granddaddy Anderson. The old man and the NAACP expected great things from young Clarence, based on their standards, schedule and mission. Thomas claims he quit the seminary when, on news of the shooting of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., he overheard a white student say "Well, that's good. I hope the SOB dies" -- evidence that the Catholic Church had failed him.
Note that Thomas does not punch the white kid out, for which he might have been expelled. He just quit, and in so doing quit his grandfather and the NAACP, as well. Although the alleged remark is totally plausible, given the blatant, unabashed racism that prevailed in Sixties white Georgia campuses, parochial and public, it is equally implausible that Thomas had not heard, and been personally subjected to, many verbal racial assaults during his time at the seminary -- and never reacted. It is much more likely that Thomas, having already charted his exit from Black Savannah and a path to the Ivy league, later invented or used the incident to cast himself as a "radical" -- the pose he (possibly after-the-fact) adopted during his scholarship-assisted and affirmative action-arranged stay at Yale, his next stop.
Thomas was sick and tired of Savannah Black society and the loathsome burden of his Pin Point origins, and the skin-curse of being "ABC." He would exit the former and use the latter as a swinging broadsword to flail his Black "tormentors" and garner the assistance of racist whites in search of an African American who harbored animosities against Blacks as intense as their own. In his September 30, 2007, interview with 60 Minutes, Thomas seemed still to be repelled by the Black catechism and recitals he had been subjected to by old man Anderson and the NAACP, back in Savannah so many years ago. The problem is, all these decades later, Thomas disengages Granddaddy Anderson from the local NAACP he fervently supported, and to which he offered his grandson as a prize catch and future leader. Thomas told milk-toast interviewer Steve Kroft:
"You've been down here long enough [the interview took seven days to complete] to see who raised me and what my grandfather -- what approach would he take?" Thomas says, laughing. "It'd be get out there and work. The problem for me isn't that everybody agrees with him or me. But, that they think they have the exclusive providence of how to approach it. That I am to be destroyed because I won't drink that Kool-Aid or because I don't follow in this cult-like way something that blacks are supposed to believe. I have an opinion. It seems as though the problem with me and other people with our opinions is that we are veering away from the black gospel that we're supposed to adhere to."
Clarence abandoned the high-pressure, struggle-for-your-folks Gospel of the Savannah NAACP and his grandfather -- the people pushing the Kool-Aid -- for Yale, where he donned a beret and now claims to have been a militant. As reported by Kevin Merida and Michael A. Fletcher in 2002, Thomas' memory is ... faulty:
"That's garbage, all this radical crap," says Edward P. Jones, a writer who went to college with Thomas. "If something came along and it didn't interfere with whatever he was doing that day, he would do it . . . My recollection is he wasn't the rah-rah out-front guy others are portraying him to be."
However, Thomas may have imagined himself to be something his brow-beaten upbringing and disturbed mind did not prepare him to even recognize. After all, he had a beret, and a bad attitude. But who was he really mad at?
Time would tell, and not that much time, either. Thomas got through Yale Law School at the middle of his class, then claims he put a 15-cents sticker on the diploma and shunted it off to the basement in passive protest of the document being devalued and "tainted" by affirmative action. If Thomas' diploma story is true, then by graduation he had already, in 1974, become a right-wing opponent of the affirmative action that had benefited him right up to the point that he shook the Law School dean's hand and accepted the diploma. Thomas certainly had felt himself devalued for most of his conscious existence -- and was repeatedly confirmed in that devaluation by his Black peers and elders in Savannah until his self-image broke from the strain, if he ever had a well-developed self-image. But one wonders at what point he made the switch from flirting with the Black Panthers (or, in his case, beret-ism) to a doctrinaire reactionary position that had not, at the time, been widely articulated in the popular press. One strongly suspects that Thomas' current narrative of the period is a revision -- and also that Thomas believes every word of the story.
After all, Thomas claims to have assiduously avoided studying any civil rights cases at law school, and later urged students to do the same. With the ordeal of being a "testimony" child of the NAACP and his grandfather still fresh in his resentful mind, Thomas wanted nothing to do with "civil rights" of any kind -- a permanent bent that rendered him singularly unqualified for the life-path that would begin right after graduation, when the enemies of civil rights took him under their wings, and crafted him into a weapon against every vestige of the Black Freedom Movement.
Do not believe anything Clarence Thomas says, since his statements are almost uniformly lies of commission or omission. It is doubtful that he knows which. He claims not to have been able to "get a job" after graduation from Yale, when in fact he soon got a dream position for any young Black man looking for a fast track into the heart of rising Republican rightwing politics. The Black GOP list wasn't just short, it was almost non-existent. Missouri Attorney General John "Jack" Danforth snatched up the boy from Pin Point in a New York minute, doubtless after getting an earful from the Yale graduate about the demeaning nature of Ivy League affirmative action. The $10,000 a year salary sounds paltry in current dollars, but in 1974 it was quite enough for a single recent grad. More to the point, Thomas was an Assistant Attorney General, a title for which many graduates would intern free without salary. Most importantly, Thomas had found a mentor and protector in Danforth, who would stick by (or use) him through to the 1991 Senate confirmation process. "ABC" had found his niche. He would not return to Pin Point to dedicate his law skills to the folks, as his grandfather so dearly wished. The beret was gone, too.