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have been snooping just then.
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    Hi Jim,
    I’m an Australian writer, in Mississippi at the moment, trying to contact you regarding Richard Barrett. Would you be able to get back to me, please?
    All the best,
    John
    I drive off, twiddling the dial to American Family Radio. A man explains, point by point, why Mormons aren’t Christian, so no one should be fooled by presidential candidate Mitt Romney.
    I curve into a Walmart to buy some groceries. A set of bulbous black twins, in matching pink denim, totter to the entrance in matching cherry high heels.
    Jackson is roughly 80 percent black, 18 percent white, and 2 percent everyone else. The lack of everyone else really hits you. I noticed it while filming for
Race Relations
. It’s like if a tornado in Australia sucked away the Greeks, Italians, Asians, and Arabs and all that was left were the white Anglo-Saxon Protestants and Aboriginal Australians gawking at one another.
    I feel a tickle in my pocket.
    Hello John,
    I will be on the air in the morning and would be happy to speak with you live. I’ll try to reach you by Skype in the morning between seven and nine a.m. CST.
    Yours Truly,
    Jim Giles
    The white separatist has done what the Jewish writer would probably have done and made danger into a show. I go home and, riding my luck, make some calls to the answering machines of the lawyers Precious and Chokwe, and the DA.
    Then I read about another case Chokwe’s working on—the Scott sisters, who sixteen years ago were sentenced to double life for armed robbery. Chokwe saw racism and prized a pardon out of the governor just this month. The governor placed one condition on their release: Gladys had to agree to have her kidney scooped out, to be then sewn up into her sick sister, Jamie. This is being reported as “touching” in the Mississippi media and “erghh” in all non-Mississippi press.
Radio Free Mississippi
    It’s seven a.m. and I poke my face out the window of my room. Jackson still insists on being sunny enough to burn your eyes while cold enough to wear gloves.
    “If it pleases the court, this is Jim Giles, and you’re listening to
Radio Free Mississippi
,” Jim announces live from my laptop. “I have an inquiry from someone. I’ve mentioned him to you before.”
    “What!” I say, turning from the window.
    “His name is John Safran. I’ve some concerns about him. And if he’s listening, well, I’ll just air them now. ‘Well-known for pranks and indelicate handling.’ I believe this is from his Wikipedia page.”
    Uh-oh.
    “So, this might be an attempt on his part to make me look bad,” Jim continues. “John, that’s real hard to do. I do a good job with that myself. I don’t really need any help from you. I’m not so much like probably anybody you’ve dealt with. I’m certainly no Richard Barrett.
    “Barrett was not a legitimate voice for the local people here in Mississippi. I’ve long suspected him of being a police informer. Somethingthat—John, I hope I don’t hurt your feelings—but honestly, I think that’s probably what you are as well, John—a police informer.”
    He pauses.
    “Let me just break this to you delicately if you are listening now. I do not use the
J
word here because it confers upon those folks two things I don’t think they deserve. That is victim status and a religion. Rather, I use the term
Israeli
, stripping them of both their victim status and their religion. It’s my argument here, John, that Israelis are first and foremost a foreign and alien race of people.
    “And that’s who you are.
    “John, don’t get your feelings hurt. I’ll still be nice and respectful to you if you want to talk with me. You can ask me a question and I’ll answer. And you can chop it up and put it out there and say, ‘This is the redneck from Mississippi I interviewed. Don’t you just love the way they talk down there in Mississippi?’
    “John, I’m used to people making fun of me. Thinking low of me. Thinking I’m