Imagine that it is 1866, and you have been given the task of determining who should pay compensation to the freed slaves, regardless of practical issues and national boundaries. You would identify the parties that profited from slavery, right? The first among these would be the plantation owners, of course, but you would add a host of middlemen and textile manufacturers, most of them in the UK. Consumers throughout the world have benefited from the availability of cheap cotton clothes, but asking them to pay anything wouldn’t make much sense. The general population of the Union states, having endured the pain of the Civil War, would obviously be exempt.
It isn’t 1866, and you don’t have the luxury of disregarding practical issues and national boundaries. Both the criminals and the victims have long since left the scene. There is a lot of water under the bridge. What do you do?
The proponents of reparations argue that the federal government should pay, which, of course, means all American taxpayers. That means hundreds of millions of people who have no historical connection to slavery will have to pay the bill, including black people. Michael Jordan will be writing large checks to himself.
This is, of course, supremely illogical. It is, however, practical. By eliminating any clear tie to the descendants of the guilty parties, the fans of reparations make the program sound like just another federal program designed to address a social problem–not blood money for a crime. That approach is far more acceptable to people in my position who reject the notion of personal guilt for slavery.
Do administrative convenience and practical politics balance the program’s logical flaws? I leave that question to you.