By Michael Ashcraft —
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.
He tried to explain how he had accepted Jesus and been transformed.
“I’ll come back tomorrow when you come to your senses,” she said as she left.
Then he flushed the drugs down the toilet. Again he experienced the sensation as if oil were being poured over him.
“Wow I guess I doing the right thing,” he concluded.
He poured his wine down the sink. Again the “oil flowed.”
“That was an explosive evening,” Dorsett remembers. “It cracks me up how God changed me so fast.”
Dorsett immediately started attending the Door Church, where he married and had three daughters. He became a manager of Wal-Mart and always was in the streets telling people about Jesus.
That’s where he started getting arrested. For a guy who never had problems with the cops while he pushed drugs, it seemed strange to be getting arrested for pushing Jesus. He would go into bars and encourage clients to repent.
“The only trouble I’ve had with cops is when I got saved,” he says. “When I started street preaching, I started getting arrested.”
Eventually, the cops began to leave him alone. The eventually befriended him and then even began to recommend places for him to go in and preach to help clean up, he says. He led a group on “Jericho marches” around X-rated theaters and palm reading establishments.
His switch in politics came when he watched a Reagan speech that later C-SPAN twisted to misrepresent what the president had said. He had an epiphany. The media was deliberately and diabolically mischaracterizing conservative politicians.
“What the anchor was saying was the complete opposite of what the president had said,” he remembers. “I remember getting so angry at what the media was doing to the president, I turned it off. There was active media that was trying to lie about the president.”
It has been many years since he first realized what the media was doing. Since then, Dorsett has seen indoctrinators infiltrate the schools “calling what’s right ‘wrong’ and what’s wrong ‘right,’” and he rejoices in Trump’s efforts to take back the U.S. educational system.
Today, students in many localities are taught to hate police and stomp on the American flag.
“I always hate the race peddlers who try to push us into hating each other,” he says. “My mom was half Jewish and half Indian. My dad was from the Bahamas. So it really bothers me when they call white people ‘devils.’”
Dorsett rejoices to see the rise of Blexit. He rejoices at the rise in prominence of Candace Owens, of Larry Elder, of the 1776 Unites project, of the documentary “Uncle Tom,” which reject the narrative of victimhood.
“That’s been my heart from the get go,” he says. “I did before Blexit was a word.”
He now attends a church with a large number of cops, nurses and first responders. He’s retired from his job but not from evangelism in the street.
If you want to know more about a personal relationship with God, go here
Michael Ashcraft teaches journalism at the Lighthouse Christian Academy in Santa Monica.
