“Remind me to murder you later.” Moe
On Super Tuesday 2020 a guy walks into a bar. He ends up sitting next to a nationally known journalist and a former assistant director of a federal agency. The one slinging the gin was a college professor. All three women had post graduate degrees. And, unfortunately, this is no joke.
The conversation was a scathing indictment of the process and dismal inadequacy of candidates. Naturally, Donald Trump took most of the lumps. When the lone male made mention of the remote alternative of Rand Paul a cascade of snark came gurgling down. It began with a crack from the representative of the press: “Well, you know he’s an asshole—his next door neighbor beat him up.” The senator from Kentucky remained a rhetorical punching bag among the ladies for another ten minutes. They had quite a rollick. This is a crew that frequently sneers about cretins capable of political violence. Something has to be done about the legions of raging plebeians in flyover country.
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The lone male—you probably guessed—was me. A year earlier I was sitting in the same spot when the video of Nick Sandman and Nathan Philips staring at each other made the rounds. Two of the same ladies had worked themselves into a livid state and were replaying it over and over. Curious, the phone was shined my way. It may as well have been a blank screen. The clip didn’t explain a thing. There was only one thing to say even before the long version came out:
“What in hell, do you think that kid did?”
“Oh, he’s clueless,” dismissed me as the high dudgeon went on.
It seemed hopeless to press the case at the time. A man and a boy were filmed looking each other in the eye. Why would anyone make something out of it? How could it rate as national news? As a regular customer in the joint, the subject could have been taken up again days later as fuller footage was released. The damsels had changed course on the matter by then and why rekindle hostilities by rubbing it in? At this point in American video-graphic history that kind of discretion borders on suicidal.
Keep in mind that only about 12 days after the Sandman-Philips non-incident the Jussie Smollett “attack” became a trendy sensation. The city of Chicago, at the time, was experiencing 4 ½ shootings per day. The figure has roughly doubled since. That level of gunplay never made it above the fold on out of town frontpages—on rare occasions it made frontpages at all. Meanwhile, Smolletts face, with barely a sparring mouse on it, was shoved into public view at every turn. The incident was racked up as a lynching. It featured on daytime TV, cable news and the internet for weeks. We still haven’t heard the end of it. The way our informing classes spew ink and electrons about violent “rightwing” supremacists it is hard to get around this conclusion: there will never be enough right-wing extremists to satisfy management.
Five months down the road Andrew Ngo was attacked on film and left bloodied and robbed. It was antifa- there was no mistaking that facts. The beating made a minor stir across major media—but it never got Smollettized. There was no shortage of professional writers scoffing the incident and even claiming Ngo deserved it. He was accused of being a liar, a propagandist for the ubiquitous alt-right and a wannabe “journalist.” So, who does qualify? Would they prefer Claas Relotius? Meanwhile, these kinds of accusations lack any vetted out examples or evidence that would fly on a submission in Freshman Comp. Stories in highly reputed publications making the case of a subject’s “fascism” are frequently just as cavalier and oblivious to common academic standards. Any one bothering to correct exaggerations and mistruths—once a “fascist” is in the dock of a 4th estate Star Chamber—might be run out town on the same rail.
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Nobody remembers now what it was they were supposedly protesting in Portland that day. Were they striking a blow for “anti-racism”? We have since learned it is retroactively okay to attack people for that cause. And that was before anybody knew its real definition. Ibram X Kendi’s book , How to be an Anti-Racist , came out 6 weeks after Ngo took his punishment. Kendi told us it’s impossible to be not racist—your only safe choice is anti-racist—there aint’ no-sich-a-thang as a non-racist. It looks like the one’s pummeled trying to keep the plate glass of their Mom and Pops intact don’t cut it.
For those who remain in the dark on AR here are excerpts from what Adrienne Shih of the LAT calls a “primer.”
Anti-racism “is fundamentally identifying the structures, policies and beliefs that create racism in society,” said Terence Keel, an associate professor at UCLA…
Sounds like the academic equivalent of shooting at long range targets with a blunderbuss.
But Keel said: “There’s not a one-size-fits-all response for how to do anti-racism work.”
That’s a very welcome respite from what the academic hierarchy has been siccing on schoolchildren for generations. What if the size official woke haberdashers prescribe isn’t a comfortable fit? Will there be grim consequences?
Further down we hear from Kendall Mayhew: “If people are looking to support protesters,”…, “the No. 1 thing we need is money.” That’s when Shih tells us:
“Numerous black-owned businesses have been affected or damaged during protests, and small businesses including restaurants have been struggling with the economic effects of the pandemic.”
Is it anti-racist to leave the Koreans out—or would that be non-racist? Who’d a thunk of not “peacefully protesting” turnkey downtown—or funding the bricks and Molotov’s as Mayhew requests—in the first place? We know, we know…only a fascist. Besides, this way they get you coming and going. Any suggestion of efficient use of resources—people in need being unequal and all—brings you back for labeling with that old “F” word again.
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Lost in the smoke of all this peaceful protesting are the dreadful warnings we got from the news in January of this year. Violent 2nd amendment demonstrators were swarming on Richmond, Va. to lynch Governor Northam. My brother was in MCV hospital at the time. I walked right through the thick of these harrowing insurrections on capital grounds from the train station every Monday when they were held. It was about like going through a crowd of parents waiting for kids to change after a sporting event or the class play. Let’s face facts; doesn’t everybody know that “NRA member” is as good as a synonym for fascist-alt-right-crypto-KKKer? The many black attendees didn’t seem to. But our trusty media won’t quit trying to set them straight.
So, now do you believe that high-school English teacher who said the class wasn’t taking the dangers of double-think seriously enough? Can it be the same people demanding Ovid stricken from the curriculum for triggering sensuality who are offended if you take offense to W.A.P. by Cardi-B? Don’t those peaceful protesters roughing up elderly pedestrians at a human rights rally bear a striking resemblance to the guys who would jump the gayish kid as teens? Is there any way to interrupt the incessant babbling of do-gooders who would save us all from free speech? Do we really need to view everyday interaction with our fellow humans as a minefield of potential sensitivities?
Defenders of the first amendment only add to the confusion citing Mill, the value of bad counter-arguments and hate speech. We are far beyond anything like that plane in this fight. People are de-platformed, doxxed, fired or forced out of the NYT, beaten up, denied tenure and persecuted to the ends of the Earth—not for promoting any kind of supremacy, sexism or phobia—it’s for any attempt at getting the facts right. The present oppression going on serves one purpose above all others—the truth will not prevail. Canards crushed by details decades ago continue to course through major media without speed bumps. Lifting a finger to examine them, just like defending your property from the mob—has been deemed fascist and punishable by the whims of bloodthirsty hooligans. The prevalent junta has given berserkers the nod.
Just how many conflicting ideas can fit into a single brain at one time? How did that fraction of society keen on this new decorum amass the leverage to enforce it on their victims? Do we really have to sit back and gaze in awe while college students are browbeaten until they take on the demeanors of Larry, Curly and Shemp?
The guy that used to have a burger shop on a corner in a peacefully protested town—wherever his distant ancestors called home—has used up all his patience with enlightenment. Up against a head full of woke notions—he’s just raring to knock a few out of it.
