I witnessed a murder…

As is usually the case with witnesses of a crime, I just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time; although I would never have assumed that the oversized couch in my living room could ever be a crime scene, with the possible exception of some poorly worded, cringe-worthy Dad-puns designed specifically to induce eyerolls from my children. I am the master of this. I’m sure it’s gotta be illegal on some level.

You cannot paint a beautiful existence with only one color on your palette..Jp

No, I had my chubby feet elevated on the coffee table, safely encased in my fuzzy Christmas present slippers, lazily sinking one Oreo after another into my tumbler of chocolate milk when the crime unfolded in front of my very eyes, conveniently delivered to my living room via some such alphabet news channel, the name of which currently eludes me. I sat in horror and sheer disgust as I watched one human slowly squeeze the living essence from another human; defenseless, subdued and begging for his life. How one person can do this to another is a question as old as man’s very existence itself. What type of monsters live among us that have the capacity to do this and how, or indeed can, we ever guard against this most hideous nature of those with whom we share our human heritage?

I saw the replay multiple times over the course of the evening, not bothering to listen to how I was told I should feel about this or what it means from the perspective of those who were working their hardest to educate me that it indicates some issue or flaw in some segment of humanity that I mostly resemble or am responsible for. No, I was still struggling to come to grips with the image of one sadistic, unique representative of our species who was more than willing and determined to end the life of another totally unique representative of that same species.

I suppose I am just as guilty, not only because I am told that I am, but because I failed to see what value there is in making any sort of distinction between the killer and his victim. Would we all have felt some slight relief if the color palette had been reversed? Or maybe if the victim had been a young man of Asian descent? Or possibly some young Italian kid from Brooklyn? Would that have bothered me less, viewing a politically correct murder versus the one I was a witness to? It was a murder nonetheless, a slow deliberate act of kneeling across the airway and blood supply of a unique member of our species at the hands, or in this case the knee, of another. I need no disclaimers beyond that fact, no “perspective” or “context.” I saw pure hatred and pure evil, with no need to adjudicate it further. This S.O.B killed another human and that, in and of itself, is all that matters. The victim is no more or less dead based on his color or the color of his assailant. Maybe I’m too simple a man for all this, maybe all the pundits and looters have insights beyond my capacities, but if you believe that racism is the crime here, then we are as a species, truly the most flawed animals on the planet. You cannot be motivated to kill a person of color without being savage and callous enough to take the life of another human in the first place.

So now the education begins. I’m sure to receive quite the bit of hate mail and persuasion from those who seek to dance on the grave of George Floyd for their own macabre political power play. His death will serve this purpose or that, result in this program or that legislation, none of which will truly address the reality that we are a species that is quite capable of killing on a whim, exploitation of that death notwithstanding. I saw a man in a “position of authority,” sworn to serve and protect, willingly execute an unarmed, shackled and prone suspect, without cause, without trial, without sentence.

Unfortunately, we will never have what the left is always clamoring for, a “real conversation about racism.” To do so would strip away all the importance and the power of that charge, laying us all bare to the fact that indeed, we are all racist whether we can, or wish to admit it or not. I’ve spent the last two weeks listening to pundits on various channels tell me how Derek Chuavin is representative of all police officers, if not of all “white people.” Van Jones is quite sure that I have “a virus in my brain that can be activated in an instant.” If I were to make the same comment regarding Mr. Jones, I would be accused of racism without hesitation. But I’m told that as a white man, I cannot speak about racism because I’m not black. It’s the irony lost on the left when they tell me that “I cannot speak to racism because I’ve never been judged on my race,” as if that sentence is one they’ve been trained to speak like an oath without unpacking the meaning. Because I am of the white race, they judge that I cannot speak about race. But that’s not racist.

So to prove how racist I am, they loot and burn their own cities in honor of George Floyd, chasing away the jobs and opportunities so sorely needed by those they claim to care for; those who have spent hours, blood and sweat to build businesses, livelihoods and homes in areas that will now take decades to recover, if they ever will, ensuring that the next generation of young people, of all colors, suffer in excruciating poverty and hopelessness. And for this, they preen and pose and “speak truth to whatever” in an effort to gain and maintain the power that they have held over the inner cities for the last 50 years of my life, places where it’s taboo to speak about black on black crime lest we show just how truly racist we are. I don’t need to speak about the crime stats, you can look them up yourself and argue against them; they’re not mine, I don’t own them or produce them. And frankly, I don’t care about them. Stats just ensure that we continue to break down our shared existence into convenient buckets of victimization and “I told you so-s” that do nothing more than separate us from our common bonds, our common existence, our common humanity and gives fodder to the worst in all of us; all of us, regardless of color.

Simply put, I witnessed a murder. If you need some type of qualification to make it more or less hideous than it truly is, I can’t help you.

“and the token goes to….”

I’m boycotting the Oscars this year; well maybe, technically I’m boycotting them. Well, honestly, I’m not boycotting them per se, but I’m definitely not watching them, so there. I’m making a statement, you see. Speaking truth to vapidness as it were. Problem is, I’ve never watched the Oscars. Usually, I’ve had other, more exciting things pressing like watching mold grow on bread, getting a colonoscopy or counting the hairs on my forearm. You know, things that have value.

Not sure what color that Oscar is…

No matter how hard they try to convince me otherwise, the gaggle of self-absorbed, hypocritical narcissists called Hollywood have never held any special place in my life; certainly nowhere near the level they think they have, or think they’re entitled to. But forgive them; they spend most of their days working in the land of false realities; it must be hard to go home and realize that you’re no one’s frigging hero after you’ve pretended to be one at work for six weeks straight.

I’m sure Will Smith is a nice guy; probably. I actually don’t give a crap. I give him my money to read what others wrote. Not that he isn’t entitled to his own opinions mind you; but I have no reason to take his opinion and run with it like so many other bootlicking followers on the left. He’s spent most of his life being applauded and paid rather handsomely to memorize and regurgitate opinions and narratives of others who wish to do more than just tell a story; no, they’d rather propagandize, divide and belittle this nation and the values that have made it possible for empty vessels such as Mr. Smith and his wife to succeed.

So anther instance of pure racism rears its ugly head. Because Mr. Smith is black, and that obviously pisses off whites, he’s not going to get his gold. Got it. Obvious racism. Yeesh. Maybe blacks need their own Oscar show. No, I’m not joking here and I’m not off base. Did Dr. King march across the bridge at Selma so kids at Mizzou can segregate themselves? Is this what they are being taught, not at the colleges, but within the homes they are raised well before they get there? One would guess that Rosa Parks wasn’t protesting Jim Crow segregation on that Montgomery bus; hell no, she didn’t want to sit in the front, she wanted her own separate bus.

So the comedy continues. As soon as the familiar cries of racism dropped like carrion in the middle of a warm, country back road, those opportunist vultures of social justice swooped in to pick and pull apart the rotting carcass, oblivious to the fact that they were feeding on their own while they spewed their venom. One voting member of the Academy, Mark Reina, wondered if he too was being accused of racism, his homosexuality and melanin quotient notwithstanding. Do you really need to ask that Mark? You and your progressive friends have been assigning your interpretations to others motives for years as a way to silence opposition and intimidate those who hold a viewpoint which you find distasteful. You know the drill; come out and apologize for your transgressions, tell us where you’re going to therapy, hand one of the Reverends a little something under the table and maybe, just maybe you can put this all behind you. If you miss the sympathy in my tone, then maybe you’re smarter than I thought.

So now the jockeying is on; some will boycott, some will not. Some were going to but changed their minds. Those pointing out the hypocrisy of the boycott are being boycotted for standing up against the boycott. Stacey Dash points out that the BET awards are based solely on skin color, again segregationist, and she’s the one with the problem. Stephen Verona, another voting member outraged at being called a racist, points out that the Oscars are to honor talent. Of course, he’s a white guy so what does he know. He also points out that you can’t watch an NBA game without noticing the disparity between blacks and whites; but hey, Spike Lee, who is more than likely sitting on the sidelines at one of them, is okay with that racial outcome. Get ready Stephen; retribution for opposing the orthodoxy is usually swift. I expect to see your twitter apology anytime now.

If an old, red-neck white guy sitting in some dingy, single-wide was commenting that he couldn’t get a job because of “them blacks” you’d call it what it is. Like it or not, if the guy is a millionaire black man sitting in some multi-million dollar mansion complaining that he couldn’t get his participation trophy because of “them whites,” then it’s absolutely the exact same thing; I don’t care if you’re Spike Lee, Stan Lee, Bruce Lee or Robert E. Lee. So, deal with it Will; you’re a fucking racist. You’re in good company however; just check the boycott list.

So, I’m not a big fan of the Oscars. Too much pomp and silliness. If this keeps up though, we’ll end up having a few more categories; “token ethnic in a musical;” “Leading transsexual in a comedy goes to…” And even though I never watch the Oscars, I always puzzled at the winners and losers in the past. Maybe it’s just my tastes in movies. But I’m sure that the new Oscars will be nothing more than a statue given to those who bitched and whined the most. Or maybe it will be nothing more than a participation trophy given to any victimized minority who happens to show up; no experience necessary. You know, just to make up for past sins.

Well shit, then let’s just call it the Nobel Peace Prize….

 

 

The color of words…

I’d never heard of Benedict Cumberbatch before. My youngest daughter and her friends were discussing him a few weeks ago, apparently enamored with his acting prowess. Okay. Can’t say as I’ve seen any of his work, but he’s been getting some free press recently. I’m not quite sure if he’s happy with it, but when you’re in his line of work, isn’t any press good press? Unless you’re accused of being a racist. Hey, he’s not a real racist; he only plays one on T.V. Or something like that. Note to Mr. Cumberbatch; you’re only a racist because you apologized for being one.

Apologies anyone?

Seems Cumbersomeone used the word “colored” when describing, if I dare, people of color. You know, people that might be affiliated with the NAACP. He apparently used the offending term when speaking with Tavis Smiley about the difficulty he sees for some of his fellow actors “of color” getting roles in the UK but finding success here in the good ole racist U.S. of A. Smiley notes the success actors have had crossing the pond when he makes this statement to Cumberwho;

Tavis: It is, but now it ain’t even just white Brits. It’s Black Brits who are taking jobs now. You look at the “Selma” script. You look at “12 Years a Slave”. I mean, I love all these actors. They’re wonderful, but you guys are coming over here just taking over, man.”

To which Mr. Cumberbatch launches into full-on hate mode with his response;

Cumberbatch: Well, it’s an even playing field [laugh] which is we all stand in our tights under the same conditions. I can’t speak for David Oyelowo, but those are two actors who work and live here as well, you know. They paid their dues for years by just beautiful, beautiful performances from very fine actors.

And I think as long as we pay our subs and our taxes over here when we work camp, I think it’s fair game. I mean, you know, Meryl Streep can come over and play Margaret Thatcher. Why can’t we come over and play in your sand pit, you know?

In all seriousness, I know what you’re saying. I think as far as colored actors go, it gets really difficult in the U.K. and I think a lot of my friends have had more opportunities here than in the U.K. and that’s something that needs to change.

Ouch. A whole lot of hate goin’ on right there. He used the “C” word. The Bastard.

Of course, being a brit, he probably didn’t quite understand the power of the English language; I mean, being an English actor and all. Or at least he didn’t understand the Orwellian gymnastics liberals will go through to look for any slight as defined by the dogma of the Church of the Perpetually Aggrieved.

Not only did he apologize, he told us that he was “devastated.” Devastated mind you. The Atlantic was totally enthralled by his apology, reminding us all that it was a teachable moment for Cumberbatch. Who knows, maybe using the word “colored” was a window to his heart; he’s white you know, so he’s immediately suspect, even if he was speaking about the difficulties of black actors in the UK. The Atlantic goes to great pains to show that his was an apology given “the right way.” They do have a point; there are many times when apologies are given solely for the show and the marketing effect, professionally penned by PR professionals and handlers, never actually stating that the offending individual was ever truly sorry for anything other than someone else taking offense. And there’s always plenty of offense to be taken. Even when none is offered.

It doesn’t matter though; he’s apologized and that’s it. Apologized and confirmed that racism is alive and well, demonstrated by his painfully cavalier attitude of the usage of the word “colored.” I fully expect from this point that when any of the Al Sharptongues of the liberal race-baiting industry utters the term “people of color” the Atlantic will be demanding the correct mea-culpa. I do not plan on holding my breath.

David Oyelowo came to Cumberbatch’s defense, calling the matter exactly as it was; ridiculous. Oyelowo might want to tread lightly. He’s trying to gain acceptance in a country where other people get to define if you’re actually black enough to be a black man. (Is that phrase still allowed?) He’s not going to do himself any favors using phrases like “Excellence is the best weapon against prejudice. I intend to be part of the solution and not the problem. You’ve just got to keep on banging out good performances.” What a quaint notion for the truly racist of the world. People rising and falling on their own merits, their own actions and deeds. You know; the content of their character, that sort of thing.

Let the apology tour begin. Expect to see Cumberbatch next on Oprah, or having a beer summit at the White House, possibly doing penance with Jesse Jackson. Maybe someone will provide him with a list of the unacceptable, offensive words du-jour so he can do his press junkets without further insult. Of course, it’ll need to be updated quite regularly, as the victim class is ever growing and liberal linguistics is part of the effort to increase the size of the pool of the offended. The more words they can use to divide us, the more of us they can divide.

I sincerely apologize to anyone I’ve offended. No really, I mean it.

Shopping in Ferguson…

So Ferguson burns again. It matters not what the verdict was or how it was reached. Facts never come into play when we’re dealing with emotions and a false narrative that’s been promulgated and supported through destructive liberal policies that serve only to divide this country and keep poor those who need to hear and face harsh realities of the truth. No, it’s better to let Al Sharpton declare that the search for justice is not over. Justice you see, is an outcome desired, not a conclusion reached. And unless the desired outcome is provided, lawlessness must continue at the expense of those who can afford it least; those who are used as human fodder for the great leaders of the people of color, people like Sharpton and Eric “everyone’s a coward but me” Holder. People like Michael Brown who grew up under the crushing weight of the chip on their shoulders, placed there by those who only wish to profit off old wounds, ever safe in their gated communities while the Michael Brown’s of the world stew in their learned hatred for the police and their white neighbors; people who, they are repeatedly taught, hate them for their color. Better to hate the evil whites first, with great intensity and fervor. Never, ever, let anyone accuse you of being too “white.” Especially if that means taking responsibilities for your own failures, your own lot in life. And always make sure your children never rise above your own hatred.

Martyr; suffered the consequences of the chain of events he set in motion.

I grew up in the era of the civil rights movement. I too cried with shame when Martin Luther King was gunned down. I grew up in the poor neighborhoods, the minority on our streets, observing racism only reversed. The great first lie taught to my young black friends was that it was okay for them to hate me because I was white, as they couldn’t be racists. Far away, in another distant land that none of us had ever been to in a time long before we were born, a great injustice was done to people of color and that act alone now defines every black in this country. Not according to me mind you, but to those like revered Al and Eric “the not-so-great.” For it is the leaders of the black communities, those community organizers who wish to maintain that status of slave that entitles them to hold on to the great claim of victim, always just in their terror, always above reproach and law. They have knowingly and willingly morphed into the great bogeyman they spent the last fifty years condemning. New heroes and martyrs have replaced Martin Luther King, Mumia Abul-Jumal the new standard-bearer. It is this sense of justified entitlement that allows them to grasp the throats of shopkeepers a hundred pounds smaller than they to pilfer a box of contraband cigarillos, then reach into the window of a police cruiser in order to disarm a policeman. In each case, the mere mention of these facts gets one labeled and pilloried, for it does not support the narrative of the victim who was simply minding his business when he crossed the path of a crazed, power-hungry white overlord with a badge. We must believe at all costs, or mayhem will ensue. Justified, angry mayhem. And so it goes. Ferguson burns again at the behest of Brown’s stepfather who implores the victimized class of looters to “Burn this bitch down!”

When the smoke clears on Ferguson, shopkeepers will wonder if it’s worth ever bringing commerce back to their town. Many will never be able to re-open, costing the community the jobs and revenue it needs to keep another generation from the debilitating grips of poverty. And again, it will be someone else’s fault, maybe the evil shopkeepers; some who must surely be people of color unless they’re simply “white Interlopers.” But more likely, it will be the fault of the evil white man and the police; maybe even an officer who is responding to an emergency call for an infant not breathing. Will he respond to the next call in downtown Ferguson, or will he look at the color of his lily-white hands and realize that he doesn’t belong there? For he is surely not welcome. And he may just end up the target of a civil rights investigation by Eric “These are my people” Holder, the attorney general of people of color only. And what if he chooses not to respond; will the city burn again because he doesn’t?

I had to turn away from the television after President Obama said we are a nation of laws. This from a man who rules as if he were a king, enforcing only laws that drive this country farther apart and ignoring the very oath he swore to uphold them all. Sadly, he is not a leader; he is and always will be, a community organizer. For if he truly were a leader he would have realized that he and Holder had a duty to uphold the findings of the grand jury and instruct those who wish to protest that they do so at the risk of legal consequences; that the time for violence was well over and would no longer be tolerated. Sadly, neither he nor Holder is up to the task.

As I watched the looters go from shop to shop, tearing their own town apart, stealing in the name of Michael Brown, I wondered how many of these cretins would have dared to cross the bridge in Selma. The struggle then was for equality and dignity. Now, they look for flat screens and cellphones, PlayStations and Nikes, free for the taking, requiring only a little anger, a mask for your face and a well-placed brick. Things they are entitled to. The struggle for equality must well be over.

What they’re struggling for in Ferguson now remains to be seen. But as Al, Eric and President “stay the course” Obama have implied it’s not over yet. Maybe it will be when the rest of Ferguson smolders; or perhaps, the rest of the country. It all depends on how you define justice. And when that definition is a race-tainted emotion, poisoned by those who might well have led, justice is a dream that will never be achieved.

A Spike in racism…

Paula Dean is poised to make a comeback after letting her “good ole’ southern cooking” empire slip through her butter-covered chubby little white fingers.  Whether she succeeds or not remains to be seen, although a private equity firm feels she is worth their seventy-five to one hundred million-dollar investment.  Her losses amounted to somewhere north of twelve million dollars after sponsors such as Kmart, Wal-Mart, Home Depot, Target and the Food Network walked away from her after she admitted in a deposition to using racial slurs in the past.  Funny thing about our pasts.  We hope to learn from our mistakes; the past is in the past.  Maybe the standard political ploy would work here.  Maybe she’s evolved.  Who knows.  The past has a way of defining who we are at the same time it tries to teach us who we should or could be.  Sometimes, the past, or how we view it, reveals a lot about who we really are in the present.

Took a cab from Fort Greene one would assume?

Enter Spike Lee.  Spike yearns for the past.  A simpler time for all of us to be sure.  A time, we seem to remember fondly, when things were clearer, things were they way they should be.  Or maybe we just remember them that way.  For many, including ole’ Spikey, we cling to the past and fear change, oftentimes looking back wistfully at what was while damming those we feel are responsible for the great upheaval in the perceived memories we’ve recorded in our biased mind’s eye.  Surely things were better back then.  Someone came in, some agent provocateur and tore down everything we cherished, destroyed what was once good.  Someone different. Someone not like us at all.  Someone who doesn’t belong.   Apparently someone moved Spike’s cheese.

It might have been Spike himself.  Or it might have been whoever forked over the one million dollars Spike earned when he sold his old home in the Fort Greene neighborhood of his youth.  Who knows.  Well actually, Spike knows.  It was the dreaded white man.  The same white man who left crumbling inner cities, we were told, because of the presence of the black man.  White flight has now turned into white infiltration and Spike is not amused in the least that the garbage is getting picked up with some regularity.  Or that the schools seemed to have stooped decaying.  Or that the home prices are all approaching the million-dollar mark, much the same as the home he sold.  And lo and behold, it’s black families, like Spike, who are selling their old homes for a profit and fleeing.  Ah, but maybe not fleeing; with a cool million dollars in their hands, chances are they’re on to greener pastures however they define them.  How dare they.  Don’t they know they need to stay and defend the culture?  Culture as Spike defines it.

I’m not sure what pisses Spike off the most.  Is it the fact that his father can’t play his bass in the park anymore, or the fact that when he strolls through his old haunts, he sees faces quite a bit more pale than he’s accustomed to.

One should follow up with Spike and ask him why the garbage never got picked up in Fort Greene before the whites came in and started taking over the parks, with their jogging and picnics, and little white faced babies peeking out from their strollers.  What culture does he lament being destroyed?  I’m confused here.  If the place was so wonderful Spike, why’d you leave?  Surely with all your clout, you could have cleaned up the streets, fixed the schools and celebrated the culture you seem to have waked away from.  I dunno, maybe the past looks a little hazy viewed from the pricey season-ticket seats court-side at the Knicks games.  I’m not quite sure but one would assume that you supported whatever individuals were in official positions in the local government in Fort Greene.  Ever ask them about the garbage?  Ever contribute to any of them?  Get your money’s worth?  What exactly did the place look like in the rear window of your limo as you drove away, your million white-man dollars stuffed neatly in your breast pocket?

Things change.  People change.  Times change.  Sometimes for the better.  Sometimes maybe not.  Our pasts however, never change.  But we hopefully learn from or past, from our mistakes.  I seriously doubt that Spike has learned that he’s just as bigoted as anyone he’s ever called a racist.  No, he can’t learn that.  Black people can’t be racist.  That’s something he learned from his past. Something I was always taught as well.  Looks like I’ve learned that that’s not true and obviously, never was.

I hope Fort Greene continues to change. For the better.  I for one don’t care what color its inhabitants are as long as they are affecting positive change on their lives and communities.   I would hope, as Spike should, that the people of color who choose to remain in Fort Greene are agents and beneficiaries of the positive outcomes of that change.

Who knows; if it changes enough, if it becomes elite enough, Spike just might return home.