My last post about the stuck-up rich bitches is as likely as anything to provoke another racist troll infestation in my comment threads. When that happened before, I published a handful of comments that weren’t totally inappropriate and left the remaining two dozen or so in moderation limbo, and I don’t see why I can’t do that again if the dipshits hiding out on the password-protected organizational boards at My Posting Career gang up on me again.
Anyway, there was some violent imagery in that last post. It’s the kind of ugliness that might make me want to wash my brain out with soap, until I remember just how awash the United States is in actual violence against actual victims. It’s bizarre, but I got so focused on Jonathan Josey’s relatively genteel assault of that lady at the Puerto Rican association street fair and its narrow applicability to antisocial women who might arguably be edified by it that I forgot for an hour or two about other, much more serious incidents of police wilding, including the murders of Kelly Thomas and Eric Garner. I’ll omit an exhaustive list because it would take forever. Sure, there’s too much violent crime by private citizens, too, even in the midst of the current secular low rates of violent crime in much of the country, but that’s why we have cops. It’s different when the police themselves are the ones getting violent, and doing so under color of authority. Who the fuck do you call then?
In re: the specific matter of my condoning street violence as an assholery deterrent, Brandenburg is my bae. Suck on it. But there are some crucial nuances that are worth pointing out or, for that matter, repeating, ones that have gotten lost in the din of racial hysteria following the Ferguson protests and riots. For example, the police weren’t the ones protesting. When Ray Albers puts an assault up to a journalist’s face at point-blank range, that ain’t no protest, homeskillet. Then there were the Bloods and Crips uniting to defend local businesses from looters, because the police were too busy harassing, provoking, and unlawfully arresting protesters to provide minimal protection for these businesses. Avowed street gangsters knew that opportunists were itching to loot retail stores in the midst of all the chaos, and they took action. The police must have known, too, but they had other priorities, as one does.
It’s easy for the police to prevent these embarrassing public relations coups by notoriously violent gangs: they can show up and man posts close enough to the vulnerable stores that cops will at least occasionally show up in the news footage amidst all the truce brothers. The cops on the scene in Ferguson, however, gave off the distinct vibe of not being there for the purpose of serving and protecting their constituents. Maybe you can understand now why the citizens went to such trouble to protest their police services.
The Ferguson protesters weren’t on the war path against Whitey. A handful of unsavories mixed into the crowds of thousands and engaged in racist violence, but they were exceptions. They weren’t angry at white people; they were angry at their municipal police department for terrorizing them and killing their neighbors. They weren’t angry at Darren Wilson because he was white; they were angry at him because he had killed a young man under dubious cirumstances at best and they didn’t believe his version of events. And why should anyone believe it? He had, at the very least, assented to the provably false rumor that he had sustained an orbital fracture at Michael Brown’s hands. No dedicated kill whitey would be on cordial terms with Sam Dotson. Many of the protesters must have figured that Dotson was one of the good ones, as a representative of Porky, Whitey, or both, but that’s perfectly understandable when Ferguson’s municipal police chief was publicly blurting out that he felt like the target of a lynch mob at a time when he was widely suspected of covering for a murderous racist cop under his command.
There’s a common assumption on the right wing that Five-Oh is Whitey’s friend. It ain’t so. Ask the citizens of Albuquerque or Fullerton. Kelly Thomas was as black as Rachel Dolezal. It didn’t do him any good in the end.
Then there’s this bizarre idea that Whitey is some kind of unified, monolithic whole on account of genetic something-or-other. This is to be expected among black underclass racists, but it’s unbelievable to hear this sort of thing from white people. They should know better. No, we should know better. The vast majority of African-Americans know better than that, because they are not underclass kill whiteys. Some of these white nationalist lunatics don’t seem to get it, though, except as it pertains specifically to the Jews, aka YKW/Joo/Eskimo. Under that gloss, I’m not really white because I’m a quarter Ashkenazi. It’s batshit crazy nonsense, but some of them claim to believe it. My grandfather was a dentist on Staten Island with a debilitating depressive streak, so, yes, he had plenty of spare time and energy to devote to Elders of Zion meetings.
Anyway, as honkies, we’re all supposed to have the same values, unless we’re shitlibs, which means that we’ve been brainwashed by the Jews, singular. That’s why the photo of that highbrow blonde bitch walking through the Black Lives Matter die-in at the mall went viral on #NRx and #HBD. The idea is that white people shouldn’t care about police brutality. As a victim of some frightening encounters with creepy or downright bad cops, I care. I’m not gung-ho about some of BLM’s tactics and premises, but I fully support their mission to hold the police accountable for unjustified violence. White people are getting maimed and killed by bad cops, too. At least BLM is focusing attention on police brutality in some fashion. It should be easy enough for white activists against police misconduct to piggyback on the movement by clarifying that the police victimize huge numbers of white people, too, that BLM is just a bit narrow in its focus, not wrong about the underlying problems with American police.
To return to Blondie Among the Brothers specifically, I took one look at that young lady and instantly knew that her values are diametrically opposed to mine. It’s pretty obvious that she’s a spoiled piece of shit who finds the premise of the Black Lives Matter protests an amusing diversion from her day of shopping. This is reprehensible. She very much looks like someone who does not work for a living, at least in any meaningful sense, and who looks down on those who do work for a living, and on the very dignity and importance of actual work. She looks like someone who expects everyone else to serve her and sees nothing at all wrong, shameful, or embarrassing about this arrangement.
I sympathize with beleaguered SLMPD officers who tried to hold the line against dozens of protesters who were swarming through the front door of their stationhouse and banging on the windows. I sympathize with the good cops who made a good-faith effort to keep the peace in Ferguson, often under grueling circumstances. I sympathize with the St. Louis Metropolitan cop who shot Kajieme Powell because, even though he should have been more thoughtful and restrained, he was dealing with a severely disturbed, extremely erratic man who was wielding a knife at close range to him and to a number of unarmed civilians.
I do not sympathize with that white bitch in the mall. I just don’t. And I don’t believe for a second that American cops of any race unanimously consider that woman a sister. She’s nothing like them. Her values are as diametrically opposed to theirs as they are to mine. They at least have some sense of duty, for the most part. She doesn’t. The BLM protesters on the floor are civically closer to the police than Blondie Among the Brothers is. They, too, have a sense of duty to the commonweal, no matter how vociferously they disagree with the police unions. (The sentiments of individual cops are much, much more nuanced and diverse.) They aren’t proud to be frivolous and parasitic.
I’m not, either. That woman is a discredit to anyone choosing to associate with her. If you want to proclaim your white pride, the least you can do is use someone less embarrassing as an example of white accomplishment. The examples are too numerous to be worth listing.