Friday, January 06, 2012


I can feel the constant low thrum of Bloomberg's army, boots

Farther away I can feel a sense, however hazy, of the pain and exhaustion of being a black teenage boy in New Orleans. Even though I know this sense is just a hint of a fraction of an impression of a whiff of how it must be, it feels rock-bottom bad just identifying the specific negative assumptions one must be subject to and where these specific negative assumptions have the potential to lead, with the reality resembling a war. Imagine. Talking to black teenage boys like they're people. Asking them to set down their guns--oh, right, they don't all have guns. In fact, most don't. That's not naive; it's reality. Treating all black teenage boys like they are criminals is racist. I don't know how else to explain it to those who don't get that. And it's not generally helpful to explain why racism is deplorable to people that make it known they have contempt for a certain race. It's more about not caring than not knowing. Also:

There are those who enjoy their hatreds

their ability to look down their noses at X group, the clear cause of all life's problems. If only they could be quieted down some, or perhaps silenced altogether. I couldn't even hear the people arrested for yelling earlier this week at Grand Central Station. The cops acted like they were plotting a raid more than just doing crowd control of a small protest they had already cordoned off, standing off to the side mugging under helmets as they were. This act is ridiculous. How can armed people be this afraid of the unarmed and call themselves rational? It's an act. Or a sport, fun for them, an opportunity to deploy gadgets on people. Otherwise: Do they not understand they are supposed to set a positive professional tone--does that sound naive? Should it? Do they not understand they are supposed to set a positive professional tone like the courteous, clear--no Brooklyn Bridge-type booby traps--and therefore respectful police man who oversaw the protest march to Governor Fracking? Please Say It Ain't So, Andy's office. It was all fine that day. It can all be fine. We don't have to aim guns at lone 8th graders' heads in Texas and I don't care if they are holding Uzis, let alone pellet guns; I'd sooner shoot myself than do that, a choice that is held up as the only one far too often in our oh-so-normal society [kill/be killed]. And where did the tasers and pepper sprays go all of a sudden?

Almost makes you nostalgic.


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