Jungle life, I’m far away from nowhere
On my own like Tarzan Boy
Hide and seek, I play along while rushing cross the forest
Monkey business on a sunny afternoon
–Tarzan Boy by Baltimora
Monkey business on a sunny afternoon. That’s a fair summation of jungle life in contemporary Baltimora. Though as we watch the home of Edgar Allen Poe succumb to modernity’s Masque of the Black Death, I am reminded of his injunction to Never Bet the Devil Your Head. An admonition America has scrupulously ignored. Because we have not only wagered our head, but all real estate south as well. And the wager was that blacks could peacefully and productively integrate into a Western society. That forced integration, “equality,” and diversity–all bound by unrequited non-discrimination–could advance civilization rather than dissolve it. And that, barring success, black quietude could simply be purchased with EBT cards and affirmative action. The results are returning with names like Detroit, Ferguson, and now Baltimora.
Of course the devil had it gamed from the outset.
His simple position was that, in the realm of man, night would continue to follow day. That blacks (and whites) would continue to behave in the incompatible ways they are disposed. Liberals countered that meticulous incantations to the contrary would make it otherwise. The folly of man was in thinking this wager was ever anything but a fait accompli. And so having bet the heads of our cities, we now watch from besieged baseball fields as the devil takes his due. Here’s a poignant personal example of debts being collected.
The crowd of protesters then stopped a blue station wagon carrying a white family as they tried to drive past Pickles, Bullpen and Sliders along a narrow one-way stretch between the bars and the main road. As a horde of them smashed their open and closed fists on the hood of the car—while impeding them by standing in front of them—the driver backed up on the one way pass in a desperate attempt to get out of dodge. Then, stopped on the other side with nowhere to go, protesters ripped open the passenger door of the car and began reaching around inside the vehicle. As hundreds of people looked on, including several police officers who didn’t engage the violent protesters, the white woman in the front seat—middle-aged and a little heavyset with dark hair—was visibly terrified. The group of black men who ripped open the car door suddenly realized they were separated from the larger group of protesters and abandoned their quest to seemingly either carjack the station wagon or rob the people inside in front of hundreds, driving out of the one-way street back onto the main road and presumably out of dodge.
As projectiles continued flying everywhere from each part of the crowd—like a war-zone—another black man then charged into the crowd of Red Sox and Orioles fans standing outside Pickles Pub and tore the metal barricades apart throwing them into the now-crowded one-way pass where the assaulted station wagon was a moment ago.
My brother, at this point, was screaming at the group of five or so police officers. “Why aren’t you doing anything? They’re hurting people! They’re hurting people! They’re violent!” he yelled at them as they continued ignoring him and not engaging or attempting to stop the violence.
Throngs of onlookers, including multiple LEOs, simply watch a band of marauding blacks brazenly attack a white family. And if they had been dragged out and ripped apart? The children sacrificed publicly to a lost bet. Would this have wounded the national psyche as grievously as songs on a fraternity bus? I don’t much wonder at the answer.
Though would you like to know what would have motivated those spectating police officers? If the terrified motorist had pulverized an assailant in his desperation to escape. Suddenly the full apparatus of state would have lumbered to life. FBI agents canvassing acquaintances for historical utterances of ******. Computers seized to determine if commentary had ever been submitted to The Kakistocracy. Sententious black DOJ officials dispatched to publicly lament this affront to our deeply shared values. The core of those values being whites’ obligation to suffer dismemberment upon black inclination. Increasingly in surrendered large cities, police will serve as the enforcement mechanism to ensure black assaults on whites proceed uninhibited.
And what of the onlookers who didn’t render aid? They weren’t necessarily cowards. Many certainly were, though not all. Native impulses to launch a counterattack were surely tempered by equations quickly calculated. Do nothing and slink away in shame, or intervene and have my life destroyed as a “racist.” This is how to effectively turn hundreds of furious men into pylons. Though on the off-chance the beleaguered vehicle was festooned with an Obama sticker, it offered the opportunity to retrieve a discarded beer missile and enjoy the schadenfreude show.
But the lesson remains. If you want to avoid monkey business on a sunny afternoon, never bet the devil your head.