There are those who are no doubt going to scream "racist bigoty racist" at me for writing this post. They're welcome to do so - I honestly don't Care what folks think - I write for me, not for them, and certainly not to be politically correct.
Over the course of the past 2 years, I have watched as my country becomes more and more polarized. I have watched as an increasing number of folks rush head long towards out and out race war fare. And its not going to be getting any better any time soon.
It started with riots in Ferguson, MO., over the death of a black male shot by the police, and has grown exponentially over the past 2 years, disproportionate to the actual numbers of deaths at police hands. A movement grew out of protests - protests that were based on deliberate misinformation - which continues to this day, with an agenda that is troublesome at best and terrifying at worst.
The "Black Lives Matter" movement has done more to promote racial discord than anything I can think of since the days of the Jim Crow Laws.
The agenda of this movement - of its leadership - is not justice, or equality, or even a leveling of the playing field. The leadership of the BLM movement has repeated called (via social media) for mass murder of Caucasians, mass murder of police, rioting, and intentional upheaval. They don't care whether someone has stood with them or against them. They don't care whether you've fought for civil rights. All they care about is the color of your skin - while screaming about being the underdog because of the color of their skin.
I'm going to make an analogy here that I hope will put things into better perspective. It should, at least, explain why I have ........... Issues........... with the BLM movement.
There's a wonderful little restaurant down the road, called "The Liberty Bell." Its owned by a kindly old couple named Sam and Lady Liberty. There's a sign on the door that reads, "Everyone Welcome. Come in and find a seat!"
Over the years, a whole slew of folks have entered those doors. Cold, tired, disenfranchised from various places, many of them penniless, and all of them hungry. Each of those folks sat down at a table or the counter, glanced at the menu, and saw in big letters that the Special of the Day was the Freedom Plate.
When asked what was on the Freedom Plate, 'ol Sam usually smiles and describes it for them. "We start with a heaping helping of Constitutional Rights, slowly sauteed over the flames of independence, seasoned with Duty, Honor, and Respect. To that, we add a touch of rugged individualism and allow it to stew while we build the sauce. The sauce is kind of special, its crafted from the blood, sweat, and tears of those who've worked to help perfect the recipe and protect it from those who would steal it. We top all that off with a dollop of Justice, and serve it with a nice side of Truth. We add a touch of spice to each plate as we serve it - the spice blend is a work in progress, and comes from the special touches of culture brought by those who've tasted the plate in the past and decided to stick around and make this their home. Its kind of expensive, but its well worth the price!"
And those who came and heard the description from Sam thought it sounded Amazing, and asked for the Freedom Special, declaring that it was worth it no matter what price was asked of them. They signed blank checks for an amount up to and including their own lives for its protection, should need arise. And Sam sat their plates in front of them, and patted them on the shoulder, and told them that their check didn't just cover Their meal - it covered everyone in their family, and all their friends, and their neighbors, and even folks who hadn't been born yet.
Sometimes, someone would come in and sit down and ask for the Freedom Plate, and old Sam would scowl at them and tell them, "We don't want your kind around here." Inevitably though, other customers who had already paid for their plate would say, "Now Sam, you said that Everyone was welcome, and that my blank check covered all of them. So you serve them as well."
It would take a while. Sometimes quite a long while. Sam would hem and haw, and try to serve them only a partial plate. But eventually, he was always brought around to serve them up the whole plate, with all the ingredients that the others had been given. He didn't always like it, but he always eventually came around. Sometimes, there were customers who agreed with Sam, and didn't want to see others get served. But they were always shouted down in the end, and folks got their plate.
Then eventually some of the grand kids and great-grand kids of those folks who'd had to be stubborn in order to get a plate .. they came in off the street, and sat down at the counter, and ordered as well. And the plate was set in front of them, fresh off the grill, just like it was set in front of the descendants of those who had grumbled about "their kind" being served.
Now while their parents, and grandparents, and great-grandparents had been happy finally getting the plate, and not being denied a place at the counter - their children and grand-children weren't so happy with that. Yes, they wanted the plate - who wouldn't? But they were angry that the descendants of those early nay-sayers still got the full plate as well.
"This isn't good enough! I want you to take away some of the ingredients on their plates - to make it up to me that my great granddad wasn't given his full plate originally! Simply giving me my place isn't fair, because you never denied them a place or a plate!"
"But these aren't the folks who didn't want your granddad to miss out on some of the plate."
:"Doesn't matter - I'm not going to be happy until the tables are turned, and the descendants of those who were oppressive are made to pay for the mistakes of those who came before them. And if you Don't do so - I'm going to sulk and lie and say my plate isn't full - and then I'm going to throw a temper tantrum, throw the dishes, set fire to the tabletop, and scream that its your fault that I acted that way!"
That, folks, is what we've got going on currently. A bunch of spoiled great-grandkids, who never had to actually fight to get a place and a plate, throwing a temper tantrum over stuff that happened before their parents and grandparents were even conceived, much less asked for the Freedom Plate.
It doesn't mean that their great-grands weren't oppressed. It doesn't mean that their grands didn't have to fight to get their whole dinner. It means that they're causing a ruckus and throwing a temper tantrum because they don't think its Fair that others aren't now treated as harshly as they feel their priors were.
These people aren't Protestors, regardless of what they call themselves. They aren't exercising the rights that good men and women fought hard to gain. They aren't assembling peacefully to ask for redress of grievances. They are Thugs and Spoiled Brats throwing temper tantrums - rioting, looting, burning businesses and homes, attacking others in the streets.
I won't back them. They've made it impossible to respect them. They've destroyed what sympathy I might otherwise have once held for them. They need to grow up, stop expecting life to be handed to them on a platter to somehow make up for what their ancestors went through, and start acting like responsible, thinking adults. Not toddlers who've been denied a piece of candy, going to kick over the block tower built by the other kid in the room.
Going Through the (Throwing) Motions
10 hours ago