I cannot remember feeling less positive about being an
American, or less hopeful about the foreseeable future of America, than I felt as
I sat before my television, watching the citizens of Watertown, Massachusetts
pour out into the night-time streets to stomp their feet and cheer, taking up
the mindless chant of U ! S ! A ! U ! S
! A ! U ! S ! A ! as the armored vehicles carrying Kevlar-clad storm
troopers withdrew from their neighborhoods.
What were they cheering about? They were cheering that an
army, numbering in the thousands, clad as Black Op commandos, had finally run
to ground a single, allegedly badly wounded, almost certainly scared shitless, nineteen-year-old
boy; a boy who turned out not even to have been armed.
In the course of accomplishing this stupendous feat of
bravery, this phalanx of commandos had gone door-to-door, forcing the citizens
of Watertown to leave their already locked-down homes, hands on their heads,
looking into the muzzles of military assault weapons: martial law, folks, martial
law—right here in River City.
What I did not see
captured on video from behind the lace curtains of any citizen’s upstairs
window was any card-carrying NRA patriot, standing on his front porch wielding his
weapon in defiance of this order to evacuate his castle, and singing hymns
about the snatching of his Fourth Amendment rights only from his cold, dead hand by the agents of Big Government Tyranny.
No. I did not see Courageous Defender of Liberty, Justice
and the U.S. Constitution number one.
What I saw was a compliant herd of bleating merinos, standing
on their hind legs in the dark, looking almost like men.
How very cheap is talk.
How easily is any ideal stepped around when the master’s
voice is heard.
Time now to turn all mirrors to the wall. Time to grab your
ankles and grit your teeth. It’s going to hurt; but always remember—it’s for
your own good. God bless America.
