YOUR HIGHER MORALITY

[fpb]

Well, I suppose all my friends are right. We do need Zimmerman lynched. We are in need of a lynch mob unleashed by short and fraudulent media summaries to rip a man who has been judged innocent by a jury of his peers and hang him on a tree on the reports of MNBC and the rest. Because journalists never would lie and always understand everything that is going on, and are in fact fountains of virtue and sagacity, and we may confidently hate those whom they tell us to hate; whereas the jury that has spent weeks being exposed in detail to everything that could be retrieved of the facts are too stupid, ignorant and racist to make the right choice. We need more demos. We need more shouting. We need more threats.

Comments

[philosophymom.livejournal.com]

When I say there oughta be a law, I suppose I am thinking that if someone were following me down the street, and I had a phone on me and called 911, I would like for there to be legal grounds for the police to respond to my call and confront/detain the follower. In a culture where I can get in trouble for making an illegal left turn in the middle of the the night with no other cars on the road, yeah, I think it's odd that someone who stalks someone else even once isn't considered to have done anything wrong.

Now, why must my holding this opinion, even if it can be shown to be naive and unworkable, be taken as evidence that I am desperate to find George Zimmerman guilty of something? To me, the Zimmerman incident demonstrates something I already believed, which is that armed street patrolling by civilians acting completely on their own authority is behavior that causes trouble and should be formally (i.e., with laws) discouraged. Again, by all means disagree that my stance is practical, but don't you dare accuse me of being part of a would-be lynch mob.

[fpb.livejournal.com]

All right. I might tell you that the assault on the unfortunate Zimmerman is a reality (remember the price put on his head by the Black Panthers?) driven for dirty political reasons from the very top (nobody was so much as questioned about that little stunt) and from the top of the top (remember a certain presidential candidate remarking that Martin looked like the son he never had? a candidate who, as a trained lawyer, ought to have known that you simply don't say things like that before a trial?). But then I would be called to defend the murderous lunatics who openly rejoiced in the boy's death, and I have no intention to do that.

I want, however, to tell you a couple of true stories. The first took place in the hideous academic year 1989-90, otherwise known as the Year of Hunting Barbieri Down. Among the various stories that the academic authorities used against me, one that did me particular damage was that of a former friend who claimed that I was following her around in the corridors and that she was afraid of being raped. You will have to take my word for it that I was doing nothing of the kind, and that on one occasion not long before I had actually found myself alone with her in her own bedroom and had not even thought of any such thing. (She also was the most beautiful woman in the whole college.) The place was all corridors, and one could not help meeting someone who was studying many of the same courses and interested in the same areas; and as for wanting to do anything with her, this was the time of my head-over-heels total and absolute love for Debbie Wallace, and even though I tell you that this woman was as beautiful as Aphrodite, I simply was not interested. Now the authorities at SOAS behaved exactly as you think they should in the rest of the world: "Please, sir, this man is following me around!" "Who, m-" "CATCH HIM! GET HIM! HANG, DRAW AND QUARTER HIM!!!"
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But even without that charming experience, I had still been taught a lesson a couple of years before. One night I was walking down a London street and I heard someone walking behind me. It was a young black man in a hoodie. I got nervous and tried to accelerate, but the guy was faster than me and caught up. He said: "Give me your money!" I said: "W-What?" - and then he started to laugh and walked away. I can't say this story does me much honour, but it taught me a lesson I've never forgotten.