The Murders That Don’t Count
[HERE COMES THE MORAL OF THE STORY]
In America, the lives of young black people are cheap, unless they happen to fit the right agenda.
by Rich Lowry | National Review | March 30, 2012
Delric Miller IV died in a hail of bullets a month ago. When someone fired 37 AK-47 rounds into his Detroit home at 4:30 a.m., he was mortally wounded while dozing on the couch. He was nine months old. No one made the multicolored teething ring he got for Christmas or his toy hammer into a national symbol of random violence.
You mean the deaths of young black people.
Last year, Charinez Jefferson, 17, was shot and killed on a Chicago street. “She begged the shooter not to shoot her because she was pregnant,” a pastor explained. The alleged assailant, Timothy Jones, 18, shot her in the head, chest and back after seeing her walking with a rival gang member. New York Times columnist Charles Blow did not write a column about BLAAH BLAH.
Last June, a stray bullet from a confrontation on a Brighton Beach, N.Y., boardwalk killed 16-year-old Tysha Jones as she sat on a bench. A 19-year-old man, out for revenge after an earlier scuffle on the boardwalk, was charged in the shooting. Tysha’s heartbroken mother was not BLAH BLEH BLUH.
In January, 12-year-old Kade’jah Davis was shot and killed when, allegedly, 19-year-old Joshua Brown showed up at her Detroit house to demand the return of a cellphone from Davis’ mother. When Brown didn’t get the phone, he fired shots through the front door. No one held high-profile street protests to BLAAAAAH . .
Rich Lowry could yank his cock off his carapace. Same ole’ problem for the National Review: flailing empathy. Lowry becomes too focused fucking excited, and then his POW boiling essence spackles a computer box. Thankfully, tony assclowns don’t even care for the Tyshas or Kade’jahs, so he’s fine. Say ‘HI’ to someone we both know, k’bye.