Cromartie, you see, is the father of twelve children by eight women. He has been chased around by various agencies because he has not been rigorous in paying for his brood, in fact, he’s been avoiding bailiffs in the style exhibited by professional footballers in avoiding tacklers. His children, needless to say, will most likely end up in that self-oppressed, long-shot, black neverland that his rank irresponsibility has virtually guaranteed. Yet he is politely portrayed as a great weekend warrior by the ass-licking media, one that legitimately protests the oppression of black Americans. The hypocrisy of the hacks is as preposterous as Cromartie’s paternity standards.
Switch back to the Oct. 1 issue of The Spectator, and a piece written by Kate Chisholm about how “seven young people die every day in the USA from gunshot wounds barely earning a national shrug.” Yes, they do—even more than that—and 90 percent of the dead are blacks shot by other blacks. A single pop, “like a balloon popping,” and a mother’s son is gone.
I have now been here for three weeks, and every day I look at the crime blotter published in the New York Post and have yet to see a white man being arrested for a violent crime. It is always either an African-American or a Hispanic. But wait—say or write what I just did, and the establishment and their media acolytes will wield control and banish you to the outer reaches of Siberia. You, sir, are racist, sexist, xenophobic, homophobic, and morally deformed, they will thunder.