The Summer of Love Crime
We’ve come a long way since 1967. A lot of that distance must have been in a reverse gear where music is concerned. Take a look at the top 100 hits from that year. People who were born 20 later can name some of them in 2 or 3 bars—and they still play in bars. Most of the top 100 from 2020, on the other hand, could serve as cruel and unusual penance for mortal sins. Whatever kinds of guilt trips the woker-than-thous try to heap on the boomers—their revolution had a hundred catchy theme songs—53 years down the road the upheaval going on now will be hard on ears going by its tunes. What the history industry will make out of the rest of it—if enlightenment still prevails—is ugly to consider.
It’s not just the music that gives you the creeps in the throes of this uprising. It’s mob rhetoric–livid and tired simultaneously–that never knows where to stop.
Particular demands concerning law enforcement excesses can be perfectly reasonable. Does it really make sense, for example, that policemen accused of serious crimes are prosecuted by the same district attorneys offices they work closely with? Even not so skeptical observers tend to question the spotty record of charges and convictions this arrangement turns out. Does Mayberry really need a tank? Is rampant no-knock actually necessary? When activists stick to questions like this they are on solid ground. Although, when it comes to public employees like cops, enlightened enthusiasm for their unions can’t be glossed over.
Activism works best when the focus is narrow and demands are few. Its when you seriously suggest tearing down a society that’s kept roofs overhead, food on tables, water running, toilets flushing, idiocy on the box and AC in the ductwork for hundreds of millions of people over several generations –that our wannabe consciences with molotovs go beyond ridiculous and get scary.
Any social reformer who stands at the drawing board ought to have some idea what has already been on it and why it has been erased. People who write books before reading any used to have a hard time making it to print. That was before literary standards became oppressive.
On August 25th–in the very thick of things—Vicky Osterweil’s screed In Defense of Looting came out. At a time when authors with manuscripts in proofs get canceled for trifles—the public is informed in hardcover that crash, burn and grab of private property is the path to our salvation. Our betters, at NPR and the Nation, aren’t aware that it’s not exactly the most novel or worldly philanthropic theory around. The idea of finite resources never occurs to them–was it growing up in the US that left them with that impression?.
Where does this author think new supplies will be coming from once the businesses that provided them have been sacked?
Osterweil seems to believe brimming stockpiles of food, medicine and toilet paper show up inexplicably from horns of plenty in the hinterlands. The idea that the stuff has to be grown, manufactured, packaged, organized and shipped by people exerting effort is outside her bailiwick. That it doesn’t reach consumers until ordered from suppliers by merchants with funds to meet their cost is so much triviata. “Insurance covers it” isn’t supposed to be a punchline–it’s something we hear from blithering wokesters who have actually been elected to office. All a conscientious rioter has to do is wait for the next truck. Looting straight off the trailer does save shelf-stocking wages. Drivers, another apparently unlimited commodity, get treated to a good social justice pummeling for showing up
Article from LewRockwell