In response to my friend James’ recent post on Facebook about yet another unarmed black teen being killed by a home owner, I commented that while I am sure no one wants a burglary in their home, I own nothing that is worth a human life. Nothing.
Don’t get me wrong, I have some nice shit. I’ve got flat screen TVs, fancy furniture, some really good art and a nice watch. I like my lamps, jackets, and fancy glassware. My washing machine rocks, and I have a really nice hat that I rarely wear. Still, I have nothing to die for or to kill for. Nothing.
My Facebook comment got a few “likes” and some comments that agree and some that did not. But one comment, from someone I do not know and have not met, scares me. He sarcastically wrote that I must have been there and seen what had happened, yet I am pretty sure that if he had a gun he would shoot that boy himself. By extension, he would shoot me, too.
While I have not met this man personally, I have met his brothers. I met one a few months ago when out of nowhere a guy ran up to my car at a stop sign and wanted me to get out and have a fist fight with him over some grievance he was having all by himself. I met one a decade ago on another nearby street when I passed him on a dark street where I was driving and he was wearing all black. He used my driving too close to him as a pretext to kick my car. I saw another one shake his fist at me while I stood with some young people as they protested bigotry in a nearby retail store. These brothers, also white like him, live in Whitefish Bay.
I also saw another of his brothers punch a protester at a Trump rally, shout at our President, and write venomous things about our First Lady. I have read reports about them swarming after a female blogger or gamer who wrote about their sexism and objectification of women. His brothers seem to enjoy penning anonymous screeds to people who write progressive opinion pieces in the local press.