Occupy Wall Street likes to claim it is not a violent movement, and yet across the country, rapes and riots abound. The common response from Occupiers when arrests and property damage get reported is that the degenerates perpetrating the crimes were not a part of the movement. They just happened to be there.
In one of the latest examples of the violent bloodthirst that bubbles within the aimless, demand-less movement, this joker—Nkrumah Tinsley, 29—ranted about how they were going to “burn New York to the f***ing ground.” He then went on to rave about firebombing Macy’s department store with a Molotov Cocktail on November 17, the Occupy Wall Street two-month anniversary, which they have dubbed their Day of Action.
(Poor Macy’s. These loons are also targeting its Thanksgiving Day parade for massive trouble. Fortunately, if they carry through with their parade threats, they will give America and its children a real eyeful of the despicable nature of their movement and its pointless, misdirected, impotent “protest.”)
But look at all the Occupy people surrounding this idiot as he promotes anarchy and arson. Is there anyone appalled at such suggestion, or telling him how wrong that idea is? No. It’s smiles and approving nods all around.
Don’t let anyone tell you these criminals are anything but leaders and role models for Occupy Wall Street.
On the 17th, we going to burn New York City to the f-cking ground.
Ain’t no more talking, They got guns we got bodies. They got bricks we got rocks. Let’s see what they got.
[Young man in the background] They got missiles, we got bombs.
I want them…I want them to make that decision so they can see…in a few days you going to see what a molotov cocktail can do to Macy’s.
Says the man as he…signs an autograph?
In that same post, Verum asked:
Who the hell is this guy, to make what can only be described as a terrorist threat so brazenly with cameras rolling. I’d joke and say he must be a tea party infiltrator, but seriously, does anyone have any contacts with the NYPD or the DHS? This is way, way over the line.
In the linked NY Daily News article about the arrest, the paper provides evidence that Tinsley has been an Occupier for quite some time, as they note his October arrest during an Occupy protest where he punched a cop in the face and kicked him on the ground. So a known violent police attacker was welcomed back into their midst at Zuccotti Park, as they crowded around him and chanted his rants for him so everyone could hear them.
And then we have right-wing bloggers like VerumSerum doing what Occupy Wall Street won’t do: standing up for the 100% of all that is decent and honorable in America—and getting those that would firebomb it arrested instead of cheered.
Note: Isn’t it interesting that Occupy is calling their anniversary “Day of Action” when their first day of protest back on September 17 was called “Day of Rage.” Guess they are trying to hide their roots in a call for violent anger.
When Mario Vargas Llosa won the 2010 Nobel Prize for Literature, I was surprised to see conservative commentators giving his selection approving nods. I’d only read his entertaining, soap-opera-esque Aunt Julia and the Scriptwriter and hadn’t considered its politics at the time. But if his novels have conservative themes, I’d sure like to read them. So I’ve begun to progress through his oeuvre.
Somewhere in some review, I read that his characters are secondary to the socioeconomic, political backdrops of the historical events of the period in which the characters are immersed. I don’t agree that they are secondary, but the real histories do add a sense of vibrancy and tension to the stories.
In Vargas Llosa’s novel The Bad Girl, which spans several decades and countries, his protagonist Ricardo finds himself amid the hippie scene in 1960s London, and it struck me as a contrast with today:
I liked Earl’s Court very much and fell in love with its fauna. The district breathed youth, music, lives lived without caution or calculation, great doses of ingenuousness, the desire to live for the day, removed from conventional morality and values, a search for pleasure that rejected the old bourgeois myths of happiness—money, power, family, position, social success—and found it in simple, passive forms of existence: music, artificial paradises, promiscuity, and an absolute lack of interest in the other problems that were shaking society. With their tranquil, peaceable hedonism, the hippies harmed no one, and they didn’t proselytize, didn’t want to convince or recruit people they had broken with in order to live their alternative lives: they wanted to be left in peace, absorbed in their frugal egotism and their psychedelic dream.
Reading that passage, my mind fast-forwarded to New York City, lower Manhattan, 2011, and the swarm of wannabe hippies at the Occupy Wall Street “protest,” proselytizing utter ignorance about the financial system and the economy, demanding handouts, defecating in the doorsteps of the surrounding good citizens, and drumming incessantly, noisily keeping the neighborhood children awake all night and distracted in school all day.
If only these hipsters “wanted to be left in peace, absorbed in their frugal egotism and their psychedelic dream.” But that’s the difference between these hipsters and old-school hippies. These people also reject conventional morality and values—but only because it’s too hard. They want stuff that others have, but don’t want to work for it, don’t want to start at the bottom and climb as they build experience and skill. They want the bourgeois money, power, position, social success; they just don’t see the need to earn it. It’s simply unfair if others have it, so they’re gonna pout and stamp their feet about it, and tweet their outrage from their iPads.
Another Vargas Llosa description pointed out, however, that the types of people drawn to 1960s London hippieville and 2011 NYC hipsterville are essentially the same:
Many hippies, perhaps the majority, came from the middle or upper class, and their rebellion was familial, directed against the well-regulated lives of their parents and what they considered the hypocrisy of puritanical customs and social façades behind which they hid their egotism, insular spirit, and lack of imagination. Their pacifism, naturism, vegetarianism, their eager search for a spiritual life that would give transcendence to their rejection of a materialist world corroded by class, social, and sexual prejudices, a world they wanted nothing to do with—this was sympathetic. But all of it was anarchic, thoughtless, without a center or direction, even without ideas, because the hippies—at least the ones I knew and observed up close—though they claimed to identify with the poetry of the beatniks (Allen Ginsberg gave a reading of his poems in Trafalgar Square in which he sang and performed Indian dances, and thousands of young people attended), in fact read very little or nothing at all. Their philosophy wasn’t based on thought and reason but on sentiment, on feeling.
All that dopey folly was tolerable enough, by virtue of being so inane it could be ignored. However, it came with a very dark side back then:
One morning I was in Juan’s pied-à-terre, dedicated to the prosaic task of ironing some shirts and undershorts I had just washed in the Earl’s Court Laundromat, when someone rang the doorbell. I opened and saw half a dozen boys with shaved heads, commando boots, short trousers, leather jackets with a military cut, some wearing crosses and combat medals on their chests. They asked about the Swag and Tails pub, which was just around the corner. They were the first skinheads I had seen. After that, these gangs would appear in the neighborhood from time to time, sometimes armed with clubs, and the benign hippies who spread their blankets on the sidewalks to sell handcrafted trinkets had to run, some with their babies in their arms, because the skinheads professed an obstinate hatred for them. It wasn’t only hatred for the way they lived but also class hatred, because these hoodlums, playing at being SS, came from working-class and marginal areas and embodied their own kind of rebellion. They became the shock troops of a tiny party, the racist National Front, which demanded the expulsion of blacks from England. Their idol was Enoch Powell, a conservative parliamentarian who, in a speech that caused an uproar, had prophesied in an apocalyptic manner that “rivers of blood would run in Great Britain” if there wasn’t a halt to immigration. The appearance of the skinheads had created a certain tension, and there were some acts of violence in the district, but they were isolated….
Is the reemergence of a skinhead movement likely to occur in 21st-century America with the Democratic Party and President Obama’s constant stoking of class warfare? Our top levels of government and media and entertainment now tell people they should look to scapegoat others for their lack of success instead of picking themselves up and attempting to succeed on their own. I fear this will not end well.
A revival of skinheads is only one group to worry about. The organizers and propellers of Occupy Wall Street are not dopey hippies. They are hard-core Marxists, communists, socials, anarchists. They don’t want to be left alone. They want to coopt our American way of life, our American dream. They want to finish the job that Barack Obama has so successfully begun. They don’t intend to fade away peacefully in a haze of pot smoke.
The neighborhood had filled with small cafes, vegetarian restaurants and houses where all the varieties of Indian tea were offered, staffed by hippie girls and boys who prepared the perfumed infusions in front of the patron. The hippies’ scorn for the industrial world had led them to revive handicrafts of every kind and to mythologize manual labor: they wove bags and made sandals, earrings, necklaces, tunics, headscarves, and pendants.
I’ll take hippies over hipsters and union thugs. We’ll know they’re winning the battle for control over Occupy Wall Street if there starts being more tables selling macrame potholders and tie-dye t-shirts than copies of the Daily Worker and the Communist Manifesto.
At first I was appalled and mesmerized and giggly when this video first came to my attention. The members of a new group, Conscious Men—a bunch of emasculated men (an oxymoron?), many with interesting hair and grooming choices—apologize to women for being men.
Part of the communal script from which they all read says:
“I may not have done these things myself, but I am aware of the forces of the unconscious masculine psyche, that men feel threatened by and seek to dominate the feminine. Many of the men that have oppressed and abused you are no longer alive. Among the living, many men may not be able to apologize because they remain shackled in a prison of anger, fear and shame. On behalf of my gender, I apologize to you for our unconscious actions when we were angry, scared and in the grip of destructive forces in our psyche.”
But then it occurred to me that much of their script is perfect for any historically villainous group to express remorse for their predecessors’ actions towards their victims. We can just turn it into a sort of Mad Lib:
“I may not have done these things myself, but I am aware of the forces of the unconscious [bad guy] psyche, that [bad guy, plural] feel threatened by and seek to dominate the [good guy]. Many of the [bad guy, plural] that have oppressed and abused you are no longer alive. Among the living, many [bad guy, plural] may not be able to apologize because they remain shackled in a prison of anger, fear and shame. On behalf of my fellow [bad guy, plural], I apologize to you for our unconscious actions when we were angry, scared and in the grip of destructive forces in our psyche.”
Now replace with your preferred good guy and bad guy.
For instance, we Southerners would love to hear a bunch of Northerners read it to us. Therefore, replace “bad guy” with “damn Yankee,” and replace “good guy” with “salt-of-the-earth sweet-tea-loving grit-eating gentle folk.”
Or the citizens of President Obama’s world would replace “bad guy” with “damn American,” and replace “good guy” with “rest of the world.”
Have at it. Fill in the blanks with you and your oppressed. Let the meaningless blanket apologizing begin so we can all cleanse our souls and “move forward into a new era of co-creation,” as one of the hippy dudes so emotively said.
October Surprise: Happy Malaise-Filled Solar-Powered Days Are Here Again
Energy Secretary Steven Chu (who, don’t forget, has a Nobel Prize, like the President) and one of the President’s 2,578 czars, White House Council on Environmental Quality chairman Nancy Sutley, issued the grand decree yesterday that the White House has changed its mind and will go solar. Not totally, but enough to release the First Family’s water-heating serfs from their daily labors.
Yet an AP story notes that once again, Obama is just following in his predecessors footsteps:
Former Presidents Jimmy Carter and George W. Bush both tapped the sun during their days in the White House. Carter in the late 1970s spent $30,000 on a solar water-heating system for West Wing offices. Bush’s solar systems powered a maintenance building and some of the mansion, and heated water for the pool.
This leads to the questions:
Where are W’s solar systems now? Did Obama have them removed? The AP speaks in the past tense (“powered” and “heated”), as if they don’t exist anymore.
Why does Obama keep doing the exact same things that Bush did?
A Carter-era solar panel is hauled out yet again for another agitprop tour
Amid the reporting of this great environmental feat, one fact has gotten conveniently glossed over: A couple weeks ago, a merry little band of global warming activists, lead by radical left 350.org founder Bill McKibben, pulled up in front of the White House expecting Obama to join them in a round of Kumbaya on the rooftop, but instead his people told them that he would not install solar panels on the White House, especially not the crusty old one from the Carter administration that McKibben and a few female students had toted down from Maine with them on their protest drive.
McKibben didn’t take kindly to the dis and set about making as much noise in the media as he could. In a lengthy op-ed that he sent out to the blogosphere, he was determined to portray his little group as virtuous and wide-eyed as possible:
And so, on the day after Labor Day, we set off in a biodiesel college van. Solar road trip! Guitars, iPods, excellent snack food, and for company, the rock star of solar panels, all 6 x 3-feet and 140 pounds of her….It couldn’t have been more fun. Wherever we could, we’d fire up the panel, pour a gallon of water in the top, point it toward the sun, and eight or nine minutes later you’d have steaming hot water coming out the bottom.
And to make the White House look as dark and dunce-like as possible:
…eventually someone from the Office of Public Engagement emerged to escort us inside the Executive Office Building. He seated us in what he called “the War Room,” an ornate and massive chamber with a polished table in the middle.
Every window blind was closed. It was a mahogany cave in which we could just make out two environmental bureaucrats sitting at the far end of the table. I won’t mention their names, on the theory that what followed wasn’t really their idea, but orders they were following from someone else. Because what followed was uncool….
When the administrators proudly proffered a clipping from some interior page of the Washington Post about their “greening the government initiative,” Amanda calmly pointed out that none of her neighbors read the Post and that, by contrast, the solar panels had made it onto David Letterman.