By Kevin D. Williamson
Monday, April 17, 2017
As I have mentioned here before, when I was in second
grade, my friends and I invented a gang for ourselves. We had a name, insignia,
military-style ranks and command structure — the works. It is the sort of thing
little boys do. What we did not have, and desperately needed, was an enemy.
But ours was a pretty small neighborhood, and a friendly
one. There was no enemy to be had. So we invented one, filling its leadership
ranks with imaginatively devious personalities and giving it an elaborate
backstory. We spent many hours tracking our enemy, and we were always
(necessarily) just a step behind them. If we came across a broken bottle or a
crushed soda can in the street, its significance would immediately be explored
and expanded upon: Which one of our rivals drank Shasta Tiki Orange Mango?
In the third grade, things were a little different. This
was the 1970s, not very long in real terms after the order came down to
desegregate the public schools. Progressives then, like progressives now, were
remarkably crude thinkers. There were not very many black residents in my West
Texas town, and though my understanding is that the schools had not been
legally segregated, some of them were effectively segregated, because the city
was segregated de facto if not de jure. There were a couple of dozen public
schools in the district, and five were either all-white or all-black.
The remedy of the time spoke to the progressive
conception of the public schools as a factory for producing whatever sort of
citizen the state should need. In this case, it needed citizens in racially
mixed schools, so white third-graders were shipped across town to a largely
black elementary school, some of whose students were in turned shipped to the
largely white schools we had attended. The students at Ruel C. Martin
Elementary weren’t exactly thrilled to have a bunch of new white kids at their
school (I do not imagine the black students sent to white schools were more
eagerly welcomed). And although things were pretty peaceful by third-grade
standards, the sense of us-and-them-ness was sufficient to render our imaginary
gang irrelevant.
We spent a year taking long bus trips, and during the day
Mrs. Kell would read The Lion, The Witch,
and the Wardrobe to us, and warn us not to believe the bits in the science
films we watched that seemed to conflict with her interpretation of the Bible.
And then Kevin, Derek, and Alison — along with a Vietnamese kid who was white
enough for desegregation purposes — went back to fourth grade as though nothing
had happened. Thus was the 14th Amendment satisfied in Lubbock, Texas.
We did not think very much about gangs after that. We
were thinking about Alison, mostly.
But not everybody gets over that in elementary school. A
few of my friends drove hours and hours to Dallas when they heard there was
going to be a demonstration by white-supremacist skinheads there. There was. It
consisted of about five knuckleheads, median age approximately 17, and about 40
counter-demonstrators, median age about 21, mostly college students. The same
thing happened on a slightly (but only slightly) larger scale with a Ku Klux
Klan rally a few years later. In Vidor, Texas — a town notorious for its KKK
activity in spite of the fact that it had, so far as I could tell, no Klan
chapter or Klan members — a group calling itself the Lesbian Avengers staged a
pretty good-sized protest at the main municipal building. Their thing was
fire-eating, and they were terribly, visibly disappointed that not only did the
KKK fail to materialize but there was no counter-protest at all, only a visit
from an elderly and very polite fire marshal who addressed them as “you
ladies,” saying that he supported their right to protest under the First
Amendment but that he thought they were being a little bit irresponsible: “We
try to teach our children not to play with matches,” he said.
Which brings us to the so-called anti-fascists, who style
themselves the “antifa.”
They are at war with an enemy that is about as real as
the one my second-grade gang was always preparing to fight.
There is no budding fascist movement in the United
States. But every gang needs an enemy, so they have invented one. This isn’t to
say that sundry whackos and Twitter warriors do not exist. Our country is
large, and it contains multitudes: I was at Waco for the Branch Davidian
standoff, which was a very dramatic episode. But it nonetheless remains the
fact that messianic Seventh-day Adventist factions are not a major factor in
American life: It would exaggerate their importance to say that they are even a
minor factor. There are 320 million
people in this country, and a few of them are going to be UFO cultists, Nazi
furries, bronies, and Methodists. One of them is going to be that pro-Trump guy
who shows up at rallies wearing the American flag as a pteruges and sporting a
Roman centurion’s helmet, or that other guy in that Tom of Finland get-up that
the Village People rejected. In the same way, there are still KKK chapters here
and there, and you still come across the occasional man in his 40s who saw that
infamous skinhead episode on Geraldo
and said to himself: “Yep, there’s my life’s calling.”
It’s a big country, and sometimes a stupid one. A more
intelligent one would immediately recognize that the so-called antifa and the
white-nationalist clowns are two sides of the same very sad little coin,
basically a life-action game of Dungeons
and Dragons with silly politics and no sense of adult responsibility.
Here’s a thought for the self-proclaimed antifa: You’re a
bunch of idiot children, obviously. But you’re also a bunch of aspiring
street-fighters who glorify political violence and dismiss liberal notions of
free speech and property rights as so much outmoded bourgeois window-dressing
standing in the way of what promises to be a glorious future.
You’re wearing black shirts.
Are you entirely sure you’re the anti-fascists?
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