Left-leaning satirist Andy Borowitz wasted no time in politicizing the massacre in Newtown; Canadian blogger Kate McMillan punched back twice as hard, as the Obama Administration advises us to do. And as Dr. Helen writes, “If the Second Amendment is to Blame for Mass Murder, Then the First is to Blame as Well: Do We Get Rid of Both?”
Well yes, from the left’s perspective. The ultimate goal of political correctness, phrases such as “Hate Speech,” and cries for a return to the “Fairness” Doctrine is to dilute the First Amendment into meaningless.
Related: “Why does David Frum hate the Founding Fathers?”
And this from Newsbusters: “Bob Schieffer: If Connecticut School Shooter ‘Had An Arab Name People Would Be Going Nuts.'”
Really Bob? The lack of an Arab name never stops you and the rest of the MSM from going nuts when there are multiple shootings.* That’s a topic deftly explored by Kim at a blog titled Mama by the Bay, who writes, “I was 14 when my friend Mike was murdered, at my school. Violence rushed through our campus like a lightening bolt, bringing children to the ground in an unexpected, startling shock. This was a few short years before Columbine. This was before cell phones. Before Twitter. Before we could check on each other through FaceBook or pull up CNN on an iPad:”
YOU were there. YOU, with your enormous video cameras. YOU, with your microphones poking into the bubble of grief that grew bigger as we waited for our parents to find us. YOU, with your horrible questions about what had happened, had we known Mike, had we seen anything? No parents there yet, just children. No teachers, just children. And you.
Some of us screamed at you to leave us alone. Some of us answered your sick questions, because you were the grown-ups, and we were the kids. I don’t even know how you got there so fast, before our parents, before anyone else could swoop us back inside and ask you to leave. But there you were, with your vans and your lights, asking us how it felt to know that another child had been killed. How it felt to be scared. How it felt to wonder about the names of everyone else, to be desperately hoping for more information, while feeling terrified about what the truth would really be.
I remember you. I remember your names. I remember what channel you were from. I remember that you filled the parking lot at Mike’s funeral. You stood in a line outside of the door, devouring the footage of crying football players running away from the service, like rabid hungry wolves. You replayed the video of Mike being loaded into the ambulance, over and over and over again, even when people wrote to you and asked you to stop.
And you were there today, in Newtown. Asking children who can barely spell their names what it felt like to have the trajectory of their life changed in a single morning.
How the fuck do you think it feels?
They will remember you. They will remember feeling violated by you. Their parents will regret that the veil of shock blurred their vision enough to allow you to interview their children.
Read the whole thing.
* Except when they occur in say, Chicago, oddly enough.
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