There’s no such thing as peaceful revolution
My best friend, an immigrant, a brown person, my daughter’s godfather, is a professor at a university that’s been in the news lately. He, guardian of the minds of rooms full of minority students, has been charged with assuaging their very real fears, explaining to them that while their names and addresses have been shared on hate-motivated social media groups — while a confederate flag has just gone up across the street from his house – they should fear not! The University will take care of them, will protect them! (And, on the sly, he was told not to make too big of a deal about it, because let’s not scare away the writers of tuition checks).
The liberal response: to peacefully march, to petition the university, to post our admonishment on social media.
My friends, this is not enough. I’m as peacenik as the next person, but if this happens and I’m there to witness it, I promise you teeth will be kicked in. I will risk an assault charge, or worse. I’d rather my four-year-old grow up visiting me in jail for a couple of weeks than sitting idly by and watching my closest friends and family get attacked because America decided it was time to conduct itself like a reality television program.