More random thoughts and random truths as we continue to sink into the abysss ...
n Cannon Hinnant was shot in the head by a deranged neighbor, a mentally disturbed young man who the night before sat on Hinnant’s porch and had a beer with the little boy’s dad.
It does not matter whether Darius Sessoms is black or white or green. It does not matter that Cannon is white or black or green.
Yet, there it was, everywhere.
“Why is the mainstream media ignoring this?”
“Cannon’s Life Mattered. Say His Name.”
“This was a racially-motivated murder.”
The “mainstream media,” whatever that is, did not ignore this. It was everywhere. Widely reported.
This senseless murder has absolutely nothing to do with race. It has nothing to do with “Blue Lives Matter” or “Black Lives Matter.”
It has nothing to do with what is going on in what remains of our country.
Yet, so many people point at Cannon’s death and say “See? See? Why aren’t the protesters marching for Cannon?”
Cannon was murdered by a mentally disturbed person. No different than the thousands of others murdered by someone with a mental illness.
Not everything is about race.
n Every day I promise that I won’t look. I won’t read. I will take a break from the madness.
I fail every day.
Portland: I couldn’t stop watching the standoff. Crazed protesters on one side. Crazed anti-protesters on the other.
At a good distance, police, who had the best seat in the Colosseum, letting the combatants duke it out, no holds barred.
The videos were disturbing, yet laugh-out-loud funny.
A man running over and beating another man with an umbrella. HA!
Grown men holding plastic “shields” as if they were auditioning for the third-grade production of “Games of Thrones.”
Men and women wildly spraying mace and pepper spray at each other. Oh, and some sprayed Silly String. BAHAHAHA!
And the funniest: The Proud Boys.
Even the name makes me laugh.
Ever see two girls (I’m not talking about Rhonda Rousey-type girls) fight? They stand face-to-face but lean way back and flail their hands at each other.
That was The Proud Boys, all who apparently don’t have jobs and have nothing better to do than travel across the country and play dress-up, much like many of their combatants on the other side.
n “Same Bat Time, Same Bat Place.” On my porch. Late at night. Breaking news.
Last time it was a cop kneeling on man’s neck.
This time, a cop firing seven shots into the back of another unarmed black man.
I hung my head. Here we go again.
OK. Well, even if a knife was in the truck, even if he had a knife in his hand, really? Seven times? In the back? With toddlers in the car?
What was he thinking?
The inevitable came next: People try to justify what happened. Jacob Blake was a thug. He was a criminal. He had a warrant for his arrest. He fought with the cops.
He was a child rapist.
No. He was not a child rapist.
Nothing he did that day or any other day warranted seven shots in the back. Nothing he did that day or any other day warranted even one shot in the back.
So why did the cop do it?
I don’t know.
I am not defending what appears to be a murder, yet, I can’t help but think that for police officers, this is war.
Just like the 18-year-old boys who were thrust into Vietnam without proper training, without guidance, things like this happen.
Every day police officers are getting pelted with rocks and bottles and fired upon and hit in the head with trash can lids and are open targets for thousands of people protesting and rioting in the streets, many armed.
Hate is around every corner. Police are on edge, more so than ever before.
Everyone is on edge. Everyone is tense. Many people are cracking under the pressure.
What possessed Jacob Blake to walk away from the officers? To ignore their commands, knowing that, as a black man, how this could turn out?
I don’t know.
What possessed Officer Rusten Sheskey to fire seven rounds into Blake?
I don’t know.
What I do know is that this was just another week of madness, with no end in sight.
Scott DeSmit is a general assignment reporter for The Daily News. He can be reached at email@example.com.