Hell, I envied those people, too, and I’m quite white. I thought it surprising when I got to high school social studies and found out ours was not an especially poor community.

Samoans even trump Blacks — with police blotters all over the nation showing Samoans at hyper-elevated levels of husband-wife VIOLENT fighting.

What’s interesting — and shocking — is how Samoans give the lie to most Black complaints WRT the echo of Slavery.

Samoans have got all of the social ills — with a cultural history of NEVER being on the bottom. Indeed, their culture had been one of cannibalism — until the White man showed up.

( Gee, that’s just like certain tribes in Africa — Somalia comes to mind. White explorers often found themselves on the food table.)

In sum: a LOT of the violence in Black culture may well be genetic — and a reflection of r-selection — the echo of a continent where human life was cheap — going back just about forever.

We can’t change it.

As for blame, we might as well blame the stars — or the gods.

At no time did anyone — of any race — of volition — decide to pull the ‘Mean Switch’ so that harshness ruled society.

If anything, Blacks are legally super-elevated — racially — inverting their status in the Antebellum era.

Inverse-slavery is still slavery of a kind. It figures to end in a veil of tears.

Without Federal wealth transfers — based on racism — Black violence would G R A D U A L L Y be bred out of humanity — over the course of millennia.

The reverse is true. Black violence-DNA has enhanced Darwinian prospects under the current economic regime.

This is most explicitly seen in the Black ghettos wherein the Alpha thugs are getting the booty — and the civilized Betas are getting no booty at all. The physical destruction of public housing property and co-located assets occurs during mating demonstrations of Alpha cred.

The booty goes to the fellas that LEAST respect civil order. The gals just can’t stop themselves.

Such Darwinian urges hail back twenty millennia.

Lectures from the lectern won’t make these impulses go away.

Do Thomas Sowell or Juan Williams get invited to the White House for discussions on matters of race? Al Sharpton does.

If Ta didn’t write like a raving lunatic would his book be a best seller that everybody is writing about?

Somehow my requirement for evidence made me somewhat suspect in his eyes. But we still got along.

He was extremely liberal, but very intelligent and he could hear out my conservative viewpoints without his head exploding. He actually did listen, and engage me on what I was actually saying instead of simply responding to the caricature of conservative arguments other liberal senior officers with whom I had occasion to talk politics. My discussions with the latter group were fewer and farther between for obvious reasons. They simply didn’t listen to what I had to say, but instead while I was talking they just heard white noise as they were thinking about “how to argue with dumb conservatives” and would respond to that.

My Captain, though was a different kind of liberal and we had many good talks. I recall when the subject of race came up he made a point that stuck with me. He said that most black Americans have been so damaged by the seige mentality that their “official leaders” force upon them maintain the group think (thereby ensuring they have political power in liberal circles) that they really need therapy.

That’s how I see this Coates fellow. He grew up paranoid because of the siege mentality, and he will never get over his paranoia. Instead he is lauded for wallowing in it, and contributing to enforcing the groupthink.

Of course, my Captain was a liberal and he had something of a habit of seeing racism in everything. If it could be blamed on racism, then it must be due to racism. And if I didn’t see the racism in some minor slight, because the same things had happened to me. He’d be amazed and ask me some variant of, “Are you denying racism exists?” And I’d always respond with

This is really hard. Whites never know as much violence as blacks?

When I was 4 I was kidnapped for an afternoon and evening. All I heard when I got back was “You’re OK? You’re OK?” the main focus was to not give my mother no excuse to go into one of her fits. The police were never called. I always said I didn’t remember what went on, but I did. Not every minute. But I remember being given a hamburger, and later on a Snickers candybar. The guy wanted me to like him. I didn’t understand what moved him to pull down my pants and lick my ass for a very long time. It didn’t hurt. I didn’t like it. He never tried to fuck me. He cried at one point, while hugging me tight.

I was plagued by bullies until maybe 6th or 7th grade. I was tall for my age, and this attracted the attention of much older boys. I didn’t know how to talk to them, how to respond, and when for instance my arms were held behind me by a high school football lineman whlle Billy McAvoy punched me until my nose and mouth were bleeding, I chased Billy home but he hid in his house, a coward.

But I was a natural athlete, and things changed. Pat Hamilton, a notorious bully, blocked me way too hard in the back, during a gym class touch football game, and I turned and hit him with a left hook to the balls. As his head came down I hit him on the temple with my right hand. He fell on his face, and when he tried to get up I kneed him in the face. He lay there. The gym teacher ran up, but he was laughing. Nobody liked that fucking Pat Hamilton.

In high school, we had 20% blacks, and they constantly bullied whites, asking them for money or they couldn’t go up the stairs, etc. One day in gym class it was raining outside and the teacer couldn’t decide what to have do, so we just sat there in our gym clothes. An older black guy named Nate Hill had a squirtgun, and he walked slowly down the row, unsmilingly squirting each white guy in the face. They all took it, and all the other black guys laughed. He squirted Matt Biggs, a fat kid just to my left, in his glasses, and took them off, wiped them on his t-shirt and put them on again. Whereupon Nate squirted him in the face once more, taking his time.

I was by then in a state of almost unbearable tension. When Nate moved in front of me I jumped up, grabbed him by the front of his shirt and ran him into the showers, slamming him against the wall, holding him up off his feet, saying, Come near me with that thing again and I’ll fucking BLIND you. I’ll put out your eyes.” We’d been followed in by 10-12 black guys. Tommy Bell told me later that he’d loved seeing me do that, nobody liked Nate.

I’m leaving a lot out.

Years later, working as a clerk in the ER, Fletcher Patterson was being thrown out, and the two security guards were overconfident. Somehow I took off my white lab coat, draped it over the counter, then when Fletcher pulled a knife I had my left arm around his throat, lifting him off his feet, while grabbing his right wrist with my own right hand, turning to my right so that I sort of swung him over my hip and landed on top of him, hitting the floor hard on his face, the knife clattering away.

I’ve omitted my mother going crazy and having shock treatments, after breaking my sister’s arm. My triumphs in sports. I was a star in baseball and football, less so in basketball (though useful to an undefeated, mostly black team).

Some of the people who away with things against when I was young I still wish I could kill, but to make anything meaningful I’d have to go back in time.

You get to a point, you realize that pain doesn’t hurt (Hell’s Angels know this); you also know that violence gets you high. If it didn’t feel good it wouldn’t be so popular.