To unlit After Dark I went for there I’d found a park; St Patrick’s gig at near McBride’s had been a merry lark. But something furtive in the eerie shadows, shattered my peace of mind; mischief wert afoot that night, death not far behind?
Two policemens came calling recently.
I joked about the slogan on their van: To Serve, Protect And Reassure. One gave me a weary look.
“You mean to serve, protect and take pressure,” he corrected.
I listened, I gropened, I looked to left and right; but naught there was a-stirring in the still, dark night. Only from some night spot, a distant, wailing sax; only in those shadows, a scoundrel on my tracks!
Today let us salute the watchmen, security guards, policemen and neighbourhood watch volunteers who leave loved ones at home night after night and go into dark, dangerous situations to protect you, me and “human rights” advocates.
In search of long o’erdue relief, my 3.57 centimetre was in my hand; but unless he died of laughing, it couldn’t kill a man. A weapon one would keep concealed, oft scarcely to be found; I’d never dare to whip it out, unless a posse was around.
Chain a pit bull to your mango tree, in two shakes the monkeys will work out that he’s useless. Yet this is exactly what we do to our security personnel: tie their hands with legal red tape and expect them to take on vicious cold-blooded criminals.
I could not flee, I could not move, I waited for my fate; our laws prescribe the procedure which I must calculate. Was he armed, was he young, what ethnicity, of course? All variables to be considered, lest I use “excessive force”.
I don’t know what happened in the encounter between neighbourhood watch volunteer George Zimmerman and hoodie-clad Trayvon Martin. But I am amazed at the bull written by armchair critics who were obviously never in such a situation.
“Unarmed”, “teenager”, “several pounds lighter than Zimmerman so the latter was in no danger”. Gimme a break! One, it is impossible to tell if a clothed man is “unarmed” in the daylight, far less at night. Two and three, I could mention teenagers younger and of smaller build than Martin whom, believe me, you wouldn’t want to tangle with.
Like one called “Small Rat” or some such: “He may look slight,” they tell me, “but nobody don’t mess with Rat. He got a .357 Magnum and will use it!”
No such details could I discern, the split-second decision must be mine; no computer could work that fast, my tail was in a bind. To shoot or not to shoot, there is no second chance; to live or not to live that night, wee wee ran down my pants.
You want a bigger joke? Appropriate force! Apparently, when attacked we should respond in kind. The criminal gets to choose fisticuffs, knife or gun. God help us!
The anti-climax to this sordid tale, John Moss arrived in time; the scoundrel to the shadows fled and I lived on sublime. But let us praise our Police Force, not jump to criticize; they fight while fettered for you and me, nor heed their loved ones’ cries.
No one respects wimpy Western justice because it doesn’t work. We have boxed ourselves into a corner where jail is the only option. And jail is no longer feared.
We watched Glendairy being torched in broad daylight and could do nothing. The English authorities watched hooligans loot and destroy and could do nothing.
Meanwhile in Iraq, many recall the Saddam days when you could travel the country without fear. Afghans miss the Taliban time when thieves were executed same day. With Western justice, they may not face the courts in a year.
We are wasting time while crime destroys our economies.
Our laws are loaded against innocent people and lawmen protecting themselves. I turned in my licensed gun rather than risk the consequences of using it.
Bill Cosby says George Zimmerman’s biggest mistake was carrying a gun. That is true. Without that gun, he wouldn’t now be facing a murder charge.
On the other hand, he might be dead.
Condolences to friend Tony Green on the passing of his mother, the widow of Natty Green, a public servant who stood his ground for right and got destroyed by a Prime Minister.
The Prime Minister got a highway named after him.
Natty lives on in those still unafraid to tell the truth.
• Richard Hoad is a farmer and social commentator.
