Street Justice

"Excuse me, sir, I'm with the Morning Noon And Night Vituperative Press and I observed you here last night and again tonight not participating in these distructive demonstrations of mostly black people, so would you tell me your definition of justice?  I hear all this screaming of 'No Justice No Peace . . ."
"Well, now, there's only one justice, justice is the same justice everywhere and, besides, I'm out here tonight 'cause a few minutes ago somebody set the apartment building where I was living on fire and I ain' got no where else to go 'cept these streets . . . ain' got no job to go to . . ."
"Do You know why you -- now I'm gonna  bring it to you straight -- don't have a job?"
"I guess 'cause I ain' got no education and no skill . . ."

"Listen, let me set this up for you.  For over a hundred years you and all these black masses have been whining, 'We is mad 'cause we ain' got no jobs and racist and every body is agin us.'  You don't have jobs because you don't have a culture that emphasizes creating jobs.  For example, many objective onlookers have agreed that Mexicans took a tortilla and created an industry.  That tortilla came out of their culture and has been creating menus and jobs for millions of Mexicans and other people all over the world.  I'll bet you that you could go into the darkest of Afrika and somebody would be there selling tacos, burritos, and enchiladas.

"Isn't there something in 'Afrikan American' culture that can be used to create jobs?  No!  Because there is no 'Afrikan American' culture.'  And so-called 'black leaders' never mention that.  They come like some preachers and politicians from the 'Hood' with their polished street-sophistry, apologists for rioting and violance to support and appease the empty-headed masses and civil-rights hypochondriacs . . .  But, wait, have we been premature and much too harsh in our criticism of these well-meaning multitudes?  Here comes the largest group demonstrating among the wild mobs here tonight.

"Oh, how overwhelmingly marvelous to see them running, jumping, proudly grinning in their graduating caps, long black robes, and waving their white scrolls for the reporters and their cameras.  Perhaps they're the latest  law-school graduates.  They'll decide for us the difference between  street justice and courtroom justice.  But, wait, hold on, are we mistaken, aren't those, yes, in this darkness what we believed to be graduating caps are actually full heads of naturally woolly hair spread atop their head and those aren't graduating robes they're -- why, in the darkness we presumed, hoping and projecting, that those bulky black T-shirts and jackets reaching to their voluminous britches hanging loosely below their knees, revealing their black butts as part of their robes, and those aren't white scrolls in their hands -- why they're actually bottles with white cloth protruding from them like, like -- my God -- Molotov Coctails, and they're threatening the police with them . .  . !"