We Americans like our neighborhoods.
That doesn’t mean we’re best friends with all of our neighbors. In fact, there’s some we might not even like at all.
But there’s an unspoken bond when you live m close by, especially in a city. And that goes beyond keeping the street nice, ceding the right of way when you leave for work in the morning or holding a door open at the local store, or even in your own apartment building.
Speaking for most Americans, I’m not sure we were even aware of it en masse until recently.
But recently there have been a lot of threats, particularly in cities, and particularly from outside the neighborhood.
And speaking for most Americans who live in these densely populated areas, as I have my entire life, I can safely state that a threat to ONE of us, is a threat to ALL of us.
And that we defend each other.
With everything we’ve got.
So when masked government men speed into our neighborhoods in unmarked cars looking to randomly cherry pick our neighbors off the street for no other reason than the color of their skin, an unpaid parking ticket or their presumed attitude, the very least you can expect any one of us to do is to blow a f-king whistle.
More likely, what you get is a relentless barrage of unprintable expletives and a united front, nee protective shield, from you f-king with anyone, even the neighbor we don’t like at all.
You might think you have the power right now but believe me, you don’t.
Not in the long run.
City people protect their own and DO NOT back down from a fight.
EVER.
We might lose rounds one, two, three and ten but eventually – EVENTUALLY – we WILL win.
You will not come into our town under the guise of some Gestapo protection and get us to give up the people we see at the market or the car wash or on the road or down the street no matter how determined you are to WHITEN your load.
For starters, we LIKE color. That’s one of the reasons we live in the city to begin with.
So when you three times shoot someone like Renee Nicole Good, a 37-year-old mother of three, a Christian, a singer and a poet, and the spouse of a woman who was co-parenting her six-year-old son since his biological father passed away several years ago, for her whistle and her “attitude” as she drove away in her Honda Pilot filled with kiddie toys and old plastic sippy cups, don’t pretend she was a “domestic terrorist.”
Especially when we have the whole thing recorded on video from five different angles via a dozen different cell phones.
But do expect A LOT more than whistles, curse words and compliance the next time you come to town.
In any city and in any state.
Anywhere in the country.
You think you’re having a hard time in Minneapolis amidst all that Minnesota “nice?”
Hunt for some bigger “game” and see what happens. And know this is not a call to or a threat of violence. We city dwellers are too smart to play your game.
We play the long game and we’ve learned from the best.
And often in streets of the very cities you are trying to invade. We know the terrain and the people and it’s not as easy as you believe to make all of US who disagree with YOU to disappear.
I grew up in the boroughs of New York City, went to grad school and lived for several years in the city of Chicago in my early twenties, and for decades have made my home in Los Angeles.
If you believe a lot of what you hear from the federal government – and I don’t know anyone who does these days – I should be statistically dead in a ditch, the victim of some violent crime or surrounded by a cesspool or garbage left in the streets by illegal immigrant families whose culture threatens my very way of existence, not to mention my job.
I can assure you none of these are the case and that I’ve been alive a lot longer than many of the people that tell you it is.
I’m Stephen Miller’s worst nightmare. A “stupid white hippie protestor” from his home state who knows exactly who he is and what his tactics are.
A guy who grew up 15 minutes from his boss and understands his ignorance and avarice.
And a person who graduated from an Ivy League adjacent school with an advanced degree when JD Vance was seven-years-old and went by a different name, though I couldn’t truly tell you which name it was because he’s changed it so frequently. (Note: Always a warning sign).
What I do know is that there are a sh-t ton more of my type than their type, ready to stand strong, in every single CITY across the country.
In the name of RENEE NICOLE GOOD.
And so many others.
For as long as it takes.
Now listen to words of Philadelphia Sheriff Rochelle Bilal as she espouses our all-too-familiar “say her name” mantra and be inspired to action.
notes from a chair 