The Amazing Adventures of Sara Corel
A novel by Toomey
Chapter Thirty-one: Politics
It was a hot Houston
summer evening on Washington Avenue, a neighborhood undergoing
the trauma of 'gentrification'. The area had been decaying for a
long time, cheap but once-proud post-war housing inhabited by
elderly retirees and low-rent immigrants who were now being
forced out by rising property taxes engendered by the intense
building spate of upwardly-mobile new homes, townhouses and
condominiums. The trendy and successful coexisted uneasily with
their urban-poor neighbors and the hodgepodge of illegals and
minorities who frequented the low-end shops and cantinas that
hung on along the area's main drag.
boogiemobile left the avenue to penetrate one of the hipper,
tree-lined areas near T.C. Jester — where yuppies walked their
dogs and jogged dutifully — spreading that amazingly penetrating
mindless bass-boom like an obnoxious challenge to the unwelcome
newcomers in their expensive designer perspiration attire and
running shoes. The gentry gritted their teeth and stoically
endured the offense, hands hovering over their cell phones ready
to summon the gendarmes should the intruder decide to prolong his
incursion long enough to constitute a public nuisance.
He did. The car
stopped, perched precariously on the edge of the street
alongside the drainage ditch. The noise from the massive
speakers got even louder, rattling double-paned windows along
the entire block. The residents glared at the vehicle's
occupants, who responded with expressive hand gestures, colorful
phrases and a tossed beer can or two.
The cell phones
speed-dialed. It would be a long time before any response showed
up, and nothing substantive would be done. As far as the cops
were concerned, this kind of thing was not worth abandoning a
donut over. Eventually, they'd chase the car away, and
eventually it (or another one like it) would be back. It was a
though. Frustrating to the new homeowners who had invested so
much in their inside-the-Loop swankiendas, only to have their
expensive peace and quiet trashed at the whim of distasteful punks who
evidently got off on being rude. Or just plain didn't give a
A rock bounced off the
side of the car. Another struck the roof. More followed in
deliberate succession, hitting the trunk, the rear window, the
driver's side door and the hood. Amidst serious cursing, four
intentionally ugly-looking characters got out of the car to
confront the pitcher.
He was a middle-aged
new resident, wearing navy Everlast joggers and white Etonics.
Some of the others on the street knew him vaguely as a slightly
eccentric writer of some kind who occupied a newly-minted garage-apartment
studio in the area. Close enough — he was one of them.
Somewhat to their own surprise, they rallied protectively to his
side, cellular calls taking on a new urgency as the threats from
the low-riders escalated. The thrower was undeterred, launching
new salvos that struck home, doing considerable damage to the
gaudy paint job and cheap chrome decorations of the cruiser. He
didn't stop until a cop showed up and arrested him.
The punks filed
charges. The tosser insisted on a jury trial, refused to hire an
attorney and claimed that he was defending himself from an
assault, citing the Biblical precedent of stoning bad actors.
Several jury members — themselves no strangers to the pounding
assault of unavoidably noxious noise from other shitheads —
bought it and browbeat the rest of the panel into acquitting
activists claimed it was racism and raised a stink. The whole
mess became a cause celebre in the media, with the cranky
stoner achieving something of a celebrity stautus among admirers
who were tired of anti-nuisance enforcement apathy and overjoyed
that somebody had finally stood up to low-life creeps and gotten
away with it.
Soon after, a car sped down
that same street in the early morning, tires screeching, shots
from the driveby pouring into houses on both sides, injuring a
dog. Consequently, other jukemobiles were stoned by
newly-defiant gangs of angry homeowners who were energized by
how good it felt and outraged by the threats of violence. In an
impromptu show of force, bassers paraded slowly down Washington
in ear-splitting protest, and when they got to jogger-infested
Memorial Park, there was a massive stone-spewing confrontation.
There were more arrests and more trials, but citizens who
answered jury summons seemed to have had enough of the kind of
irresponsible and offensive behavior that provoked rock-throwing
reactions in the first place.
One thing led to
another, and it eventually caused a lot of national public focus on the
whole concept of Political Correctness, an abomination that
showed every sign of having finally run its course in the
mainstream of society. A lot of people had had quite enough of
the obviously stupid blather about the supposed moral
equivalency of alternative 'cultures' in their midst that
celebrated illiteracy, illegitimacy, irresponsibility, rudeness,
hatred, substance abuse, self-mutilation, dependence, impiety,
ugliness, body odor and tasteless clothing. They were damned
tired of enforced 'diversity', of having to put up with a bunch
of crap from low-grade morons. As much as anything, it had to do
with the utter exhaustion of public tolerance for the obvious
dregs of society exercising their unearned license to be
Yeah, that's it. Just
plain inconsiderate. A long-rising tide of inconsiderate
behavior threatened social order, destroying the quality of life
for the majority of people who had had a decent
upbringing and expected to treat and be treated with common
courtesy. Not only did inconsiderate behavior go unpunished, the
perpetrators seemed to revel in it — and nobody dared to
protest for fear of offending the offenders' sensibilities.
Well, fuck that. The
obvious truth is that some so-called 'cultures' are
inferior. It was time to say so.
"I consider your
unwelcome noise to be a deliberate assault — turn it off or
I'll defend myself from further assault by whatever means are
"I've never owned
a slave in my life — and I've never met anyone who's been one
— so get over it."
"What the hell is
wrong with Teachers' Union teachers who can't teach fundamental
"If things were
so bad you had to leave your country, then don't bring it
with you to my country."
purposely dress to offend are not welcome here."
"That kind of
behavior is offensive to my values."
"How dare you
throw trash on my street?"
"Get up off of
your ass and get a job."
end at my nose."
"I don't owe
racist. There was a traditional, mainstream culture in the
heartland of America that had been abused, disrespected, laughed
at, ripped-off, humiliated, scorned, ignored — and made to
feel guilty for achieving prosperity, for having children
who excelled in school, for making things work, and for
creating, defending and maintaining a damned fine nation despite
rabid criticism of their philosophy, motivation, ancestry,
politics, religion and way of life. You didn't have to be of
European extraction to belong. There were plenty of people from
ghettos who had found a way to become a part of the American
melting pot, from Jews and Italians and Irish to Blacks and
Hispanics and Asians — and they were just as much a part of
the new paradigm of resurgent pride as anyone whose ancestors
came over on the Mayflower.
The stoning incident
may have been a spark, but the underlying resentment had been
stewing for a long time, mostly on radio talk shows and the Internet,
and around water coolers and bar stools. The ubiquitous PC
censorship had kept it from spilling over — because stating
the obvious or telling the truth when it conflicted with the
arrogant theories of social activists and sneering academics
made the exercise of Constitutionally protected free speech a
target for opportunistic lawsuits, bureaucratic harassment,
media lynching and character assassination.
Want a good example?
How about the utterly forbidden topic of Arthur Jensen's
heretical book, Bias In Mental Testing? According to one
well-documented and scientifically rigorous study after another
(carefully cited by the author), the only conclusion a truly unbiased
observer can come to is that, for the most part, there isn't
any. By golly, it turns out that there are some groups of
people who, no matter how you slice it, do not test as well on
standardized intelligence tests as others. That uncomfortable
fact is unacceptable to the PC mafia — so heaven help the
unfortunate academician or commentator who publicly addresse