In February, New York was the world’s most dynamic metropolis. By August, the city was more like the ruins of Ephesus. It is not all that hard to blow up a culture. You can do it in a summer if you haven’t much worry about others.
When you loot and burn a Target in an hour, it takes months to realize there are no more neighborhood Target-stocked groceries, toilet paper, and Advil to buy this winter.
You can in a night assault the police, spit at them, hope to infect them with the coronavirus, and even burn them alive. But when you call 911 in a few weeks after your car is vandalized, your wallet is stolen, and your spouse is violent, and no one comes, only then do you sense that you earlier were voting for a pre-civilized wilderness.
In a recent exclusive for The Western Journal, Gen. Michael Flynn expressed a keen observation and frustration.
“I was once told if we’re not careful, 2 percent of the passionate will control 98 percent of the indifferent 100 percent of the time,” wrote Flynn. “The more I’ve thought about this phrase, the more I believe it.”
I believe it, too, because I’ve seen it.
I drove past the simple brown building just a handful of weeks ago, it was the first time I had seen the place since I was “knee high to a grass hopper.”
Its windows had been boarded up and the roof was showing signs of sagging — another decade or two and I imagine the structure will be no more. The pitiful sight was a not so subtle reminder that the world I knew as a child is but a distant memory in 2019 America. Years worth of wintry winds have blown hard against the building and in the process have swept in unimaginable changes.
So much of what were common components of every day life in rural America, perhaps not sacred but certainly special, are gone. Leaving in their wake crumbling and vacant buildings dotted across the mountainscape. Sadly, the old country store I remember as a child is but another victim.