It was just one anecdote, just coincidence. Except of course, it wasn’t. Last Saturday, police in the St. Louis suburb of Ferguson, Missouri, killed 18-year-old Michael Brown, who was black and unarmed. Police Chief Thomas Jackson says Brown hit an officer and tried to take his gun; on Thursday, Jackson added that the officer had gone to the hospital and that his face was swollen. The friend Brown was with, Dorian Johnson, tells a different story. Johnson says he and Brown were walking down the middle of the street when a police officer told them to get on the sidewalk, and that Brown used only words, not his fists, to object. Another witness said she saw Brown tussling with an officer at the window of a police car, and that Brown fled as shots were fired.
Maybe we will find out who is telling the truth about Michael Brown’s death, and who is not, but it’s hard to have faith in that right now, as the St. Louis County Police Department, which is investigating the shooting, turns Ferguson into a military zone.
Sorry, but my default position with crap like this is that the cops are most likely lying. I didn’t used to think that way, but there’s been a lot of water – and blood – over the damned dam since then.
So I should call a hippie the next time I need help? Well, it’s doubtful the hippie would kill me and my dog if I mouthed off to him.
Anyway, if I really need help, chances are my own firepower will be on the scene defending me long before any cops arrive.