Alex Teach on the beatalex teach on the beat
Thank you, stupid blond hippie girl with incredibly badly chopped-up hair. Thank you very much.
Thank you for reminding me of my place, of why I act the way I have to, and in fact why I do what I do, now that I think about it.
“How do you feel about making money protecting Nazis?” She taunted me as I was passing by a barricade that wouldn’t contain a goat but seemed to be doing well containing the remnants of the once-mighty Occupy Movement—the last group of assholes to occupy the lot across the street from us.
Despite the heat of my uniform and the glare of the sun overhead, the question caught my attention, so I stopped and turned to look at her. “I’m not judging or anything, but are you a Nazi? Because I’m here to protect YOU, you silly goose.” Her peers laughed.
She was desperate to make a point in her attempt to shame me, but like everyone else, I don’t think she was fully aware of just what point she wished to make. She wanted to make a statement, make an appearance, be bold, do something. I get that and can completely relate to it, in fact. The difference? I know which point I would like to make, as compared to just swinging wild clove-cigarette-fragranced fists through the air.
The counter-protest people present at this week’s National Socialist Movement rally were the cream of the crop of those that simply could not resist doing exactly what its antithesis group wanted it to do. The most committed, the most dedicated, and least thought out. My kind of people, really, though I was just one of many, many cops present to safeguard against clashes between the two groups.
The primary group, the National Socialist Movement (aka “Nazis”) had lawfully acquired a permit to exercise their freedom of speech on the proverbial courthouse lawn. Their goal? To gain attention, notoriety, and with a bit of luck, lawsuits, since that is one of their primary sources of income in this day and age.
Against such an obviously backward opponent, the surest way to “win” is to simply not play their game. Silence is the one thing they cannot abide; sounds simple, doesn’t it? Just avoid the damn thing. Don’t stand in one square block of the 160 square miles that our city is comprised of, and you win against these nimrods by default.
But alas…no. For the one thing an extremist group cannot resist is another extremist group. Or two, or three, or four, in this case.
It is safe to say that the roll of the National Socialist Movement has shrunk through the years (for those outside of the federal prison system, anyway) and while the Nazis were trying not to show how skinny they are under the embarrassingly loose military-style uniforms they were wearing, what they really couldn’t hide was how few of them were there to “march”. Their megaphones were weak and would have been made weaker had there been no one to direct them at. While many resisted being that target, there were still plenty that could not, and so they had their much sought-after audience after all. And just as they could not resist taunting the NSM, a few couldn’t resist taunting the cops, either.
And after the brief laughter at the stupid blond hippie girl with the badly chopped hair? I further made my point by openly embracing members of her tribe that actually did know me. People I’d worked with on causes, protection I’d provided and advice I’d given (and received far more than once). People that knew there was more to me than MY uniform, unlike the clods across the street.
To her credit…I think she learned something. And through her silence (and those open expressions of acceptance from her fellow progressive crowd members) maybe she learned something else, too. I could only hope, because those idiots across the street sure weren’t going to.
Speaking of idiots, some of the swastika-clad bikers trying to perpetuate their own stereotypes were muscling through the crowd (right next to the girl, actually) and the counter-protestors there to fight hate with love were beginning to surround and crowd them in with vile words and threats (ironically enough) so I had work to do, and we waded into the mix.
Extremists (law enforcement) protecting extremists (white supremacist bikers) from extremists (“progressives”). Does it really get any better than this?
As General Patton himself once said, “God help me, I do love it so.” (But you’d best extinguish that clove cigarette. Yuck.)