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“What used to be illegal is now legal.”


What at one point in time used to be illegal is now becoming legal. One of those things is the legalization of Marijuana in small quantities. What before could have gotten you sent to federal prison has become a lot more lax. And to add to it, there is now a market to capitalize off of the sale of Marijuana to dispensaries.

new legalities

Are there any new industries that may emerge which will open up for mass consumption which used to be illegal? And know what in particular which is still the oldest profession; prostitution. But the idea of this becoming legal in America is such a far stretch, that it’s not even worth the conversation. Now, in other countries there is a legalization, but not America. So, there goes that idea of a new industry.

why the wait

There are multiple reasons as to why the government has waited for some period of time to legalize what has been illegal. One of the reasons is that not enough time goes by where a generation sees the illegal product or service as negative. In the past years, if you had the legalizing Marijuana debate, both sides took issue.

Another reason for the wait, is what do you doo with all the people sitting in prisons for the crime. There are countless Marijuana offenders who are doing hard time in prison. Do we let them go? Because then again, the majority of them are non-violent federal offenders.


Remember prohibition; the illegal sale and use of alcohol. It seems a world away from the past where drinking beer was a fine. Now, we have beer commercials during sporting events. Enough time has went by to make it ok for use and sale. But also because the amount of revenues collected by companies as well as government for the sale of alcoholic beverages. The same will be for a narcotic like Marijuana. A multi-billion dollar industry that in the next 25 – 30 years will be a blip on the radar of conversation.

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addiction, aid, bottle

“Doping: the new norm.”


Drug addiction has been a problem throughout American history. Especially during the period of time between the early 1970’s through the mid 1990’s. There were three major epidemics of drugs that hit the United States in this time: heroin, cocaine, crack cocaine. And since these three major epidemics, there have been smaller cycles that have popped up in the country. Right now, we are back in an opium crisis with heroin. But as with any issue that we have had, there have been a pop culture surrounding the issue. Today, we don’t have the “Just Say No” and D.A.R.E. But in our music, we are now starting to see the glamorizing of drug use.

popular usage

In the music we listen to, narcotics have started to become all the rave. But it’s not something new, during the 1970’s, cocaine use was so popularized, there were nightclubs known to cater directly to the narcotics market. So now, with the strength and influence of hip hop music, drugs are back in the pop culture. But what’s odd about hip hop being the place for drug usage is that hip hop music has for so long been the popular music that glorified the hustler and the dealer not the user. Everyone in hip hop for so long wanted the cars, the clothes, and the women the dealer had; but today, people want the drugs. And what are the drugs that are most popular.

drug of choice

There are a few drugs of choice that have been popularized, yet they are still a problem in our society.

  • This recreational drug is legalized in a few states to use in small amounts. And if you have the money, you can open your own dispensary as well as your own growing center. But as lucrative as the business might be, using is still bigger to people than owning.

  • This drug is used very prevalent among young people in today’s society. In the past, the majority of people used Ecstasy, but not the new generation. It has been popularized in music and in film/television.

  • As for heroin, this drug is less acceptable, and highly illegal. But nonetheless, it has swept the nation recently. So much so, people have posted videos on Facebook where people have been unconscious in their cars after using the drug.


Ultimately, the problem with the drug culture is that there is a total lack of productivity, efficiency, mobility/motor skills, fertility, and decision making. People find themselves sin more trouble once drugs come into play because they are not capable of making sound decisions under the influence. Yet the more marijuana becomes commonplace, you will see an even bigger usage because it will no longer be taboo.

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“What is your vice?”

The topic of narcotics use has been a subject for debate for the past five decades. But narcotics has popped its head up again in a new epidemic. Heroine use is back up again as well as Cocaine use on the west coast. And sad part about it, it’s a young generation that is using the drugs. Videos have been posted on social media of people and their drug use. Some of which are sitting in the front seats of their cars overdosing. So what is the reason for so much drug use? Especially a narcotic that has already proven to be a problem in the past. The 1960’s and 1970’s were a major Cocaine and Heroine usage time period. Now all of a sudden it’s back again.

On of the reasons that people have been using more drugs today than previous years is because of depression. So many people feel they need an escape from whatever it is that they are feeling bad about in life. Instead of facing the world head-on, people feel that they can only defeat their demons through drug use. The problem with that is that the narcotic creates a whole new set of demons worse than the ones you’re already defeating. So if you’re suffering from depression because you lost your job, then using narcotics is going to make you feel better in the moment, yet worse when the high comes down. And that brings me to my next reason why people use narcotics; unhappy with quality of life and needing an escape.

When I say quality of life, I mean employment situations. In society today, so many people are looking for work. So many people are unhappy with their current jobs and want anything better than what they have at the moment. So with the little money they do have, they get high. The only problem is that when you use a little money, it quickly turns into a lot of money. And that’s when you really crash because you find yourself dipping into your rent, mortgage, utilities, and personals money. And after this happens so many people find themselves sleeping in the street. This is the place known as rock bottom. The absolute lowest point in life; homelessness.

But it’s not all sorrow as to why so many people use narcotics today. Another reason is the social aspects of drugs. People use drugs to fit into their social circles. I have been hearing that on the west coast there has been an increase in Cocaine usage among young millennials. And it is so casual that no one is even talking much about it, almost like it’s perfectly normal. You would think that a lot of their parents who remember the past decades of heavy narcotics use would warn them. But then again, that’s assuming that parents know their children are using drugs. In the end, there many different reasons why people use heavy narcotics today. But unlike the past decades, prescription drugs are becoming an even bigger problem than narcotics. But even with all the downsides of narcotics people continue to still use heavily.


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“Ever been in too deep?”

848 is the charge that is reserved for mainly drug traffickers who move high quantities of narcotics. It is known as the the kingpin charge. In my lifetime, there have been a few kingpins that have graced this earth. But when I think of a kingpin, I think of Pablo Escobar, Carlos Lehder, Joaquin Guzman (El Chapo), and Griselda Blanco. It wasn’t until I became an adult that I realized that Americans have been hit with 848. And when you look at what they were engaged in, you could consider these people kingpins. Nicky Barnes, Frank Lucas, Ricky Ross, Big Meech, and Rayful Edmond. My question is, do some of the men who are hit with these charges know what they’re involved in?

Growing up in the inner city, there were guys in my community that were charged with various drug offenses. To me they were just basic drug dealers, but you hear about guys receiving kingpin charges and you pause. These guys are kingpins, really? But in the court system, the level of drugs that they were selling made them kingpins. But, there is only one problem, a lot of the names I stated early were much older men. But what about guys who were getting charged in cities across the United States at young ages. And when I say young, I mean 15, 16, 17, and 18 years old.

You think to yourself, what 15 – 18 year old really know about the drug laws. You had guys selling drugs that didn’t even know there was authority outside their neighborhood. So to assume they were these guys putting together this massive criminal enterprise is far fetched. Don’t get me wrong, they knew it was wrong. But for boys this young, they were doing what was the cash cow in the neighborhood. So if they knew what they were truly involved in, would they have still joined? We will never know because so many of them have lost time selling drugs.

Now as for me, how come I never got involved in my neighborhood debauchery? It was because I knew the full extent to which I could get into trouble or killed. How did I know, I was taught in my household. So why weren’t these guys taught in their households. Or maybe they were taught what could happen. Maybe they knew and just didn’t care. I will say, the older guys knew what could happen. Unlike the older guys, younger guys had no clue what they were doing. Nonetheless, the criminal justice could care less if they knew or not. They were carried off to jail.

In the end, being seen as a kingpin or running a continuous criminal enterprise is an 848. So by law, it is not hard to be labeled as a kingpin. But as for the young guys who get involved they are in the dark as to what they are doing. But in today’s society, can they truly say they don’t know. There is enough information out here that was not available in the past. But as long as poverty is what’s driving the market, we won’t see any stoppage of drug sells anytime soon.


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“Where does it all come from?”

Ever see the crime rate in the inner cities throughout the country? You ever wonder where so much of this rage comes from? The frustrations comes from a multitude of issues in the community. It’s not just one thing to observe when trying to figure out why this exist. From the gun violence in the community to the rioting when the police shoot an innocent Black male. This rage comes from internal struggle as well as external struggles. But it’s not indicative of who we are as a people. The black community didn’t have these high crime rates during the 1920’s, 30’s, 40’s, 50’s, or even the 60’s. And this was a time period when we barely had rights in America. Well, what happened?

I’ll say the first issue that came about was actually a positive as well. That double edge sword was the Civil Rights Bills passed in the 1960’s. After this time period Black people had this sense of accomplishment. We felt like the work had been complete. Yet, during the Civil Rights Movement, we had our own communities. Black people had our own businesses, schools, hospitals, and social programs. That Black owned mind-frame shifted after the movement. We thought to ourselves, “Why all the Black stuff, we are free now.” Then, communities dried up as Black people left our urban environments to take solace in upper middle or upper class predominantly White neighborhoods. So money left the community, while at the same time spending was poured outward. Whereas in the past money was circulated through the community.

What happened next, coming into the 1970’s as money left, narcotics took hold. The combination of Heroine met Cocaine, led to high crime rates and bombed out buildings. Fatherless homes left Black women dependent on welfare. Which leads into my next reason for the rage. The lack of a co-parenting  situation that made the women both mother and father. Initially Black men were gone from the house for a few hours. Why, well the family needed money from the welfare system. Then hours to days, days to weeks, and then weeks to months. In no time fathers were gone, beginning to get hooked on drugs and alcohol, while women were the new leaders of the community. Now we have this pride in the woman doing it all, when in reality it takes more than just Black women to keep young Black men out of trouble.

Men and women have different skills, thought processes, and emotions. So it’s no wonder why Black women have had such a tough time raising children alone; especially connecting young Black males. So, with no help and forced to work long hours to provide for the family, more than ever the term latch key kid came into play. With her at work and no father around, young Black males turned to gangs as a means of creating bonds with each other they weren’t receiving at home. Gangs started battling for turf over other gangs which were predominantly Black, leading to an even higher crime rate than before. This time was known as the Crack Cocaine years of the 1980’s and 90’s. Which leads to the rage as well of a generation.

Drug trafficking was an issue coming from the 1960’s throughout the 70’s, but nothing was like Crack. Crack took communities deviations down to nothing. KKK were far removed from our communities, while we took over where they left off. Black women who could have been beauty pageant contestants were taken down by Crack. Hair matted on their heads, eyes blood shot red, skull caps & ripped t-shirts, bodily scares from syringe use and scratching, and diseases stemming from drug use. Women who could have been doctors, lawyers, engineers, educators, were taken down by drugs. Black males were dying and getting hit with conspiracy charges and sent to prison for decades, as well as life sentences.

Then the 1990’s came and went, leading into the 2000’s. After a few decades of mayhem, we felt through this past 90’s into the 2000’s this sense of accomplishment as well. But entertainment became bigger influences than ever. Hip Hop hit in the 90’s and early 2000’s, making these men bigger influences than the Civil Rights leaders of the past. And here is another aspect of the rage from young Black males and females. Our entertainment was now raising us, and we would base more and more off of tangibles then intangibles. Boys were more encouraged to be players and pimps than boyfriends and husbands. And Black women were prompted to chase after ballers over day-to-day working men. So now, pickings are slim because expectations became so unrealistic.

So the relationship between Black men and women was even more fragmented. Then in 2008, the United States elected its first Black president Barack H. Obama. Black people flocked to Washington D.C. from all across the country for his inauguration. That sense of accomplishment reemerged and for the past eight years, we felt success. He, a Noble Peace Prize winner, and his wife Michelle Obama was inspirational as well through her public persona. After they left the White House, people geared themselves for Hilary Clinton, the first woman. But the nation elected Donald J. Trump in the year 2016. A man who pulled no punches on how he spoke. Unapologetic and aggression was enough to make him president. And that feeling of hurt emerged from the Black community. Hate crimes rose and everything felt bleak.

And in the end, that’s the feeling of rage from the Black youth of today. We have constantly been told things are different, but don’t feel different. My millennial generation and generation Y were raised into a community of crime and poverty. We feel lied to and with a feeling of limited opportunities, the rage rises. But there is a flip side to the rage. Trump has also had an inverse effect in other ways. Consciousness among young twenty somethings have risen as well. We may be headed toward another Black Renaissance like that of 1930’s Harlem. So with all the anger and frustration, we need more and more consciousness, especially in this troubling time.


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Standing next to my brother, I must been only a few feet tall. I can still hear the drug addict as she approached, “Got some blow, got some blow?” He looked around, scanning the street from left to right, as he placed a tiny baggy of white powder in her hand. She gave him the cash in their hand to hand exchange, and then she walked away as quickly as she first approached. I must have watched a few dozen more people run up to him that day, as he scolded each of them, “Hey ya’ll, stand back, you gone get some, stand back.” I always wondered about the substance inside those tiny little baggies that everyone was going to crazy over.

In my childlike mind I envisioned sugar, which they were using to bake some type of meal at home. But I quickly dismissed this theory because why didn’t they just go to the grocery store. The grocery store had way more sugar than my brother was offering. It also was a hell of a lot cheaper than my brother was charging. I couldn’t understand for the life of me why they were spending ten to twenty dollars on something so small. There was one thing for certain, people went crazy for it. People would sometimes seal their purchase and snort the powder standing right there. That’s something that shocked me; they would snort this stuff and even rub the leftover residue across their gums.

By the end of the day, my brother would reach into his pocket and pull out a wad of cash. Watching all this money really sparked my interest. It seemed like he would be counting money for hours. I knew in that moment what I wanted to do in life. I wanted to sell to people whatever it was my brother was selling. You see my father was never around, and my mother was a waitress at a diner. She would come home from work as well with a wad of cash. Only her stack was a lot smaller in size than my brother’s. What was odd, is that when my brother would hear our mother outside, he would gather his belongings in a hurry. He grabbed the baggies, a small scale, a tiny scupper, a credit card, and an even bigger bag of white powder.

“Why would he run,” I thought to myself. Mother would be so grateful if she knew how much money he was making. I mean, she struggled raising the two of us, how could he be so ashamed to let her in on his new found wealth. Something struck me as odd after he would take his belongings into his room. Right before our mother would open the door, he use to put one finger to his lip, “Shhhhh, you didn’t see nothing, ok.” “Keep quiet about what you saw, and I’ll take you for some ice cream.”

That’s all I needed to hear from my big brother was that we were going for some ice cream. I never understood why he didn’t want me to say anything, but who cared. All I could think about once he said that was cookies and cream. There was nothing better than cookies and cream with my brother. Mom would walk into the house, and give a keen stare at my brother. “Have been out looking for a job today?” “Been looking all day, and couldn’t find nothing,” he would reply. I wanted to say so bad, “You do have a job.” “What about all the customers who buy your nose sugar?” Yet something kept me from saying it, maybe it was from the promise of cookies and cream ice cream.

She would walk pass the two of us, as she made her way to the bathroom. My brother would wait until she entered the bathroom and walk into his bedroom. There I would be, sitting alone on the couch, wondering what was going through my mother’s head and in my brother’s bedroom. It’s almost like they would exit the exact same time from the two rooms. My mother would give another keen look as she sat on the couch. These looks she would give him became all too routine; like she could sense the deceit. She would peer pass my brother, looking toward his room door. It’s as if she knew; she just knew he was hiding something. Which was something my mother hated, she hated lies; she hated the deceit, and she hated the betrayal.

My brother was all three rolled into one, only I didn’t see it that way. To me, he was a superhero; like in the movies or a comic strip. In my eyes, standing next to my brother, was like standing next to the President of the United States. There was nothing he could do that would upset me. This was the man who would introduce me into manhood. He is the one who taught me how to fight and how to pick up girls; how to love and how to show loyalty. I mean, who else was going to show me, not my mother. She wasn’t us, and we weren’t her, so how would she know? Who could teach her how to understand us better than my brother and I. So she did what any woman would do raising children on her own; she prayed and asked for the Lord’s guidance.

My mother didn’t know much, but she knew something wasn’t right in her household. I realized something wasn’t right while my mother and I were watching television one evening. There was some news reporter speaking into the camera about some war. He said it was a war that the country was losing and something needed to be done about it. I’m thinking to myself, a war, what country are we attacking this time. Only it wasn’t a foreign country, it was in this country. The television cut from his face to rows of rundown houses and apartment buildings. Something caught my attention as the camera kept panning the neighborhoods on the screen.

I thought to myself, those communities look like the one that I live in. Not only that, but those people walking the street look a lot like my brother’s customers. The reporter was saying how they obtained footage of the war. There were people with those tiny little baggies my brother had in his pocket, as well as the snorting of the powder. Then I became quite irritated to tell you the truth. How could a country be at war with my brother’s business? My brother was supplying these people with a product in which they were paying for out of their own pockets. The customers were a little creepy, but everyone in my neighborhood was strange in some shape or form.

I couldn’t wait until my brother came home so I could tell him about this war. He would enter the house, as normal, and walk into his bedroom. That’s when I would follow after him and knock on his door. With confidence, I approached him and said, “I was watching TV with mom tonight.” “The TV said that there was a war on your business, they can’t shut you down like that.” He never even broke a sweat as he looked me in my eyes and replied, “They always trying to shut me down, but the goal is to keep moving around so they can’t shut you down.” It still was confusing to me even after speaking with my big brother. Well that’s until I overheard a telephone conversation my mother was having.

She would be discussing the issues in the neighborhood; everything from fights in the street to murders on the sidewalks. For some reason she really took issue to the customers my brother was supplying. I’ll never forget what she called them, “junkies and fiends.” She went on to say they were, “strung out and tweaking.” I had never heard her speak of these words before, which carried such fowl connotation. So what did I do, I would sit near her as if I didn’t understand the conversation; soaking it all in. By the end of the conversation there was a clear painting of what she was discussing. The painting was grim, it was scary, it was violent, and it was all that described my brother.

My brother couldn’t be what she described, but my mother was a wise woman. Even though he was my superhero, she was above him in her own regard. So here I was, stuck at a crossroads, not knowing which path to take. Should I honor my loyalty to my brother and ignore her comments, or confront my brother about what our mother had said. So you know what, I approached her; that’s right, for the first time I stepped to my mother. Not like a boy, but like a man. I looked her dead in the eyes and said, “Don’t talk about people like that, they have done nothing wrong.” “If it were wrong, then how come the police have not arrested them yet?” Her anger for me listening to her telephone conversation subsided, once she saw how much it bothered me.

It was a look I would never forget; combination of shock and anguish. She would place her hand on my cheek on tell me how much wrong was in our community. I didn’t want to hear it; it wasn’t true, it couldn’t be true. If what she was saying was true, then my brother is up to no good. He was one bad man who was charting down a path of destruction. I had heard enough, so told her, “Don’t tell me about how bad these people are, my big brother supply these people.” “He gives them sweet sugar to put in their noses and they always come back for more.” “He divides it up with a credit card and weighs all of it right here, I watch him do it.” “Just so he would give everyone a fair amount.” “Now you sit here and say these things are bad, how mom, how?”

Her shock and anguish turned to tearful emotion and pain. This was new; I had never seen my mother cry before. Something must be wrong? What did I say to make her turn so quickly? She leaped from the couch and scampered into my brother’s room. Next thing you know, she had gotten hold of his big bag of sugar, and tore it open. The room quickly filled with powdery mist as continue her assault on his room. From the other side of the door, I was thinking to myself, “When he gets home, he is going to be heated.” “Mom ripped open his bag, poured out all his sugar.” “Now what is his customers going to do about their nose sugar.” “He is sure to lose them all to some of the other salesmen who stand on the corner in the next block over.

She stormed from the bedroom, almost knocking me to the ground, as she dialed on her cell phone. Her exact words once the person answered, “Hello, 9-1-1, I need the police, right now.” “Don’t ask for the emergency, send them now!” I thought to myself she has done it now, tore up my brother’s room so bad, now she needs medical attention. But I couldn’t understand why she needed medical attention from the police. The police are supposed to come when someone is going to jail. Who was going to jail? I knew she wouldn’t have called on herself. Maybe she was calling on me because I yelled at her.

The fear of going to jail made me run from the room, into my mother’s bedroom. I hid underneath her bed, while I heard the sounds of sirens moments later. They’re here, the sound of their heavy footsteps on the porch made me cringe in fear. As they entered I heard my mother yelling, “I want him gone, take him to jail.” I grew more terrified hearing her say these words. It hit me, she was talking about me, but I wasn’t going to jail. But I had to do something as she called out to me. Then when I wouldn’t reply, she made her way to the bedroom. As they entered, she yelled, “Boy, where in the hell are you!”

I slowly emerged from under the bed, shivering from fear. “Boy what the hell is wrong with you, come here!” She grabbed my arm and forced me from the bedroom. It felt like I was on my way to the gas chamber. Here it goes, just like this, this is how my life will end. As we stood before the police she looked at them, “My son here has been telling me all about his brother’s dope dealing in this house.” “I want him arrested; he is to not step foot in this house selling dope. I paused, looking at her in shock, oh no, not my brother. My brother didn’t sell drugs, drug dealers hurt people. My brother didn’t hurt anybody; he was simply giving people some sugar for their noses.

Hell I don’t know why people needed sugar for their nose, but boy did they love it. Eventually footsteps were heard from outside, as my brother entered the house. He looked in shock, “Momma, what happened?” “Why are the police here?” They walked over to him, “You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.” My brother was shocked until he took a peek inside his room. Once he saw the all his sugar on the ground, he closed his eyes and dropped his head in shame. I still remember how they took him from the house, my mother not even acknowledging his existence. I had never seen my brother until that day when the police took him away in handcuffs.

Each and every day after my brother left, I would wait on the porch for him. I waited days, then weeks, then months, but the inevitable set in; he wasn’t coming home again. By the time I was on my way out of elementary school into middle school my brother came home. Only this time, he was muscular and had all these tattoos on his body. He asked me if I still loved cookies and cream ice cream. When I replied yes he offered to take me to go get some. On our way to the ice cream shop he was approached by one of his old customers. The man said, “Haven’t seen you around in a long time; still got some blow?” My brother said, “Naw man, I don’t sell blow no more.” The man walked away as my brother and I entered the ice cream shop. I was glad he didn’t sell it anymore because I never wanted to see my brother walk out of my life again.


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“Where did they come from?”

The above photo which shows guns lying out on a table are not in preparation for a gun show. This is not a manufacturing plant either. The guns above are of many firearms seized from drug/gang raids by the police. The topic of illegal firearms have been on a lot of people’s minds lately. Well, actually, guns in general have been a long debate in this country for some time. But when we discuss the illegal guns nowhere is it more prevalent than in inner cities across the country. Why do inner cities get so much attention. Well, that’s where the disproportionate amount of violent crime where guns are used occur.

Then a way to combat might be the suggestion from various political figures, such as the use of “Stop and Frisk.” This was a policy implemented in the city of New York to combat crime. Now during this time people said crime declined. Now did it, yes, but there was blow-back. Why, if it worked? This is why because the criminals were not being stopped. It was everyday citizens who have done nothing wrong. So my best guess as to why the crime decreased is because criminals saw the tactics and slowed their firearm carrying.

Now, a politician might say, hey, they are thinking twice. So what the people were innocent, at least criminals thought before carrying. Well no. Well why no if the crime went down. This is why; yes the criminals think twice, but what happens is people who are innocent get disgruntled. And when that happens even when the crime decrease, you lose respect from the community. Once this happens, anytime the police need assistance on bigger cases, they are unable to come to this same community because the relationship is ruined. So in other words, you decreased violent crime, but you inadvertently made criminals more powerful. So now, they don’t need to carry guns, they have more willing cooperation from the people.

In addition, the policy was deemed unconstitutional considering it only targeted certain minority groups. But guns are still an issue. Let’s say for instance Stop and Frisk worked how the city wanted it to work. Then guns would constantly be removed from the street. But you run into another problem. Eventually the citizens would want to know where these guns are coming from. And that’s when the plot thickens. Because how does a kid from the housing projects shy of his 18th birthday manage to get a hold of military style weapons?

Here is when the idea of corruption comes into play. There aren’t any gun manufacturing plants  in inner cities. So how does a teenager from an inner city get his hands on guns ranging from handguns to assault rifles? Well, the reply is that they are stolen. Well, let’s analyze that fore a moment. A handgun could be stolen or illegally purchased. But purchased from who? Who are guys in the street getting their guns from? But also, how are assault rifles being funneled into inner cities? You keep throwing out Stop and Frisk all you want, eventually you have to answer the question of where do these guns come from?

I had a guy in middle school brag to me once about how he owned a gun that belonged to a police officer. That’s odd, police firearms on the streets. Then I started thinking about why guns are in the inner cities. Drug dealers need guns to perform their jobs. How do they do so without guns for protection? Then with a mixture of guns and drugs, we now have to now create a budget for FBI and DEA, as well as the ATF. Men are placed in prisons all over the country and private cooperations capitalize off the inmates. And there you have it, an entire production line.

Yet all it will take is for one of those guns to be used in the death of an innocent White male or female, then you’ll see the FBI and ATF work to try to look like heroes. But once that happens it has to be for good. Meaning, bye bye narcotics, bye bye privatized prisons. And that’s when the illusion becomes real. To say we need to Stop and Frisk without working to keep guns from coming in, in the first place, is like saying three buildings constantly keep catching on fire just water them down. Eventually, people are going to want to know what is it about these three buildings that keep catching on fire.