Put less graciously...
...same shit, different day.
One of the more paradoxical traits manifested by those who would zealously regard themselves as compassionate and loving human beings is the ease with which said beings can so quickly, and often tragically, give themselves over to the "mob mentality."
A glitch in the synaptic processing or an inherent and unavoidable flaw in the primary human hard wiring?
That's a diagnosis best left to physicians and/or sociologists.
As the media and the masses blather on ad nauseum about how Trayvon Martin died, there is, at the core, one indisputable fact.
Only three people know what really happened.
George Zimmerman.
Trayvon Martin.
God.
Everyone else is speculating.
Period.
And while subscribing to a "group mentality", engaging in spirited water cooler chit chat might make for an entertaining, and relatively harmless, intellectual exercise, crossing over the line into a "mob mentality" can ultimately, and inevitably, do nothing more than make a bad situation worse.
Any reasonable person knows that without having to be told.
But even normally reasonable people seem unable to resist signing up for mob detail.
Jesse Jackson. Al Sharpton. Spike Lee.
Et al.
And as if the mentality itself weren't enough to process, we can't overlook that it comes with a side order of irony.
A noted film maker "joins the mob" and Tweets an address that drives an innocent couple from their home.
And a noted film documents exactly the kind of emotional knee jerking that too often results in tragedy.
A movie made almost seventy years ago.
From a novel written over seventy years ago.
The Ox Bow Incident.
Same cow shit....different day....
