I’ve been watching as the story of what happened on that French train sorts itself out. Latest version I’ve seen says the racist assailants were a USAF guy, a National Guardsman, an American civilian and a British guy living in France. The assault victim may be been religiously enthusiastic. A shot or shots may or may not have been fired, and the train’s crew either cravenly locked themselves in a staff office or heroically put a railroad-owned door at risk to save the lives of some of the more fleet-footed passengers. Maybe the whole thing happened on a freeway, I dunno. At some point a French guy got his neck laid open, and I’ve a feeling he’ll become more prominent in the narrative soon. Oh, and a French actor cut himself punching an alarm button, unless it turns out that didn’t happen.
Things are more confused than usual, and at this point after these incidents the story is usually pretty damned confused.
One thing seems perfectly clear, though. We’ve been instructed for years that our patriotic duty is to fear and hate these invariably incompetent people, to live in terror lest they attack us, and to accept that it’s in our sheeplike interest to give up a little convenience – in the form of all our liberty and privacy – so that our beloved government may provide us the security of a well-run prison. But every time one of these would-be tragedies actually happens – as opposed to being something feds set up some kid to do – but becomes a feel-good story instead, it’s because somebody who hasn’t been spying on you or shooting your dog sees what’s going down, puts on his big-boy pants, and thumps the bad guy soundly his own unauthorized self.