Now that CHAZ/CHOP can be properly discarded into the overflowing waste basket of socialist failures, let’s tally the accomplishments of the six-block police-free carve out of delusional utopia by Black Lives Matter and Antifa anarchists in Seattle, which lasted from June 8th to July 1st.

* 2 Murders (both Black male teens)
* 4 Shootings
* Arson, Assaults, Robberies, Rapes
* Rampant drug use
* Public and private property damage
* Public and private cleanup
* Lost business tax revenue

When you consider the size of CHAZ/CHOP and that the failed experiment lasted just 22 or so days, these accomplishments pro-rated to the rest of Seattle over the course of a year are downright Chicago-like!

And, of course, if the CHAZ/CHOP rioters hadn’t had the temerity of visiting Seattle Mayor Jenny Durkan’s home, the “summer of love” and its successes could have continued indefinitely instead of being shut down, post haste.
​
Oh…and TODAY the Seattle city council is about to pass the largest business tax increase in the city’s history!

Seattle’s #1!
Seattle’s #1!
Seattle’s #1!

#CHOP #CHAZ #Seattle #SocialismFailsAgain #AlfredCMartino

​In a just world, Nicky Newarker wiseguy wannabe Democrat scion Andrew Cuomo would be nothing more than that two-bit actor you kinda sorta remember from season 2 of The Sopranos who got wacked for dropping a dime. In a just world, Phil Murphy’s imperial reach would go no further than his urban cement front yard as his knucklehead tantrums get drowned out in the traffic of the Turnpike. In a just world, Warren Wilhelm Jr. would be government-mandated back to his original moniker so that posterity could officially declare him the worst mayor in the history of New York City and the name de Blasio would never have to be uttered again.

​Given the current circumstances in our country, and as a 22-year resident of Jersey City, I feel it is important to note that exactly six months have passed since the December 10, 2019 murders of a Jersey City police officer and three innocent members of the Jersey City community at the hands –- or, rather, at the assault rifles –- of 47 year-old David Anderson and 50 year-old Francine Graham, a Black man and woman who were reportedly part of the terrorist and racist Black Hebrew Israelite movement, which fomented the anti-White, anti-Jewish and anti-law enforcement hatred well-documented on their respective social media pages.

Anderson and Graham -- who likely killed Mike Rumberger, a White Jersey City resident just days before -- began their December 10th killing spree ambushing Detective Joseph Seals, a husband, father of five, and decorated 15-year veteran of the JCPD, with a shot to the head. They then drove a van, complete with firearms and a live pipe bomb, specifically to a nearby Kosher grocery, located next to a synagogue and yeshiva, across from a church, and with sad irony on Martin Luther King Boulevard, where they immediately gunned down the store owner, 33 year-old and mother of three, Lean Ferencz and her 24 year-old cousin Moshe Deutsch, along with Miguel Rodriguez, an Ecuadoran immigrant who was working at the store to provide for his family.
​
In the ensuing four-hour shootout with law enforcement, two officers and a civilian were also injured, before Anderson and Graham were taken out. That afternoon, some city streets, a section of the New Jersey Turnpike and all Jersey City schools were locked down.

It was the darkest day in Jersey City’s history (other than 9/11) and, arguably, the single worst anti-Semitic attack ever in New Jersey.

It’s worth noting that after the killings, US Democrat Congresswoman Rashida Tlaib inexplicably tweeted, “White Supremacy Kills,” regarding the tragedy. She didn’t apologize, nor was she taken to task by her party or the media. Joan Terrell-Paige, a Black member of the Jersey City Board of Education -- a powerful position in the city -- had the gall to call members of the city’s Jewish community “brutes” in a rambling Twitter post. She did not apologize and is, stunningly, still a BOE board member.

Yet, amid what had already been simmering tension in the community, and while Jews were specifically targeted by these two Black criminals, were there any White or Jewish-led protests in the aftermath? No.

Was there any rioting? No.

Was there any looting or property damage? No.

Were there any Black businesses boycotted? No.

Were there any Whites coercing Blacks to get down on a knee and denounce their ‘inherent’ racism? No.

Were the funerals for Rumberger, Seals, Ferencz, Deutsch or Rodriguez televised, or even covered by the media? No.

No doubt there are a variety of socio-psychological explanations for why the White or Jewish communities did not rise up and blame all Blacks for what had happened. But I think the answer is as simple as, Anderson and Graham were no more representative of the Black community than, say, Derek Chauvin is of law enforcement, in particular, or the White community, in general. All of the anger and blame deservedly lay with those two evil people, just as, in the case of George Floyd’s murder, all anger and blame should have been directed solely at the evil Chauvin.

Yet, some eleven days after the death of George Floyd and with riots destroying cities across our country, there is the call to defund or abolish local and city police departments. No decision could be more misguided or deleterious to those communities.

On December 10, 2019 -- given the fire power that Anderson and Graham had -- a ‘defunded’ Jersey City Police Department would surely have resulted in dozens, if not, hundreds of additional civilian casualties that tragic day alone. Many hundreds, if not thousands of residents, of all colors, would have been killed or harmed in the six months since.

I’d hate to think what might happen to the rest of our country moving forward.

Alfred C. Martino
​June 10, 2020

The king's reign, no matter how long, is but temporary. The king knows this. He knows that, if not by evil adversaries or righteous competitors, he will inevitably be brought down by ceaseless, brutish time -- the ultimate victor. And when that moment comes, when the bejeweled crown must be lifted from the king's head, he will bow humbly in honor and humility. As the sun rises for his triumphant rival, the king will summon what's left of his fading strength and undying dignity, asking his scarred, broken body to make the painful journey towards the setting sun, yet his countenance regal and still, somehow, radiating the lush memories of a thousand battle victories and the knowledge that only an enviable few ever deserve to wear the crown. And in those final steps of immortality, the king raises his head one final time. For that singular ephemeral flash, his nobility shines a dim beacon into the night...

Alone among people.
Do you see me?

Whisper in the wind.
Do you hear me?

Adrift in my mind.
Can you save me?

Find me, search for me.
Where am I? Where have I been?

Keep breathing, keep running.
Keep the sun bright in your eyes.

A sudden cold wind sweeps over the hill. I grit my teeth. My legs ache, then give way. And I drop to my knees. My fingers scratch at the years of dirt caked on the tombstone. What was oscured becomes visible. The ghostly scrawl of a lost long name.

W E S L E Y.  H A R R I N G T O N.

My friend.

A sudden darkness falls upon the tombstone. Someone--or something--stands above me. I do not lift myself up. I do not raise my eyes. I remain on my brittle knees, hands to the earth. Bowed and beaten. It's time for a reckoning.

"I been a rough man," I whisper.

If I was expectin' a reply, I do not get one.

"A rough man, livin' them rough man ways."

Winds whip into a frenzy. Dust and dirt swirl in the air, filling my mouth, filling my nose, filling my lungs. I spit at the ground, as if expellin' the sins of my life.

"I'm a rough man!" I offer one last defiant time.

Then silence. And calm.

And the click of a six shooter, readying itself.

You see me, sweetness.
Kid in a candy store.
Or Christmas morning.
Gifts spread on the floor.

Hands hold you close.
Lips touch your ear.
Cry if you can't help it.
You got nothing to fear.

My desire is wild.
A free running steed.
Whisper to me.
Take what you need.

Could go on about Roses.
Red petals color the bed.
But your body tells me.
Time to talk has ended. 

Say, release the beast.
Don't hold off the crazy.
Take what you want.
​Until the dawn's hazy.

"Enjoy," the twentysomething woman said, placing a cappucino cup in front of me. The coffee was a light, light-brown that matched her remarkably straight hair, separated the left from the right by a ruler-sharp part. She flashed a lovely smile, as successful waitresses are wont to do, then moved on to the next table. I tilted my head back slightly, catching deliciously warm beams of sun that pierced though the leafy trees surrounding this outdoor cafe, and, for a while, slipped into that dreamy state where the sunlight fills your brain, pushing aside worry and issues and problems and concern, and shutting your body down into a kind of beautiful lull. I wanted to be left alone, and though I was surrounded by couples no more than an arm's length away, murmuring their quiet conversations, and a few others sitting alone, munching on brioche with razzlebery jam or some other breakfast food, I was essentially alone. Surely no one was looking at me. Certainly no one knew me. And if I had happened to pass into any person's field of view, I would be as unremarkable and anonymous as anyone else. It was bliss. I reached for the cup of cappucino and put it to my lips. The liquid was not especially hot, not bitter. I thought it might need a half spoon of sugar, but then decided it was fine for this moment. A light breeze carried the scent of salt and tropical ocean and sunscreen. I breathed in until my lungs were full. A rather elegant woman to my left was wearing a lovely perfume. Another table just received their orders of eggs Benedict. Beyond the dozen or so small tables of the cafe, men in khaki cargo shorts and white T-shirts walked with women swooshing by in colorful sundresses like gentle waves of mauve and flamingo. lilac and emerald, talking softly and lightly, and moving in a kind of pace just a bit more purposeful than meandering, which is to say they all seemed to have places in mind to be or go to, but were in no rush to get there. My brain was kind of meandering too. Dreamily thinking about this or that. Taking in the vision of a young girl, mildly tanned cheeks, with budding breasts, and a pink flower set just above her left ear.

In dreams I stand on a hilltop, follow what's inside me.
Shadows begin the race over the fields, I am on my way.
Putting our fate into the pursuit, some call it our destiny.
Talk to the wind, no one is listening, I hear what they say.

Passing those who preach the answers, the truth remains afar.
To touch the bark of the looming tree, running fingers in sand.
Tilting our faces to the setting sun, we won't find it in the stars.
Each of us opens the door in our time, holding mother's hand.

How do you know that I'm running away, if you can't see where I'm going?
Why turn the key on the lock, it's not where love's showing?