DETROIT (WWJ) - As a 54-year-old Roseville man clings to life in the hospital following a brutal mob beating on Detroit’s east side, many are starting to wonder if the whole thing was racially motivated.The unfortunate fact of the matter, is that sometimes there's nothing you can do. If this man—Steven Utash—has been carrying a concealed handgun, it's possible he could have frightened the lynch mob away, but he probably wouldn't have had time to draw his weapon. Consider his state of mind. He had just struck a small child with his truck. He was worried about the health of the child and probably also worried about whether he'd be charged with a crime and/or sued. A crowd gathered—as they always do when something like this happens—coalescing around Steven who was already in a compromised emotional state. When the first punch was thrown it must have come as a complete surprise. This punch was a catalyst—or possibly a prearranged signal like the starting pistol of a 100-yard dash. Then, like a school of black piranha tasting blood in the water, they all converged wanting their own bite of white flesh. If Steven had been carrying a pistol, Detroit coroners would most likely have had the task of extracting Steven's own bullets from his body.
As first reported by WWJ Newsradio 950, an 11-year-old boy suffered a broken leg on Wednesday when he was hit by a pickup truck after walking into the street near Morang and Balfour. The driver, Steven Utash, immediately got out of his truck after hitting the boy and was viciously attacked by 10 to 12 men. The beating was so brutal, Utash was rendered unconscious.
First Rule of Self-Defense: Stay in your safe zone. If you're white and you live near a city full of racist black people, don't go there! Don't do business there. Don't spend your money there. Don't visit friends who live there either; instead mail them some cash for a U-Haul and wish them the best of luck in escaping. Thirty-five years ago when I was twelve years old, I walked quite a ways down a particular street after dark. A black woman sitting on her porch yelled to me: "White boy what you doing here? Turn round and go back where you come from. You don't want to be down here."
She was right; I didn't belong. And that was before the Democrat-Media-Complex—and race hustlers like Sharpton and Jackson—had spent another thirty-five years stoking black fury, exacerbating black rage, seeding black jealousy, and teaching black people the kind of unwavering blind hatred of whites that caused—and continue to cause—black flash-mobs. If I walked down that same street late at night tonight, I seriously doubt a kindly black woman would warn me away. You might be Bruce Lee. You might be Rambo. I don't care who you think you are; if you walk or drive into the wrong part of a city like Detroit, you're going to regret it.
Second Rule of Self-Defense: if you're going to fight back, fight like an animal. Most people just curl into a ball and take the beating, praying that the mob will be merciful and only put them into intensive care. If you fight back you have to win or they will certainly kill you. Therefore if you fight back, win that battle and all future battles as well.
The people behind Ender grabbed at him, to hold him.Ender's Game is a great young-adult novel—loved by forty-seven-year-olds as well—that explores the concept of total victory. If a pack of animals surrounds you and you rip the pack-leader's throat out in your teeth, the pack will disperse. Remember that they attack in packs because they are cowards in their hearts. Their numbers make them brave, but the kind of genuine savagery displayed by a wild-carnivore fighting for his life will break their morale, and they will disperse in fear.
Ender did not feel like laughing, but he laughed. “You mean it takes this many of you to fight one Third?”
“We’re people, not Thirds, turd face. You’re about as strong as a fart!”
But they let go of him. And as soon as they did, Ender kicked out high and hard, catching Stilson square in the breastbone. He dropped. It took Ender by surprise he hadn’t thought to put Stilson on the ground with one kick. It didn’t occur to him that Stilson didn’t take a fight like this seriously, that he wasn’t prepared for a truly desperate blow.
For a moment, the others backed away and Stilson lay motionless. They were all wondering if he was dead. Ender, however, was trying to figure out a way to forestall vengeance. To keep them from taking him in a pack tomorrow. I have to win this now, and for all time, or I’ll fight it every day and it will get worse and worse. Ender knew the unspoken rules of manly warfare, even though he was only six. It was forbidden to strike the opponent who lay helpless on the ground; only an animal would do that.
So Ender walked to Stilson’s supine body and kicked him again, viciously, in the ribs. Stilson groaned and rolled away from him. Ender walked around him and kicked him again, in the crotch. Stilson could not make a sound; he only doubled up and tears streamed out of his eyes.
Third Rule of Self-Defense: discretion is the better part of valor. If you can run away ... RUN! Yes Rambo I'm talking to you. George Zimmerman's life was destroyed even though he was acting purely in self-defense. He went looking for trouble, but trouble was already looking for him. At the point where he found himself on the concrete with a broken nose and his assailant raining an MMA-style ground-and-pound down on him, it was already too late for Rule Number 3. He was left with a choice between intensive care or death, and the life-destroying option that he chose. Don't be George Zimmerman!
Life isn't fair. As my parents always used to remind me, "fair is where you go when you're looking for cotton candy." Is it fair that in a free country we can't walk or drive down a city street without fear of being attacked by a vicious mob? Is it fair that if we fight back we're the ones who will probably go to jail and not our attackers? Is it fair that the Democrat-Media-Complex will create a false-narrative, interview the most deceitful witnesses, ignore and refuse to report any extenuating circumstances or exculpatory evidence?
We don't live in the same country our parents grew up in. America has traveled far down a dark road and if there is a kindly voice in the dark advising her to turn around, she can't hear it. There's a storm coming. His storm! It's time to hunker down in a safe place and wait it out.