If the above assertion seems cynical, it is. It is come from a cynicism that formed over a long experience in and among the Dindus. Lest one think that the recent rise of resentment of ‘The Man’ is a new thing, culminated in the formation of the (some) ‘Black Lives Matter’ movement, I can assure you that, as a witness to the 70’s, it is not. Imagine, if you will, being the only paleface in a classroom of Dindus, led by the Dindu public employee commissioned with containing us for 40 minutes, while we watched “Roots: The Miniseries” for Black History Week (the title of which should clue you in as to how long ago this was). This was my experience at North Dindustan’s Finney High School.

High School in North Dindustan was, academically speaking, a waste of four years. I learned nothing about the three R’s, anything that would prepare me for life beyond high school, or anything that would help me relate to the environment in which I found myself captive.

However, I learned much about the true purpose of public schools, and everything I needed to know about the Dindus.

Public schools are designed for one thing and one thing only; a place to store your children while the adults slave away at making a living in order to feed the ever-open maw of the state. By depositing said juveniles into the central repository, and keeping them nominally occupied for six hours a day, they supposedly become educated enough to work at all of those Industrial Revolution jobs that now reside in Mexico and China. Back when the Judeo-Christian morality was still considered a positive thing, public schools also prevented rampant procreation among those of breeding age. This circumstance has all but reversed itself, with Christianity being dirty and sex being encouraged to those in elementary school, resulting in the spate of unsupervised, hyper-violent ferals that roam our inner cities today. [1]

Yet, upon entering the Prison Preparatory System at age 14, just in time for the Busing debacle to hit its stride in North Dindustan, I marveled at the contradictions embodied in the dusky denizens of our fair city. For instance, Rosa Parks was canonized by the Dindus for refusing to move to the back of a bus, yet the Dindus, upon entering the bus to get to school, migrated immediately to the rear of the bus, where they carried on in a rude, profane, and obnoxious manner, making reading, studying, or hearing yourself think nigh impossible. The bus driver studiously ignored them until we reached our destination.[2]

In class, presented with the means to rise above their station through hard work and study, they acted as if they were at a party. Assuming they arrived to class on time, if at all, they argued with the teacher like it was an Olympic event, gave any number of excuses for not doing their homework, and generally made life miserable for student and teacher alike. Teachers? It was more like being a wrangler for the Chimpanzees at Barnum and Bailey; afraid to do anything that would cause you to lose your job while simultaneously fearing that you would get your face ripped off. Ultimately, rather than have the system clogged up by failing those that did nothing, they were flushed through the system to the next grade. This prevented having a warehouse full of super-annuated, ninth-grade illiterates, and disguised the failure of the system to impart even a modicum of education.

Ironically, this resulted in a weird “reverse equality” for, once it was realized that one could pass while attending only occasionally, and doing no work whatsoever, many of the paleface kids began acting in kind. After all, why put forth any effort if your reward is the same as those that do nothing? The end result was that many of the paleface kids, and ALL of the teachers, surrendered to their baser impulses and did as little as possible.

By the time I graduated, the only saving grace for me was that I loved to read, and I would read anything I could get my hands on. Especially if it transported me away from North Dindustan for a time. Robert E. Howard, J.R.R. Tolkien, The Destroyer Series (1-20), and any of a hundred other authors kept me from being another illiterate churned out by the North Dindustan School System.

Most of the rest of my graduating class were not so fortunate. I think it safe to say that fully half of my class could not read and write to grade level, with a significant portion of that unable to read or write at all. It is no wonder that North Dindustan is nothing but rubble.

As for personal safety, we palefaces were perpetually outnumbered, and intimidated by two Urban Youth Groups; The BK's (for Black Killers) and the Earl Flynns "Earl to the world, Flynn to the end" was their motto (I have no idea what it meant). I learned the value that even a $5 Pakistani copy of a Buck 110 had when trouble loomed. Numbers didn’t matter enough when the choice was facing evisceration at the hands of a desperate paleface or walking away frustrated. [3]

When faced with the inevitable altercations, the most valuable lesson I learned as a completely unschooled fighter was this; think of the most horrific injury that you fear having inflicted upon you, and inflict it upon them. This is a philosophy that I carry with me to this day. Even now, having moved to The Big Empty, where a completely different demographic claims the title of Perpetually Aggrieved, I carry this lesson close to the surface.

Upon reflection, when military service, eight years working in an Emergency Department of a North Dindustan hospital, marriage, and fatherhood separated me from my initial exposure to a Dindu-dominated society, I must recant, and admit that I did, indeed, gain a valuable education in my formative years, but it wasn’t the one intended by the Vassals of The State.

1. The largest day care center in most Harm City neighborhoods is attached to the local high school.

2. In Harm City, Dindu criminals openly claim the back of the bus as tribal territory and dare others to trespass.

3. Carrying and using a knife saved me from Dindu swarms in Harm City on at least three occasions.

Thank you, Ed

If any readers know of the origin for the Earl Flynn gang, please post a comment. I am guessing that it is based on an ebonic misspelling of Errol Flynn, 1930s action movie star.