The County of Kings Loses Its Crown

 

This past Tuesday, June 6^th, marked the 79^th anniversary of the D-Day invasion of France and liberation of northern Europe. Outside of years ending with 4 or 9, it doesn’t draw much attention these days; maybe a picture in the newspaper of an aging vet making one last visit to the American cemetery overlooking Omaha beach. In war movies, there was always a kid from Brooklyn ready for the fight—quick to put up his fists, good at poker, and proud not to be from Manhattan’s money. And while it was inevitable that the kid ended up dead by the end of the film, his death was never in vain. His sacrifice meant his buddy, platoon, or allied comrade would be able to get back home alive. But this same past Tuesday, June 6^th, marked the day that the real-life kids from Brooklyn, those who made the ultimate sacrifice, may very well have lost their lives for what is now a lost cause.

This past Tuesday, June 6^th, New York City unveiled its first “Public Health” vending machine in Brooklyn. And by New York City I don’t mean some street artists with a prankish sense of humor or a wayward bureaucrat with extra tax money to burn. No, this was the Health Commissioner, a medical doctor who is the city’s top health official, presiding over the press conference right on Broadway (same name as Manhattan, but putting on a really bad show) and standing next to the vending machine. Suffice it to say he had the Mayor signed off on this one, with a press release on the city’s website to boot.

The veneer of “public health” simply cannot hide the stain of death it purports to stop. Immediately available, for free, were fentanyl test strips, designed for the responsible addict to make sure the drugs that will kill them eventually aren’t laced with another drug that will definitely kill them immediately. Next are ever-helpful Narcan kits that can save an opioid overdoser from certain death if only that opioid overdoser weren’t unconscious from the opioids and their fellow users were too strung out to help, or even call for help. Maybe the Mayor signed off on that as well.

But where hope really went to die was in the trio of other “health” offerings in the vending machine—crack pipes, lip balm, and condoms. I wish I were making this part up, but now the City of New York is literally supplying, at taxpayer expense, the tools of the trade for…crack whores. That is, in a nutshell, where we are as a society—the government is now waging war against anything resembling civility, empowered by a populace that votes for public officials acting in direct contradiction to the populace’s best interests. Or any interest for that matter.

We used to count on the outrage of a community to tackle problems. In times past the cover of darkness would see that vending machine smashed up or even floating in the East River. Call it Brooklyn “spirit.” Maybe this week’s orange haze across the city is the perfect metaphor—a coughing stench that just lulls people into a stupor of helplessness. Kind of like smoking a crack pipe.

Marking the 40^th D-Day anniversary, President Reagan said in part, “The men of Normandy had faith that what they were doing was right, faith that they fought for all humanity, faith that a just God would grant them mercy on this beachhead or on the next.” I’m not sure even the boys of Pointe du Hoc could climb the cliff and win today’s battle of Brooklyn. Maybe it’s best that few, if any, are still around to see how this country has lost faith in itself.

© 2023 Alexander W. Stephens, All Right Reserved.