There Is No Safe Time of Day

There are no safe neighborhoods. NYC assaults skyrocket 60% in last 13 years, police data shows

Assaults are skyrocketing in the Big Apple, with attacks up an eye-popping 60 percent compared to 13 years ago, shocking new NYPD data reveal.

There have been 18,260 people shot, struck, cut or otherwise injured by an attacker so far this year, compared to 11,321 felony assaults in 2010.

All of the progress in reducing crime from the 1990s and early 2000s has been flushed down the drain, because reasons.

But the Progressives promised that not prosecuting crimes would make things better. Or something. The reality is a little different.

The title to this post is a response to a statement made by one of the people interviewed for the story linked above. He was surprised that attacks were happening at 3 PM. He thought that should have been a safe time of day. And though he didn't say it, I often see statements from people who are shocked to discover that their neighborhoods are not safe.

If you make something cheaper, you will see more of it, and Left has waged an all-out struggle to reduce the cost of crime to the criminal. It is still a burden on the victims, but the Progressive Left doesn't seem to care about victims, unless they can be used to promote The Narrative™. Or maybe their long-term goals really do require chaos in the streets of our cities.

When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace. They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease. But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe, And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: “Stick to the Devil you know.”

That is from a Kipling poem I particularly like.

After the break you will find that poem, and it comes to mind when I see stories like this. Perfectly predictable results arising from predictably insane policies. But then Progressives want to replace what works, with what sounds good. At least it sounds good to them. Anyway you will find Kipling's "Gods of the Copybook Headings" after the break

 

The Gods of the Copybook Headings

by Rudyard Kipling

AS I PASS through my incarnations in every age and race,
I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market Place.
Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.

We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn
That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:
But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breadth of Mind,
So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.

We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,
Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market Place,
But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come
That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome.

With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch,
They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch;
They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had Wings;
So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things.

When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.
They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease.
But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: “Stick to the Devil you know.”

On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life
(Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his wife)
Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: “The Wages of Sin is Death.”

In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,
By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: “If you don’t work you die.”

Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew
And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true
That All is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.

As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man
There are only four things certain since Social Progress began.
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire,
And the burnt Fool’s bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire;

And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins
When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,
As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn,
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!