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>> Blacker Than Black <<

( Urban America, 1947 ) the Indivisibles Marcus smiled thinly into mid air, "Not all cups runneth over, Shannon. Some children have no cups. They runneth over." He wasn't sure what that meant, but went on. You have to go back to when only three years before, we had two dropped atomic bombs. The enemy looked different from us. There was no sympathy for them. Everybody had at least one dead or wounded relative. News images of radiation scalded bodies, half char, only elicited our public scorn. No, no sympathy. We were still in the process burying our own dead and receiving our wounded home. Compassion? For Japs? As far as the public was concerned, it served those fuckers right. Survivors in wreckage? Those images were common place. Screw'em. Bring the boys home, they cried. Let them yellow bastards deal with their own shit. That’s the way it goes. War toughens. Numbs. Blinds. Everybody had sacrificed. Pity was a rare commodity. We, a diverse people, forgot who we were. We, the people. All the people. All the time. In other places it is still often only some of the people all of the time? So? Fuck'em. Just about everywhere you look, even now, there is struggle. We can't police the world! The public chant was clear. Bring the boys home! But there were wars right here at home, too, including one in the North Ward. There were kids standing in the wreckage of an abandoned place, their bodies not black of char but by birth. The public was not into the sorrow of others. Seen it. Screw them too. Nobody wanted to hear about and certainly wouldn’t pay to read about it. Low cost veteran housing! Nylons! Actual butter! Now there's news that sells! Print that. That is what excited people - some of the people - all of the time.