(For my Dad, George Edward Hand III, and my son George Edward Hand V)

“Enough is enough. One is too many,” said Representative G.K. Butterfield of North Carolina. “The Department of Justice must aggressively pursue investigations, indictments, and yes, prosecutions against any and all law-enforcement officers who harm or kill innocent, unarmed African-American citizens.”

I’m a civic-minded, environmentally respectful fellow, yes I am… or at least I do so fancy myself. I am aware of and keen on the health aspects of our environment as a private citizen, and as a professional I’m aware of National Environmental Policy Act (NEPA), Environmental Impact Statement (EIS) requirements, as well has basic governances of laws where they pertain to real estate and the environment.

Imagine then, both my shock and chagrin at the news that the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) has been rioting in the streets of Charlotte, NC, following the fatal shooting of 43-year-old brother Keith Scott by by Charlotte PD. What is the bureau’s beef with PD anyway, let alone the PD of Charlotte NC, of all places. I mean we all have heard of intra-bureaucratic mission scope creep… but this is off the hook!

Ok enough levity, but as God (that’s right God) as my witness, and I am loathe to admit it, but back during the days of the Michael Brown Ferguson, MO shooting of August 2014, I seriously thought that the newly formed Black Lives Matter (BLM) movement stood for Bureau of Land Management, as I was accustomed to the acronym BLM. I was an ass back then folks, but a well-meaning ass… and if the coveted Bureau of Land Management (BLM) was going to disjoint at the seams… well, I was going to have something to say about it!


My day of enlightenment was filled with the horrific vision of all the critical letters of protest I had sent to the Bureau of Land Management that were too late to be retrieved. The thought of going to my mailbox horrified me beyond any other possibility, for fear that I would actually get a response from the BLM… and would be further compelled to read it.

Ferguson MO has become the birthplace, the Mecca, of the clumsy Black Lives Matter movement, a notion noble though in its inception, a miserable and dangerous failure in its execution.

Ok hold on just a second before I continue with this paper that nobody else wanted to write. I think that it is right about at this point that I am supposed to qualify myself by tritely announcing: ‘but some of my best friends are black.’ Being a military man, or rather fancying that fact, some of my best friends are indeed dark green, not that that matters, cuz haytrz gonna hayt.

BLM shenanigans are the epitome of cutting off one’s nose to spite their face. I see BLM as only having created a crisis whereby folks go from zero to the jugular every time a black community member becomes a fatality subject to law.


A homicide case takes a year or more to process in our judiciary system. How is it that an ochlocracy can reach verdict and carry out immediate sentence in a Ferguson minute? Pictured below is an infamous scene for me: It’s the forward skirmish line of folks confronting the police. I guarantee the police are not responsible for any rash decisions made at the riots those days. They are not the cause of unemployment, they are rather likely the last people anyone should be bitching at. “Eff those white PO-lice!” Well, a lot of those officers are black. “…eff the PO-lice! “Eff something… anything!”


North Carolina Governor Pat McCrory declared a state of emergency during Wednesday night’s rioting. Nice job BLM; you caused an entire city to go into a state of emergency. Here’s a nifty little bonus for you to skip to your lou about: the next step may be martial law. Martial law means when the music stops, you better stop because you’re the next contestant on “So You Really Want an Ass Whooping.”

For the most part, people don’t know what martial law is like. They think they do, just like they think they know what a war zone looks like. I hear it often on the evening news as Mrs Fran Baranowski describes the scene of the wake of tropical storm Yentil: “It looks like a war zone out there… all hell broke loose, and it looks like a war zone!” Then we all, knowing what war zones look like, finally having a visual reference model with which to imagine the wrath of Yentil, with much greater accuracy and affinity.

State of emergency in Charlotte after man shot during second night of protests

Read Next: State of emergency in Charlotte after man shot during second night of protests

Deploying the National Guard is deep, people. We are talking about creeping toward martial law, which hints at potentially waiving Posse Comitatus, and maybe even dispatching some full-caliber, full-scale combat troops. Not men who have been to pistol school; rather, some real laminated card-carrying combat troops. “That which does not kill me makes me stronger” …except for combat troops, combat troops will kill you, then get a selfie while pissing on your fly-swarmed corpse.


Let me be the first to admit that posturing of military personnel in a civic solution is controversial and intimidating as hell, but it is effective. Let me also be the first to admit that neither I nor ‘the authorities’ believe that there will actually be a skirmish between local gentry of incidental leisure, and grunts with belt-fed weapons: in this corner, weighing in at two ounces is a block of parmesan cheese… and in this corner, weighing in at two pounds, two ounces, is a stainless steel grater. You be the judge.

General Geo S. Patton said “all true Americans love the sting of battle.” It is an unintentional secret that today’s military ranks are rife with men who love the sting of battle. I’m put in mind of the morning we in Delta were alerted to the Unit to deploy to Somalia to kill or capture Somali war lord Muhammad Farid Aidid. One of my team mates push though the door: “What’s up; where are we going?” Another team mate gestured to a torn cover of Newsweek Magazine hanging on the wall with a photo of Aidid on it. “We’re going to go kill that dude right there.” To which the reply was: “Cool, let’s go!”

My point being: we have men in our ranks who are not about questioning the left or right of the matter; they simply don’t care. They signed on to kick some toads in the ass, and they mean it too.


So “Kent State, Kent State” I hear the chanting in my ears. Yea I get it; National Guard opened fire on feckless obstreperous brats at Kent State and earned Neil Young millions of dollars by enabling him to sing “Four Dead In Oh-High-Yoooo!” Thanks Neil, for getting us all closure over that purge of academia. What were the four names, Neil? If it is just too painful to cope with, write a jingle about it and we all whistle it while we work, right? I mean if we have to pay the band, then we at least make them play our favorite tune! Are you with me here, friends? …or am I flying just a little to close to the sun? Icarus sends.


The National Guard will do their duty if called. That’s pretty much what they do… duty and all–soldiers, you know? All state NG units have a charter for responding to quell episodes of civil unrest. I like that, ‘civil unrest.’ There was a lot of civil unresting in Charlotte NC last few days, yessirree.

I find the nation of people who are light speed at condemning and decrying the military and martial capability are the ones with the very least of the prolific ideas to solutions. I love how individuals show up to a riot and grandstand in front of the authority. They only do it because they are so certain that the peace-keepers are not really going to take any decisive action. Like this clown at Beijing China’s Tiananmen Square: visionary student confronts tank column moments before his new fashion statement becomes tank tread tattoos. The poor soul was devoid of the notion that ‘treads rush in, where wise men fear to fool.’


National Guard will perform their duties in a military and soldierly manner, escalating force as slowly and painfully as possible. There will be tear gas, bangers (stun grenades), rubber bullets, bean-bag bullets, rocks, clubs, bats, sticks, dudes picking up tear gas canisters and throwing them back at the cops (there’s always that guy).

Then some dolt who has no shred of an Earthly clue what the riot is even about, who just knows he doesn’t have a job, and this is a thing to do… fills a bottle with gas and stops it with a soaked rag. He lights it on fire and poises to throw it at the police force… but it explodes in his hand and sets him on fire like Thailand’s Tich Kuang Duk protestor during the Vietnam war. Now the poo-poo is really on!

What about me, do I have the answer? In fact I’m giddy at the prospect of announcing that I actually do: I am put in mind of an Army Drill Sergeant I had when I went through basic training. During a motivational speech he made about racial equality, he paused for a moment, frustrated over what to say next to tie all of his remarks together… he finally declared: “If there is a man here today who thinks he can (BK sanctioned epithet) shit (BK sanctioned epithet) with his pants on, let him stand now and show it!

Nobody stood.

So to start with levity is to end with levity. I see the BLM-induced rioters as just some colicky self-haters thinking they are better than everyone else by trying to shit with their pants on. Let them shit all they want, but if they try to sling it, well that’s where military men of means and resolve come in:

“I will guard everyone within the limits of my post, and quit my post only when properly relieved.”

I close by flagging my dad, George Edward Hand III, who if nothing else taught me: “If you feel you really need to hate men, hate them one at a time. Don’t hate that nation of men, just hate the one person at a time; give them scope to hang themselves.” I didn’t get it at the time, but I do now. And so now I’m a rich man, that I fancy myself. I’m rich because I come from a 300 year run of fathers who paid their legacy forward in the names of the sons they loved so much, such that they trusted them with their memory.

My son George Edward Hand V will be a richer man still. With all the love I have for him, I won’t cower from dread. Here’s to you, my son; you are a class act!

Men of the US Army’s 75th Ranger Regiment in Afghanistan

God blesses; Geo sends