In 2016 Gavin McInnes established a club. Ostensibly for manly-men, with three degrees of membership, starting with a public announcement of your wannabe-gang affiliation, a good beating by other members, and a tattoo forever marking you as a Proud Boy. He has written dozens of columns; the oldest available online is this gem, Fuck Single Mothers (Figuratively), in case you need some literary perspective.
His so-called-gang likes to dominate women, is against Muslims, hates ‘big government’, and so on, ad nauseam. They might be the all-time kings of hot-topic, buzzword group definition for their raison d’être. They’re the “Disco Sucks!” of social crusaders.
Yesterday the Proud Boys marched and roamed the streets of Washington, DC, asserting their physical dominance while hoping you will ignore their lack of mental prowess. Thousands of men wilding among the empty streets during one of Covid-19’s most deadly days, crying about election unfairness and reaching-around Trump to stroke his battered ego. For a group of manly-men, they certainly have the feels for Diaper Don.
Of course, McInnes is absent from all this street-walking, male-only group arousal since being forced to disassociate himself in 2018 from the club he founded. After the prosecution of several Proud Boy members for assault and the FBI’s classification that his men’s club was actually “…an extremist group with ties to white nationalism…”, he bailed. But his absence isn’t relevant. His legacy lives on and evolves whenever the Proud Boys playgroup needs a new cause célèbre to march for.
When people march the streets, there usually is a grievance to be righted or a platform to be put forth. Sadly, this time these crybabies are shilling for Trump with no real understanding of why. They don’t want Trump to remain in office to advance any cause. Their motives are momentary. The cameras roll, and they fight. It is downright Pavlovian at this point.
Some people were stabbed, others were beaten, some rather seriously. As usual, 2020 simply tallies up another day with a bit more misery than the dawn before. It’s all for naught and entirely meaningless. The chanting of “1776!” couldn’t be less vapid even if they were screaming about some random number. The America founding myth perpetuates and is recast again with more edges cut off and the middle bloated to suit this day’s grievance.
The Proud Boys well may be proud of themselves. To the world, they are a signal of America’s great inadequacy to be a country of value or purpose.