Bari Weiss is a sincere voice on "our side." Having been myself pilloried by the what-I-now call the pond scum leftists in my poetry group (!), I know whereof she speaks.  I know from work, where my boss said to me, after working at her firm for close to nine years or so, "I just realized — you are a Republican," as if she were describing a species of poison snake that got loose somehow in her living room.

I am even now, when I decided not to return to the group once they called me a racist and other extreme and uncalled-for names on the basis of one poem that spoke of the looting and burning and violence of the squads of blm (they don't warrant uppercase letters, frankly, as black, like white, ought not be capped, per grammar rules) thugs torching our cities and laying waste to lives and livelihoods, told that I was "correctly censored" and not apologized to.  These are people I have laughed with and shared my editorial insights with, brought in candy — unasked, of course — every week, and attended publishing parties with.  These people jumped on me and called me a racist because they did not like the tenor of my correct criticism of the knights errant ruining our days and nights all over the country.  Killing, stoning, knifing, car-ramming, torching shops and edifices.  Downing historical monuments.  Burning.  Looting.  Murder.

Howling about their rights.  But not howling when they kill their own.  Howling about their need for "diversity," but excluding the decent respect for others that they demand for themselves from people cowed into terrified silence, or, sometimes, beaten to death.

Bear in mind that most people not married to the left now know of the existence of a sub-rosa group active in Los Angeles and New York City has come into being precisely because "creatives" in the movies, TV, and media in general are under the gun and in proximal danger of being fired or retired if their affiliation outside the harbor of horribles (what some call the radical socialist underbrush) becomes known.  In an abundance of caution, I omit naming the group in recognition of their adamant (and cautious) effort to remain under the radar.

The membership is hundreds strong for each venue.  Their meeting places are not publicized, and their meetings do not welcome anyone not thoroughly vetted.  Even so, one such monthly gathering was breached by Antifa-like thugs, who started actual fist fights with attendees.  Though they were ejected — the membership has several brawny males always in attendance, just in case — the upshot of that unnerving set-to was that the meeting place–owners ousted the paid group from any future get-togethers at that location.

So we are well aware of the gift to public exposure that Bari Weiss was, but which shall obviously be no more from the Gray Lady, because those left at the Times are all fearful for their hard-fought jobs, tenuously holding on and pretending to a progressivism they do not hold.

This is analogous, in my eye, to the mob-confronted St. Louis couple, the McCloskeys, who defended their lives and property with their legal firearms, as a ragtag of what the reports said was between 300 and 500 burst the steel gate of that gated community, threatened their lives and their dog's life, and tacitly their home, as the astonishingly tone-deaf and venal partisan mayor now threatens to indict them — for defending their home with legal weapons.

We do not yet know on what bogus charge, because it is beyond Orwellian not to pursue the gangsters traipsing with hollers and waving guns in their usually peaceable private property where no trespassing is the signage.  The mob that had been marauding in downtown St. Louis, proving their bona fides by looting, crashing, and destroying public buildings and enterprises, get no accounting.  The mob gets no upbraiding.  The victims of threat?  They are threatened with indictment.  Even if and when they are wholly exonerated, the McCloskeys will have had to expend thousands or more of their savings to defend themselves from this spurious assault on their constitutionally guaranteed rights.

Former top executive editor Jill Abramson, dispatched or gone of her own accord in 2014, was hauled out to hawk harmony back on the range at the flagging New York Times stock, asserting that Bari Weiss was little more than a disgruntled "junior writer" and that the paper is doing "very well" in subscriptions and every other way.

Really?  My floor has 35 apartments.  Time was, there'd be a fresh daily Times on the welcome mat on at least 25 of those doorways.  Now?  Nary a one.  Even the refuse room features just the less glamorous segments of the elephantine Sunday avoirdupois  — once in a while.  No dailies.

Instead of tamping smoldering embers and burying two dead citizens, the couple are still able to plead their just cause.  They stood up for themselves, as Bari Weiss stood up for the individual in a bullying, illiberal, intolerant left-culture that will brook no alien opinion or voice.  The still-breathing McCloskeys have their home and their canine, still wagging his tail, and their plot of green protected by a stone wall no higher than a shin guard, their grass still vibrant in the sultry summer glisten.

Indeed, these are the non-nuances of my fealty to the current president.  These are the reasons, because of his spine and pluck in the face of ceaseless haranguing and legal chicanery, that I am a staunch defender and supporter of this man they disparage and "hate," because he has the temerity not to fold under their blathering hatred and evil tantrums.