Captive-in-Chief by Murray McDonald Page A

killings.
    “Mr. President,” said his Homeland Security Advisor, strolling into his office.
    “Bill,” said the president. “Can’t sleep?”
    “Nope, especially since it keeps getting worse.”
    “What now?”
    “The three young men executed in Ferguson.”
    “What about them?”
    “University students, unblemished records, not so much as a traffic violation between them.”
    “Oh dear God. Has the news broken yet?”
    A shake of Bill’s head confirmed Clay’s worst fears; it was going to get worse. The previous riots had been quelled to some extent by the questionable police record of the victim. That was no longer the case; these were three totally innocent young men executed in their prime while in handcuffs, by a white police officer.
    “Things were calming down, tonight I fear will be far worse though. The authorities were ready for it and managed to keep the unrest contained. Tonight…God only knows…”
    “I wish I thought you were wrong. Anything we can do?”
    “Unless the governors ask for our help, we have to leave them to it. Even then we’re limited. The Posse Comitatus Act prevents the use of military force for domestic law enforcement.”
    “I know, I know, I wish I could do more. The country is in turmoil and we’re sitting here helpless.”
    “We’ve got demonstrations in major cities, yes,” Bill said, “though it’s hardly nationwide. People aren’t taking to the streets in vast numbers.”
    “Not yet,” Clay said. “What happens when they hear the three young men were complete innocents, not that it’ll matter to some, they’d react whatever the case. We’re talking about the silent majority. What happens if they stand up? What if they say enough is enough? You know the statistics, why is it that nearly half of our prison population are black Americans, yet they account for only 13% of the population? A black American man has a one in three chance of spending time in a prison in his lifetime and is more likely to receive a tougher sentence than a white American found guilty of the same crime. There are more black men in prison than in college, and that is seriously worrying. We need to turn the tide and fix this, but how in the hell do we do that?”
    “Drugs, poverty, neighborhoods, education, you name it, we’ve studied the issues. There are countless reports that point to the fact it’s not a color issue.”
    “Yet our system sure as hell works like it is! Almost every crime stat you look at, black Americans top the charts. It’s the old saying…you’re not paranoid if everyone’s out to get you.”
    “So you’re saying we’re institutionally racist.”
    “Good God no. I’m saying I can understand the groundswell of feeling against the system and authority, though that sure as hell doesn’t make the protestors right. We need to invest in the youth, give them opportunities outside of criminality, give them role models to look up to and not ex-cons. Give them an education every bit as good as the one the rich white kids get.”
    “Where’s that money materializing from?”
    “That’s the multi-billion dollar question,” pondered Clay. “Whatever the case, none of that is an overnight solution.”
    “And in the meantime?”
    “We do everything we can to protect the citizens, exactly what we have been elected to do.”
    “What about when that doesn’t work?” Bill asked somberly.
    That was something Clay wasn’t prepared to consider yet. He watched the footage from L.A. that was being beamed live on the TV. It was just after midnight there. Though the protestors were causing the police some problems, the police appeared to have it under control. News helicopters crowded the sky, desperate to find a major story. So far, only minor skirmishes were reported as the protesters were kept in line by overwhelming police numbers. The Ferguson news was going to break soon. When that happened, L.A. and the West Coast would explode, unlike the East Coast,