Hands are being wrung left and right as tomorrow marks the one-year anniversary of the day a lunatic with an arsenal busted in on that Newtown, Connecticut school and sent more than two dozen teachers and students to Second Amendment heaven.
Much of the folderol has to do with how we identify and treat lunatics. The idea being we’ve got brain scientists, psychologists, psychiatrists, and tons and tons of psychoactive medications so why are people like Adam Lanza allowed to get crazier and crazier until they open fire on an elementary school-full of kiddies?
Forget the gun control argument; that ship is dead in the water. Real Americans will not stand for the Adolph Ilyich Obama administration stealing from them their god-given right to mow tots down. And forget my pet solution, which is to impose a moratorium on the manufacture of firearms until gun makers and their lobbyists wither away and die of sadness. Go to the source, I always say.
Then again, I’m not a real American because I don’t care that so much of our economy is based on the production and peddling of bullets and shootin’ irons. Anybody who places the lives of brats and bleeding heart teachers (most of whom are union thugs anyway) above good business is nothing more than a commie rat.
Back to the point, what are we to do about this problem of crazies who want to pack heat? And by extension, what about the rest of the mal-wired populace who can be a threat to others and themselves even as we blithely pretend they aren’t there?
The Schizophrenia and Related Disorders Alliance of America estimates that there are more than two million sufferers of that particular mental illness in this holy land. Now, not all mass shooters are schizophrenic, but the likes of Lanza, Seung-Hui Cho, James Holmes and others whose mental architecture was certifiably effed-up prior to their dastardly deeds, cause the sane among us to ask why it was so easy for them to act out on their delusions and paranoia.
The egg-headed Left, of which I am a confessed part, would like nothing more than for the dangerously mentally ill to be safely ensconced in warm, snug group homes where the most dangerous implements they can get their hands on are sporks.
But that would cost money. Loads of it. And spending money on people who don’t have the good sense not to be born insane is a sin worse than child molestation in these Rand-ian times. Every human endeavor, I must remind you, must generate profit. Expect, within the next couple of decades, to pay for the traffic light you’re waiting at to turn green. It’s the American way.
The skull jockey establishment is as American as any other. Shrinks and psychopharmacologists wish to become rich. Patriots all, they know in their hearts that the richer they are, the better Americans they are. Simple math, duh.
Ergo, these true Americans in the past few decades have pathologized many behaviors that once were seen as mere personality quirks. More and more, kids aren’t just antsy or loudmouths or class clowns; they have diseases. ADHD. Affluenza. Social anxiety disorder. Internet addiction disorder. Every kid and her brother with Asperger’s. Minor bipolar disorder. The list goes on. And the list of medications to treat these diseases is even longer: Ritalin (that old standby), Adderall, Focalin, Seroquel, Zyprexa, Geodon and many, many others whose names are even more unpronounceable.
All these ailments and treatments seem geared to children of white middle and upper-middle class families. You know, those people most likely to have good health insurance coverage and who are constantly fretting about their precious darlings’ inabilities to be number one in the class in academics and deportment.
Any shrink worth his diploma and hoping to capitalize on those elective business courses he took in college is going to glom onto that trend like the Soma Coffee fly on my head. Here, kid, take these pills and make sure your Mommy brings you back twice a week.
Treatment of the truly mentally ill isn’t so business-friendly. It follows, therefore, that so many of our nation’s doctor/entrepreneurs would dodge it as adroitly as the aforementioned fly dodges my swats.
If we could make a buck on the profoundly insane, we’d wrap this problem up in a heartbeat. Or the snap of a finger. Or the sound of a gunshot.