Robert F Kennedy was murdered by a Palestinian-American kook (spare me your whackadoodle conspiracy bullshit) in the kitchen of the Ambassador Hotel on June 5, 1968 and the darkness of America took over again after a 9 year hiatus.
Nixon, Bush, Reagan, Bush 2, and finally Trump were the result. Carter tried but truth telling is something Americans reject. Clinton was the best Republican president of the last century and Obama, well, he overturned the rock that "real America" was living under and came slithering back out to gum up the system. I mean white people can only be pushed so far until their sense of losing the privilege kicks in and it becomes just another Klan rally under the guise of making America great again.
Bobby Kennedy may have been just as stifled as the rest of the ones who at least tried to bring us together but we shall never know. Now the wayward son, the one unfortunately with the Junior behind him, has come forward to not only plead to free his fathers murderer, but to spread anti vax bullshit and appeal to the same nutters who Trump appealed to. It's a strange legacy, a strange 180 to those of us who may have been young kids in 1968 but knew what a politician who gave us hope was like. The son, a complete opposite of his father, spreading despair and openly rooting for death from disease and supporting Russian scumbags. It makes me angry.
I miss June 4th of 1968. Because as he won the California primary and the nomination that night it gave us hope that illegal and immoral American wars would stop, that darkness would become light, that a young 43 year old man would become the leader of the free word and that evil like Nixon and dumbness like Reagan would end.
Instead in the wee hours of June 5, 1968, just after the victory speech, as hope was led thru the kitchen to a waiting car, a psychopathic killer changed the world for the worse. Sirhan murdered hope. And despair took the stage. And it hasn't given it up yet.
Because "real America" won't let it.
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