On April 2, 2025, Karmelo Anthony went to Memorial High School looking for a fight. Though he was participating in a track meet, he felt the need to bring a knife in his backpack. Once at the school, he sat in the tent of the opposing team. When confronted by Austin Metcalf, who told him to leave, Anthony reached into his backpack and said, “Touch me and see what happens.” Metcalf then grabbed Anthony in an attempt to forcibly move him out of the tent. Anthony then used his knife to stab Metcalf in the heart, killing him almost instantly.
Touch me and see what happens. This is the ethos for which Anthony was willing to murder an innocent boy.
On paper, Anthony sounded as if he were a model citizen with a bright future. Coming from a stable, two-parent household, he was the captain of his own school’s track and football teams. He worked two part-time jobs and was a straight A student. At the time of his crime, he was a month away from graduation, and was planning on going to college. Until the moment he plunged his knife into Metcalf’s chest, he had never had any incidents with law enforcement.
What are we to make of this? How are we supposed to understand how someone as seemingly normal as Karmelo Anthony was willing, in a manner of seconds, to destroy the lives of others, not to mention his own life, over such a petty argument?
Touch me and see what happens. Anthony didn’t develop this ethos on his own. There is a sickness in black subculture in contemporary America, and the sickness is this: Too many young black males are immersed in a socio-racial ideology that glorifies violence, preaches that only the meanest dog on the block wins, and dictates that any perceived threat from anyone who “steps up to me” must be countered with a wildly disproportionate, overwhelming response.
With regards to this latter point, the sole purpose of a disproportionate, overwhelming response is to serve as a warning not only to the victim, but to whoever else is watching or who is later made aware of this incident. If pushing me results in me murdering you, people far and wide will think twice before “stepping up” to me. My reputation as an unpredictable, uncontrollable animal is forged and serves my interests in the long run, even if I’m punished in the short run.
Let us be honest. This sickness is prevalent among young black males more than any other group. The statistics don’t lie. And because of this sickness, and because of foot soldiers such as Karmelo Anthony willing to follow its orders, the result will likewise be predictable. People avoid sickness. And though Anthony will spend the next 35 years in quarantine, so to speak, there are still potentially millions of other infected carriers.
This sickness is evident in the Black Lives Matter riots that burned down entire cities and left dozens of innocent people dead. The sickness is evident in the almost exclusively black flash mobs that take over streets, malls, and beaches. The sickness is evident in the 20-person brawls that break out at Waffle Houses, in casino lobbies, and in Carnival cruise check-in lines. The sickness is evident in every attempt to resist law enforcement, and every escalation of a situation that in no way necessitated escalating. The sickness is evident in the Treyvon Martins and Eric Garners and Michael Browns and Jacob Blakes and Anton Sterlings who respond to any and all adversity with hyper-aggressive violence.
Whatever may be the incidental motivations for these crimes, underlying them is the darker, subconscious message. Don’t come near me. I’m not rational, and you can’t talk me down. I’m a rabid pit bull, and the more you anger me, the harder I’ll stomp you. I don’t follow rules, and you’d be wise to just stay out of my way.
This sickness festers like gangrene and rots the entire subculture, regardless of its other admirable components. A toxic mixture of never-ending racial grievance and a perverse pride in the urban “gangsta” lifestyle incubates, encourages, and spreads it. It’s the pathetic selfies holding the handgun in one hand and a wad of money in the other. It’s the bass-bumping car stereos through the neighborhood at midnight. It’s the infantile “statement” clothing, assuming it’s the correct size.
The problem with this messaging, aimed primarily if not exclusively toward the “white” dominant culture, is that the message is received exactly as intended. Don’t go near him. He’s not rational, and I can’t talk him down. He’s a rabid pit bull, and the more I anger him, the harder he’ll stomp me. He doesn’t follow rules, and I’d be wise to just stay out of his way.
Hellbound and Down 