Hip Hop Helps Cripple A Child?

[Just C]

None of the big, bad, hard men of hip-hop ever wrote a song about putting a little girl in a wheelchair for the rest of her life.

None of the scowling tough guys of rap ever boasted about busting a cap in the chest of a tiny child who never hurt anyone in her life.

Well, they should.

Because all those murderous macho fantasies lead directly to Thusha Kamaleswaran, who had a dream of her own – to grow up to become a professional dancer.

That dream is dead, murdered by three hooded black youths on bikes and gunshots wildly fired at the member of a rival gang.

Thusha now faces a lifetime of constant pain, endless operations and watching the world go by from a wheelchair.

Thusha is six years old. A year ago, she was dancing happily in the aisle of her uncle’s shop in Stockwell, South London, when her luck ran out for ever and she became the smallest victim of Britain’s gang culture.

And a little girl who will never be free from pain, and who has been robbed of the life she would have had, and who will now watch others dancing from her wheelchair.

Do we really need to know about the brutes who paralysed this young child? It feels like we know them already.

Nathaniel Grant, 21, Kazeem Kolawole, 19, and Anthony McCalla, 20, stood in the dock with their hands in their pockets as they were found guilty. No respect. No remorse. No regrets.

Anyone who had a heart would have been tearing their skin off in anguish at the knowledge that their senseless actions had put such a beautiful little girl in a wheelchair.

But these are worthless human beings. A horrible thing to say about anyone – but sadly true.

They are misery machines – they will never be anything but a burden on the state, they will never be anything more than trouble to everyone they touch.

What lousy fathers these three will make.

I have no doubt they have all faced racism in their lives, although it is hard to have much sympathy when one of their chums told the emergency services struggling to save Thusha’s life that she was “only a P***”.

And I have no doubt they all have their sob stories about broken homes, a lack of career opportunities and absent fathers. But it is, frankly, hard to care.

Because you think of Thusha in her wheelchair and then you look at the swaggering mug shots of the three thugs who put her there.

You look at their blank-faced cockiness, their unapologetic surliness and you just wish that they – and all their kind – were not around.

There is an entire generation out there who are afraid of nothing – and good for nothing – running around like Al Capones on BMX bikes.

It is no joke. It feels like every day we become increasingly like America, where there are neighbourhoods beyond all hope, beyond all law, beyond all salvation.

There are things that can be done for the next generation.

Better schools for those who want to learn. Tougher sentences for those who choose to be gangsters.

But how do you put together broken families?

How do you promise anyone a job when there are already three million unemployed?

How do you put human decency into stupid, vicious boys who are already dead inside?

Gang culture is totally out of control. What a crying shame that the gang members of Britain’s inner cities cannot simply wipe each other out.

That would be by far the best thing – if, whistling a few of 50 Cent’s greatest hits, they simply killed each other off and left the rest of us in peace.

But it doesn’t work like that.

The proof is a beautiful little girl in a wheelchair who wanted to dance her life away.

All you big, bad, tough guys – who will write a song about Thusha?

Tony Parsons

Or simply another rash generalization?

[Just C]

None of the big, bad, hard men of hip-hop ever wrote a song about putting a little girl in a wheelchair for the rest of her life.

None of the scowling tough guys of rap ever boasted about busting a cap in the chest of a tiny child who never hurt anyone in her life.

Well, they should.

Because all those murderous macho fantasies lead directly to Thusha Kamaleswaran, who had a dream of her own – to grow up to become a professional dancer.

That dream is dead, murdered by three hooded black youths on bikes and gunshots wildly fired at the member of a rival gang.

Thusha now faces a lifetime of constant pain, endless operations and watching the world go by from a wheelchair.

Thusha is six years old. A year ago, she was dancing happily in the aisle of her uncle’s shop in Stockwell, South London, when her luck ran out for ever and she became the smallest victim of Britain’s gang culture.

And a little girl who will never be free from pain, and who has been robbed of the life she would have had, and who will now watch others dancing from her wheelchair.

Do we really need to know about the brutes who paralysed this young child? It feels like we know them already.

Nathaniel Grant, 21, Kazeem Kolawole, 19, and Anthony McCalla, 20, stood in the dock with their hands in their pockets as they were found guilty. No respect. No remorse. No regrets.

Anyone who had a heart would have been tearing their skin off in anguish at the knowledge that their senseless actions had put such a beautiful little girl in a wheelchair.

But these are worthless human beings. A horrible thing to say about anyone – but sadly true.

They are misery machines – they will never be anything but a burden on the state, they will never be anything more than trouble to everyone they touch.

What lousy fathers these three will make.

I have no doubt they have all faced racism in their lives, although it is hard to have much sympathy when one of their chums told the emergency services struggling to save Thusha’s life that she was “only a P***”.

And I have no doubt they all have their sob stories about broken homes, a lack of career opportunities and absent fathers. But it is, frankly, hard to care.

Because you think of Thusha in her wheelchair and then you look at the swaggering mug shots of the three thugs who put her there.

You look at their blank-faced cockiness, their unapologetic surliness and you just wish that they – and all their kind – were not around.

There is an entire generation out there who are afraid of nothing – and good for nothing – running around like Al Capones on BMX bikes.

It is no joke. It feels like every day we become increasingly like America, where there are neighbourhoods beyond all hope, beyond all law, beyond all salvation.

There are things that can be done for the next generation.

Better schools for those who want to learn. Tougher sentences for those who choose to be gangsters.

But how do you put together broken families?

How do you promise anyone a job when there are already three million unemployed?

How do you put human decency into stupid, vicious boys who are already dead inside?

Gang culture is totally out of control. What a crying shame that the gang members of Britain’s inner cities cannot simply wipe each other out.

That would be by far the best thing – if, whistling a few of 50 Cent’s greatest hits, they simply killed each other off and left the rest of us in peace.

But it doesn’t work like that.

The proof is a beautiful little girl in a wheelchair who wanted to dance her life away.

All you big, bad, tough guys – who will write a song about Thusha?

Tony Parsons

Or simply another rash generalization?