an equal contest . . . they don’t want arncontest. And, by the way, what courtrnever said that the airwaves are pubhcrnproperty? Imagine if governmentrnclaimed ownership of everything it regulated?rnUnder those assumptions, whornowns your car or your home—or, for thatrnmatter, you?rnCalculated on a dollars-per-bleatrnbasis, it is no surprise that PBS stationsrnsurround Biff-and-Muffy begathons withrnYawny in Concert and whales. If Muffyrnand Biff are right, and if your neighborhoodrnstation is not just draining art dollarsrnaway from local musicians, theater,rnmuseums, and poets, then ask whyrnMuffv and Biff don’t whine only on locallyrnproduced PBS shows. Because thesernpeople are the Jack Kevorkians of regionalrnarts, sniffing out politically weakerrncultural institutions. While you andrnyour children pay for PBS installationsrnand staffs, even Muffy and Biff don’trnwatch the few programs PBS affiliatesrnmight genuinely make. This proves oncernagain that taxes aren’t raised for the benefitrnof the taxed.rn—Ted ByrnernA WASHINGTON POST story earlierrnthis vear began, “Gunfire erupted amongrna group of teenagers in a hallway at DunbarrnHigh School.” Here was yet anotherrntale of teenagers and guns in our nation’srncapital, of shootings at school, ofrnanother day when class ended not withrnthe ring of a bell but with the frighteningrnsound of shattering glass and bullets hittingrnthe desks. It is a nightmare thatrnhas become all too familiar to familiesrnliving in what one local columnist callsrnthe District of Calamity.rnYet the shooting itself was less interestingrnthan what the two reporters ingenuouslyrnrevealed just a few lines later.rnIn fact, few reporters have better describedrnthe intractable social pathologyrndestroying the once tightly woven fabricrnof the inner-city American family: ‘”Wernwere in a panic; people were runningrnaround trying to figure out what was goingrnon,’ said 11th grader Tashia Robertson,rn17, who was in the chemistry class,rn, . , [Robertson] quickly went to get herrnvear-old son from the day-care facilityrnin the school… ‘I was scared for me andrnmy baby,’ Robertson said as she left therncampus. ‘I’m getting out of here.'”rnUndeniably, Tashia learned somethingrnin school besides how to get pregnant,rni.e., the mortal danger of public educationrnin a realm ruled by the likes ofrnMarion Shepilov Barry. But youngrnTashia’s split-second brush with deathrnand her serendipitous comment aboutrnher child ought to be more instructive tornus than 12 years of school are to her. Forrnone thing, the reporters wrote aboutrnTashia’s motherhood, disturbinglyrnenough, as if it were the most normalrncondition in the world for a teenager,rnwhich it is in inner cities. Teenagers andrnbabies and daycare are all part of thernquotidian routine at schools in Washington,rnD.C. Somewhere, presumably,rnthere’s time for English and algebra.rnBut the subtext to the reportage is thernmore important lesson. Public schools,rnthe one arm of government in whichrnparents must place absolute trust becausernit has responsibility for their children,rnhave become yet another apparatusrnof the therapeutic state, a place wherernevery citizen has a problem the governmentrnmust heal. In the District ofrnCalamity, that is a herculean task, whichrnis why six of e’ery ten residents work forrnthe federal city’s government.rnIf junior doesn’t get breakfast, thernschool will provide one for free. If momrncannot—or will not—pack lunch, that’srnno problem. The school has a free hotlunchrnprogram. If mom or dad won’t bernhome when the school day ends, daycarernis available. The price is right, of course.rn”It doesn’t cost a penny.”rnYet if babysitting a generation of bastardsrnis the common denominator tornwhich public schools have been reduced,rnthen it is no surprise that the District’srngovernment cannot fulfill its legitimaternduties, such as punishing criminals. AsrnMayor Sharon Pratt Kelly’s therapistsrnponder the weighty matters of Norplantrnand self-esteem, criminals rule thernstreets, which is precisely why Her Honorrncalled for the National Guard afterrnthe homeboys enjoyed one particularlyrnthrilling weekend of mayhem and murder.rnThe therapeutic state is necessarily arntotalitarian state, if only because it doesrnso much of what it should not do and sornlittle of what it should do that it finallyrnmust do everything it possibly can do.rnThe condoms don’t work, so the schoolsrnprovide daycare. The antigun laws fail,rnso the police arbitrarily search law-abidingrncitizens for them. When darknessrncreeps over the Potomac, criminals rulernthe streets, so the mayor declares a curfewrnto keep ever’one inside until a newrndav dawns.rnIf so much money weren’t wasted andrnso many lives weren’t so tragically ruined,rnconditions in the nation’s capitalrnwould be hilarious. They cry out for satirizationrnin a Tom Wolfe novel. Therncity and its elders, after all, are thernapotheosis of everything wrong with latern20th-century urban America. Sad thingrnis, conditions aren’t likely to improve untilrnthey get much worse and until thernbeguiled parents in the District ofrnCalamity take their kids back from thernbureaucratic therapists trying to destroyrnthem.rn—R. Cort KirkwoodrnV I O L E N T CRIME in Californiarndropped for the first nine months ofrn1993 over the same period in 1992, reportedrnattorney general Dan Lungrenrnlast winter. But statistics are of no comfort,rnand Lungren knows it. During thernsame press conference he even said so:rn”The reason people are more worried todayrnthan they ever have been before isrnthe randomness.” Or as pollster MarvinrnField told the San Francisco Chronicle,rn”When you have the Polly Klaas casesrnand the serial killers and the sexual molesters,rnthat kind of crime bursts the bubblernof feeling that you can protect yourself.”rnFVen in traditionally liberal SanrnFrancisco, bleeding hearts are hardening.rnAfter the abduction and murder ofrnKlaas by a repeat offender, for instance,rna Chronicle reporter told me that manyrnof his most liberal newsroom colleaguesrnhad been broken and turned by the ordealrnof tracking the local tragedy.rnAverage San Franciscans can likewisernonly take so much, which became clearrnafter another particulady cold-bloodedrnmurder in the heavily touristed Fisherman’srnWharf area (just a few monthsrnafter a teenage Irish tourist was nearlyrnshot dead for no reason in the same arearnby a 16-year-old out on a weekend passrnfrom a juvenile facility). Michael Stuckey,rnage 23, suffered a mortal knife woundrnwhile trying to break up a mugging. Hisrnsuspected killer, who has a considerablernrap sheet, was arrested in a nearby BayrnStreet housing project, the one that surroundsrna cable car turnaround whererntourists, with good reason, wait pensivelyrnto be delivered upward to Knob Hill.rnEven the televised dramatization ofrnTales of the City has not been enough torndivert media and citizen attention awayrnfrom the streets—no small thing for arncity that has a sense of nostalgia thatrn8/CHRONICLESrnrnrn