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I hope that the two Borf-related articles in the Feb. 24 issue of the Washington City Paper are the last square inches of ink you give to this kid. I’ll be the first to admit that the Borf run was an intriguing public-art project—he killed it with an all-city productless street promotion, all the while maintaining a legit D.C.-graffiti-scene presence that captivated both the ire and wonder of the average passer-by. Shit, he even had people who don’t write graf picking up a marker just to cross his work out. But as he’s opened his mouth in recent months—giving interviews and spewing off his anarchist manifestos—he’s come off as an arrogant, privileged, whiteboy poser from the ’burbs.
Giving him more props and letting him big up his little 30-day bid in D.C. Jail is a smack in the face for every youth of color in this city who gets harassed by the cops, locked up, and caught in the system. These are the kids who do much longer than a month in jail, catching beef at their trials for sucking their teeth at a judge or showing up with their braids undone and in a shabby outfit. This bamma talks shit, shows up to trial in paint-covered gear, gets off light, and still has the nerve to badmouth the judge. Stop propping him up like he’s some victim of an oppressive system out to get him—he’s not.
P.S. I’ll be sending him a copy of William Upski Wimsatt’s Bomb the Suburbs. He should have read it years ago.