I got up early this morning and watched in horror as I saw you lecturing America about Michael Brown's surrender and what is true and what is not true, what is decided and what is not decided, and whose opinions, besides yours, are entitled to respect.
I had a brother, now gone, who I loved very much. He was my younger smaller weaker smarter brother. We played racquetball one time in our middle age. I went for the ball, and he was in the way, so of course I ran him over and he went sprawling. He got up angry. I explained carefully to him, as a big brother would, in the same condescending tone that you addressed the MSNBC audience this morning, that I was just playing by the rules and that he had nothing to complain about. And he said "Yes, I know you're right, but all my life, every time I play with you I get hurt and it's always my fault!" It struck me and I was ashamed. He was my brother. It's not my job to show him why it's his fault; it's my job to make sure he doesn't get hurt.
Mr. Scarborough, it is unnecessary for you to tell us what the truth is. The fact that you, a white male, assumes without self questioning your right to decide what The Truth is, not only makes your opinion uniquely irrelevant to this problem, but in fact is the problem. Be ashamed. Your brother is being hurt.