What the Left Gets Wrong About 'the Black Experience'

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"They aren’t stopping you for speeding, are they?" My girlfriend Eileen was as confused as I was. It was 10 p.m. on a hot Charleston night. I was driving Eileen home after leaving my granddaddy’s house. When I turned onto Rivers Avenue, I saw the far-too-familiar flashing lights in my rearview mirror. My eyes flicked down to the odometer. Thirty-eight in a 35 zone. That can’t be the reason.

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