Media happy to leave ‘Bostonian of the Year’ out of fraud bust

Nothing to see here, folks, they say now. Move along. For the first time in years, Monica Cannon-Grant is getting a good leaving-alone.

Monica Cannon Who?

That’s pretty much the way this latest scandal in the Racism-Industrial Complex is being played out in the Boston media that made Monica Cannon-Grant (for that is indeed her name) a sort of local celebrity.

Nothing to see here, folks, they say now. Move along. For the first time in years, Monica Cannon-Grant is getting a good leaving-alone.

In case you missed it, and the amen chorus in the Boston media certainly hopes you did, her husband was lugged by the feds earlier this week at their new home in Taunton, far from the mean streets of Roxbury.

Clark Grant is charged with both mortgage and pandemic-relief fraud — allegedly ripping off a COVID unemployment program for $67,950 as well as claiming the cash accounts of his wife’s “non-profit” as his own personal piggy bank.

After the raid, Monica Cannon-Grant issued this statement on social media:

“I have not been and was not arrested or incarcerated.”

After which, she vanished from the internet.

Her Twitter handle, by the way, was @ProRockThrower. As in, glass houses, perhaps?

Please, I implore you, try not to let this destroy your faith in the integrity of the burgeoning race-hustler industry, not to mention the trust-funded legacies of the Boston media who are so gullible that they believe anything people like Monica Cannon-Grant tell them, as long as their new crushes scream and yell at them and throw in a few f-bombs for good measure.

Thus, the Boston Globe named Monica Cannon-Grant a “Bostonian of the Year” in 2020.

Boston Magazine (which is surprisingly still being published) called her “the best social justice advocate in Boston,” in a slobbering piece headlined “The People Who Gave Us Hope.”

A woke reporter for WGBH worshipfully said that Monica is “absolutely doing it right.”

She got a resolution of congratulations from the Boston City Council. (Thanks, Councilor Julia Mejia, another rocket scientist.)

The Roxbury Unity Community, whatever that is, gave her the “Leader of Tomorrow Award.”

Monica got the free use of a city building in Hyde Park from then-Mayor Marty Walsh, after she repeatedly called him a 12-letter word that begins with “m” and ends with “r.”

The Boston Celtics recently gave her and her family front-row seats to an exhibition game after lauding her as “a hero among us.”

In perhaps the most embarrassing panegyric of all, crack Globe scribes Zoe Greenberg and Stephanie Ebbert gushed that she is both “a firecracker and a mother bear” who “leads change.”

Monica Cannon-Grant was (if we can now refer to her in the past tense) in the tradition of the Rev. Al Sharpton. Back in the day, Sharpton grew famous off the hoax of Tawana Brawley, who falsely claimed she was raped by a bunch of white guys.

Monica’s Tawana Brawley was Mikayla Miller, the troubled Hopkinton teen who committed suicide by hanging herself.

The difference between the hustles of Sharpton and Monica was significant — Tawana was at least alive, a willing participant in Sharpton’s lucrative grift. Mikayla was dead, and thus never had an option as to whether she wanted in on the latest con.

Cannon-Grant basically claimed Mikayla had been lynched, and pointed the finger at five local teenagers. The fact that they’d all been recorded on surveillance cameras at a local fast-food restaurant at the time the “lynching” occurred meant nothing to “the best social justice advocate in Boston.”

In the Mikayla saga, Monica rolled yet another feeble, terrified elected official — Marian Ryan, the geriatric Middlesex County district attorney with the Moe Howard haircut.

Monica had an unerring instinct for sniffing out the weak-kneed, melanin-impaired pols she could bully — both Walsh and Ryan, and of course Gov. Charlie Baker, whose “whole administration looks like the Klan,” as she once sneered.

Her group is — was — called Violence in Boston. Guilt-ridden soccer moms from the woke white suburbs showered cash upon her because she was from, you know, the community.

According to the federal indictment of Clark Grant, his wife’s “non-profit” had $477,000 in at least one of its bank accounts that he claimed as his own.

Monica and Clark, who was a director of VIB, suddenly had enough dough to flee from Roxbury to Taunton. But oddly they did not have enough money to hire a lawyer for Clark – he was represented at his initial court appearance by, what else, a public defender.

Because nobody in the anti-poverty racket ever spends any his or her own money — on anything. Not while Dementia Joe Biden is president anyway.

Again, it’s her husband who is charged with ripping off the Pandemic Unemployment Assistance handout program. But the decision to begin handing out billions in new welfare with zero oversight was like blowing a dog whistle that only fraudsters could hear, and the community-activist “community” is overrepresented, to put it mildly, by sticky-fingered flim-flammers.

As soon as all these new doles were set up last year, Monica began lecturing The Man about the need for “additional billions in relief,” as she put it in Commonwealth Magazine, which has remained strangely silent on these latest developments involving their heroine.

“We need sustained, substantial investment in deprived communities,” she wrote. “We need the kind of political will that has been wielded to free up billions of dollars …”

James Brown once sang, “I don’t want nobody to give me nothing. Open up the door I’ll get it myself.”

According to the feds, Clark Grant likewise didn’t want nobody to give him nothing. Just open up the door, he’d steal it himself.

Monica Cannon-Grant made her bones mau-mauing the flak catchers, as Tom Wolfe once put it. Now the flak-catchers are… well, let’s just say, what goes around comes around.

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