A guest post by Hizzle. I agree with everything he wrote here.
The problem with modern anti-racism is that it has been taken over by lunatics. Think back to Medgar Evers, Martin Luther King, the Civil Rights Movement and everything associated with it that I and many other liberals support to the hilt. The problem is that great cause has been taken over by a bunch of insane people. The Civil Rights Movement (which is ongoing by the way) and the anti-discrimination laws and projects that followed have done a lot of really great things to reduce real racism and discrimination against Blacks and other minorities.
But now that they have gotten a lot of what they wanted, Blacks keep on pressing. It’s never good enough, and the Black movements just keep pressing on with more and more extreme and even ridiculous demands and outrages, mostly fake. Most of the “civil rights heroes” of the modern age are nothing more than disgusting, despicable Black criminals who in many cases got precisely what they deserved, death or serious injury.
Now that real racism and discrimination have diminished, the anti-racists have moved on to anyone who dares to tell the truth about race. Can we mention that the Black crime rate is 6 times the White rate? That Black schools are a disaster area, mostly due to Black students? That no one in their right mind wants to live around large numbers of Black people?
Of course we can’t mention any of these things (that would be racist!) other than to say that Black crime is so high, Black schools are such a mess and Black neighborhoods are so ruined all because of White people! If White people would just get out of the way and quit repressing Black people, Blacks would get their shit together! Right!
In fact, Black behavior has gotten so terrible and exasperating in recent years that I have even told my foreign friends, “Please! Whatever you do, do NOT let large numbers of Black people into your country! I assure you you will regret it if you do!”
Here is what will happen if a nation with a tiny Black population lets large numbers of Blacks into their country.
First the Blacks will experience a lot of racism, which is regrettable. Then a decent anti-racist movement will rise up which many progressives in the land will get behind. Behavior will start to improve and new laws will be passed.
But soon Black misbehavior will become obvious. Black crime will be far higher than the native rate, maybe 6-30 times higher. Over time, this will wear thin on the natives. General Black pathologies, or what we Whites see as pathologies, will become more and more obvious and will have little or nothing to do with racism.
The natives will start complaining about Blacks. Blacks will respond to what will inevitably be their greater pathologies and lesser achievement by starting a big anti-racist movement in the country. This movement will consist of browbeating the natives of the land into thinking that they are evil because they don’t treat Black people right. All Black problems will be laid at the feet of the natives.
This endless complaint and gripe will feed Black rage, and the Blacks will get more and more angry and oppositional towards the natives, which will only feed Black pathologies and failures. The endless cycle will begin. As Black shortcomings in good areas and excesses in bad ones will go on without end, the Black gripe against the natives will be interminable, as will Black rage and its resulting misbehavior. The natives will bend over backwards to try not to be racist towards the Blacks, but no matter how hard they try to be good, the Blacks will bitch, scream and bellow and call them racist.
I explain all of this to my friends and tell them to just avoid the whole mess and don’t import lots of Black people because I feel that this is what inevitably will follow.
On sites like American Renaissance, it is common to see former liberals say that they always supported Blacks until the OJ Simpson verdict. At that time, they realized just how evil and screwed up Black America was and how deep the bottomless and interminable Black hatred for Whites was, no matter how much we bend over to try to help them. Quite a few said they threw up their hands after the verdict and completely changed their views of Blacks, abandoned anti-racism and became much more racist towards Blacks.
The sociopathic and sadistic behavior so amply displayed by Darrell in this piece is par for the course for far too many Blacks, especially young Black males.
The typical tiresome rejoinder from Blacks and anti-racists is that there are plenty of Whites just like Darrell. No kidding. But in White culture, the Darrells are looked down on when they are not actively despised, and in Black culture, they seem to be celebrated.
In addition, there seem to be far more Darrells among Blacks than among Whites. And that’s all the difference in the world when you decide where to move, go to school or even drive your car through at night. Life is an odds game and its all about incidence not existence. Yes all the bad things about Blacks exist among Whites too, but at a much lower rate of existence, which is why White neighborhoods and schools are so much more tolerable than Black ones.
Incidence trumps existence. Remember that and sear that sentence into your brain. You bet your life that is true. And in many cases, you literally bet your life that is true.
About the article, I do not think is racist at all. Truth should be a defense against racism. And we need alternatives to the insanity of anti-racism and the sociopathy and cruelty of overt racism. I would propose a third category: non-racist. One is either an anti-racist lunatic, a racist monster, or a sensible person, a non-racist, somewhere in the middle.
Enjoy the piece.
When I was in the 7th grade, I was something of a troublemaker, or more properly, a slacker. I spent a lot of time smoking weed and goofing off. Naturally, I also spent a lot of time playing hooky, which led to not a few sessions of detention.
Detention was held for a time in the “annex colony” which basically consisted of a series of house trailers where various classes took place until construction on a new wing of the school was completed.
One afternoon I found myself in detention, sitting in the back of a sparsely peopled classroom. Kids must have been on their best behavior that day, since the only other two souls besides the teacher (out on a restroom break) were Darrell, a black kid I knew well from my smoking sessions, and another young female whose name I didn’t know.
This young nameless girl looked harmless enough. Part of her innocuousness might have had something to do with the two boxes of candy which sat on her desk. They were, respectively, peanut butter and garden variety M&Ms. No doubt she was selling them for some charity or student organization.
A few minutes into our hour-long session of purgatory, the young nameless girl excused herself to go the bathroom-without bothering to take her candy with her. That left only Darrell and myself in the classroom, until either the girl or the teacher returned from their trip to the toilet.
The second the girl was gone, Darrell turned to me and grinned. “Don’t never leave your shit unguarded around me. That’s the golden rule.”
He stood up and went over to the boxes, which he began to raid. He took a handful of peanut M&Ms and a handful of the plain. His haul amounted to ten bags or so in all, which he stuffed into the downy folds of his Starter jacket (Starter was an incredibly popular clothing line that put out sports-themed outerwear. Their jackets were popular enough that several students at our school had been beaten for their coats, while a few youths had been shot while at the park or the local mall in heated contests over the designer jackets).
Darrell promptly retook his seat after his raid on the candy. Then we both waited for the return of the teacher, or the girl.
The young lady returned first. She walked slowly back to her seat. I could already sense that she knew one of us had been in her boxes. Darrell stared straight ahead. She peeked inside the peanut butter M&M box; she winced, and then did a commensurate inventory of the other box.
She looked at me. “Did you take my candy?”
I shook my head. I felt bad for her, but I also didn’t want to rat on a fellow pothead, especially one who had several brothers who would be willing to jump my ass on the way to the bus stop if I happened to rat on him.
She looked at Darrell.
Before she could even get the question out, he stood up and shouted at the top of his lungs: “It’s because I’m black, ain’t it?! You’re accusing me of stealing because I’m black!”
“No!” Her anger evaporated, and she became a mass of apologetic jelly. “No, I’m sorry.”
“I should tell the principal,” Darrell said. “When Mr. Pogoni gets back, I’m a tell him.”
Mr. Pogoni was our Spanish instructor, a middle-aged Italian-American man who supposedly also knew Latin. He was the detention administrator for the day, presumably off to the bathroom; in reality he was probably catching a smoke in the Faculty Lounge.
“Please don’t tell Mr. Pogoni I’m racist!” Tears streamed down the girl’s face.
“I won’t,” Darrel said, solicitously, but there was a catch. “If you give me a couple bags of them M&Ms, I won’t tell him about how racist you are.”
The girl quickly complied, digging out several bags of M&Ms and handing them over. Darrell sat quietly for the rest of the detention session, burning up the hour while eating chocolate to his heart’s content.
There was only one other time that I ever saw Darrell so happy and contented. It was a couple of months prior, in early October, I believe. We both had Social Studies together, taught by Mr. Hurley, an incredibly hirsute but gentle, bespectacled man. Darrell’s role in the class was that of the cutup, the clown. He would interject humor into Mr. Hurley’s deathless lectures.
As an example, Thea Barber (a massive black girl) sat in front of him and he used to taunt her relentlessly. One day Mr. Hurley decided to delineate between the monarchical and democratic forms of government.
He pointed at Thea and said, “Now, pretend that Thea is a monarch. If Thea is a monarch, Thea wants…”
“Fried Chicken!” Darrell said, and the room exploded with laughter.
That wasn’t the happiest I had seen him, though. That came, as I mentioned, in early October. It was the day that the OJ verdict was read, and tensions were very high. Our school was mixed, predominately black, though with a healthy contingent of white and Asian students. This event had so dominated the public imagination (even the minds of the very young) that Mr. Hurley agreed to let us listen to the verdict on the radio, if we would only remain quiet.
There was much disagreement in the room. The white kids wanted to hear the verdict read on WEBN, a local rock station. The black kids wanted to hear the verdict read on the Wiz, a local hip-hop and R&B frequency. No one cared what the Asian kids wanted, and most of them were too polite to shout out their requests. But there were more black kids than white ones, so the Wiz it was.
The announcement came in the middle of the Isley Brothers’ Footsteps in the Dark. A hush fell over the room. It’s a cliché, but yes, you could have heard a pin drop.
“Not Guilty!”
The black students erupted in cheers. Darrell stood up and moonwalked across the front of the room. The White and Asian students sat quietly, staring at their laps. I looked up long enough to see the expression on Mr. Hurley’s face.
A saddened look washed over his aged mug. He had gone on about Medgar Evers, Freedom Riders, Abolitionism, a coalition of white and black students bringing power to the people in the Sixties. He was having trouble understanding why black children were celebrating the fact that a black man had decapitated his wife and a waiter, and that he had gotten away with it.
He didn’t understand, but I did. And I still do.
