I’m not going to claim
that I have been totally 1488 from day one or that I came goose-stepping out of
the womb. But I think I have always been instinctively and intuitively a race
realist. Or at least, I have been since around the age of 8. The first black
person I ever met was this kid named Scooter when I was in kindergarten. This
would have been in the early 80s……….
My first impression of blacks was, therefore, actually quite
positive. Had I remained in that sleepy little Kansas town where my
interactions with blacks were limited to the middle-class children of talented
10ths, my worldview today might be very different than it is now. But at the end of 2nd grade,
something happened that would change my life forever. My dad sat us down and
told us that he had been transferred at his job and we were all moving to St.
Louis. The next three years would radically and irreversibly change my
perspective on race and I would never be the same again……….
Let’s talk about desegregation bussing………
This was supposed to have two effects. The blacks were supposed to
pick up good habits from the white kids but they also expected the white kids,
upon meeting the black youths, to quickly learn that we weren’t all that
different after all and this would totally BTFO racism. Now, I don’t know about any other school. But my school? That. Did. Not.
Happen.
If you were trying to create a
government program for the specific purpose of turning white kids racist, I
don’t think you could come up with a much better idea than desegregation
bussing………
But what was most painfully obvious to everyone was that the blacks were
clearly not as smart as the white kids. It took them longer to learn every
lesson…
All the white kids started to deeply resent having the
black kids around………..
For their part, the black kids didn’t want to be there
any more than the white kids wanted them there. The
commute was insanely long and they didn’t fit in. Now, there were a few black
kids who seemed to understand what was up. They understood that they were given
a special opportunity to learn at a good school with no crack dealers where
they didn’t have to worry about getting shot, an opportunity that their parents
never had. These kids took the opportunity seriously. But these kids were the
exception. Most of the black kids just didn’t want to be there……….
Political correctness was
not the thing back then that it is now. You heard people say that “all races
are the same,” or “all men are created equal,” but I don’t think anyone
actually meant it. I always assumed that was just some bullshit that people
said for the benefit of blacks to make them feel better. You weren’t actually
supposed to believe it. It was a way of being polite, but we all knew the
score. It was kind of like being nice
to the retarded kid. You treat the retarded kid like he’s not retarded, but
everyone knows he’s retarded. Back then, PC was like that. It was just being
polite. It would be until decades later that I would encounter people would say
shit like “we’re all the same” and actually believe it.
So society was more bullshitting me than outright lying to me. But
it was bullshit that I assumed was being done with a wink and a nod.
That said, I was definitely being lied to by the media……..
Now, I won’t say that I’ve been a white nationalist since 3rd
grade. I did suffer from some delusions that if we tinkered with the system
somewhat, that maybe we could close the racial gaps. If we could get rid of
welfare, it would force blacks to pull up their bootstraps. If we could untie
the invisible hand of the free market, it could work its magic and lift blacks
out of their squalor.
I never believed that blacks could achieve socioeconomic parity with
whites. I knew whites had some x-factor that blacks lacked. Even before I knew
anything about bell curves, I knew whites were smarter than blacks and would
always be doing somewhat better. But I still thought that if we tinkered with
the education system, somehow we could smarten them up some. Not white smart,
but smart enough to where they would be good enough for jazz. I had some hope
that maybe something could be done to get things to a manageable level to where
blacks were at least not a burden on society.
It wasn’t until I
discovered race realism and the writings of John Derbyshire that it started to
dawn on me just how hopeless the race situation really was. This was around
2004. Now here I am.
