Gregory Stronghold, American Renaissance, October 2, 2021
This is part of our continuing series of accounts by readers of how they shed the illusions of liberalism and became race realists.
My elementary and middle schools were majority white. I had black and Hispanic friends and never had a problem with non-whites until high school. I changed school districts before my Freshman year, and found myself in a much more diverse environment. Almost immediately I noticed that the races naturally, and voluntarily, segregated themselves. There was some intermingling, especially when it came to sports, but it was rare.
The differences in behavior were also clear as day. The black students were always noisy: singing their rap music constantly and beating on their lockers or desks to the rhythm. They made fun of the white teachers and caused “class disturbances” daily. They were never in the advanced placement classes and thanks to “No Child Left Behind,” they were never remediated — just pushed through the grades like cattle. Hispanics and blacks were always fighting each other. There were fights almost every week in the hallways and I learned to keep my head down and keep to myself to avoid any attention being drawn to me. There was a guidance counselor who specifically worked with the blacks who got in trouble. He was an older white man and was known to reduce the disciplinary punishment for the students he worked with. Instead of getting suspended — the punishment that most of them deserved — he would give them “in-school suspension” or make them write an essay on how they would change their behavior. These “punishments” almost never made an impression on the guilty parties, so there was a huge list of repeat offenders who were always in trouble and almost never in class. By the time I graduated, I resented my black peers. I felt they had no place being around white or Asian students who were actually there to learn and succeed. I saw them as completely out of place and a hindrance to our education system.
When I started college, I still held this view, but things were better because I was a mechanical engineering student — which meant my classes were 95 percent white. What made a big impression on me was a story my grandfather told me when I was visiting home.
His neighbor “Butch,” a retired white man who lived in the country, told him that he would no longer be able to see his grandson. Years before, Butch’s unmarried daughter had gotten knocked up by a black man. Soon after his son was born, the black father disappeared. Butch stepped up and played the role of father figure in his grandson’s life. Butch did what he could to raise the child right. It worked out very well for the longest time because his grandson’s actions, speech, temperament, and mannerisms were “white.”
Then the boy started high school — in fact, the same high school I had attended, just a few years later. Butch started to notice changes in his grandson: country music was replaced by rap, the white friends he had grown up with were replaced by black friends, and his personality went from respectful and courteous to boisterous and hateful. He no longer wanted to ride his ATV in the woods or help his grandpa in the garden. Butch confronted his daughter about all of this and she replied with contempt. She accused her own father of being racist and insisted that there wasn’t anything wrong with her son. After that, the mother kept her son away from his “racist” grandpa.
This story convinced me that racial differences are more than cultural. Good role models can’t trump biology. For most of my adult life, I have been a race realist, but it often felt like I was the only one. American Renaissance changed that. I’m proud to say I’m proud to be white. My ancestors immigrated to America in 1774, and without them and other Europeans who made the same choice, this country would be nothing. Their hard-work, perseverance, ingenuity, inventiveness, morals, and determination created one of the greatest civilizations in the history of mankind.