The Stark Reality of Race
John Harlingen, American Renaissance, February 19, 2022
This is part of our continuing series of accounts by readers of how they shed the illusions of liberalism and became race realists.
I grew up in a military family and traveled the world, seeing different races and cultures up close: American blacks, the Japanese, the Middle East, and northern Europe. Although I saw a lot, I refused to acknowledge racial differences as anything more than superficial. As such, I saw nothing wrong with miscegenation.
In my twenties, I started working in refineries in south Texas and oilfields out West. It was during that time of my life that I met a Mexican woman without a drop of European blood in her veins, her skin was darker than most blacks — but she was well above average in IQ. We started dating and soon had a child together.
My daughter’s life was wonderful, even after her mother and I split up — until the doctors found cancer in her stomach. Before long, it spread and eventually ravaged every major organ in her body, the marrow in her bones, and placed her in a hospital bed for the last year of her life.
While exploring treatments, various talks of transplants popped up, but nothing ever came of them. I made excellent money, so by virtue of actually being able to pay, we were able to skip to the front of the line for every possible transplant. With constant tests and constant failures, her mother and I grew more frustrated. Finally, one of the doctors explained that people with mixed genetics are far less likely to find a suitable match for an organ donation.
The races are indeed biologically distinct, and while I would give anything to “go back” and just spend time with my daughter again, I know that her suffering was due to my negligence of basic biological realities. Coexistence is impossible not because of cultures or attitudes but because of genetic fact. I made the mistake of creating a person who was never meant to be and it cost her parents a lifetime of suffering and regret but more importantly, it cost my daughter her life.
If you have a story about how you became racially aware, we’d like to hear it. If it is well written and compelling, we will publish it. Use a pen name, stay under 1,200 words, and send it to us here.
