Learning About Race in Texas and Spain

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 Texas. I eventually moved to Spain with my dad when my parents divorced. I grew up in a dissident household; the views my father would speak of were unorthodox and not establishment-approved: a.k.a., a free mind.

When it came to race, my dad would tell me, “Julian, there’s an apparatus of white guilt in the US; we’re supposed to feel guilty for things we never did; we’re shamed into allowing ourselves to be more easily governed. Look at Africa. What have they achieved while the entire world went on to create civilizations, technologies, and monuments? Who sold the African slaves to the Europeans? It was the Africans themselves who were the African slave-merchants.”

I could see it in school — the assembly line molding of our thoughts. I felt like an outsider peering in through a window that was foggy to all others; I felt like a person who could recognize that the shadows on the wall of the cave were just that, shadows, as described in Plato’s “Allegory of the Cave.” Once in school, I was called a “cracker” by a group of black boys, and I looked directly at the teacher standing right by. She just shrugged, acknowledging that because of their skin tone and mine, they were allowed to hate me. It’s amazing how a child could see how wrong this was, but a grown adult couldn’t. A teacher in fact. Ha! What on God’s green earth could she teach? She wasn’t really a teacher, and that wasn’t fogginess of the brain she had; she was a brainwasher and was herself brainwashed. My mind, which understood what was wrong with this nation and was yet unmolded by years of “education,” allowed me to see what an adult could not: the patheticness.

After this, by age ten, I left and became established in Spain. I was in a beautiful tourist town filled with permanent residents of English, German, Dutch, French, and Spanish descent. There were differences, but things flowed, social functions functioned, and harmony was intact effortlessly. When the Euro was adopted in Spain, governmental attitudes shifted; the policy now was nonstop, free-flowing, cheap debt from the European central bank and increasing immigration. We started to see Arabs and Romanians in ever-increasing numbers as the economy wavered from economic bubble to bubble. They never assimilated naturally; they were as if magnetically attracted to crime, and suddenly the effortless harmony began to falter. Women would report being followed, parts of the small city became dumps, and prostitution became common. Low-paying jobs plummeted to even lower pay, and no kumbaya-let’s-hold-hands government official ever cared. 

Lessons learned as a teenager in Spain: You can have a naturally harmonious society. Certain nationalities, may they be brown or white (Romanians), bring with them problems and carry bad genes. Unconditionally; politicians are dealers in words and hold loyalties elsewhere.

This was a small but strong Spanish city with traditional values. If some unwanted immigrant got out of line, he was subject to physical repercussions. This maintained a certain degree of peace, which was reinforced by local festivities. Such customs instill in the population a sense of identity and history. Sadly, I see the opposite in nations that are suffering much more from government-imposed immigration. The youth in those nations under assault are uninspired and cowardly, and the lions run untamed among the gazelles. 

If there are any lessons I may impart from my short story to you, the reader, it would be these: 1) This has been happening incrementally since before the 1990s and there is an atrocious level of cognitive dissonance associated with it among the brainwashed. 2) A solution lies within any population having a traditional identity and historical point of self-reference. There are no solutions among politicians. 3) Harmony has been stolen from you before your eyes; financial and physical security are disappearing; hate your central bank; if you want inspiration, think of all that was lost and what we could have had.

Together, let’s pray and fight for an American renaissance of the mind and one for the entire West. Long live the West. Every one of you counts; you truly do.

If you have a story about how you became racially aware, or about your firsthand experience with race, we’d like to hear it. If it is well written and compelling, we will publish it. Please feel free to use a pen name and send it to us here.