Posted on June 2, 2024

From Black Victimhood to Race Realism

Anonymous American, American Renaissance, June 2, 2024

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This is part of our continuing series of accounts by readers of how they shed the illusions of liberalism and became race realists.

I am a young black American man living in a middle-class neighborhood. Just like a lot of other blacks, I grew up believing that the system was rigged against me, and the white man had some evil Illuminati-type scheme to destroy my life just because I’m black. In elementary school, even my white teachers polluted the minds of me and my classmates with that toxic and obviously false belief. I remember being told by one teacher I would have a harder life just because I am black. As a young elementary school student, this scared and saddened me.

For years of my early life I believed this lie, and I thought white people were to blame for all of my personal issues and the issues my race was facing. But later on in life, when I reached my early teen years, I began to notice a pattern in the behavior of other blacks: a pattern of arrogance, rage, and violence. In the year 2020, George Floyd died, and blacks instantly took it as an opportunity to steal, burn, and destroy. For this to be portrayed as a heroic act by the media, my young 13-year-old brain began to question the whole idea of our being oppressed by the system.

But the straw that broke the camel’s back was an interaction I had with a group of blacks around my age a few months later. As I’ve mentioned, I live in a middle-class area. We don’t have many black people around other than us and not much crime. But one day my mom needed to run some errands at a community center in a more ghetto-like area. She decided to take me and my two younger sisters along, because there was a park we could play in right outside of the building. 

I remember playing peacefully with my sisters for a bit until I noticed this white lady setting up a birthday party for her son at one of the tables in the park. There were balloons and gifts at the table and on the ground. I remember seeing three black kids come up to her and her son and just begin stealing presents right in front of us all! I said something like “that’s not right” or “you can’t do that” or something along those lines. And then they directed their attention to me and my sisters, insulting and threatening us until eventually I tried to tell them to go away. After this, they all attacked me. I was on the ground and they were kicking at me. I did manage to get some decent hits in, but it’s hard to fight off three people. I remember hearing my sisters crying and trying to get them to stop. Hearing my seven-year-old sister cry in fear did make me try to fight harder, but our mom still had to step in and get us out of there. Luckily, I wasn’t injured, and they had only attacked me and not my sisters. But my thought process was changed forever.

After this I became open to possible other reasons why blacks are in the current state they’re in as a group. The idea of them being perfectly decent people who are just helpless victims of a white-supremacist society did not make sense to me anymore. Race realism was the only thing that did make sense. Years later, after researching the genetic differences between races, I felt stupid ever to have believed that completely different groups who evolved under completely different circumstances in completely different parts of the world would be identical and equal in every sense. And whites are just forced to live among us, to play by our rules in the countries they created, and pretend to like it or else be shamed. I don’t believe that is fair. 

But attempting to educate other black people on this topic never goes well. Every time I’ve tried to explain how maybe we should take accountability and actually try to coexist with whites or at the very least stop blaming them for our terrible behavior, they call me a “coon” or a “self hater.” They do this even though I say it out of love for my own race, because I know it’s for the best and would benefit both whites and blacks. When white people were vocal about their self interest as a group in this country and were not giving in to white guilt, blacks were inclined to assimilate, which was better for them in every way. Back then it was not socially acceptable to kill one of your own and make a rap song bragging about it.

If this country is to remain the greatest, there must be a change. More people, especially white people, must speak out. But as of right now, I fear for the future of this country, and I am embarrassed by my own people.

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.