Like most people of my generation, I was raised to believe in “equality” above all else. The adage, “all men are created equal” always appealed to my innate sense of fairness and justice — and skin color always seemed like a silly reason to mistreat someone. I held on to these beliefs as long as I lived in the 98 percent white community I was brought up in, a place where crime was almost unheard of and everyone worked together to better the community. It was only when I started to experience the world outside of that environment that my perspective on the importance of race began to change.
Many of you are likely familiar with the horror stories told by white teachers who work in “urban” schools — American Renaissance has published plenty of them. As one of those teachers, I can tell you it’s all true — we are the canaries in the demographic coal mine. I have witnessed every sickening example of the consequences of low IQ, affirmative action, multicultural bureaucracy, low impulse control, black culture, and victimization of white students you can imagine. My experience with all of that certainly colored — no pun intended — my awakening to the dangers whites, as a people, face. But there was another, more important, factor: Over the past 20 years I have raised the most reviled creature on the planet — a healthy white male, my son. ...
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