I didn’t take long for me to get red-pilled. I attended a 51% black high school in the South with nearly 2,000 students, in a relatively small city that rivals Chicago in terms of its murder rate. Blacks shooting each other (including my own classmates) was so common that it was like background noise on the evening news. Every night before supper, we’d always watch the same litany of violence without ever naming the cause. Classes were segregated, not ostensibly by race, but because we had “normal”, “honors” and “Advanced Placement” classes. Thus, back in the late 90’s/early 2000’s. The only integrated classes we’d have with each other was usually PE.
The lunchroom was like a prison chow hall. Everyone ate at their own distinct, but unlabeled, tables. The blacks and poor white trash would go through the line and get “free lunch”, and the normal whites would eat what their mothers put in a bag for them. The cost of private school was so high that a normal middle class kid like me would be in there with dentist’s kids and the offspring of lawyers who hadn’t chased enough ambulances.
White kids would fight each other. That’s normal, and I took part in it. But, we always had the self-restraint not to fight in the lunch room, where both parties were guaranteed to either go to jail or graduate late due to suspension. The blacks were a different story. At least once a week, there would be a violent brawl amongst them. This was why the school had a bunch of security guards. Most were useless subhumans to whom we’d assign the names of animal species. For example, “walrus” was a particularly fat negress who would waddle over and yell “Ya’ll betta settle down, I ain’t gone tell you one mo’ damn time”. Supplementing this elite force were a few “school resource officers” stationed there full time in order to quell the violence. Their tepid efforts achieved little.
I noticed that the negro penchant for wearing oversized shirts and pants below their ass would make it difficult to fight each other effectively. Nonetheless, it didn’t really suppress the viciousness of the brawls or the chimpout that would occur around it. I always amused myself by throwing my beverages and those of the students sitting next to me into the dark mob which, in an animalistic frenzy, never seemed to notice.
This dystopia seemed odd to me. What left a particular impression was always the aftermath of two negresses fighting. After they’d been led away in handcuffs, blood, weave, and colored sugar water would cover the floor. I always wondered to myself: “If it was always like this, why do we have computers or paved roads? Some sanity and functionality must have existed in the past to get us to this juncture, but how long does it last?” Nobody else ever raised the issue, so I just kept my concerns to myself.
My senior year, shit really hit the fan. The routine outbreak of violence somehow sparked a Detroit-level chimpout. If there was a fight, all security would rush into the cafeteria get control of the situation. Somebody, probably white, took their absence as an opportunity to set a couple bathrooms on fire. This intensified the chimpout to the point where even the black security guards joined in. As my beverages impacted the frenzy, some of the “teens” and “security guards” actually noticed and became incensed. They yelled “get his ass”, which prompted me to run, chased by a mob to the parking lot where I prayed my dad’s old station wagon would start just like Han Solo in “The Empire Strikes Back”. I got away, just as dozens of police cars were swarming the school. The anarchy was so bad that law enforcement paid no attention to me driving past them like Mad Max.
The school responded by increasing the security presence and literally locking every classroom from bell to bell. If you had to pee, too bad. That’s what it took just to maintain some semblance of order. It was like that for the rest of the year until graduation. How is it like now? I don’t care to find out. As far as I can tell none of my middle class, white classmates do either. I only know of a couple who even live in the city and none with kids in the school system. Most of these people would find my racist screed despicable, but they all endorse it with their feet. This sad story has played out with consistency across the country.
-By Tom Shackleford
Oh, I'm a good old Rebel, now that's just what I am; For this "Fair Land of Freedom" I do not give a damn! I'm glad I fit against it, I only wish we'd won, And I don't want no pardon for anything I done.