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 in my late twenties, and am from the Southern United States. I am a white man, and therefore, racist. I grew up on a farm, and went to school in relative peace. I said the pledge of allegiance, and watched my parents work sixty or more hours a week to keep us afloat. I can remember growing up on the farm without paved roads, internet, and many times, no electricity, because all it took was a small storm for us to lose power for weeks.

I didn’t become racially aware until high school, because up to then, my schools had been majority white (90 percent or more). Then high school hit, where we had a county/city combined high school that was about 55 percent white and 45 percent black. We didn’t sit with the black kids, and they didn’t sit with us, not out of any sense of animosity, more akin to some unspoken, mutual agreement. It was in high school that I started to notice certain trends.

All the black kids had the best shoes, the best backpacks, and the best clothing, but never seemed to have pencils, pens, or paper; and most got free lunch. They always worked together to deal with conflict. For instance, if a white student and black student had a problem, pretty soon that white student would find that every black student had a problem with him. Meanwhile, whites would try to avoid the situation. There was a noticeable racial disparity in discipline as well. When Obama was elected, a group of black girls burst out of their classroom and went running down the halls screaming in unison “Obama! Obama!” We were not supposed to leave class without permission, but the rules did not apply to them. Meanwhile, I had voted for John McCain in our school elections, and was called more than a few choice words in my class — and my deriders went unpunished. It’s the same thing now with COVID. If you’re religious or not a leftist, groups of five or more are dangerous, but Black Lives Matter and antifa protests are immune to the virus and all government precautions against it.

In college, I was introduced to the idea of being not only guilty of racism, but being the adversary of all things good. It was non-whites that had inhabited the world before my evil European ancestors, and they lived without crime, poverty, or conflict. I also learned to be quiet; that if I spoke out, I would become a C-student, at best. So, I shut up. I watched as scholarships and grants were offered to non-white students only, and then I was told that I should be thanking them for their contribution to society and ask for forgiveness for what my skin tone meant to them.

Once, I had to pay a visit to our Equity office because someone had heard me and a professor of mine trading insults in his office. He teased me about being a “dumb hillbilly” and I replied by calling him a “potato-eating Irishman.” The two of us got along well, and it was all in good fun. We weren’t even doing this in public, but still, someone overheard us and reported the “incident.” A bureaucrat soon told me to report to the Equity office to help determine whether this professor should be reprimanded in some way. The reality of the American college campus is that it is a system, not a school. It is an oasis for leftism, and has a zero tolerance policy for disagreement.

As time went on, I started meeting more and more people who had learned to stay quiet like I had. We bonded in more ways than I had ever thought possible, knowing that we faced a predicament unbeknownst to other whites. Today, I am working towards meeting with others who are awake, and organizing. Not for some distant conflict, but for the mutually agreed belief that we aren’t evil and that we deserve to continue. It isn’t always easy. You never know who could become the person to “out” you, and if that “outing” might cost you your job. But there are precautions one can take, and it’s worth the risk. Whites will be a minority in just a few decades. We need to get ready for what lies ahead.

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.