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 white man in his mid-twenties who grew up in a middle-class home. My mom was a liberal public school teacher and was passionate about helping “oppressed” immigrants and minorities. She taught at inner-city schools and worked as a missionary in Haiti and Mexico. Looking back, I realize I was deeply influenced by her — especially since I had no real father figure. I was taught to not see color, and that in general, the reason why minorities and immigrants struggle in America was because of racist whites.

I was a rebellious teenager, and made plenty of trouble for myself throughout high school. Eventually, my bad behavior made my mom decide to pull me out of my majority white school and enroll me in the almost exclusively black school she taught at. She thought the black kids would “straighten me out” and “show me what it’s really like to have it bad” — but that isn’t what happened. Instead, I ended up coming to admire the black “gangster/thug life” and started using drugs and causing as much trouble as ever.

The next year she sent me back to the majority white school I had been pulled out of, but the trouble didn’t stop. I began using more and more drugs, and became addicted to Oxycontin. After that it was a downward spiral. I was willing to do anything to get the drug, and I started hanging around bad characters. By the end of high school, I was selling drugs and robbing people in order to fund my addiction.

Not long after I graduated, my parents kicked me out and I started “couch-surfing,” while still selling and using drugs. This ended with me going to a treatment center for a year and a half — but once I left, I quickly picked up my bad habits once again. I started selling crack and other drugs in a black ghetto, and my life was centered around getting high. But I soon found that I was not welcome there, and even hated. Not because I was dealing drugs, but just because I was white and operating in black “turf.” That period of my life was marked by many fights, a lot of close calls, and a revolving door of jail cells, treatment centers, and homelessness.

In the midst of all this chaos, I fathered a child with a black girl. Though nobody in my white family was bothered by this, some of my black “friends” and relatives of the mother openly voiced their disapproval of interracial relationships. Regardless, becoming a father motivated me to grow up, become a man, and change so I could be a good dad to my daughter. I sobered up and started working any job I could get.

My change in lifestyle made me start to think about race. As I was working hard, my “homies” still came around, but they never wanted to do anything but get high and get into trouble. A lot of my “friends,” most of them black, drifted away from me because I was doing something positive with my life instead of destroying it with drugs and crime. That was too “lame” for them. One of my closest black friends began constantly lamenting the fact that I was changing and wasn’t “the good old guy who just wanted to kick back and get high” anymore. But he still hung around, so I would say things to him like, “Hey I know we both have criminal records and drug problems, but if I can get sober and work to have a decent life, so can you.” I tried to be a positive influence, but he always had excuses.

One day, I told him, “I’ll help you put your resume together and I’ll take you to go apply to some jobs.” He said he would do it, but when I picked him up, he just wanted to get high and went on a long speech about oppression saying, “You don’t know how hard it is for a black man in America, it might be easy for you to just go and get a job, but not for me.” I asked him, “What makes you assume that it was easy for me? Just because I’m white?! And second, how are you going to cry victim when you haven’t even honestly tried to work hard or change? I’m offering to help you get a resume together, but you want to get high instead? No one is holding you back but yourself.” We argued and then went our separate ways.
Many blacks would rather live the “thug life” than work hard to make an honest living. Yet they make excuses, blame society, the police, and the white man for all their problems. Some blacks are hell bent on destroying themselves and everyone around them because they feel like victims, and they will never take any personal responsibility. I came to realize that the only thing I had ever had in common with blacks like that was a victim mentality and the desire to get high. Once I stopped being a victim and sobered up, none of them wanted anything to do with me anymore. Now that I was doing positive things with my life, they weren’t even happy for me, just envious.

I moved on and kept to myself in the years that followed. And after a few years of hard work and self-improvement, I got back together with the mother of my child and we moved in together. I was proud that I didn’t make excuses for myself, and did the hard work I needed to do to get my family back together, and made myself into the man and father they needed me to be. I don’t regret any of this. I did not want my child to grow up without a father, like I did. Fatherlessness is a huge issue in America today, leading to all kinds of dysfunction.

With my life in order, I turned my focus to education and the pursuit of truth. I dove into topics such as psychology, history, economics, politics, and ultimately — race. The more I learned, the more unconvinced I was by the “blue-pill” liberal worldview I grew up believing. When I discovered race realism, I was impressed by how many facts and statistics lined up with my own experiences living as a criminal in “the hood.” From there, I discovered the alarming realities of the “great replacement,” liberal censorship, and the violence committed by antifa and Black Lives Matter. The more I dove into the facts, the more I saw that Ben Shapiro, Jordan B. Peterson, Charles Murray, and Jared Taylor were telling the truth. Simultaneously, I realized how insidious the Left was in trying to smear, censor, shame, and shut down these thinkers. It was at this time that Donald Trump was elected, and I began seeing the protests, riots, rage, and unrest coming from the left. A political line in the sand was being drawn, and the Left was no longer open to dialogue: they were only interested in taking power by force.

White liberals claim to be on the side of minorities and other “oppressed” groups, but they know nothing about them. As a white man who lived the thug life in the hood for over eight years, I know that they hate the white liberals’ pandering, and when white boys imitate them. Most of them hate the idea of assimilating into white America: they want their own jurisdictions, culture, and rules — and they hate when whites intrude, peacefully or otherwise. Believers in the “melting pot” theory have never lived in a black community, but they like to imagine that they are great “warriors” and activists for justice and equality.

As a white man, and as a father to a black and white child, I felt that fully understanding racial issues was an absolute must. My daughter’s mother and I had many conversations about these matters, and — fortunately — she agreed with almost everything I was discovering about race. She saw the destructive tendencies of blacks firsthand. When she worked hard at her job or studied hard in school, other blacks were jealous and treated her with contempt for “acting white.” She has never been able to understand why most blacks have such a big chip on their shoulders, hate whites, and maintain a victim mentality when they never experienced slavery or Jim Crow themselves.

She doesn’t make excuses for her own shortcomings and has never cared that other blacks claim she isn’t “really black” or hated her for her success or for having a child with a white man. Because of this, our family remains strong and united. Some may accuse her of hating her own race, but the truth is simply that she refuses to buy into the lies and propaganda that blacks must fight against whites in order to succeed. She loves her own people, family, and race. She also appreciates and respects white culture and realizes that whites built this country and made it prosperous. She loves America, and doesn’t want it to change, so she supports the national identity of America as a white nation, and has no desire to see it taken over by blacks, immigrants, or “social justice warriors.” I believe more and more blacks are waking up and coming to support America instead of hating it.

I may have a mixed child, but I am a full supporter of the US, the white race, our culture, and our honor. I will die before I see our great country defiled and overtaken by leftists and foreigners who hate our culture and want to replace it with theirs. My grandfathers both died to defend this land, and it is my duty to do the same if the time comes — and every day it feels more and more like that day will come during my lifetime. The increasing amounts of censorship, indoctrination, government largesse, and white ethnomasochism that we see can make the future look bleak. But there is hope in the fact that if people wake up to the truth now — and stop being afraid to speak their minds — we can turn things around and preserve this great country — maybe even make it greater.

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.