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Thread: What is It Like to Teach Black Students?

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    Teaching Black Children

    What is it Like to Teach Black Students?
    Filed under: Civil Rights— @ 9:29 am

    (The following is a an open letter from a White School teacher who had the experience of teaching Black youth.)

    Until recently I taught at a predominantly black high school in a southeastern state.

    The mainstream press gives a hint of what conditions are like in black schools, but only a hint. Expressions journalists use like “chaotic” or “poor learning environment” or “lack of discipline” do not capture what really happens. There is nothing like the day-to-day experience of teaching black children and that is what I will try to convey.

    One of the most immediately striking things about my students was that they were loud. They had little conception of ordinary decorum. It was not unusual for five students to be screaming at me at once.

    It did no good to try to quiet them and white women were particularly inept at trying. I sat in on one woman’s class as she begged the children to pipe down. They just yelled louder so their voices would carry over hers.

    They seemed to have no conception of waiting for an appropriate time to say something. They would get ideas in their heads and simply had to shout them out. I might be leading a discussion on government and suddenly be interrupted: “We gotta get more Democrats! Clinton, she good!” The student may seem content with that outburst but two minutes later, he would suddenly start yelling again: “Clinton good!”

    Anyone who is around young blacks will probably get a constant diet of rap music. Blacks often make up their own jingles, and it was not uncommon for 15 boys to swagger into a classroom, bouncing their shoulders and jiving back.
    They were yelling back and forth, rapping 15 different sets of
    words in the same harsh, rasping dialect.
    The words were almost invariably
    a childish form of boasting: “Who got
    dem shine rim, who got dem shine shoe,
    who got dem shine grill (gold and silver
    dental caps)?” The amateur rapper usually
    ends with a claim—in the crudest
    terms imaginable—that all womankind
    is sexually devoted to him. For whatever
    reason, my students would often groan
    instead of saying a particular word, as in,
    “She suck dat aaahhhh (think of a long
    grinding groan), she f**k dat aaaahhhh,
    she lick dat aaaahhh.”

    So many black girls dance in the hall, in the classroom,
    on the chairs, next to the chairs, under
    the chairs, everywhere. Once I took a
    call on my cell phone and had to step
    outside of class. I was away about two
    minutes but when I got back, the
    girls had lined up at the front of the
    classroom and were convulsing to the
    delight of the boys.

    Many black people, especially
    women, are enormously fat. Some are
    so fat I had to arrange special seating to
    accommodate their bulk. I am not saying
    there are no fat white students—there
    are—but it is a matter of numbers and
    attitudes. Many black girls simply do not
    care that they are fat. There are plenty
    of white anorexics, but I have never met
    or heard of a black anorexic.

    “Black women be big Mr. Jackson,”
    my students would explain.

    “Is it okay in the black community to
    be a little overweight?” I ask.
    Two obese girls in front of
    my desk begin to dance, “You know
    dem boys lak juicy fruit, Mr. Jackson.”
    “Juicy” is a colorful black expression
    for the buttocks.

    Blacks, on average, are the most directly critical
    people I have ever met: “Dat shirt stupid.
    Yo’ kid a bastard. Yo’ lips big.” Unlike
    whites, who tread gingerly around the
    subject of race, they can be brutally to
    the point. Once I needed to send a student
    to the office to deliver a message. I
    asked for volunteers, and suddenly you
    would think my classroom was a bastion
    of civic engagement. Thirty dark hands
    shot into the air. My students loved to
    leave the classroom and slack off, even
    if just for a few minutes, away from the
    eye of white authority. I picked a light-skinned
    boy to deliver the message. One
    very black student was indignant: “You
    pick da half-breed.” And immediately
    other blacks take up the cry, and half
    a dozen mouths are screaming, “He

    For decades, the country has been
    lamenting the poor academic performance
    of blacks and there is much to
    lament. There is no question, however,
    that many blacks come to school with a
    serious handicap that is not their fault.
    At home they have learned a dialect that
    is almost a different language. Blacks
    not only mispronounce words; their
    grammar is often wrong. When a black
    wants to ask, “Where is the bathroom?”
    he may actually say “Whar da badroom
    be?” Grammatically, this is the equivalent
    of “Where the bathroom is?” And
    this is the way they speak in high school.
    Students write the way they speak, so
    this is the language that shows up in
    written assignments.

    It is true that some whites face a
    similar handicap. They speak with
    what I would call a “country” accent
    that is hard to reproduce but results in
    sentences such as “I’m gonna gemme
    a Coke.” Some of these country whites
    had to learn correct pronunciation and
    usage. The difference is that most whites
    overcome this handicap and learn to
    speak correctly; many blacks do not.

    Most of the blacks I taught simply
    had no interest in academic subjects. I
    taught history, and students would often
    say they didn’t want to do an assignment
    or they didn’t like history because it was
    all about white people. Of course, this
    was “diversity” history, in which every
    cowboy’s black cook got a special page
    on how he contributed to winning the
    West, but black children still found it
    inadequate. So I would throw up my
    hands and assign them a project on a
    real, historical black person. My favorite
    was Marcus Garvey. They had never
    heard of him, and I would tell them to
    research him, but they never did. They
    didn’t care and they didn’t want to do
    any work.

    Anyone who teaches blacks soon
    learns that they have a completely different
    view of government from whites.
    Once I decided to fill 25 minutes by
    having students write about one thing
    the government should do to improve
    America. I gave this question to three
    classes totaling about 100 students,
    approximately 80 of whom were black.
    My white students came back with
    generally “conservative” ideas. “We
    need to cut off people who don’t work,”
    was the most common suggestion.
    Nearly every black gave a variation on
    the theme of “We need more government

    My students had only the vaguest
    notion of who pays for government
    services. For them, it was like a magical
    piggy bank that never goes empty. One
    black girl was exhorting the class on
    the need for more social services and I
    kept trying to explain that people, real
    live people, are taxed for the money to
    pay for those services. “Yeah, it come
    from whites,” she finally said. “They
    stingy anyway.”

    “Many black people make over
    $50,000 dollars a year and you would
    also be taking away from your own
    people,” I said.

    She had an answer to that: “Dey
    half breed.” The class agreed. I let the
    subject drop.

    Many black girls are perfectly happy
    to be welfare queens. On career day, one
    girl explained to the class that she was
    going to have lots of children and get fat
    checks from the government. No one in
    the class seemed to have any objection
    to this career choice.

    Surprising attitudes can come out in
    class discussion. We were talking about
    the crimes committed in the aftermath of
    Hurricane Katrina, and I brought up the
    rape of a young girl in the bathroom of
    the Superdome. A majority of my students
    believed this was a horrible crime
    but a few took it lightly. One black boy
    spoke up without raising his hand: “Dat
    no big deal. They thought they is gonna
    die so they figured they have some fun.
    Dey jus’ wanna have a fun time; you
    know what I’m sayin’?” A few black
    heads nodded in agreement.

    My department head once asked all
    the teachers to get a response from all
    students to the following question: “Do
    you think it is okay to break the law if it
    will benefit you greatly?” By then, I had
    been teaching for a while and was not
    surprised by answers that left a young,
    liberal, white woman colleague aghast.
    “Yeah” was the favorite answer. As one
    student explained, “Get dat green.”

    There is a level of conformity among
    blacks that whites would find hard to
    believe. They like one kind
    of music: rap. They will
    vote for one political party:
    Democrat. They dance
    one way, speak one way,
    are loud the same way,
    and fail their exams in the
    same way. Of course, there
    are exceptions but they
    are rare.

    Whites are different.
    Some like country music,
    others heavy metal, some
    prefer pop, and still others,
    God forbid, enjoy rap music. They have
    different associations, groups, almost
    ideologies. There are jocks, nerds,
    preppies, and hunters. Blacks are all—
    well—black, and they are quick to let
    other blacks know when they deviate
    from the norm.

    One might object that there are important
    group differences among blacks that a white man simply cannot detect. I
    have done my best to find them, but so
    far as I can tell, they dress the same, talk
    the same, think the same. Certainly, they
    form rival groups, but the groups are not
    different in any discernible way. There
    simply are no groups of blacks that are
    as distinctly different from each other
    as white “nerds,” “hunters,” or “Goths,”
    for example.

    How the world looks to blacks
    One point on which all blacks agree
    is that everything is “racis’.” This is
    one message of liberalism they have
    absorbed completely. Did you do your
    homework? “Na, homework racis’.”
    Why did you get an F on the test? “Test

    I was trying to teach a unit on British
    philosophers and the first thing the students
    noticed about Bentham, Hobbes,
    and Locke was “Dey all white! Where da
    black philosophers’?” I tried to explain
    there were no blacks in eighteenth century
    Britain. You can probably guess
    what they said to that: “Dat racis’!”
    One student accused me of deliberately
    failing him on a test because I
    didn’t like black people.

    “Do you think I really hate black
    “Have I done anything to make you
    feel this way? How do you know?”
    “You just do.”
    “Why do you say that?”

    He just smirked, looked out the window,
    and sucked air through his teeth.
    Perhaps this was a regional thing, but
    the blacks often sucked air through their
    teeth as a wordless expression of disdain
    or hostility.

    My students were sometimes unable
    to see the world except through the lens
    of their own blackness. I had a class
    that was host to a German exchange
    student. One day he put on a Power Point
    presentation with famous German landmarks
    as well as his school and family.

    From time to time during the presentation,
    blacks would scream, “Where da
    black folk?!” The exasperated German
    tried several times to explain that there
    were no black people where he lived in
    Germany. The students did not believe
    him. I told them Germany is in Europe,
    where white people are from, and Africa
    is where black people are from. They
    insisted that the German student was
    racist and deliberately refused to associate
    with blacks.

    Blacks are keenly interested in
    their own racial characteristics. I have
    learned, for example, that some blacks
    have “good hair.” Good hair is black
    parlance for black-white hybrid hair.
    Apparently, it is less kinky, easier to
    style, and considered more attractive.
    Blacks are also proud of light skin.
    Imagine two black students shouting
    insults across the room. One is dark
    but slim; the other light and obese. The
    dark one begins the exchange: “You
    fat, Ridario!” Ridario smiles, doesn’t deign to look
    at his detractor, shakes his head like a
    wobbling top, and says, “You wish you
    light skinned.”

    They could go on like this, repeating
    the same insults over and over.

    My black students had nothing but
    contempt for Hispanic immigrants. They
    would vent their feelings so crudely
    that our department strongly advised us
    never to talk about immigration in class
    in case the principal or some outsider
    might overhear.

    Whites were “racis’,” of course, but
    they thought of us at least as Americans.
    Not the Mexicans. Blacks have a certain,
    not necessarily hostile understanding of
    white people. They know how whites
    act, and it is clear they believe whites
    are smart and are good at organizing
    things. At the same time, they probably
    suspect whites are just putting on an
    act when they talk about equality, as if
    it is all a sham that makes it easier for
    whites to control blacks. Blacks want a
    bigger piece of the American pie. I’m
    convinced that if it were up to them
    they would give whites a considerably
    smaller piece than whites get now, but
    they would give us something. They
    wouldn’t give Mexicans anything.

    What about black boys and white
    girls? No one is supposed to
    notice this or talk about it but
    it is glaringly obvious: Black
    boys are obsessed with white
    girls. I’ve witnessed the following
    drama countless times. A black
    boy saunters up to a white
    girl. The cocky black dances
    around her, not really in a menacing
    way. It’s more a shuffle
    than a threat. As he bobs and
    shuffles he asks, “When you
    gonna go wit’ me?”

    There are two kinds of reply.
    The more confident white
    girl gets annoyed, looks away
    from the black and shouts, “I don’t wanna
    go out with you!” The more demure
    girl will look at her feet and mumble
    a polite excuse but ultimately say no.

    There is only one response from the
    black boy: “You racis’.” Many girls—all
    too many—actually feel guilty because
    they do not want to date blacks. Most
    white girls at my school stayed away
    from blacks, but a few, particularly the
    ones who were addicted to drugs, fell
    in with them.

    There is something else that is striking
    about blacks. They seem to have
    no sense of romance, of falling in love.
    What brings men and women together is
    sex, pure and simple, and there is a crude
    openness about this. There are many degenerate
    whites, of course, but some of
    my white students were capable of real
    devotion and tenderness, emotions that
    seemed absent from blacks—especially
    the boys.

    Black schools are violent and the
    few whites who are too poor to escape
    are caught in the storm. The violence is
    astonishing, not so much that it happens,
    but the atmosphere in which it happens.
    Blacks can be smiling, seemingly perfectly
    content with what they are doing,
    having a good time, and then, suddenly
    start fighting. It’s uncanny. Not long
    ago, I was walking through the halls
    and a group of black boys were walking
    in front of me. All of a sudden they
    started fighting with another group in
    the hallway.

    Blacks are extraordinarily quick to
    take offense. Once I accidentally scuffed
    a black boy’s white sneaker with my
    shoe. He immediately rubbed his body
    up against mine and threatened to attack
    me. I stepped outside the class and had
    a security guard escort the student to
    the office. It was unusual for students
    to threaten teachers physically this way,
    but among themselves, they were quick
    to fight for similar reasons.

    The real victims are the unfortunate
    whites caught in this. They are always
    in danger and their educations suffer.
    White weaklings are particularly susceptible,
    but mostly to petty violence. They
    may be slapped or get a couple of kicks
    when they are trying to open a bottom
    locker. Typically, blacks save the hard,
    serious violence for each other.

    There was a lot of promiscuous sex
    among my students and this led to
    violence. Black girls were constantly
    fighting over black boys. It was not uncommon
    to see two girls literally ripping
    each other’s hair out with a police officer
    in the middle trying to break up the
    fight. The black boy they were fighting
    over would be standing by with a smile,
    enjoying the show he had created. For
    reasons I cannot explain, boys seldom
    fought over girls.

    Pregnancy was common among the
    blacks, though many black girls were
    so fat I could not tell the difference. I
    don’t know how many girls got abortions,
    but when they had the baby they
    usually stayed in school and had their
    own parents look after the child. The
    school did not offer daycare.

    Aside from the police officers constantly on campus, security guards are everywhere in
    black schools—we had one on every
    hall. They also sat in on unruly classes
    and escorted students to the office. They
    were unarmed but worked closely with
    the three city police officers who were
    constantly on duty.

    There was a lot of drug-dealing at
    my school. This was a way to
    make a fair amount of money but it
    also gave boys power over girls who
    wanted drugs. An addicted girl—black
    or white—became the plaything of anyone
    who could get her drugs.

    One of my students was a notorious
    drug dealer. Everyone knew it. He was
    19 years old and in eleventh grade. Once
    he got a score of three out of 100 on a
    test. He had been locked up four times
    since he was 13.

    One day, I asked him, “Why do you
    come to school?”

    He wouldn’t answer. He just looked
    out the window, smiled, and sucked air
    through his teeth. His friend Yidarius
    ventured an explanation: “He get dat
    green and get dem females.”

    “What is the green?” I asked. “Money
    or dope?” “Both,” said Yidarius with a smile.

    A very fat student interrupted from
    across the room: “We get dat lunch,” Mr.
    Jackson. “We gotta get dat lunch and
    brickfuss.” He means the free breakfast
    and lunch poor students get every day.
    “Nigga, we know’d you be lovin’
    brickfuss!” shouts another student.

    Some readers may believe that I
    have drawn a cruel caricature of black
    students. After all, according to official
    figures some 85 percent of them graduate.
    It would be instructive to know how
    many of those scraped by with barely a
    C- record. They go from grade to grade
    and they finally get their diplomas
    because there is so much pressure on
    teachers to push them through. It saves
    money to move them along, the school
    looks good and the teachers look good.

    Many of these children should have been
    failed but the system would crack under
    their weight if they were all held back.

    How did my experiences make me
    feel about blacks? Ultimately, I lost
    sympathy for them. In so many ways
    they seem to make their own beds.
    There they were in an integrationist’s
    fantasy—in the same classroom with
    white students, eating the same lunch,
    using the same bathrooms, listening to
    the same teachers—and yet the blacks
    fail while the whites pass.

    One tragic outcome among whites
    who have been teaching for too long
    is that it can engender something close
    to hatred. One teacher I knew gave up
    fast food—not for health reasons but
    because where he lived most fast-food
    workers were black. He had enough of
    blacks on the job. This was an extreme
    example but years of frustration can
    take their toll. Many of my white colleagues
    with any experience were well
    on their way to that state of mind.

    There is an unutterable secret among
    teachers: Almost all realize that blacks
    do not respond to traditional white
    instruction. Does that put the lie to environmentalism?
    Not at all. It is what
    brings about endless, pointless innovation
    that is supposed to bring blacks up
    to the white level. The solution is more diversity—or put
    more generally, the solution is change.
    Change is an almost holy word in education,
    and you can fail a million times as
    long as you keep changing. That is why
    liberals keep revamping the curriculum
    and the way it is taught. For example,
    teachers are told that blacks need hands-on
    instruction and more group work.

    Teachers are told that blacks are more
    vocal and do not learn through reading
    and lectures. The implication is that they
    have certain traits that lend themselves
    to a different kind of teaching.

    Whites have learned a certain way for
    centuries but it just doesn’t work with
    blacks. Of course, this implies racial
    differences but if pressed, most liberal
    teachers would say different racial
    learning styles come from some indefinable
    cultural characteristic unique to
    blacks. Therefore, schools must change,
    America must change. But into what?
    How do you turn quantum physics into
    hands-on instruction or group work? No
    one knows, but we must keep changing
    until we find something that works.

    Public school has certainly changed
    since anyone reading this was a student.
    I have a friend who teaches elementary
    school and she tells me that every week
    the students get a new diversity lesson,
    shipped in fresh from some bureaucrat’s
    office in Washington or the state
    capital. She showed me the materials
    for one week: a large poster,
    about the size of a forty-two inch
    flat-screen television. It shows
    an utterly diverse group—I mean
    diverse: handicapped, Muslim,
    Jewish, effeminate, poor, rich,
    brown, slightly brown, yellow,
    etc.—sitting at a table, smiling
    gaily, accomplishing some undefined
    task. The poster comes with
    a sheet of questions the teacher is
    supposed to ask. One might be: “These
    kids sure look different, but they look
    happy. Can you tell me which one in
    the picture is an American?”

    Some eight-year-old, mired in ignorance,
    will point to a white child like
    himself. “That one.”

    The teacher reads from the answer,
    conveniently printed along with the
    question. “No, Billy, all these children
    are Americans. They are just as American
    as you.”

    This is what happens at predominately white,
    middle-class, elementary schools everywhere.
    Elementary school teachers love All
    of the Colors of the Race, by award-winning
    children’s poet Arnold Adoff.

    These are some of the lines they read
    to the children: “Mama is chocolate …
    Daddy is vanilla … Me (sic) is better …
    It is a new color. It is a new flavor. For
    love. Sometimes blackness seems too
    black for me, and whiteness is too sickly
    pale; and I wish every one were golden.
    Remember: long ago before people
    moved and migrated, and mixed and
    matched … there was one people: one
    color, one race. The colors are flowing
    from what was before me to what will
    be after. All the colors.”

    Teaching as a career
    It may come as a surprise after what
    I have written, but my experiences have
    given me a deep appreciation for teaching
    as a career. It offers a stable, middle-class
    life but comes with the capacity
    to make real differences in the lives of
    children. In our modern, atomized world
    children often have very little communication
    with adults—especially, or even,
    with their parents—so there is potential
    for a real transaction between pupil and
    teacher, disciple and master.

    A rewarding relationship can grow
    up between an exceptional, interested
    student and his teacher. I have stayed in
    my classroom with a group of students
    discussing ideas and playing chess until
    the janitor kicked us out. I was the
    old gentleman, imparting my history,
    culture, personal loves and triumphs,
    defeats and failures to young kinsman.
    Sometimes I fancied myself Tyrtaeus,
    the Spartan poet, who counseled the
    youth to honor and loyalty. I never had
    this kind intimacy with a black student,
    and I know of no other white teacher
    who did.

    Teaching can be fun. For a certain
    kind of person it is exhilarating to map
    out battles on chalkboards, and teach
    heroism. It is rewarding to challenge
    liberal prejudices, to leave my mark on
    these children, but what I aimed for with
    my white students I could never achieve
    with the blacks.

    There is a kind of child whose look
    can melt your heart: some working-class
    castaway, in and out of foster homes,
    often abused, who is nevertheless almost
    an angel. Your heart melts for these children,
    this refuse of the modern world.

    Many white students possess a certain
    innocence; their cheeks still blush.
    Try as I might, I could not get the
    blacks to care one bit about Beethoven
    or Sherman’s march to the sea, or
    Tyrtaeus, or Oswald Spengler, or even
    liberals like John Rawls, or their own
    history. They cared about nothing I
    tried to teach them. When this goes on
    year after year it chokes the soul out
    of a teacher, destroys his pathos, and
    sends him guiltily searching for The Bell
    Curve on the Internet.

    Blacks break down the intimacy that
    can be achieved in the classroom, and
    leave you convinced that that intimacy
    is really a form of kinship. Without
    intending to, they destroy what is most
    beautiful—whether it be your belief in
    human equality, your daughter’s innocence,
    or even the state of the hallway.

    Just last year I read on the
    bathroom stall the words “F**k
    Whitey.” Not two feet away, on the
    same stall, was a small swastika.

    The National Council for the Social
    Studies, the leading authority on social
    science education in the United States,
    urges teachers to inculcate such values
    as equality of opportunity, individual
    property rights, and a democratic form
    of government. Even if teachers could
    inculcate this milquetoast ideology into
    whites, liberalism is doomed because so
    many non-whites are not receptive to
    education of any kind beyond the merest

    It is impossible to
    get them to care about such abstractions
    as property rights or democratic citizenship.
    They do not see much further than
    the fact that you live in a big house and
    “we in da pro-jek.” Of course, there are a
    few loutish whites who will never think
    past their next meal and a few sensitive
    blacks for whom anything is possible,
    but no society takes on the characteristics
    of its exceptions.

    Once I asked my students, “What do
    you think of the Constitution?”
    “It white,” one slouching black rang
    out. The class began to laugh. And I
    caught myself laughing along with them,
    laughing while Pompeii’s volcano simmers,
    while the barbarians swell around
    the Palatine, while the country I love,
    and the job I love, and the community I
    love become dimmer by the day.

    I read a book by an expatriate Rhodesian
    who visited Zimbabwe not
    too many years ago. Traveling with a
    companion, she stopped at a store along
    the highway. A black man materialized
    next to her car window. “Job, boss, (I)
    work good, boss,” he pleaded. “You
    give job.”

    “What happened to your old job?”
    the expatriate white asked. The man replied in the straightforward
    manner of his race: “We drove
    out the whites. No more jobs. You give

    At some level, my students understand
    the same thing. One day I asked
    the bored, black faces staring back
    at me. “What would happen if all the
    white people in America disappeared

    “We screwed,” a young, pitch-black
    boy screamed back. The rest of the
    blacks laughed.

    I have had children tell me to my face
    as they struggled with an assignment. “I
    cain’t do dis,” Mr. Jackson. “I black.”

    The point is that human beings are not
    always rational. It is in the black man’s
    interest to have whites in Zimbabwe but
    he drives them out and starves. Most
    whites do not think black Americans
    could ever do anything so irrational.
    They see blacks on television smiling,
    fighting evil whites, embodying
    white values. But the real black is not
    on television, and you pull your purse
    closer when you see him, and you lock
    the car doors when he swaggers by
    with his pants hanging down almost to
    his knees.

    I have been in parent-teacher conferences
    that broke my heart: the child
    pleading with his parents to take him
    out of school; the parents convinced
    their child’s fears are groundless. If you
    love your child, show her you care—
    not by giving her fancy vacations or a
    car, but making her innocent years safe
    and happy. Give her the gift of a not-heavily black

    weel nich will dieken dej mot wieken

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    dat's racis'
    I have read nearly half of it, and it seems to be equally funny and true

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    It is a bit long, I know.

    But he is pretty non-judgemental about it. I like that.
    weel nich will dieken dej mot wieken

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    Quote Originally Posted by Ocko View Post
    It is a bit long, I know.

    But he is pretty non-judgemental about it. I like that.
    Thanks it was very informative.

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    Teaching Black children. Sounds a bit like an oxymoron to me.
    Omnia risus et omnis pulvis et omnia nihil - HPL

    "Oh, you should never, never doubt what nobody is sure about." - Willy Wonka

    “niemand bleibt hier” - Maria Orsic

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    Quote Originally Posted by Ocko View Post
    It is a bit long, I know.

    But he is pretty non-judgemental about it. I like that.
    I agree, I enjoyed his writing style and his viewpoint. However, I would venture to say that after the safety of school, blacks (particularly males) become much more hostile to whites. At least in my town it is very clear that the majority of blacks do not any whites in America.

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    This man's descriptions are so accurate and authentic that it gives me flashbacks to my own experiences with blacks. It is a pity that we waste so much of our resources on these people while meanwhile talented whites are denied the same opportunities. I guess this explains why our civilization is in collapse, too much effort being wasted on lost causes while we neglect and abandon those who can actually add something positive to our society.

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    I can confirm most of the described black behavior in public schools. Starting 7th grade (13 years), I moved from northern California (almost no blacks) to central Florida (lots of blacks), and had to go to the local public middle school which imported inner-city blacks on buses. The quality of education greatly suffered in comparison due to having both almost half the students and teachers black. I didn't really have any physical problems with the blacks, for the ones that were normal size and not overgrown by being held back grades actually feared me in groups. I kept to myself and had been physically active all my life at that point. But I learned to mistrust them.

    I don't remember many Germanics at all. I think there were more Hispanics than Germanics, and the Latin whites were very cruel. They made me, the new kid, into the outcast for two years for fun. To make it worse, my mom was bedridden with a chronic illness at the time and my dad still in California, so I basically had to endure this experience alone at an important developmental time. The experience definitely affected my high school years, which had less blacks, and it still affects me today. First of all I was embittered by the experience, and my joy of learning was utterly killed.

    Before then, I loved learning and was actually disappointed when the weekends came. But in high school, I did the bare minimum to make mostly A's. The only reason I made it as far as I have is because of my stubbornness and fortunately, my parents instilled in me the importance of high marks. But who knows, I could have gone to a completely different hypothetical middle school and high school, then had a free-ride university scholarship and a totally different life as a result.

    I wrote this because it is pertinent to the discussion, but also because it is therapeutic. To add:

    Quote Originally Posted by Article
    These are some of the lines they read
    to the children: “Mama is chocolate …
    Daddy is vanilla … Me (sic) is better …
    It is a new color. It is a new flavor. For
    love. Sometimes blackness seems too
    black for me, and whiteness is too sickly
    pale; and I wish every one were golden.
    Remember: long ago before people
    moved and migrated, and mixed and
    matched … there was one people: one
    color, one race. The colors are flowing
    from what was before me to what will
    be after. All the colors.”
    Absolutely disgusting propaganda lies to which children are subjected! This makes me sick, and I don't ever say that. They are corrupting our youth!

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    Sadly it is not just blacks who behave in this non controlled animalistic manner. Our own kids due to media and PC influence are starting to be just as loud and undisciplined.
    I grew up on a belief of honour, courage and the old world values. The world isn't about that anymore, preferring to die a slow death of fast food and cheap thrills.

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    Teaching blacks is an exercise in futility. Anyone that denies the psychological and intellectual characteristics of the races, as I've said before, is either blind or a deluded fool. You cannot make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.
    Between the devil and the deep blue sea.

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