Stories of people who could no longer lie about the racial realities around them.
I attended high school in Galesburg, Illinois, from 1966 to 1969. We weren’t “integrated” by government order since everyone, except those in Catholic school, went to the one public school, which was 10 percent black.
There was the usual black behavior—cutting into the front of the lunch line, running the halls like escaped chimps, and sexually harassing white girls.
Things escalated to the boiling point for whites when three soul brothers ganged up on the smallest kid in our class, beating him and breaking his nose.
I called a meeting of the white students at the local hangout, where I urged them to dress in white clothing to show our unity and our disgust with black behavior.
The next morning I was amazed at how the word had spread and how many kids were dressed in white. The blacks walked out of school, to our delight.
My awakening continued in college, where blacks rioted until the National Guard arrived. Whites stood cheering when the buses drove up
My racial awareness became complete as I studied the speeches and writings of Dr. Revilo Oliver and the monumental work by Mr. Wilmot Robertson, The Dispossessed Majority. I have never looked at race the same since.