B. U. G. S.

It never seemed like a good idea to me. Ofcourse I recieved the constant guilt-tripping, and as a kid I started hateing myself. But, I kept that hate to myself, I never wanted to take it out on all White peolple the way most self-hateing Whites do. I did grow up and get over the self-hate. A hell of a lot of folks need to grow up.

I’ve always observed that most folks who support White Genocide haven’t lived around many people of other races. They like to call we who grew up around other races, and don’t support Genocide, prejudice. I really get a laugh out of that.

Ofcourse, they call Genocide integration, or equality, or civil rights. They claim they don’t intend to wipe out White people but if it does happen, oh well. I’ve found it affective to just call these self-haters exactly that. Tell them they hate themselves and are taking it out on our entire race. And obviously point out that it’s not diversity, or equality, and it’s certainly not civil. It’s Genocide, thay’re supporting White Genocide, plain and simple.

Sorry for rambling.

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I received my 1st hint that something was wrong when I was hit in the head with a pipe, then stomped for a while after a high school football game. I had a night in the hospital to digest what had happened to me. I wasn’t quite sure what that meant, as far as diversity being a good thing. That is until I was able to return to school.
I received my second hint when the junior high school staff told me I had to go to racial sensitivity training. I went into school that day with the weirdest idea. I thought that I was the victim in the whole thing. If I would have just curled up into a ball when they initially started their attack, a pipe would probably have never entered the equation. But like the ignorant 13 year old bigot I was, I fought back against a pack of oppressed minorities.
My treatment by the school confused me. I was beginning to see that as a white person, I was being treated as collateral damage. None of the staff wanted white kids to get mugged after school events, but there was no reason to rock the boat over the whole thing. It seemed to them to be much more important to educate me on the importance of tolerance, than to offend anyone. I was in 8th grade. And it seemed like the whole world went crazy.
I didn’t know what was wrong. I just knew that something wasn’t right. As a younger student, I sat in amazement upon hearing the teacher give her heart-felt account of the sufferings of the African Americans. I watched in horror the classroom cartoons which depicted those hardships. I watched with joyous wonderment while hearing of the adventures of Harriet Tubman and her Underground Railroad. And I without hesitation regarded Rosa Parks as a symbol of righteousness and bravery. And in my younger years, I never hated anyone more than those monsters who could do such things to other human beings.
That was 10 years ago. Reality did a number on me that week.

No problem.