Monday, July 31, 2017

He Say Booga Booga Booga

Saturday, July 29, 2017

Donald Trump Is Finished

This is it. Proof positive. Trump is toast now.

Monday, July 24, 2017

Radio Free Northwest - July 27th, 2017 

How does HAC loathe buggery? Let him count the ways.

Wednesday, July 19, 2017

I'm Sorry, I Just Can't Resist

More American Immigration Advice

Hello Nikos,

First, you need to know that I am not a lawyer and cannot give legal advice. So, what really happens in your future compared to what is my guess, maybe is not the same. But I can tell you what I see.

I think you have a high chance of success getting resident status ... after you get out of the airport. That sounds very simple thing to do. But I know many stupid people that have failed.

For example, my brother married a Canadian woman, in Canada. Later he wanted her to live in America. She got the same advice as you. Come as a tourist. And she failed. Instead, she tried to enter the airplane with 5 suitcases (wrong thing to do.) Also, she had a one-way ticket (wrong!) and in her suitcase was a wedding dress and picture album (wrong.) Then she lied to the customs officer saying she wanted to be a tourist (wrong, wrong, wrong.) They rejected her at the airport.

It gets worse. Next day, she tried to take a bus to America. She completely forget that the customs office for cars uses the same computer system as the airport. Of course, they discover her name. And again they reject her to enter America. But now she is on a watch list for lying to the government twice. Even though she was married to an American, it took her two years of government headaches to finally enter America.

Remember, as a tourist you should have:

  1. Round-trip airplane ticket!
  2. A small number of suitcases. Maybe one suitcase, and a small one to carry on the plane.
  3. Proof of money to pay for a short trip.
  4. Address of hotel you will be staying the first night.

If you can do those things, you can pass through Customs and Immigration and get out of the airport.

Once you are on the streets of America, try to start working. After a short time, if you can demonstrate you are a working person in society, then the lawyer can say to the (corrupt) government it is a "hardship" for you to leave and insist that you get resident status.

I think you will have no problem.

To be honest, it is good for you. I'm glad to have more White people come to the Homeland. But I'm sad that my government does not protect our citizens.

Again, good luck. Be smart and be safe.


Monday, July 17, 2017

Radio Free Northwest - July 20th, 2017 

HAC does some more crystal ball gazing as to how “it” might happen.

Saturday, July 15, 2017


by Bill White 

I have previously described prison as something of an insane asylum, particularly the unit I am in, which seems to be used by the Bureau of Prisons as a kind of dumping ground for the mentally ill. But along with straight insanity—defined as the belief in things that are obviously not true, the perception of sensations that are not there, and the inability to control behaviors that makes no sense—one also encounters bizarre personalities. In general, these are the same range of personalities that one encounters anywhere else, but in prison one tends to encounter these personalities in concentration.

For instance, I can think of one man I’ve encountered who was not a bad fellow, but, who was almost completely unable to determine when someone else was lying to or manipulating him.  Or rather perhaps because he lacked the normal sense of when someone was lying to him, he often generally suspected those who weren’t, while embracing those who were. The root cause was what they call narcissism, being so wrapped up in one’s self that one becomes unable to determine the motives of others.

As with many odd personalities, just speaking to the fellow, he is nice enough.  But after knowing him a bit and looking into various communications and papers that he had, I found some very strange things. 

For instance, in writing he often marked documents with what one might call tactical notes, notes about the methods he was using in the document to try to manipulate the other person

When writing to others, the man would often exclaim things that a normal person would not say to another, discussing, despite knowing that his communications were monitored, the need to do certain things to get around the prison administration. (Despite knowing that communications are monitored one often finds prison inmates doing this, sending out plain instructions to another to do various things to circumvent security, unable to conceive of the hostile person reading or listening to their words.)

 After looking into things a bit, it was clear that many of the people that this person was communicating with, instructing, commanding, and manipulating were just playing him for a fool, saying what he wanted to hear in order to get what they wanted, mostly money, though I suspect in other situations also information, compliant behavior, and so forth.

This obliviousness to other people is frequent in prison. It’s ironic, I think, that various psychologists have poked guesses at my own personality, labeling it narcissist, when in fact, I’m often the opposite, too aware of the motives of other people. I’m very aware of the effect that I can have on other people. I just don’t care. I think it’s better to tell people the truth, even when they find it unpleasant, than to coddle them.  Even when what I say at the moment has a negative consequence for me, to use the silly words of the psychological profession.

Look at my various federal trials. I would have been much better off taking a plea bargain if my primary goal had been to obtain my release from prison as soon as possible. In both of the past two cases I could see that for various reasons I was not going to win at trial, and anyone who thought that I went at trial believing that an attorney who refused to look at the discovery was going to win my acquittal is themselves suffering from a great failure of empathic understanding. 

In both cases, I consciously chose to go to trial knowing that I would most likely lose and receive substantial prison sentences, because I also knew that I did not commit the crimes, and that with perseverance I would be able to overturn the sentences. 

Also, I had no real need not to be in prison for the several years that followed.  I was physically ill and knew that something was very wrong with me—I now know it to have been an RES-related brain injury—and I knew that I was being stalked by someone who I then presumed and now know to have been the federal government. Until these issues could be sorted out I really couldn’t function outside of prison, as I believe that I told the judge at my second sentencing. As it is, having failed to flee the country, being arrested as I was probably kept me from being killed by the FBI in May-June 2012, if the things that have been said about this are correct. 

[For those who may think this "paranoid," two words for you--Lavoy Finnicum. - HAC] 

So, while I listened to stupid judges ramble on about how I must have thought I could somehow beat the system because no one would have gone to trial in the situation I was in, to the contrary I was confident that even though I was going to lose at the time, in the long run, by telling the truth, I would be able to figure out what happened. And insofar as the broad outlines are concerned and many of the details, I have. Now, having figured that out, getting justice is another matter. But I am confident that that will be obtained in the end as well. 

[One theory on the Bill White case is that he is being punished for refusing repeated plea bargain offers and forcing the dictatorship to fabricate evidence and compelling federal law enforcement officers to perjure themelves in ways which may at some point come back to bite them. This is probably why Bill's repeated appeals citing specific exculpatory evidence are being ignored and why he is being denied counsel. - HAC] 

Another personality that I encounter here is the loathsome individual that I mentioned the other day. I don’t tolerate SHU conditions well. While there earlier this week, I had to listen to this fool shouting at me because I told the truth, which is that the other fellow attacked me. 

In convict land, in theory, one doesn’t “tell” like that on another.  However, what I can see and the fruitcakes on this unit apparently cannot, is that the other fellow is what is called a “bug” or a “goofy,” a person who is insane and for whom no real rules apply.

This little loathsome fellow is, as one might expect, a chronic liar. He is a little rat of a man; he is apparently almost fifty, though I would guess his age at his twenties if I didn’t know that he’d been in prison almost 25 years. The fellow is a “threat guy”: I often joke that he is the person that the federal government thinks I am. LOL.

I first met him years ago. When I did, he told me that he was a contract killer for the Mafia. Then he told me that he is a Gangsta Disciple. Then he told me a few other stories about stabbing people, seducing BOP staffers, punching officials in the face and so on, all fantasy. When I first encountered him here, he told me that he burned a judge’s house down. All of this is nonsense.

In reality, the guy is a pathetic little turd who spends his life writing threatening letters to judges because he feels weak, wants to harm them, and doesn’t have the courage to attack them physically. The other day, when he pushed me a little too much with his mouth, I pointed this out to him. In fact, right after he made some silly comment about stabbing me, I noted that he had never stabbed anyone in his life. I pointed out that, when he told his psychologist that he had punched a captain in the face, she had started laughing at him (though this was not her fault; she saw me laughing and lost her composure). I told him that no one believes anything he says, and that everyone who meets him knows that he’s just some sad weak pathetic guy who makes up stories to try to cover up how sad and weak he is.

Then, I pointed out that he’d spent the past twenty five years going from prison to prison getting his ass kicked, checking in to the SHU, and then doing nasty things from behind the safety of a steel door, all to the point that literally no prison in the Bureau of Prisons would take him. Leaving him stuck, as he is now, in the SHU here at Marion CMU. In fact, I pointed out that his ass got kicked here by someone who, if he didn’t have some sort of brain injury of his own, would be the nicest inmate in the Bureau of Prisons, so that he can’t even walk around this relatively peaceful place.

When I did this, I got something that I didn’t think I would from it; I got the guy to sit down and shut up

I don’t think that you can say what I did was cruel or unkind, as I simply told this man some true things that he needed to know, as his failure to face them is the source of a lot of his life problems.

Maybe he had terrible things done to him as a child to make him so foul, or maybe he was just born defective. I don’t know.
It’s not really my concern. I’m sure that there’s a reason he’s so foul; all things have reasons. And while what I said probably did not do any good, it is a human obligation to tell people the truth, always with the hope that showing them the truth will allow them to face that truth and overcome it. I try very hard to do this with my own life, and I always wish that more people would be truthful to me. Sometimes I don’t like it, but I always prefer to hear that I am making a mistake, or that I’ve made a mistake, particularly when there is a constructive solution to it. 

I know that telling someone what is wrong with them is rude and often counterproductive, particularly in the short term, to human relations. I do know how to keep my mouth shut, and I try not to tell people that I meet casually things that they are not equipped to hear. When I do, I tend to be called an asshole, or get something like “who are you to talk?” I get less of that as I get older. 

But, in the case of the loathsome fellow, you could make a point.  After all, if I committed the crimes for which I am in prison, I’m not only no better than he is, I actually have to be like he is. If you’re the kind of person who trusts in the judgment of a federal court, I not only have no reason to talk, but I should be hanging my head in shame and reflecting on what a turd I am, I guess—though my reasons for doing so would have no more to do with my alleged victims than I think that this guy should be upset because he hurt some judge’s feelings. If I committed the crimes, then I am a very different person than I know myself to be—in fact, I’m that guy -- and if that were true, I wouldn’t do as he does, and just cut my wrists to get a trip out of the prison to the hospital now and then.

Fortunately, I know that I’m not that guy. In my case, I know that guy or his female equivalent is the one whom the FBI used to give her phony eyewitness identification testimony. What I know is that throughout my interactions with the FBI, the Bureau of Prisons and the like, they have consistently aligned themselves with “that guy” in various guises to fabricate a personality around me which they have then gone on to prosecute and publicly trumpet in order to feed their failed social system the lies that they need to sustain it.

As I’ve remarked before, sitting in prison, particularly one like this, is an opportunity for reflection. Through the pathologies that one sees in others, I am constantly reminded of what not to be. I am constantly reminded of those things that dishonesty, desire, and attachment to the things of the world continually tempt men to become. Unable to live in reality, they descend into fantasy. Unable to see what is, they act based upon what isn’t. Ultimately they end up here, spouting some crazy theory about how this isn’t prison, they didn’t do anything wrong because they were just trying to get themselves off of the stock market, and, they’ve really been locked into a post office box.

Thursday, July 13, 2017

Bill White Legal Update

[Now that Bill no longer seems to have any attorney or legal assistance at all, this is what he spends his time doing. I am in awe of this man's absolute refusal to give up and surrender to despair. - HAC] 
Hello all:
For seventeen months, I have been trying to serve the U. S. Marshals with a Federal Tort Claim form. Today, days after the filing of my second lawsuit in this matter (due to court error,) I finally got them to acknowledge receipt.
This saga really starts back in 2014, when I was tortured in the John E Polk Correctional Center by the Seminole County sheriff, then Donald Eslinger.  I wrote to the U. S. Marshals several times for administrative remedy on the civil rights violations and they refused to answer. The judge in that case has not exactly been friendly, and so far has dismissed the case three times. Not getting it the first two times, I am currently in the Eleventh Circuit on the third dismissal, waiting for an order reinstating it. The district judge's finding that the appeal was frivolous was overturned December 20th, 2016. The appeal itself has been pending 16 months, with 19-21 months being about the average time that the Eleventh Circuit takes on civil appeals.
So, after being diagnosed in February 2016 with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and RES ("Restricted Environmental Stimuli")-related neurological damage from having been tortured and negligently exposed to RES and other traumatic stress, during a continuing course of conduct from 2008 to June 2015 (the continuing course of conduct is soon to be expanded,) I began attempting to serve the U. S. Marshals Service with a tort claim form. 
Turns out the address that the U. S. Marshals publishes for tort claims is not correct. In fact, if I am to believe the post office, no address published by the U. S. Marshals as their headquarters or mail processing center, is correct.  So I have four returned packages from the U. S. Marshals sitting in my locker stating that they were refused "recipient unknown."
The Bureau of Prisons also originally ignored me, and having no administrative remedy available I filed suit in August 2016.  The claim was for continuing torts of torture, negligent and intentional infliction of physical injury, negligent and intentional infliction of emotional distress, general negligence and breach of duty of care, and loss of normal life. 
Soon after I filed suit, the BOP responded to its tort claim, denying it. The judge then took my tort claim and refused to consider the amendment claiming that it wasn't underlined properly, turned it into to torts related to the Constitutional claim already pled, and denied it sua sponte for failure to exhaust administrative remedy -- remedy that was not available. 
I timely moved to alter or amend judgment with a properly underlined administrative complaint, and an affidavit of exhaustion of administrative remedy in November 2016.  For eight months now, the court has ignored me. This is the same court that "forgot" to screen two of my FOIA cases for ten months, then sent me orders apologizing for the error and ordering the cases served last month.
Though the court was wrong, I also refiled administrative remedy on December 14, 2016. To the administrative remedy, I attached the same amended complaint that I sent to the court.  The BOP received this complaint, processed it, and tried to claim that it was denied for lack of jurisdiction, saying that I should have known of my physical injuries -- RES-related brain damage -- years ago.  Of course, the law in the Seventh Circuit says that the time to file is tolled for an internal injury until a doctor diagnoses it, so this will not get them far. The USMS, however, never responded.
So two weeks ago I refiled my tort claim, attaching to it a Motion for Joinder with the prior claim, and reminding the court for a second time that it "forgot" to exercise jurisdiction on my original Motion to Alter or Amend.  I noted that I had made five attempts to serve the U. S. Marshals with a tort claim, and that they had not only ignored all five but returned four of them with a note saying that they didn't know who this person "Glenn Auerbach," their own General Counsel, was.
Now today, suddenly I get a letter from the U. S. Marshals Service.  It is dated July 6, 2017.  It claims that they received my tort claim dated December 14, 2015 and originally mailed in February 2016, on January 5, 2017.  And they claim they somehow did not receive the medical report that was attached to it -- though the Bureau of Prisons, who received the same claim, did. 
So, with one day of their six months remaining, they are claiming that the remedy was deficient, that I have 30 days to send them the medical report, and that they get another six months to respond.
Fortunately, since there are multiple agencies involved, this is not the law, and this will not help them much. The Bureau of Prisons was required to forward a copy of the complaint on to the U. S. Marshals Service since the complaint described acts committed by the U. S.Marshals Service, and the BOP denial of the complaint constitutes denial for the U. S. Marshals Service as well. Thus, as long as I served one agency I served every agency named in the complaint, an the extra services were gratuitous courtesy services.
However, I strongly suspect that the U. S. District Court is going to toss me out, again, for no intelligible reason, and that I will 12 months from now still be wrestling with all of this, just trying to get this case past square one. The issue, of course, is that the dictatorship is guilty, and that they know that they are guilty, and they are doing everything bureaucratically possible, in conjunction of course with an indulgent U. S. district judge, to make me go away.
But, at least, now, after 17 months with this form, and about three years overall of the U. S. Marshals Services ducking service, I have finally managed to get them served.


Monday, July 10, 2017

Radio Free Northwest - July 13th, 2017 

Harold dishes some inside baseball stuff and does some more crystal ball gazing. We hear from Gretchen and a British comrade.

Youth Asking For Advice On Northwest Migration

Hey Harold,

My name's Richard, and I hail from the UK. I'm wondering if you could give me any solid advice on how I should plan my migration to the Northwest?

I've only just recently left school and I'm in the stage where I'm looking for jobs/apprenticeships in which I can learn a trade, something where in your own words I should "learn to fix the rich man's toys" and will be enough for me to get a Skilled Workers visa.

I know that my friend Lewis (the one from the 22nd June 2017 RFN) is planning his migration as well, and I was just curious if you could maybe suggest a trade that's in high demand over there, and any other advice you can spill.


Hail Victory.

* * *

Dear Richard:

Okay: my standard response to this question for young men is carpentry, electrician work, and plumbing. Plumbing especially will make you a rich man over here, if you do it well. However, there are significant differences in our electrical system in the States and Canada, not to mention we don't use metric. Then come the skilled construction trades: concrete work, industrial wiring, HVAC installation and maintenance, etc.

If you don't mind going raving mad and being forced to retire in your 40s due to stress, you could become an air traffic controller.

You might think of computer hardware manufacture and maintenance, as opposed to software-related stuff. If you are a real hot-shot software engineer you might make it as a White macaca, although the techlords usually go to the Indian subcontinent or weird places like the Philippines or Indonesia for those. I'm not joking, you really don't want to end up as a drone or slave in Silicon Valley coding hive. They are the modern equivalent of the "dark Satanic mills" of the early 19th century.

But there is one sure-fire ticket to almost immediate admission to the United States: any kind of skilled or semi-skilled medical capability, especially if it relates to geriatric care. We are overrun with aging baby boomers and fat people entering their 40s now, when all those bloated Amurrican bodies are starting to need serious care. A Registered Nurse or LPN, especially in geriatric-related fields, can write his or her own ticket over here and it doesn't matter what color they are, we're so desperate. America has become notorious for looting the world of half-qualified or poorly qualified medical professionals. Physical therapists, medical IT, even CNAs if you can stomach it. (I tried a quickie course at a local nursing home when I first arrived in the Homeland and quit on the third day, because I knew I couldn't hack it.)

Keep me up to speed on how you're doing.


Sunday, July 09, 2017

American Immigration For Foreign White Nationalists

Hello Nikos,

For White foreign people who want to come to the Northwest Homeland, the most important things are:

*Make it out of the airport after you arrive in America;

*Find a way to stay, legally, afterwards;
1. Make it out of the airport.

For the first goal, the problem is to get past the American Customs and Immigration Officer. To do this you must have a good, valid passport with a visa stamped in it, or a visa he will give you.

There are several types of visas.

*Tourist Visa: Allows you to come to America as a tourist visitor, for 6 months. You must be in possession of a round trip  airplane ticket, and an explanation of how you will pay for your visit.

The easiest explanation is, that you want to do sight-seeing and that you will be using your ATM card to pay for hotels, food, and travel. It is good to memorize the returning date on your airplane ticket, if the officer asks you when you are leaving.

That is the easiest way to get into the country and get out of the airport. But you must accept (if you are secretly wanting to stay longer) that in the future you will have to pay some money to a special immigration lawyer to help you change your status into being a resident. It will be expensive. But if you plan for it, you will be okay.

The problem with a Tourist Visa is that you will not be allowed to work legally. While there are many illegal immigrant Mexicans and other Third Worlders who work illegally, the government often looks away and pretends not to see, because those people are not White. You, as a White person, will have more difficulty finding work. Remember, the United States of America does not want White immigration and will take every measure to discourage it. But it is possible.

*Student Visa: This is a safer way to enter the country, but it is more complex. You will need to apply to an American school in the Northwest area. For example, Washington State University or Oregon State University, or Idaho State University, or something similar.

With a Student Visa, you can enter the country easily with the help of the school. Usually, this kind of visa will also allow you to work a limited amount of hours, legally.

A Student Visa will allow you to stay 1 year to 2 years, maybe longer. After you graduate, the school will often help you find employment and also help find an employer who will sponsor your Work Visa.

*Work Visa: If you have a specialized skill, then a large company can sponsor you to come to America directly. The company will justify you to the Customs and Immigration Department, presuming you possess some special skill that is rare in America.

Some examples of a special skill could be; a computer programmer or engineer; teacher of a foreign language; or some other skill that is in short supply in America. The large company that will sponsor the work visa, must justify to the government that they can't find a qualified American for the job. That is why it is typically a specialty skill.

*Servant Visa: (this is unpopular for proud White people) Harold mentioned that this uncommon type of visa exists for butlers, maids, and au pairs (also known as a nanny.) For many wealthy, high-income American elites--many are Jews-- they like to have a White person as a servant.

You would have to have qualifications. There are butler academies in England, but the top one I can tell you is in the Netherlands ( ). These schools will also help you find an employer.

After you obtain a servant visa, the high-income American who hires you will likely be so fond of you as their trophy servant, that they will have arrangements to extend your visa or change your U.S. resident status.

*There is also a marriage visa, but these days (especially for White Europeans) the U.S. government makes it very difficult to obtain this type of visa. Harold (and myself) don't recommend this as a good plan. There are high fees to be paid, long waiting times, and still there is a high risk of deportation. Bad plan.

2. Find A Way To Stay

This will depend on your type of visa.

Tourist Visa - You will have to find employers who will break the law and hire a foreigner without a work permit. This is called "working under the table." This often works for browns and yellows, but it more difficult for Whites. But with patience and luck, it is possible.

Student Visa - This visa will usually include a limited Work Permit. This is good, then you can do side jobs under the table.

Work Visa - This is obvious, you will have a good paying job and usually a 3 year contract with a large company. No worries.

Servant Visa - This is also obvious, as it is a visa for a specific job. (probably a humiliating job, but it can work)

Marriage Visa - As I wrote above, this is not a good plan. For White Europeans, my estimate, it only works out 2-5% of the time.

To summarize:

Tourist Visa is the easiest. Must have a round-trip airplane ticket (even if you don't use it). Must show you have money to eat, travel, etc. Expect to pay for a lawyer later, in the future to change your legal status.

Student Visa is the safest. It is more complicated, but it will allow you to work when you are here. After completing school, it is often easy to get help finding a job and a work visa.

It is also a good idea when you arrive, to find other Czech people who can help you with government papers.

I hope this is useful to you. If you have questions, you can ask me.


Thursday, July 06, 2017

Essay By A Teacher In A Black School (2013)

by Charles Jackson

The truth is usually a tough thing to accept, so I understand if this is flagged. It would be a cowardly thing to do, but I understand it. Some people just ignore unpleasant truths. However, if you think ignoring the problem or trying to censor the truth will help our black children improve, you're dreaming. This is important, so I'm happy to repost. Indefinitely, if necessary.

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. Most whites simply do not know what black people are like in large numbers, and the first encounter can be a shock.

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 blacks to be screaming at me at once. Instead of calming down and waiting for a lull in the din to make their point -- something that occurs to even the dimmest white students -- blacks just tried to yell over each other.

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.

Many of my black students would repeat themselves over and over again -- just louder. It was as if they suffered from Tourette syndrome. 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 black 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 [Profanity removed]dat aaahhhh (think of a long grinding groan), she [Profanity removed] dat aaaahhhh, she dat aaaahhh."

Black women love to dance -- in a way white people might call gyrating. 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 black girls had lined up at the front of the classroom and were convulsing to the delight of the boys.

Many black people, especially black 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 black 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 half-breed."

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 few 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 services."

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 racis'."

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 philosopher a'?" 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 people?" 


"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 patrol, a sure sign that you are in a black school is the coke cage: the chain-link fence that many majority-black schools use to protect vending machines. The cage surrounds the machine and even covers its top. Delivery employees have to unlock a gate on the front of the cage to service the machines. Companies would prefer not to build cages around vending machines. They are expensive, ugly, and a bother, but black students smashed the machines so many times it was cheaper to build a cage than repair the damage. Rumor had it that before the cages went up blacks would turn the machines upside down in the hope that the money would fall out.

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 good 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 black 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. "*****, 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."

The children get a snack, and the poster goes up on the wall until another one comes a week later. 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 [Profanity removed] 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 basics.

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 black man replied in the straightforward manner of his race: "We drove out the whites. No more jobs. You give job."

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 tomorrow?"

"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.

For those of you with children, better a smaller house in a white district than a fancy one near a black school.

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 school.