This is not my story of racial awakening. It is my wife’s. I knew the truth from a young age, as I grew up in a lower-middle class town on Long Island with a significant black population in the 1970s.
I am a victim of anti-white racism. In May 2012, three black guys beat me up for no other reason than being white. I was called “cracker,” “honky,” “white boy,” “faggot,” and several other names before getting punched in the face so hard, I lost three of my front teeth. And for what? Nothing more than the color of my skin! And they call white cops “racists.” All I did was park my car, step out onto the lot, and suddenly I was swarmed. I did nothing to provoke them. I stood up for myself, but it was impossible for me to handle three attackers at once. Blacks always attack when they have a clear numeric advantage.