Remembering Detroit’s Public Schools
My experiences with blacks began at an early age in Detroit’s public schools. Even in the 1960s, the city’s education system was already in decline. The ordeal that us white students had to go through was harrowing, to say the least. White students did not use the restrooms, as a “beatdown” by multiple blacks was usually the result (blacks never fought one-on-one). We always tried to be in clear view of school personnel at all times in order to avoid being attacked.
Many school officials, especially black ones, were indifferent towards our “white plight.” Even back then, people used the excuse that blacks, due to oppression, weren’t responsible for their bad behavior. Of course, when black students wanted something, they got it. Such as the Black Student Unions that successfully got the American flag removed from the front of the schools and replaced them with “black nationalist” flags.
Then, as now, the black kids did not want to learn. Despite being given every consideration, and more, blacks were always disruptive in class. Excelling at education was seen as “acting white” and was frowned upon. Most of the teachers just shrugged their shoulders and let the disruptions go on. It took only a few blacks to ruin a whole class.
Only a few teachers were anything other than deferential to blacks. They were the ones who strove to shield their white and Asian students from predatory blacks, and gave us additional attention and coursework, knowing that we would excel in spite of the violent, raucous atmosphere. For them I am thankful . . . just as I’m thankful to no longer have to deal with almost any blacks in my day-to-day life.
Not long after 9-11 in 2002 I was walking around the perimeter of Hyde Park in London, not far from Hyde park Mosque which I had passed previously and noted there were two Police Officers standing outside it guarding against revenge attacks for the Terrorist attack.
In the early 2000s I was living in Brighton and walking home in the early hours one summer night walking through the South Laines down a pedestrianised Street in the City centre.
I tried teaching American black children for three years. I am Japanese and was used to Japanese schools — the only American school I had ever been to before my teaching career was a university. For three years, I tried to make it work at my loathsome ghetto school. The last straw was when a black “fellow” teacher tried to rape me.
My oldest daughter and her five friends (every single one of them student athletes from good families) were staying at a condo in Seaside Park and went to the boardwalk for fried Oreos at 10:30 PM at night. They were maliciously and brutally attacked by a pack of vicious blacks. One of them dragged my daughter by her hair while the others punched and kicked her. Her friends, outnumbered and “out streeted” got much the same. All of them had their phones stolen. When the attackers were caught, we learned that all of them had criminal pasts and prior records.