Fred on Everything on race and crime

Learning from Diversity
The Case for Expatriation

December 8, 2007


"Again it happens. In Baltimore a young white woman boards a bus and wants to sit down. Each time she tries to take a seat she is told by nine black middle-schools students, ages 14 and 15, including three girls, that she can’t. Finally she sits anyway. The little—the middle-school students, I mean—attack her.
From the Examiner, “She sustained ‘serious injuries’ and had to be transported to the University of Maryland Shock Trauma Center, according to a police report…[Sarah] Kreager suffered two broken bones in her left eye socket, police said. She had eye muscles that were damaged…She had deep lacerations on the top of her head and another above her neck.” Her face will never be the same.
Life in the United States. Race relations as usual. Journalism as usual. I suppose you have been swamped, dear reader, by the national press coverage of this racial attack—right? The outrage? You’ve heard about it over and over on the lobotomy box? Editorialists everywhere just won’t let it rest? Sure.
Curious. Don Imus, apparently a radio jock of some sort, refers to a black women’s basketball team as “nappy-headed hos.” Rude, certainly, and unnecessary, but nothing more. It becomes national news and he loses his job. Blacks beat a white woman until her bones break and…near silence.
I’m sick of it. I’m sick of these attacks and of the animals that commit them. And I’m sick of the attitude of the press. But I’m doubtless alone in my sentiments. Right?
The headline in the WJS account says, “Woman Attacked On Bus Placed In Witness Protection.” Why? The only reason can be the expectation that blacks will try to kill her to prevent her from testifying against the attackers. Things are out of control.
The attack was not just a crime, but a particular type of crime. In Mexico, where I live, there is crime, but it is usually economic. If I walked in a bad part of Guadalajara by night with a Rolex on my arm, an enterprising gangster might well demand it at knifepoint. If I peaceably gave him the Rolex, he would likely just leave with it. It’s about money. Yes, crimes of passion occur when men got boozed up and fight over women or which football team is best. These are easily avoided.
But when a group of very young blacks, unprovoked, attack a defenseless white women, with the intention of badly hurting her, break her bones, and then try to drag her off the bus, we see a different sort of crime. The only motive is racial hatred.
Crimes of this type are either increasingly common or increasingly visible because of the internet. They involve gang rapes of white women, forced humiliation as for example by being compelled to provide blow jobs in front of boyfriends, followed by murder. The press assiduously covers them up. The usual formulation is that “youths” were responsible or, very infrequently, “minority youths.” A photo of the victims may appear, but not of the perpetrators. Press coverage will be as local as possible. On the web I recently saw television coverage of one such crime in Florida in which the reporteress kept the camera below the waists of those involved to avoid racial identification.
If the attackers were somehow anomalous, the occasional psychopath for example, the solution—a reasonable response anyway—would be to put them in prison forever and get on with life. But they are not anomalous. They are probably the norm among young blacks of the slums.
I don’t think whites realize what is out there, how bad things are. If you live in Washington, DC, and work, say, on K Street or Connecticut Avenue, you see well-dressed and courteous blacks who are pretty much like everybody else. Much more resentment lies under the surface than you probably believe, but they certainly aren’t going to attack anyone. They are not a problem.
But go into the realms of the underclass, the great sprawling necrotic Sowetos of any big American city. Better yet, don’t go. You wouldn’t last ten minutes on foot at night. Few whites really know that these places exist, and they never see them. Cabs will refuse to take you. For some half-dozen years when I was on the police beat I did see the bad neighborhoods. God help us.
These ‘hoods are utterly black, with whipcord young males leaning against lamp posts and eyeing cops with hostility. The people in them have no identity other than black. They aren’t African and aren’t American. They don’t read and many can’t. The schools are just holding cages. They’ve got nothing and they’re going nowhere and they know it. The great white beyond out there, with its computers and universities and those rich white people with their jobs and books and understanding of mysterious things like international politics—they have no access to these.
They hate whites. I don’t mean that they harbor class-mediated resentments deriving from incomplete socialization to the Euro-based norms of yada yada. I mean they hate whites. Or do you suppose that they beat a young woman into hospitalization from affection? To break bones in a woman’s face you have to kick her or hit her very hard, hard enough to cause brain damage with a little luck, hard enough to kill. The ganging up is a pattern.
There is nothing whites can do about it except live away from blacks and be very careful about taking public transportation. It is not a good thing to find yourself at eleven at night in an otherwise empty subway car with your teenage daughter and five young blacks.
Fear of blacks chiefly drives the furor over the right to own guns. Conservatives don’t want guns from fear that a Jewish dentist might crawl through the window at night. Liberals do not fear white duck-hunters or the white suburbanite with a pistol in his closet. It’s arm against blacks, or disarm them, though few will admit it..
What will happen to the adolescent monsters in Baltimore? A good guess: They will be charged with assault, publicity will be minimal, they will face only minor consequences because they are juveniles, and a black jury (if things get that far) will give them a pass. Their classmates, if anything they see can be called a class, will regard them as heroes.
I wonder how long things can go on as they are. Nothing gets better. The murderous stewing hatred remains and given a chance will beat more women senseless or, sooner or later, burn another city. Winding this spring is not a good idea. If the worm ever turns, Katie bar the door."


Every word he says is true. It is fact people. There is no getting round it. I would never sit next to a Black teenager on the bus unless they were by themselves. They are not so brave then. Often you don't have the chance to sit next to them anyway, because they spread themselves across two seats.

The owners of the liquor store around the corner from my house, were robbed at gunpoint twice in one week. Now they close at 6 pm.

On Xmas I had to walk to the liquor store across the street from the projects. Big mistake. when I got there there was a tall young Black male standing at the cash register ordering the Yemeni clerk around. There was an old Black man who had put his malt liquor on the counter and was waiting, looking nervous.

There were about 7 little Black kids in the store. Picking stuff up and asking the price and then telling the clerk they didn't want it anyway, "Cuz it's nasty!"

The tall kid was ordering the smaller ones around telling them to get him stuff. "Not those, stupid, the lemon ones!"

There was an old Black guy waiting with me, while this shit went on and on. I am standing there with my one cube of butter, thinking, this is bullshit! But I didn't want to leave, because I would look weak. Or worse, like I was pissed off at them, then they might attack. So I waited, gritting my teeth.

The old Black guy told me I could go first, I think because he did not want to stand anywhere near the group of kids.

Finally another Yemeni clerk came out of the back and stood there staring at all the kids. the big kid was not intimidated and demanded some cigarettes.

He asked for a kind that is obviously popular because the box was empty. The clerk told the kid he was out.

"Quit playin' Motherfucker and gimme the cigarettes."

"I don't have them," the clerk said.

"Quit playin" the kid said, too young to buy cigarettes in the first place.

And on it went.

I told my co-workers the next day, "Nobody needs to feel sorry for these young Black men. They live like princes."