We may not like this account, but I know that it's true. You find it inbooks and on the internet. We need to understand how and why we lost thewhite civil rights workers. We did it to ourselves. Freedom Walker Recounts African American Degeneracy
In the Midst of the 1963 Civil Rights Movement...
By An Anonymous Civil Rights Activist
I learned that blacks could not be trusted almost every evening in Mississippi.Sex, drugs, violence, and stealing were common. It began to bother me. Attimes, a county sheriff would show up and pull a black person out of theFreedom House with a warrant for some specifically described crime he hadcommitted. For awhile, I assumed these crimes were merely trumped up charges.Everyone said they were. But, as the court cases continued, I became awarethey weren't trumped up. They were, in fact, likely as not, real crimesdeserving of real legal punishment.
In the tents on the Freedom March in 1963, unwed sex was common. When whitewomen were available, they were utilized, and the black women were utilizedplentifully on all occasions. Many civil rights women were hot and willing,and I don't recall any of them having to be forced, although a few slapsoccurred late in the nights now and then, probably on account a woman notwanting sex at that time with that particular man or vice versa.
I had never grown up in a free love situation which was particularly likethis nor had I thought it possible, and I remember being disturbed by ita great deal, especially as weeks and months of civil right activities draggedon. Later, I found that I, too, had been corrupted by it, and that it effectedmy innocence. What I observed here, I utilized later, building into my repertoireof "proper" activities the concept that multiple sexual activitieswith strangers and same day acquaintances were now okay, and were, in fact,hip.
On the night in 1963 when we were encamped in a university gymnasium outsideJackson, Mississippi, after having been entertained by Sammy Davis, Jr.,and Frank Sinatra on an outdoor stage, three hundred of us were awakenedby screams and fighting in the balconies. After an inerminable length oftime, the lights came on and several black savages in their early teenswere clearly seen running across the aisles up there. Evidently, being attractedby the shennanigans of the march, they came to take part in the civil rightsshows and had found their victims in our building. They had attacked a liberalintegrationist white man and his white wife who had driven down from Michiganto support the march. The black boys had been trying to rape her. The husbandwas shouting what had happened, as though he was unaware that negroes didsuch things. He was told by some 300 pound deacon who stood on the gymnasiumstage, to shut up, but the man refused. He yelled that he was leaving forMichigan and would do everything he could to stop the integration movement."The scum and animial nature is too deep in your hearts," I rememberhim shouting. "I used to think the stories of rape were lies, but nowI know that my very attraction to this movement is a lie. Frankly, I don'tgive a damn what happens to you, but I hope it's hard and it's bad."And he left.
This began to give me pause to think about my own commitment to the movementwhich seemed riddled with persons bent on almost all of those decivilizingpotentials a man can handle. Hardly a day went by, it seemed, in those goldensummer days, without something untoward happening to make me understandthat this group of people were not a totally innocent gathering of personswho were unfairly put upon by white Southern sadists. I slowly came to therealization of the overwhelming and disgusting, to me, idea that many ofthese blacks were the cause of their own undoing and that they deservedwhat they were getting and always had.
This distasteful idea began to grow day by day as I observed solidly consistentdegeneracy and betrayal in these people, until it replaced my original innocentassumptions and became the obvious and only understanding necessary onemight have, one which began to let me know what had gone on here, in Mississippi,for hundreds of years between blacks and whites would still be going onafter I and other Freedom Riders left, because, in the final analysis youdon't free a Negro thinking that he will change any more than you marrya woman thinking that she, too, will change. People are not that easilymanaged. Once their clay is set, only breaking it into pieces will affectthe final shape, but then the part is broken and unusable. With bricks andpeople both that is an inoperable option.
I knew then that year by year, even after I left Mississippi, I might beobserver to these same traits. And I was. I watched my civilization andmy city destroyed by blacks as has everyone who has had to pack up and leavebecause the African Americans just killed another person, robbed anotherstore, destroyed another retail business, and did their best to be as obnoxiousand righteous as possible, chasing civilized whites from cities where, ifsegregation had continued, they would still be happily enthroned, enjoyingtheir properties in peace. Instead, I found myself, like others living inan integrated environment in with the government surveys everyone for signsof racism, to be separated from their sense of self, community, and schooland imbued with a new anger caused by the outrageous taking of propertythrough government integration fiat using HUD and Section Eight as the relocationinstrument, the knifeblade plunged into the heart of each person's city,causing it to die in agonizing and unrelenting slowness. Where would itend, except in the destruction of our civilization, because inviting a criminalevery night to dinner is a dangerous habit, one fraught with dire consequences.
I found the only way to escape from this realization was to move as faraway from blacks as possible and never to read the newspaper or watch theNews, because blacks were in those things, creating their most evil andheinous acts.
Civil Rights Issue PositionPapers
Next Article...
American Civil Rights Review