racism or realistic description. you get to choose how you see it;

This is part of our continuing series of accounts by readers of how they shed the illusions of liberalism and became race realists.

I grew up in the 1970s and 1980s in a black majority Southern town. My parents were both Appalachian “hillbillies” who had gone away to college and become liberals. They moved to a large coastal town for work. Our new home was the site of a large “historically black college,” which had been recently absorbed into the state university system. Most of the local public school system’s teachers and administrators were graduates of this college, and they were well versed in the kind of militant black rage we have come to call critical race theory and African American Studies. I don’t know if it had a name back then. We called it “the extremely angry teacher is on another rampage.”

We made our move just as I began second grade. I was one of 33 students in my classroom, about 20 of whom were black. Our teacher was a very nice black lady — an elderly woman who had taught black kids for decades in segregated schools; now she taught white children too. She was very strict and easily controlled the big class. It didn’t take long to notice the black kids were low-functioning compared to the white minority. We spent the entire year learning to count to 100, recite the alphabet (in order, please!), and name the days of the week.

But the good times were not to last. The next year, I had a young white teacher fresh out of college, far less competent and extremely timid about correcting black kids. And did they ever need correcting. Whereas in the second grade we had two single-seat toilets in the back of the room, now we were expected to go to the huge bathroom all in a bunch at the same time. I was astonished to learn how differently black kids behave in the bathroom. I shall attempt not to get too graphic, but I must try to convey how utterly savage the environment was.

First, I learned why there was never any toilet paper. The black boys deliberately urinated on every roll of toilet paper, soaking it through. Paper towel dispensers were completely emptied, all the towels were flushed down the toilets, clogging them and rendering them useless. If any of them needed to “number two,” they would clog the toilet first, leaving their huge stinking bowel movements afloat atop the wad of paper towels. They did not wipe as you or I might — it was no inconvenience for them that the toilet paper was soaked with urine, they had no other use for the stuff. Having answered nature’s call, a black boy would wipe up with his hands, pull up his britches and casually give his hand a quick rinse (pronounced “rinch”) in the stink, leaving the water running.........more.........