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Coming Out White

I was red-pilled on race in the 7th grade and didn’t know it. When I finally met people that went to all-white schools, hearing them talk was the revelation that what I experienced was abnormal (and later, I would understand, government policy). My entire secondary timeline was defined through hostile minorities. Bullied by and beholden to, I spent my time appeasing, initially through substance abuse that didn’t shake until my 20s, and then violence. The first time I punched someone, it was another white guy for saying the word nigger. This did not earn me the respect of my black peers.

I never told my wife I was a white or begged her to agree, which is an ineffable joy. For her it was podcasts within earshot, out of sheer necessity, as there was no time for me to consume them privately. This grew into me coming home from work to see her listening on her own as she tended the house. And she’s never looked back.

On the other hand, I weep for my father, who can’t even discuss it with Mom lest she have an emotional breakdown. Dad lives in secret, sneaking articles on mobile behind her back or after she’s gone to sleep, sending me his favorite with additional commentary, and living vicariously through my liberation. On our bi-monthly visits we find time to huddle in the garage and talk about immigration or per capita violent crime.

I’ve told co-workers to mixed response. Unexpected friendships have grown from those who vehemently disagree. There’s the initial, in-person recoil. Then we have robust, mostly digital exchanges, and over time talk of other things: family, money, goals, and hobbies. Both the best and most foolish questions have come from them, and it’s been healthy for everyone involved.

“But you hired a black guy. How do you stand working with him?”

Well it’s not about being an angry person or hating individual people. This is a philosophy to inform state function. We are talking well-thought-out policy on large samples, not lashing out at a mulatto.

“But diversity works! I’ve never seen a gym that wasn’t multi-racial.”

And if you can believe it, MMA class doesn’t translate to how we should structure a state. An emphasis of states along ethnic lines doesn’t mean people don’t get along; quite the contrary, it is a solution to conflict even among different white ethnicities.

“But it’s just so divisive. This will inevitably lead to violence.”

Yes, if you force me to barf out a path to your strawman, we can imagine all these roadblocks. But consider the principle: separation is the elimination of interracial crime, resentment in housing, work, and education, and systems which, by the admission of blacks and liberal whites, oppress non-whites via imposing standards that aren’t natural to them, resulting in their execution when they fail to comply.

“Well I really don’t like this one guy that gave me a bad impression of the movement.”

If mean words are the price to pay for pre-1965 immigration, it’s pennies for a nation.

“But he wants to remove over-represented groups from the Judiciary.”


And to be fair, whites should be more vigilant about culling toxic adherents who come in many forms: Edge Lord teens, SS Larpers, those sewing dissent over issues outside of racial cohesion. We are fighting against a norm where our very existence is intolerable. Thus, we must be competent, professional, and strangely inclusive to make our ideas attractive to the middle class. Self-conduct is half the battle. You can’t be wildly mentally ill or infantile, and then tell people how to structure the state.

The cultural tide we are up against is no more evident than in co-workers, otherwise indifferent to politics (and coincidentally abusing opioids), who possess the worst reactions. So, the guy who doesn’t know his own senators (and vomits from fentanyl on the clock) has internalized over a lifetime that pro-white = nazi = bad. And this is a large, hard-to-reach subset because they aren’t confident in any other political opinion. They let it all out here.

Of course, the best thing to do is not mention it again, and then always be composed—a mentor. Give them another chance when their extracurricular train wreck inevitably crashes into the workplace. Give advice. Talk to them about substance abuse and offer to help. Make them remember your best. Help them see theirs.

But the work stuff is half fun, half for my sanity. If I can pick the final stage of transformation, something meaningful, it will be an eloquent speech to my mother that simultaneously draws respect and changes her mind, along with relations with Dad. More likely, though, the end will be chaotic; fitting preparation for what is yet to come.

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