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My Career as a White Police Officer

We often hear that all black families have “the talk” with their children — especially boys — to explain that any white officer is looking for any excuse to kill them, so they must always cooperate and be polite. If there is a “talk,” it must be a mother telling her children (fathers are almost never around) that they don’t have to do anything the police say or follow any of our directions, that they should talk back to us and be as hostile as possible. I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of black suspects who have been “meek, calm, and cooperative.” From the beginning of my career in the early 1990s to today, any time I have dealt with a black suspect, he or she has been confrontational, invariably complaining of “racism” or “profiling.”

Even victims are hostile. Either they are angry that we have not immediately caught their attacker, or they refuse to cooperate. I have stood over black or Hispanic shooting victims, moaning in pain, as paramedics work on them, asking basic questions: Who did this to you? Who were you with? Where were you? The answer was almost always, “I dunno” or a shrug of the shoulders. They wanted to “handle the problem” on their own with street justice, and they saw any type of cooperation with the police as a sign of weakness. I took many attempted murder reports for which there was absolutely no suspect information or leads to follow up on — because the victim or witnesses refused to give us any.

The media are constantly on the lookout for any story that can be spun into victimization of blacks, so I make a point of warning command staff after virtually any contact with blacks. Anything can blow up into a big news story, and if the department is called upon for a comment, it has to know the basics of what happened. All this means officers are reluctant to get involved with blacks.

There were many Hispanics in the area where I was first hired, and their most common crimes were domestic violence, drug sales, and robbery. Nearly all the gangs in our city were Hispanic, and they claimed specific territories.

Hispanics would prey upon any race of people for robberies, burglaries, thefts or other crimes for material gain — usually to buy drugs. As for violence, they mostly attacked other Hispanics, since shootings and stabbings were usually either gang or — strange as it may seem — family related. During our pre-shift briefings, when our sergeant told us he had received intel that there would be a quinceanera party that evening, the shift would let out a collective groan.

A quinceanera is a celebration of a girl’s 15th birthday, and most Hispanics throw the most lavish party they can afford. Almost without exception, it would culminate in a stabbing, shooting, or large brawl, for which there were only two causes: a distant uncle would drink too many Budweisers (the beer they drank almost exclusively) and would “disrespect” another family member. The other cause was when the Hispanic gang of the area tried to crash the party, and the family tried to keep it out — which would mean a fight and maybe some stabbing and shooting. One of those two outcomes was almost inevitable.

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A quinceañera before the trouble starts.

It was very rare for Hispanics to commit “random” violent attacks on whites, old people, or women of the kind so frequent among blacks. There was a lot of domestic violence, but Hispanic women never called police on their spouse/boyfriend; if we were called, it was always by someone else. The main concern for the woman was that the sole breadwinner of the household might be arrested. A huge majority of the Hispanics were illegal immigrants and feared deportation above all else. I have seen frightened, horribly beaten women sitting on a couch, staring silently into space as I interviewed them through an interpreter; they refused to cooperate. There were always children wandering around the house who must have seen their mother being beaten. I often wondered how many beatings the woman had suffered without the police being called.

I also dealt with many white criminals, mostly for property crimes, methamphetamine (possession and intoxication), and the occasional violent crime. Whites did not commit the shocking and abhorrent crimes common among blacks, whose preferred activities seemed to be takeover robberies committed by organized groups, violent assaults on the elderly, rape, carjacking, and shootings. I was always struck by the incomprehensible, gratuitous nature of their violence. I have no recollection of any memorable or shocking Asian crimes during my time with this agency.

In my nearly 30 years of police experience, I have never treated a suspect differently because of race. Today’s anti-police hysteria would have you believe that police start and end their shifts hunting for black people to stop, but the reality of police work is simple. We have radios and computers in our cars that dispatch us. We don’t just appear where black people happen to be. We are sent there. We don’t control who commits crime. We don’t control the victims or witnesses who call 911. We stop, investigate, and arrest blacks disproportionately because of one indisputable fact: Blacks commit more crime.

If the radio or computer in our car tells us a green Martian wearing a silver spacesuit just committed an armed robbery, we go to the location and look for a green Martian wearing a silver space suit. If the radio or the computer tells us that a black man just shot several people, we flood the area and look for — you guessed it, a black man. George Floyd, Michael Brown, Rayshard Brooks et. al. weren’t randomly chosen. In every incident, they were committing crimes that had been called in by victims or witnesses. The fact that they chose not to cooperate or to attack the police was entirely their choice.

Our job is to enforce the law. If a suspect resists, we are allowed to use force. Each of those black men would be alive today if he had followed lawful commands and had submitted to lawful arrest. There is no disputing that fact. Police officers want to arrest dangerous criminals to protect their community, and we will go wherever that call for service takes us.

Unfortunately, the city where I now work is destroying itself in the name of “diversity.” As the federal government foists hundreds, if not thousands of African refugees upon our town, crimes that were unheard of are becoming common: children stabbed to death, gun crime, and murder for hire. I now see sub-Saharan Africans walking down Main Street with 40-pound bags of rice on their heads. People from Third-World countries full of squalor and corruption come to our city and demand special treatment while contributing nothing. No politician can complain without committing career suicide. I am now in a supervisory position and can say, without hesitation, that every major crime here involves a black person. The most dangerous service call of each shift for the last several months has involved a black man with a gun or large mobs of violent blacks.

As the “defund the police” movement gains momentum, police officers are leaving the profession in droves. My agency is no exception. Soon, very few people, if any, will apply for this job. In order to fill vacancies, agencies will have to eliminate written tests, lower hiring standards, and look the other way on questionable backgrounds. This has all been tried before in the name of “diversity,” and led to incompetent, untrustworthy, corrupt officers. This is a disaster for any society.

White people are too frightened to talk about the rampant black crime that is documented every day. Whites have become the “silenced majority,” in order to protect their livelihood and to avoid being called the word against which there is no defense: “racist.” This police department is full of men and women who can tell city council exactly what happens when a city submits to the corrosive grip of the black hand. Will they listen before it’s too late?

A Young White Man’s Struggle with Identity

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

I am a white man in his mid-twenties who grew up in a middle-class home. My mom was a liberal public school teacher and was passionate about helping “oppressed” immigrants and minorities. She taught at inner-city schools and worked as a missionary in Haiti and Mexico. Looking back, I realize I was deeply influenced by her — especially since I had no real father figure. I was taught to not see color, and that in general, the reason why minorities and immigrants struggle in America was because of racist whites.

I was a rebellious teenager, and made plenty of trouble for myself throughout high school. Eventually, my bad behavior made my mom decide to pull me out of my majority white school and enroll me in the almost exclusively black school she taught at. She thought the black kids would “straighten me out” and “show me what it’s really like to have it bad” — but that isn’t what happened. Instead, I ended up coming to admire the black “gangster/thug life” and started using drugs and causing as much trouble as ever.

The next year she sent me back to the majority white school I had been pulled out of, but the trouble didn’t stop. I began using more and more drugs, and became addicted to Oxycontin. After that it was a downward spiral. I was willing to do anything to get the drug, and I started hanging around bad characters. By the end of high school, I was selling drugs and robbing people in order to fund my addiction.

Not long after I graduated, my parents kicked me out and I started “couch-surfing,” while still selling and using drugs. This ended with me going to a treatment center for a year and a half — but once I left, I quickly picked up my bad habits once again. I started selling crack and other drugs in a black ghetto, and my life was centered around getting high. But I soon found that I was not welcome there, and even hated. Not because I was dealing drugs, but just because I was white and operating in black “turf.” That period of my life was marked by many fights, a lot of close calls, and a revolving door of jail cells, treatment centers, and homelessness.

In the midst of all this chaos, I fathered a child with a black girl. Though nobody in my white family was bothered by this, some of my black “friends” and relatives of the mother openly voiced their disapproval of interracial relationships. Regardless, becoming a father motivated me to grow up, become a man, and change so I could be a good dad to my daughter. I sobered up and started working any job I could get.

My change in lifestyle made me start to think about race. As I was working hard, my “homies” still came around, but they never wanted to do anything but get high and get into trouble. A lot of my “friends,” most of them black, drifted away from me because I was doing something positive with my life instead of destroying it with drugs and crime. That was too “lame” for them. One of my closest black friends began constantly lamenting the fact that I was changing and wasn’t “the good old guy who just wanted to kick back and get high” anymore. But he still hung around, so I would say things to him like, “Hey I know we both have criminal records and drug problems, but if I can get sober and work to have a decent life, so can you.” I tried to be a positive influence, but he always had excuses.

One day, I told him, “I’ll help you put your resume together and I’ll take you to go apply to some jobs.” He said he would do it, but when I picked him up, he just wanted to get high and went on a long speech about oppression saying, “You don’t know how hard it is for a black man in America, it might be easy for you to just go and get a job, but not for me.” I asked him, “What makes you assume that it was easy for me? Just because I’m white?! And second, how are you going to cry victim when you haven’t even honestly tried to work hard or change? I’m offering to help you get a resume together, but you want to get high instead? No one is holding you back but yourself.” We argued and then went our separate ways.
Many blacks would rather live the “thug life” than work hard to make an honest living. Yet they make excuses, blame society, the police, and the white man for all their problems. Some blacks are hell bent on destroying themselves and everyone around them because they feel like victims, and they will never take any personal responsibility. I came to realize that the only thing I had ever had in common with blacks like that was a victim mentality and the desire to get high. Once I stopped being a victim and sobered up, none of them wanted anything to do with me anymore. Now that I was doing positive things with my life, they weren’t even happy for me, just envious.

I moved on and kept to myself in the years that followed. And after a few years of hard work and self-improvement, I got back together with the mother of my child and we moved in together. I was proud that I didn’t make excuses for myself, and did the hard work I needed to do to get my family back together, and made myself into the man and father they needed me to be. I don’t regret any of this. I did not want my child to grow up without a father, like I did. Fatherlessness is a huge issue in America today, leading to all kinds of dysfunction.

With my life in order, I turned my focus to education and the pursuit of truth. I dove into topics such as psychology, history, economics, politics, and ultimately — race. The more I learned, the more unconvinced I was by the “blue-pill” liberal worldview I grew up believing. When I discovered race realism, I was impressed by how many facts and statistics lined up with my own experiences living as a criminal in “the hood.” From there, I discovered the alarming realities of the “great replacement,” liberal censorship, and the violence committed by antifa and Black Lives Matter. The more I dove into the facts, the more I saw that Ben Shapiro, Jordan B. Peterson, Charles Murray, and Jared Taylor were telling the truth. Simultaneously, I realized how insidious the Left was in trying to smear, censor, shame, and shut down these thinkers. It was at this time that Donald Trump was elected, and I began seeing the protests, riots, rage, and unrest coming from the left. A political line in the sand was being drawn, and the Left was no longer open to dialogue: they were only interested in taking power by force.

White liberals claim to be on the side of minorities and other “oppressed” groups, but they know nothing about them. As a white man who lived the thug life in the hood for over eight years, I know that they hate the white liberals’ pandering, and when white boys imitate them. Most of them hate the idea of assimilating into white America: they want their own jurisdictions, culture, and rules — and they hate when whites intrude, peacefully or otherwise. Believers in the “melting pot” theory have never lived in a black community, but they like to imagine that they are great “warriors” and activists for justice and equality.

As a white man, and as a father to a black and white child, I felt that fully understanding racial issues was an absolute must. My daughter’s mother and I had many conversations about these matters, and — fortunately — she agreed with almost everything I was discovering about race. She saw the destructive tendencies of blacks firsthand. When she worked hard at her job or studied hard in school, other blacks were jealous and treated her with contempt for “acting white.” She has never been able to understand why most blacks have such a big chip on their shoulders, hate whites, and maintain a victim mentality when they never experienced slavery or Jim Crow themselves.

She doesn’t make excuses for her own shortcomings and has never cared that other blacks claim she isn’t “really black” or hated her for her success or for having a child with a white man. Because of this, our family remains strong and united. Some may accuse her of hating her own race, but the truth is simply that she refuses to buy into the lies and propaganda that blacks must fight against whites in order to succeed. She loves her own people, family, and race. She also appreciates and respects white culture and realizes that whites built this country and made it prosperous. She loves America, and doesn’t want it to change, so she supports the national identity of America as a white nation, and has no desire to see it taken over by blacks, immigrants, or “social justice warriors.” I believe more and more blacks are waking up and coming to support America instead of hating it.

I may have a mixed child, but I am a full supporter of the US, the white race, our culture, and our honor. I will die before I see our great country defiled and overtaken by leftists and foreigners who hate our culture and want to replace it with theirs. My grandfathers both died to defend this land, and it is my duty to do the same if the time comes — and every day it feels more and more like that day will come during my lifetime. The increasing amounts of censorship, indoctrination, government largesse, and white ethnomasochism that we see can make the future look bleak. But there is hope in the fact that if people wake up to the truth now — and stop being afraid to speak their minds — we can turn things around and preserve this great country — maybe even make it greater.