Her mother is in the medical field and her father worked for the New York City Transit Authority. Both are lifelong Democrats. The only instruction they ever gave Tracy in politics was that the Democratic Party was for the working people and the Republicans were for the rich. Tracy's mother taught her never to be judgmental, and to love everyone the same, especially those less fortunate. She told Tracy that discrimination was wrong and that all people should be treated equally. This message was further amplified at the college where she obtained a bachelor’s degree in sociology. All of Tracy's professors were white and very liberal. College was the first place where she ever heard race discussed seriously, and the message was constant: diversity was vitally important and whites were guilty. Her fellow students had been brought up just as she had been, so my professors had very fresh meat to feast on. Tracy graduated from college the perfect racial liberal.
Her first job was but a mere warmup of what was to come. She took a job in the daycare center of a domestic violence shelter on Staten Island, New York. It was part of a network of organizations run by a large charity called Safe Horizon. Her supervisors were black and Hispanic, and the clients were also black and Hispanic (she never saw a white woman come in). Tracy had this idealistic notion that if she could make them see her as a good person and not as a “white person”, she could help make the world a better place. She was convinced she had nothing to fear, and that her generosity would certainly be noticed and appreciated.
Wrong, wrong, wrong! The Hispanic mothers, who themselves hated blacks, were there mostly for free services, and were always looking for the next entitlement. They were intensely proud of their ethnicity, and would explode into anti-white, anti-American anger if they felt slighted in any way — this included being denied a service or being asked to pay for something they thought should be free. They were often inarticulate to the point of being unintelligible, but it was clear that they thought America owed them anything they needed. Even the more reasonable, friendly clients and staff constantly explained their failures by saying, “The white man keeps me down.” Tracy learned that many blacks and Hispanics sincerely believe this cliché, no matter what their salary or station in life. Although Tracy never complained, and did everything with zeal and professionalism, she was passed over for promotions and received scant appreciation from clients or staff. In that community, socializing seemed to be the key to popularity and promotions, and hard work seemed to be greeted with disdain.
After almost two years at the shelter, Tracy decided to find a different job, and switched to an administrative office in Manhattan. But then Tracy decided to jump back into the frying pan once again, getting a job at a different charity run by Safe Horizon called “The Streetwork Project.” This was a “drop-in” center in Harlem for “street-involved youth” up to age 24. The majority of the clients were local teenagers, most of whom did not work, and who had drug habits that kept them in a state of desperation. They tended to be gang members, prostitutes, and runaways. Streetwork offers shelter, counseling, food, showers, a music room, computer labs, basic medical attention, and even acupuncture and meditation. It also served as an unofficial safe haven for illegal aliens and other criminals hiding from the police.
How bad did the working conditions get? Let Tracy tell her own story, after the jump:
The Streetwork motto is “We are a non-judgmental environment.” Yet, every Wednesday all 75 staff members were required to meet in a circle and air their grievances. For eight to ten hours every Wednesday, these mandatory sessions would interrupt our mission to serve children in trouble and force us to play out our personal lives to a crowd of co-workers. More times than not, a black staffer—they were the vast majority—would vent his anger against a white staff member for no apparent reason. It seemed that it was an offense if white people were not sufficiently subservient or reverential to blacks.
The unintentionally offending white person would be made to grovel at the feet—yes, I have seen whites go on their knees before blacks—and apologize for slavery, white privilege, blacks in prison, the poor state of black neighborhoods, AIDS, drugs in their community, etc. Often the white worker was reduced to tears in a desperate attempt to appease the mass of angry black and brown faces. Finally, when the white employee was humiliated enough, and the cathartic cleansing had been achieved, a tentative truce would be called. The angry black employee would be praised and his anger encouraged, while the traumatized, cowering white worker would be put on probation and, through an act of supreme magnanimity, allowed to keep his job. These sessions were supposed to be run by social workers, but often just ran themselves while the social workers watched. I was required to attend these sessions, and sometimes the spotlight was turned on me. I was never fully and publicly brutalized, but the anti-white sentiment was clearly directed at me as well.
Racial politics were very strict. We were forbidden to observe Columbus Day because Columbus was a “genocidal racist.” Instead, I had to observe Martin Luther King Day and black history month. In fact, I was required to do unpaid, after-hours work on King day.
I saw the only white, heterosexual male employee fired for saying “black people are born to dance,” in a moment of self-deprecation at a bar after work with co-workers. Apparently, a white man didn’t have the right to say anything about race, even if it was flattering. This white man was framed for a robbery and fired. Everyone on the staff knew he was innocent of the robbery, but he was white and proved himself to be a racist by that remark, and to them, that was reason enough to fire him.
Sometimes we were forced to participate in diversity or sensitivity training, and often we were split into groups by sexual orientation. There were heterosexual, homosexual, bi-sexual, transgendered, and gender-non-specific groups. Gender-non-specifics are people who decide each day which sex they want to be, and they insist on being referred to as gender-neutral “ze” rather than he or she. On Monday, such a person is Brenda, but next month, Brenda may become Carlos. Then a week later, Carlos becomes Brenda again, and if you mistakenly call her Carlos, you are in danger of being fired for discrimination or at least sent to special “sensitivity classes.” We had about eight of these “ze” people, and it was an even split between biological men and women.
The view of the staff was that the country was overrun with white, Jesus-freak-bigot, heterosexual “breeders,” and that anything that undermined that order deserved support. The heterosexual, white world was bland, unintelligent, uncreative, unattractive, morally repugnant, and something that needed to be eliminated. Therefore there was intense pressure, which included psychological prodding, to try to convert a heterosexual into something else. When a middle-aged white, married woman with teenage children walked out of the heterosexual group to count herself amongst the bisexuals, there was tremendous applause and a daylong celebration in her honor.
There was a heavy sexual atmosphere at work. I was always being sent X-rated email, and people would stop by my desk and make filthy comments about my body. After one foul remark, one man even said to me, “That would be sexual harassment anywhere else, but this is Streetwork.” Homosexuals would describe the previous night’s sexual exploits in graphic detail. Men were always exposing themselves to women on the job, and nobody complained or reported it.
When her boyfriend tried to get Tracy to quit, the Streetwork staff tried to "love-bomb" her into believing that he was a prospective abuser. But she caught herself in time and escaped. It was a lot like escaping from a religious cult. After the fact, Tracy learned that she had been doing the jobs of more than ten people who spent their days socializing, shirking work, and pilfering from the donation room.
By the way, her father, who worked for the Transit Authority, was also a victim of "diversity". After 20 years, he was forced into retirement when a black man was elevated to one of the highest positions in the authority. Her father once heard him say to a meeting of chiefs, “There’s too much salt in here — now I’m gonna add some pepper.” Personnel policies changed drastically in favor of blacks. It became difficult for whites to get promotions, and the workplace became intolerable for her father.
This is not a fluke or an isolated incident. This is the norm for whites in every one of our mulitcultural cesspools we call "big cities". Black looks out for black. Brown looks out for brown. Jew looks out for Jew. Queer looks out for queer. And who do too many whites look out for? Black, brown, Jew, and queer.
Time for White to start looking out for White again.