Why I Reject the Victim Mindset and the Lie That America Is a Racist Nation
For decades, I’ve listened to many voices—especially within the Black community—proclaim that America is a racist nation. The narrative of racial injustice, systemic oppression, and inequality is treated by some as a rite of passage. But I do not share this mindset. I have lived a different reality, and I have drawn different conclusions.
I’ve been poor, fatherless, raised in a broken home, and shaped by some of the very systems that others claim are evidence of oppression. But I have never embraced the identity of a victim. And I never will.
The Real Disparity No One Talks About
If I were ever to identify as a victim, it wouldn’t be because of racism. It would be because of the destruction of the Black family—because of homes without fathers, sons without discipline, and daughters without emotional balance.
I come from a broken family myself. My father, who identified as homosexual, left our household when I was young. That left five children without a male presence in the home. We grew up on welfare, and though it gave us food and shelter, it took something far more valuable—our dignity.
I didn’t learn about racism from white people. I learned about it on the streets of my own neighborhood. I saw Black kids beat up white kids simply for being white. I heard hatred for white people shouted from the mouths of Black peers and adults. That was my first real exposure to racism—and it wasn’t coming from outside the community.
A Childhood Shaped by Chaos and Awakening
I remember the race riots of the 1960s. I was a child, watching from across the street as police vans rolled into our Rochester, New York neighborhood. I saw German Shepherds unleashed on crowds. I didn’t understand what the protests were about, but I saw the rage. I saw the pain.
And even at that young age, I made a decision: I didn’t want to grow up and be a “Black person” in the way I saw it modeled around me—not angry, not bitter, not forever locked in a war against a nation that offered freedom.
What I wanted was to be free—free from racial identity, from tribalism, from inherited resentment. That choice changed everything for me.
Crossing the Racial Divide Through Shared Humanity
As I got older, I met white kids who had their own struggles—poverty, abuse, dysfunction. When we talked, our racial differences dissolved. We related to each other because we were honest about our pain. That human connection bridged the racial divide.
I spent nearly three years at George Junior Republic in Freeville, NY. It was there I first learned to truly appreciate people—not Black or white people, just people. It was there I made a commitment: I would never become a racist. I saw racism for what it was—a missed opportunity to grow and connect.
Becoming an American—Not a Minority
After leaving George Junior at 16, I knew I couldn’t return to the life I had left behind in Rochester. I didn’t want to be swallowed back into the same cycles of despair and dysfunction I had grown up in. That was a decision I made consciously.
So instead of staying in Rochester, I moved to the Pacific Northwest—to Portland, Oregon—in February of 1977. That move wasn’t just geographic. It was philosophical. I was seeking a different life and a different way of thinking. I remember not being afraid to leave home.
The Pacific Northwest gave me space to think, to grow, and to see that there was more to America than what I had been told. Here, I could finally breathe. I could explore who I wanted to become free from labels, expectations, and inherited anger.
In time, I joined the U.S. Navy. That decision deepened my understanding of America. I served alongside people from every racial, economic, and geographic background. What I found wasn’t division—but unity. We didn’t ask each other about race; we asked each other about commitment, competence, and character. The Navy introduced me to a version of America that the media never showed—a nation of people trying to do better, serve well, and build lives. I can recall only one incident whereby I was asked by three fellow black sailors, “Why do you have more with white people than black folk?” I responded, ‘Because they don’t ask me stupid sh_t like this!’ Yup, that actually happened!
During my Navy years, I also became more politically aware. I watched and listened carefully, wanting to understand the soul of this country. I found myself resonating with the values of President Ronald Reagan. I began listening to radio host Rush Limbaugh, whose commentary often put words to what I already felt. Then, someone handed me Ethnic America by Thomas Sowell—and everything clicked.
That book changed the way I saw myself. I wasn’t a “minority.” I was an American. I wasn’t at odds with my country—I belonged to it.
Racism Is a Human Problem, Not a White One
I’ve experienced prejudice—from Asians, from whites, from other Black people. But I came to understand this truth: Prejudice is not a color issue. It’s a human issue. Hatred knows no skin tone. Blame knows no boundaries.
The idea that America is uniquely or systemically racist ignores history, reality, and personal responsibility. America is not perfect. No nation is. But to define it by its failures while ignoring its opportunities is dishonest—and dangerous.
What I’ve Learned from History, Faith, and Freedom
Today, at nearly 66 years old, I’m a biblical researcher. I don’t sit passively in pews; I dig into truth. I’m a conservative. I believe in limited government, personal responsibility, and the kind of freedom that men and women across centuries have fought and died for.
I’ve studied the Arab slave trade, the Islamic conquests of Africa, the genocide of Armenians by the Turks, the Holocaust, Pol Pot’s Cambodia, the Japanese invasion of Manchuria. I understand that evil is universal—and conquest has no racial boundaries. If you study history honestly, you’ll realize that every people group has been both oppressed and oppressor.
The call for freedom chases humanity through the centuries. So too does hope!
I Am Free—and That’s the Only Identity That Matters
I do not carry the weight of racial guilt or pride. I do not need to feel angry to feel empowered. I do not need the government to save me. And I certainly don’t need identity politics to define me.
I am an American—not a victim.
I’ve lived in poverty and overcome it. I’ve seen hatred and rejected it. I’ve been underestimated and outworked it. I’ve walked through racism and outgrown it.
And because of all this, I will continue to speak boldly against the lie that America is a racist nation.
Because my life tells a better story.
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