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Letter from Norwalk, Connecticut.
Dear Mr. Flaherty,
I thank you for your interest in my story.
I guess I should start out by saying that I was a quiet child, as well as shy. So maybe that left me wide open to a lot of crap from people – not that I’m excusing it, but I know that is how it goes with kids. Although I remember back in the mid to late ’80’s, when there was some political unrest in Puerto Rico and many families immigrated to the U.S., there was an influx of children into my middle school who didn’t know English and I was always happy to sit with them and help them with their classwork/homework. And actually, anytime there was a new kid in school, I liked helping them feel comfortable by sitting with them and befriending them, so I guess I wasn’t shy in every situation.
At any rate, I grew up in east Norwalk, CT, and my trouble with blacks largely began in middle school, when I was integrated more with children from south Norwalk (which, I hear, has cleaned up it’s act since I moved away). Back then, everyone knew that white people don’t ever venture into south Norwalk unless they wanted to be harassed. As I said, I was quiet. My whole family is made up of people who are just quiet by nature. By comparison, it seemed to me that black kids were pretty rowdy which intimidated me a little, but as long as they weren’t being mean it didn’t bother me beyond that. I liked to have a good time with my friends too, but if I did that at school, I’d get into trouble at home. So general, fun-loving outspokenness didn’t bother me at all.
But in my sixth grade year, it went from general outspokenness to me being targeted by a couple of the black girls in my class, and these girls were very much what is referred to today as “ratchet”. It started with just comments from them about how I was disrespecting them, and only got worse the longer I ignored them. They were flat-out mistaken about me being disrespectful, I was not disrespectful to people. I was raised better than that, by parents who were social activists in the ’60’s – you know, equal rights for everyone and all that. Those were the values I was raised to have.
And these verbal confrontations would happen right during classes, when we were supposed to be reading, writing out assignments, or paying attention to the teacher. It was rare for a teacher to admonish these girls for disrupting the class, so it would continue until one of them worked themselves up to the point where they would stand up out of their seats and face me down. Sometimes that would be allowed to carry on though, and they would take a book or something that I needed for the next class and throw it against the wall, or rip up a homework assignment for another class, etc.
Sometimes I had to miss a class or two because I needed to see a doctor (I have lumbar scoliosis and a fused vertebra, and sometimes had pain in my hips and legs), and once when I came back to class after seeing either a doc or the school nurse, as I walked through the door, a warm, slimy spitball hit me right below my left eye. When I took my seat, I tried not to look around, but one of the aforementioned girls called my name and showed me the straw she used.
Another time, out on the schoolyard, a rock flew out of the crowd and hit me below my eye hard enough to knock me down and leave a cut. I don’t know who threw that one, but when I got up and looked, a bunch of black kids were laughing and high-fiving.
It escalated from there to just getting beaten on for my lunch money, or whatever else they wanted. And don’t get me started on what it was like to ride the bus. I just started walking a mile and a half home after school, because that was preferable to being punched, kicked and/or insulted.
In my seventh grade year, a black boy I’d known since elementary school started sexually harassing me and another girl (who happened to be white) in my class. I was an excellerated developer and was in a ladies’ size bra by then. He was relentless, fondling, squeezing, twisting, and rubbing himself against us every chance he got for years. The teachers would yell at him for that, but he didn’t let it stop him and eventually they just gave up. I won’t speak for the other girl he did that to, but I felt disgusting.
My school grades suffered. I used to be a great student, but I started hating school. I would fight my mother to keep me home at least once a week because I just couldn’t handle it, socially. I desperately wanted to be homeschooled, but my parents had just divorced and my mom worked full time and couldn’t swing it.
Things went pretty much that way until high school. There were two high schools in Norwalk, Brian McMahon (sp?) and Norwalk High School. Brian McMahon was where all the “well-off” white kids went, and Norwalk High was where the rest of us went. Bullet holes in the windows, weekly knifings, or whatever that statistic at the time was. The principal at NHS was black and the rumor was that he did not like to see white kids and black kids hanging out together as friends – I have no idea if that was true, just what everyone always said. I did have a black friend though, and she and I would walk past his office sometimes and nothing was ever said to us, so who really knows? It was a big, big school, so maybe he had more important things to be getting on with?
My one black friend didn’t save me from being harassed by the black gangs, though. They “claimed” part of the school, and every time I had a class in that area it was like running a gauntlet; I’d have my books knocked out of my arms, tripped so that I’d face plant, hit or punched in the head, even shoved down the stairs once. I have this recurring nightmare that I’m about to graduate, only I can’t because I’ve missed this one particular class all year since the textbook for that class has been locked away in my locker which, in my dream, is in the wing of the school that the black kids staked out. So in my dream, I’ve never been back to my locker, and I finally work up the nerve to go. No one is in the halls, I find my locker, and I don’t remember the combo. My heart is hammering against my ribs, my breathing is shallow and quick, and I’m that much closer to panic with every second.
In my sophomore year in high school, the Greek gangs started in on me, hitting/punching me in the halls between classes, which escalated to four guys physically confronting me walking home from school. I got beat up. The Puerto Ricans were okay so far – I think some of them remembered when I tried to help them in middle school – but I was recognizing some signs that maybe that peace wouldn’t be lasting forever. The Italians were great because my very best friend of 10 years at that point was Italian, and two of her brothers were cops. The Koreans and Indians liked me, but there were not a lot of them and they laid low. (For the record, I’m Danish/Norwegian, French and a bit of Seminole). I’m pretty fair-skinned, brown hair and obviously green-eyed, but very white-skinned and 5′ 9″, so I probably stuck out a bit.
So during the summer between my sophomore and junior years, I moved to my dad’s home in a rural area of New Hampshire. It was getting to be too much in Connecticut; I was fifteen, failing half my classes, skipping school and always looking over my shoulder. I was also having panic attacks. I had to go. It took me a while to get myself back on track, I got caught with a pocket knife by the assistant principal – I wasn’t using it on anyone, or even showing it off. He just thought that since I’d come from an urban area that I must be carrying drugs on me, so he searched me and found my pocket knife. But my grades slowly improved and my panic attacks gradually lessened. I never went to college though, because I was done with school. I just had no desire to ever go to a big town for more bullshit. I was done.
I moved onto a farm that my family was running and made myself useful doing various work. I married and moved to our present location seven years ago, and for the first time since I lived in Norwalk, I have black neighbors. My husband and/or I have waved and said “Hello,” numerous times while out walking the dogs, or driving past. They never wave or speak to us, but in Connecticut that’s not necessarily strange, although most people will at least say “hi,” back. We don’t know their names, and I’m sure they don’t know ours. They seem quiet enough, no loud music, no wild parties, so that’s all I care about.
I always wondered if they hate me though, which seemed like a strange thing to wonder about until I discovered your site. Now I know why I wondered.
So, that’s my story. Sorry for the book, lol! Actually I’m sure this is par for the course for you. Anyway, I appreciate your time and patience.
xx
About the Author
Colin Flaherty is an award winning reporter and author of the #1 best selling book White Girl Bleed a Lot: The Return of Racial Violence to America and How the Media Ignore it.
His new book is Knockout Game a Lie? Aww, Hell No.
Both books are about black mob violence, black on white crime and the Knockout Game.
His work has appeared in more than 1000 news sites around the world, including the New York Times, Washington Post, Los Angeles Times, Time Magazine. His story about how a black man was unjustly convicted of trying to kill his white girlfriend resulted in his release from state prison and was featured on Court TV, NPR, The Los Angeles Times and San Diego Union-Tribune.
Thomas Sowell: ”Reading Colin Flaherty’s book made painfully clear to me that the magnitude of this problem is greater than I had discovered from my own research. He documents both the race riots and the media and political evasions in dozens of cities.” – National Review.
Sean Hannity: White Girl Bleed a Lot “has gone viral.”
Allen West: “At least author Colin Flaherty is tackling this issue (of racial violence and black on white crime) in his new book, White Girl Bleed a Lot: The Return of Racial Violence to America and How the Media Ignore it.“
Los Angeles Times: “a favorite of conservative voices.”
Daily Caller: “As the brutal “knockout” game sweeps across the U.S., one author isn’t surprised by the attacks or the media reaction. Colin Flaherty, author of the book “White Girl Bleed A Lot: The Return of Racial Violence to America and How The Media Ignore It,” began chronicling the new wave of violence nearly a year ago — revealing disturbing racial motivations behind the attacks and a pattern of media denial.”
Alex Jones: “Brilliant. Could not put it down.”
Neal Boortz: “Colin Flaherty has become Public Enemy No.1 to the leftist media because of his research on black culture of violence.”
From the Bill Cunningham show. It is official: “Colin Flaherty is a great American.A wonderful book.”
Breitbart.com: “Prescient. Ahead of the News. Garnering attention and sparking important discussions.”
David Horowitz: “A determined reporter, Colin Flaherty, broke ranks to document these rampages in a book titled, White Girl Bleed A Lot”
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