After the last of the four times I was followed in a car or mugged on the street for money by blacks in Philadelphia (but fortunately not physically assaulted), I went immediately to the police and gave a detailed description, down to the number of white hairs in the guy's mustache (four). The police then broadcast a completely inaccurate description, "a red, white and blue striped shirt" -- when what I had really said was, a "turquoise polp shirt with thin white stripes." They continued to broadcast the false description while I rode around "the Projects" in the back of a police cruiser looking for the perp, who had robbed me at gunpoint through the open car window as I exited the McDonald's drive-thru around the back of the building right on the main part of South Broad Street across from the High School for the Arts, just a couple of blocks below the Academy of Music.
Nothing I said would make the police I was riding with radio in and correct the wrong description being repeated on police radio as we rode around fruitlessly. Naturally, no one was caught, although he continued to rob all the several fast-food places along South Broad Street for weeks to come.
All I wanted was to get home to my little boy. God gave me the exact preparation I needed to remain calm and cooperative that very morning with the scriptures for that day in my Daily Word booklet -- "If a man asks for your coat, give him also your cloak." I spoke to him like a loving mother concerned for his well-being, telling him it was okay, that he wouldn't do that if he didn't need to, offering him my parking quarters and my Egg McMuffin, telling him when no one was around and for him to get away quickly so no one would see, reassuring him I would not go to the police, and asking God to bless him; and he took my folding money and left me alone.
But in the following week, despite no physical harm to me, I came down with pneumonia in the middle of summer and stayed sick for 6 weeks, losing 20 pounds. A hell of a way to diet.
From then on, I just spent the money for extra gasoline by always driving with the windows up and the air conditioning on.
Eventually I moved to the suburbs, and my perception has been that things have been a lot more safe, despite the fully integrated town -- about 40% black now (after the helpful Democrats gerrymandered the school district to 95% black and turned a 90% white neighborhood with 10% upwardly-mobile black professional families into the same-old, same-old guns, drugs and police in the schools within a few years).
But a few months ago, not seeing the lane markings properly, a black motorist thought I had cut him off in traffic, followed me to the stoplight at a major highway, and got out of the car with his friend and beat on my car, punching and kicking it with their feet until it was dented all over all the side panels, totalling the car. The light turned and I sped away without even trying to get their license number. I made a police report with their physical description, but of course it wasn't any help. A couple of weeks later, local newscasters broadcast horrible photos of a light-skinned black woman beaten bloody at a traffic stop in our town. I am now making plans to move to a small, mostly white town in Virginia.
Here is a web site that tells you details that real estate agents are forbidden to tell you, such as the average house price, the average salary, the percentage of people in various age groups, and the racial background of the residents in specific zip codes.
Since they as a group have made insufficient attempts to assimilate and integrate, after my last 50 years of determined effort to give them the benefit of the doubt whenever possible, I am an old lady now and must look out for my own safety.
You’re lucky to be alive; be safe, and spread the word.
Thank you for the link.
And always remember, your car is a weapon. Don’t be afraid to use it if you feel your safety is threatened.