The Thinking 
Housewife
 

One Mother Learns Why Subsidies of Black Unwed Mothers are Evil and Should be Ended

February 5, 2011

 

KENDRA writes:

Laura wrote in this entry,

“Government subsidies of single mothers are not humane or charitable or compassionate. They are evil. Subsidies for single mothers are a state-sanctioned form of child abuse.” 

I just wanted to add a few of my experiences to this conversation.  I am sorry this is so long, but the events are true.  I am a white mother of three and I live right on the edge of an underclass black neighborhood in Indianapolis, Indiana and have witnessed firsthand very troubling effects of welfare dependency and the behaviors of unwed women with children.  My neighborhood is one of the first suburbs in the city, many of the homes were built in the early 1900s by architects and wealthy families as a place to get away from city life.  The homes are huge and wonderful, but desegregation of the schools in the 1960s caused whites to move to new suburbs north.  Poorer blacks filled the vacuum created by this sudden flight, the homes fell into complete disrepair, and the businesses moved out. 

There were a few white churches remaining in this neighborhood after the whites all left, and they stepped in to assist the new black neighbors with food banks, counseling and sometimes shelter.  The neighborhood has never recovered.  Most of the homes have been turned into section-8 rentals containing multiple units.  We now have severe blight, drug dealing, crime, prostitution, and packs of black teen boys roaming the streets at all hours.  Many homes are sold in auction for a few thousand dollars by “investors” and are made habitable enough to house a woman on welfare and her children. Most rentals are priced around $350 for a three-bedroom apartment and normally have more than one group of related people living inside.  The tenant turnover for these apartments happens about every three months, and usually the renters leave in the middle of the night and dump their belongings in the front yard.  We normally have to have the apartments boarded up by the Health Department to keep the squatters and stray dogs from moving in. 

My neighbor across the street is 90 now, she was one of the first black families to move in 50 years ago and she has 20 children.  I am not sure if she was ever married, but we talk about the changes in the neighborhood sometimes. She has told me that poor blacks have destroyed this place, and as soon as welfare benefits became available, there were no more black families.  She said that she is happy that whites are moving back in.  Most of her children only finished high school and all have moved to the suburbs out of the “ghetto,” which is what blacks call this beautiful area. 

We are one of the white families who have moved back here to fix up an old home. The neighborhood is experiencing a very slow gentrification.  My husband is our sole provider, I am a housewife, and we have a very limited income.  We cannot afford the suburbs right now.  I grew up in old homes, I loved it, and wanted the same experience for my children.  We homeschool our children for many reasons, but above all, we do not want them to attend the neighborhood schools. 

Three years ago, the house next door, a three-bedroom, two-bath single home, was lost in a foreclosure and sold in the Sheriff’s auction. A black “investor” purchased it for a few thousand dollars and turned it into a welfare rental.  The first woman moved in with her boyfriend and her two small children.  The next week, her sister moved in with three more children, all of her belongings packed in black trash bags.  The third woman moved in already pregnant with two small toddlers.   That is 11 people so far.  The women were all on welfare and sat all day on milk crates in the front yard while the children ran around the yard, some of the children naked or in diapers.  They all had amazingly elaborate hair braids, they spent a lot of time primping and preening their hair on the front porch. 

As the weeks past, the boyfriends began to move in.  There were at least four black men living in the house at the worst of times which brought the total number of residents to 15.  I believe the men were otherwise unemployed because they mostly sat around the house all day.  One of the women’s mothers moved in later.  The men all had fancy custom cars with fancy wheels and they spent hours polishing  rims while the loud music pounded from the cars.  Their male friends stopped by at all hours of the day and night, but someone was always home to guard the house.  I believe they had stolen goods and drugs in the home.  The men and dealt and used drugs, abused the women and children, and the couples performed various sex acts on the front porch in public view. About once a month, a father to one of the boys who had not moved in would drive to the house, and in a drunken state, forcefully take his young boy away.  This resulted in a lot of cursing, yelling and fighting.   

Each woman was assigned a social worker from Child Services.  We always knew when there was a visit because the children would be dressed in new brightly colored clothing, they would have new bicycles and toys, there would be a big trip to WalMart for food, the grass would be cut, and the house would get cleaned up a bit.  The men and most of the women and children always disappeared magically on these days, as the social service workers would attend to one group of women and children.  The women could hide their children at a black-run home daycare around the corner if necessary.  We noticed that this happened quite often, and at times I would see them running from the back of the house when the van pulled up in front.  They all seemed to have a network of “helpers” all around them. 

On inspection day, two or three white women in colorful hospital scrubs would drive up in a van carrying cloth bags full of books and puppets.  They would all smile and hug the children and make small talk as they walked up, and then enter the home for a few hours.  I would see the social workers leave, but always wanted to stop them and tell them about the horrible abuse and neglect that was taking place in the home.  I was afraid that the men would hurt me or my children if I did so, and I had no proof. 

One male neighbor “Frank” began to threaten us with his firearm when we finally called 911 for his drug dealing and loitering at the residence.  We found out that the last woman to move in was pregnant, smoking cigarettes, turning prostitution “tricks” in cars parked in front of the house, and she was on probation.  I would overhear her loud conversations on the phone.  All of the adult residents had cell phones with phone plans, and they shared a computer, stereo, TVs, satellite cable, cars, a new full-sized trampoline, and air conditioning. 

As time passed, we witnessed severe beatings of the children by their mothers, cursing, emotional abuse, domestic violence, and the list goes on.   One woman called her three-year-old boy “little faggot” and “little nigger.”  He always seemed to have a black eye and his little head looked misshapen.  The year I witnessed all of this was very hard on me as a mother.  I realized that some women can have children, but we can not call them mothers, at least it should not have the same meaning.  To give birth to a child must not automatically turn on the human emotions for all women.  I assume that these women started birthing early, most of them were in their early 20’s and the oldest child was around 11.  I eventually called Child Protective Services because I say a woman beating a girl child with the buckle end of a leather belt.  The child was screaming, and the windows were open, and as I looked up I saw her administer at least 30 lashes to the child’s backside.  I had had enough with these people and decided to take action.  

When the pregnant woman “LaToya” finally went into labor, two fire trucks full of firefighters and one ambulance showed up to take her to the local hospital which serves the poor.  I could not imagine how much service like this must cost the city. They loaded her on a stretcher and carted her away.  She disappeared for a few days, and then came back, alone it seemed.  I saw her outside every day sitting in the yard, but with no baby in arms.  I assumed that her child was born drug-addicted or underweight and that CPS took the baby away.  Turns out I was wrong.  The baby was left inside alone for hours while the woman smoked cigarettes and sat outside.   

One day I saw this woman outside with the baby and her two other toddlers, and she waved at a young man walking down the street.  He walked to her, and she loudly exclaimed, “Arianna!  That your daddy!   That your daddy!”  This was the first time the child had ever seen her father in her life.  It was a happy day for this mother, but I could not feel any human emotion at all.  She continued to tell the young man excitedly, “I have me a new baby now!  I have me a new baby now!”  I could not tell how to fit this all together.  The man showed up next day with new baby clothes, and clothes for his daughter.  He moved into the house for a few weeks until they began to fight and he took off.  

CPS began showing up to take photos of the abuse marks on the children, and to find out why they were missing school, and to inspect the house.  We had filed several complaints about welfare fraud and child abuse at this point.  They covered all the windows with bed sheets and blankets because they had not curtains. 

A few of the boyfriends were arrested on warrants for cocaine dealing and other charges.  The ATF trucks showed up one day, and we found out later that someone had robbed a local back and was hiding the money in the house (yes, with all of the children inside).   We worked with the local Police, Nuisance Abatement, and the Proseuctor’s Office to get the people evicted and were finally able to shut the place down. 

Eventually, the women and children all moved out, lugging their toys and belongings in black plastic trash bags.  I saw them move a small pink toddler bed out and it really broke my heart because I knew that it would never make any of these children feel precious like these things should.  The other children were sleeping on dirty mattresses on the floor.  The women threw the brown, urine-stained mattresses in the alley behind the house when they moved out.  They broke several windows in the house and tore up the front yard with their pickup truck. 

These welfare recipients always called us “poor” because we have a clothesline, a compost heap and a garden in front and back. I invited a few of the small children over once to pick an organic carrot from the yard and they were so excited!  They ran home to show their mothers, but came back immediately telling us, “Mama said it was nasty and dirty and made me bring it back.” I can not imagine the welfare fraud and child abuse that must have taken place during this time, but I realized that most of it was intentional and cultural.  I am not able to help any of this.  My solutions would not work, and I must focus on my own children and the future of my culture. When I try to have honest conversations about this with friends and family, they feel that I am too harsh.  Most have the “soft bigotry of low expectations,” but I have seen these things firsthand and it has made me less sympathetic.  I realize that this experiment must end.   

I feel very sad that I am supporting this behavior against my will through the forced charity system of taxation. My husband and I have given up on our dream home, and the wish for a decent neighborhood here.  We have vowed to save up as long as we have to and do without so we can get our children in a better place.

 

                                                                 — Comments —

Paul writes:

As a child, I remember Raymond, who should shame mothers, union members, and other “working men” or “blue-collars,” who fancy themselves as members of some hapless downtrodden class. Raymond was a man with the mind of a five-year old. Yet he worked in a bread factory most of his adult life, subjected (I expect) to teasing that one can only cry about if dwelled upon. And when it came time that his mother of ninety four developed dementia, he took care of her activities of daily living in a small two-room apartment that my grandmother rented until Raymond’s mother died. But now we have normal men and women given unemployment for two years, and there is no indication it will end. We have men and women giving in to lust and then demanding that the rest of us support the child. But union thugs (yes, in essence that is what union members are) seem to be the most wrongful because they encourage envy as a lifelong emotion.

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