The best are lost very early on in most cases. These kinds of kids don't grow up to solve problems and create innovation. They tend to their own private gardens if they survive at all. Before you know it, the thin genetic wedge of the best is reduced to zero in terms of what gain comes from their quarter.
Without them, civilization doesn't stand a ghost of a chance.
A lot of people think it is the kids who do most of the bullying of Asperger children when they are younger. They're wrong. The kids do plenty. However it is not the kids who really crush the Asperger child at a young age. The higher their native IQs, the harder they are are crushed and the earlier by these agents.
It's the adults, in particular the teachers, who are the chief oppressors of these round-eyed, guileless children. From the time they leave home to the time they exit the school system.
I was sitting in a history class in Monacan High School in Virginia, back in 1979 at the age of 17 in Homo Sapiens years, more like 10 years old emotionally and socially for a Neanderthal. Probably around 200+ years old intellectually. Everything is relative, of course.
The history teacher was running us through the familiar rigamarole and classic agitprop about how the early colonists in America were starving to death from crop failures and how the Indians saved them by showing them how to grow food. The first Europeans were apparently like newborns, pink and helpless with no knowledge of anything when they arrived on America's shores. At least, that was the story the teacher was telling us.
Now at the time, I was not really conscious. Nothing like I am now. I just had some simple thought processes you would expect of a guy who would a few years later be scored somewhere around 183+ in clinical supervised intelligence testing conducted with an observer behind mirror glass.
I raised my hand and asked without any implied agenda, "What was it about the new world that made it so hard to grow food there?" At the time, I remembered thinking the soils and conditions must have been vastly different from Europe, completely unexpected by the colonists. The teacher halted and there was a long uncomfortable pause. He always looked at me differently from all the other teenagers in my history class. There was a barely concealed rage and simmering disgust in his face he had trouble containing. "I'm sorry, Cleve, what was that?" He tried to put a bemused smile on, as if he was humoring me by listening.
"I was wondering why agriculture in America was so tough they needed the Indians to show them how to grow food," I asked. A ripple of giggles and titters ran through the classroom in response to the change in the teacher's face. He rolled his eyes and took a long look around the entire class before he finally came back to me. "What are you asking?" he said. Some kids giggled again. A kid sitting next to me who is dead now (apparently from AIDs) snickered and whispered "Stop wasting the teacher's time, Cleve."
I was starting to blush. I was ashamed I had asked. I already wished I had just zoned out during his rambling speech and not even tried to inquire about anything. The other kids were staring at me like I had just stripped naked and taken a dump on the floor.
I tried to recover, apologizing for the inappropriateness of my question. "They had been mass producing food in Europe for over a thousand years. Their agricultural practices were the most advanced in the world at that time. They had invented a hundred different useful implements out of common items like sticks and rope that improved their yields many times over, like the shoulder plow and the drag trencher. They had learned all manner of composting and crop rotation in different soils. What was it that made the New World so hard to grow food in that they needed the Indians to show them how?"
This clarification made him angry. Now it was his turn to get a little red. "They didn't know anything. I just told you," he sputtered. He glanced at the class again as if to get sympathy for having to deal with a reprobate like me at all. "Keep your questions until the end of class, Cleve." He took a deep breath like this was all a very big deal to recover from and pick up where he left off. He launched back into his story.
Of course, I could take a hint. When class ended I slipped out. I didn't know what was wrong at the time. It has taken me many years to sort it all out. I was after all, very young emotionally and in my understanding of the actual way that the minds of other people "work." If you could call it that.
Something really important to understand in this story is that there are no jewish people in it. You could blame them all you want for the ideology involved, the propaganda or the social engineering but the truth is ... there were no jewish people in that classroom. These were white gentiles oppressing the best of their own kind. Like black people are often criticized for, they are crabs in a box pulling back anyone who seems like they might get out. When I think of the boot on my neck, I don't blame jewish people. Maybe they are mere opportunists who know how to take advantage of any situation in order to survive and this could hardly be construed as a vice on their part.
When I look up with the boot on my neck, I always see my brother Jacob. Not a black person or a jew or a scientologist or a freemason. It's my brother Jacob who always has put his boot on my neck. That's why I don't blame these other people anymore because I can see clearly now who has always been stomping me when the opportunity arose for the past half-century. I consider it the final revelation.
There will never be peace between these two species of men, Jacob and Esau. Jacob has nothing to give his brother Esau. He can only take from him and will always envy and hate his brother Esau for this reason. Esau will always be his brother's servant until he can break the bonds his brother has placed on him and be free once again. There will never be a solution to this problem unless the children of Esau extricate themselves from a society that is not and can never be theirs. The two kinds of men are utterly different at the most fundamental genetic level.