TERRIFYING! Ex-KKK Leader Dies and Returns With a SHOCKING Message About Black People | Testimony

In a world often divided by race and prejudice, there are stories that force us to confront the darkest corners of our past. This is one of those stories—a testimony of truth, redemption, and the transformative power of love that breaks even the hardest of hearts. It is a story that begins in the deep South, in a place where hate was not just taught but celebrated.

A Life Shaped by Hate

My name is William Smith, and I am 75 years old. Before I take my last breath, I need to tell you the truth—a truth that has haunted me for the past 20 years. For most of my life, I was a member of the Ku Klux Klan, not just a follower but a leader. I believed I was a warrior for what I thought was God’s truth. I hated black people, seeing them as less than human, as cursed and inferior. I persecuted them, terrorized them, and attacked them—all while quoting the Holy Bible.

I was raised in Birmingham, Alabama, one of the most dangerous places for a black man to live at that time, not because of crime but because of men like me. My father was a senior Methodist pastor, a highly respected man of God. But he was not just a preacher; he was a gatekeeper of hate. His pulpit was his weapon, and his Bible was his shield. His words poisoned souls, and I was his most devoted disciple.

The Indoctrination of Hate

In our house, there was no love, only law and order. My father made it clear what God’s divine plan was: white men were born to rule, white women to submit, and black people to serve. This wasn’t a suggestion; it was law. I didn’t question it because my father’s voice was God’s voice to me.

The first time I heard about the curse of Ham, I was eight years old. My father preached from Genesis 9:25, declaring, “Cursed be Canaan; a servant of servants shall he be unto his brethren.” I didn’t understand it fully, but my father explained that this was why the black race was destined to serve. The congregation nodded and murmured “Amen,” and I believed him without question.

As I grew older, I witnessed the twisted teachings of my father manifest in horrific ways. I saw cross burnings celebrated as acts of righteousness, not violence. I was taught that we were God’s warriors standing against the corruption of the world. The flames that licked the sky were symbols of power and purity, and I felt pride in being part of it.

The Descent into Darkness

Hate is not something you’re born with; it’s something you’re taught. And I was taught by the best. My father indoctrinated me into a life of hatred, and I embraced it fully. I became one of the most feared clansmen in Alabama, terrorizing communities and justifying my actions with scripture.

As I stood alongside my fellow clansmen, I felt invincible. We were soldiers of righteousness, defenders of the faith. But the weight of my sins began to press down on me as I entered my fifties. The rage that had fueled my actions settled into my bones, making every step heavier. I had seen too much and done too much, and the darkness began to consume me.

The Night That Changed Everything

On April 15, 2004, I attended a clan gathering. I remember feeling off that night, a weight on my chest that I couldn’t shake. When I got behind the wheel of my truck, the pain intensified. I gasped, clutching my chest, and then everything went black.

When I opened my eyes, I was not in a hospital but in a dark void, surrounded by the screams of the tormented. I turned, but there was nothing to see—only darkness and wailing voices. Then, I heard a whisper calling my name: “William.” The moment I heard it, my blood turned to ice.

Suddenly, a blinding light tore through the void. It was alive, burning but not hurting. In the center of that light stood Jesus Christ, but not the version I had been taught. This was the real Jesus, the Son of God in all His glory. As I looked at Him, everything I was collapsed. All the hate, all the anger, all the lies—I wept like a child because I realized too late that I had been on the wrong side of history.

The Revelation of Truth

Jesus showed me my life in an instant. I saw myself as a boy in church, listening to my father’s sermons. I saw the violence I had inflicted on others, the hatred I had spread in His name. I fell to my knees, begging for forgiveness, but Jesus simply asked, “Who did you think I came for, William?”

In that moment, I understood the truth: Jesus came for the broken, for the oppressed, for the very people I had spent my life hating. I had been fighting against God Himself, and I had never even seen it.

The scenes shifted, and I found myself standing in my father’s church, hearing him preach the same hateful messages I had absorbed as a child. I saw the faces of those who had been indoctrinated just like me. I turned to Jesus, my voice shaking, “It’s in the Bible!” His eyes burned into mine. “Look closer.”

Suddenly, I was in ancient Israel, witnessing the curse of Canaan. I learned that it was not Ham who was cursed but Canaan, and his descendants were not the Africans but the Canaanites. The truth crashed into me like a hurricane—everything I had believed was a lie.

The Path to Redemption

When I returned to consciousness, I was back in the hospital, alive after being dead for three minutes. The first face I saw was that of a black nurse named Deborah. In that moment, I saw her as Jesus saw her—not as less than me, but as a child of God. I felt overwhelming shame for the hatred I had carried for so long.

I left the hospital with a mission: to expose the lies I had lived by and to seek redemption. Leaving the Klan was not just a personal decision; it was a declaration of war. I knew I would be marked for death, but I was no longer afraid.

Sharing the Truth

Weeks later, I was invited to speak at a black church in Atlanta. Standing before a congregation filled with people I once viewed as enemies, I shared my story. I confessed my past, the hate I had spread, and the truth I had discovered.

As I spoke, I could feel the weight of generations of pain in the room. Some people were shocked, while others were angry. But I pressed on, sharing how I had once believed I was a warrior for God, only to realize I had been fighting against Him all along.

When I finished, an elderly black woman approached me. She hugged me, and in that moment, I felt the power of grace. I had spent my life hating, but here I was, embraced by someone I had once wronged.

A New Purpose

For the next two decades, I traveled the country sharing my story, urging others to reject hate and embrace love. I stood before audiences, telling my truth, and while some listened, others mocked. Yet, I remained undeterred, knowing that my mission was to spread the message of redemption.

Now, at 75, I reflect on my life. I have seen the darkness of hate, but I have also experienced the light of truth. I do not know how much longer I have, but I want to leave you with this message: Hate is a prison. Truth is freedom.

Choose wisely, for eternity is waiting. When you stand before God, there will be no lies to hide behind—only the truth. And the truth will set you free or destroy you. The choice is yours.