Part 1 of 2 (Part 2 here)

It’s been twenty years since it premiered, and twelve since it concluded, so we can now claim with a dose of certainty that we have a historical perspective on it. Yes, folks, I’m talking about The Sopranos, David Chase’s crime drama that redefined modern television. Ditching the episodic format for season-long sagas while still presenting slice-of-life vignettes centered around Tony Soprano, The Sopranos made such hits as Breaking Bad, The Shield, and The Wire possible.

However, it is the opinion of this author that none of the now standard dramas on HBO and other networks can even come close to the grandeur of The Sopranos. No television show has even been so vivid, so lifelike. Part of this is because the series treats television as a visual medium to a much greater degree than other such dramas, and therefore is less exposed to the risk of wooden dialogue. Another reason is the superb chemistry of the ensemble cast. Not without a knowing smirk will I point out that, with a few exceptions, the cast is ethnically homogeneous. It is all eye-talians. Even its creator, David Chase, is Italian; his original family name was DeCesare. And yet another reason is that Chase wasn’t afraid to create characters who were genuinely larger-than-life. There’s something to be said about having been embedded in a community, unlike those other nerds writing for HBO. Men like Tony Soprano, “Big Pussy” Bonpensiero, Paulie Walnuts, and Uncle Junior actually exist. Flamboyant, bombastic, and effervescent wiseguys might offend the sensibilities of the dainty Anglo, but such men are real, and their indomitable will prevails. The enduring success of The Sopranos is a testament to man’s desire to venerate and honor strength and the strong.

Before I get into the meat of the series, let me deal with a few possible low-IQ retorts which might crop up.

Firstly, glorification of gangs and violence is not necessarily a bad thing. Men venerate and honor strength. If, for example, the state were on their side, they would venerate and honor the soldiers of the state. We see this in the success of movies like American Sniper, which is thin, thin gruel, but appears today as a feast in the desert. Absent venerable men serving the state, men will venerate anyone with strength and a willingness to use it. When Murray Rothbard said that the state is a gang of thieves writ large, he neglected to mention that a gang of thieves is a tiny state. The core competency of either a state or a gang of thieves is power projection. Enter gangsta rappers and mob bosses. In this sense, gangsters are soldiers and gang bosses are kings. The Sopranos is therefore, among other things, a study of power at the highest levels. However, since the Mafia mystique is quite different from that of the state, we are given a more honest appraisal of the nature of power than we would get from a biopic about a President.

Secondly, ixnay on that “Italians are not white” bullshit. Like all Mediterraneans, Italians belong to the white race. A problem arises, however, when Northwestern Europeans transition into racialist thinking, but retain the old us-versus-them dichotomy. They correctly recognize that Italians are not Northwestern European (or North Sea people), and mark them as “not us,” but erroneously apply the rhetoric of racialism, thus labeling Italians and other Mediterraneans as “not white.” The same applies to “Slavs are not white,” and the nineteenth-century “Irish are not white” contentions. The distinction between Italians and Northwestern Europeans – and specifically Anglo society – is quite important in The Sopranos, but it is neither helpful nor true if it outgroups Italians as non-white.

The Sopranos’ central conflict is the tension between Tony Soprano, family man, and Tony Soprano, “family” man. Our hero attempts to be a modern American father while maintaining his link to the criminal underworld. He has to juggle the responsibilities of a mob boss and those of a familial patriarch. Much of the conflict arises from the cultural incompatibilities between his two families. The Mafia is a vector of Deep Europe, a creature of the Mezzogiorno, that impoverished and war-ravaged southern half of the Italian peninsula: a proto-state in which a gang of men grouped together for mutual protection has been transformed into an organization capable of projecting its will outward.

The Soprano family is a modern American one, including a bratty teenage daughter, a slow-witted teenage son, and a mouthy wife with legal immunity from traditional disciplinary action. Big Boss Tony is pussy-whipped and disrespected by his children. His wife openly cavorts with and flirts with the local priest, something which amuses Tony but is a blatant challenge to his patriarchal rule. He is impotent when dealing with his children, in particular his teenage daughter Meadow, to whom he looks for his moral center and redemption, while she burns coal with a half-Jewish, half-black college student poetically named Jamal Ginsberg (Tony refers to him as “the Hasidic homeboy”). She also engages in Leftist activism and works with Muslim immigrants. Rather than rule, as is his duty as father and patriarch, Tony Soprano allows his wife to overrule him and coddle his children. It’d be easy to blame Soprano for being weak, but he has, as the children say, a Freudian excuse: He witnessed the systematic emasculation of his father by his narcissistic and downright evil mother throughout his childhood.

Tony’s relationship with his mother Livia is possibly the most psychologically intense conflict of the early seasons. Tony Soprano is a tortured man, torn between his sense of obligation as a dutiful son and his natural revulsion towards Livia’s evil and manipulative behavior. In another testament to the characters’ vividness, Livia Soprano is a chillingly accurate portrait of a narcissistic woman who spreads misery around herself in her old age. On the other hand, she dutifully informs her grandson Anthony Jr. that psychiatry is a racket for the Jews, so kudos to her. Female narcissism is centered around a woman’s beauty when the female is young, but as women age, they learn to use their frailty as a means of attracting attention. Livia presents a problem to Tony that defies solution, especially when she uses the burgeoning war between Tony and his Uncle Junior to carry out her own vendetta against Tony for putting her in a nursing home. If I were of that bent, I’d read into this behavior a metaphor for the Boomer refusal to bow out off the stage of history with dignity, insisting instead on doddering through their final years shorn of dignity and grace, earning for themselves the hatred of the young. But why should Junior care? He’ll die soon, anyway. Besides, he gave his life to his children on a silver platter!

Psychiatry, as it is portrayed in the show, is incredibly realistic. Tony Soprano has an anxiety attack. He is directed to see a psychiatrist. Given the choice of “two Jews and a paisan like me,” he picks Dr. Jennifer Melfi. She’s an attractive woman whose professional aloofness attracts Tony’s hunter instincts – he wants to have her. Melfi trots out that tired old bromide about “transference,” which is to say that patients develop romantic feelings about a therapist because the therapist is an open ear and a shoulder to cry on, which is mistaken by the patient as romantic openness. Nothing can be further from the truth. A virile man lusting after an attractive woman is the most natural thing in the world, and will happen regardless of her disposition. In fact, professional aloofness will only whet the man’s hunger. Personally, I have myself made the mistake of seeing an attractive female therapist for my own psychological treatment. Here’s a free piece of advice for you young bucks seeking psychiatric help: Get a male therapist or, if you can suffer their presence, an old woman. However, do bear in mind that psychiatry is indeed a racket for the Jews, or more precisely for the disproportionately Jewish pharmaceutical industry, as well as a social control method for the liberal world order.

Predictably, Dr. Melfi dopes Tony up something fierce on a cocktail of psychotropics to treat his depression, anxiety attacks, and sundry dissatisfaction. The underlying issue of why this wildly successful man – successful in every sense of the word – is depressed and anxious is something that dominates the therapy sessions and is indeed the psychological underpinning of the whole show. That the answer is as plainly obvious as the nose on our faces doesn’t faze the show’s creator, nor the characters, nor indeed much of the audience, because ours is a society predicated on ignoring the obvious and seeking out irrational and magical explanations for the consequences of ignoring the obvious.

Rounding out Tony’s personal cycle and bridging into his criminal lifestyle is his Uncle Junior, the given name of Corrado Soprano, his father’s brother and father figure. Masterfully portrayed by Dominic Chianese, even the all-powerful Tony Soprano “may run North Jersey, but you don’t run your Uncle Junior! How many fuckin’ hours did I spend playin’ catch with you?” Uncle Junior is another one of those vivid, larger-than-life characters. Bald, bespectacled, unmarried in his late 60s, and biding his time to become the boss following the death of Jackie Aprile, Sr., Junior’s relationship with his nephew Tony is genuinely tragic. He is maneuvered into the position of boss by his nephew, who secretly holds all the power, following advice from Dr. Melfi on dealing with recalcitrant elders. When he finds out, Uncle Junior reacts as any king would when his power is compromised: retaliating with lethal force against Tony. Whereas Livia encourages Junior to kill Tony out of petty sadism, Junior legitimately sees Tony as a threat to his power and takes steps to protect his position. He is distressed when he gives the order.

In this situation, Uncle Junior is an Emperor Tiberius figure. His claim to the throne relies on the deaths of everyone else, and seniority, but when he gets it, he is too old and bitter to enjoy it, instead “eating alone” – which is to say denying subordinate mobsters the opportunity to earn and hoarding all the profits for himself. He even comes with a sleazy Sejanus in tow in the form of Mickey Palmice – thankfully not portrayed by Patrick Stewart in a wig – who is Junior’s part consigliere, part buttonman, and part servile and insufferable ass-kisser. The conflict between Tony and Uncle Junior is part of the tension that exists in every hierarchical organization between seniority and merit. The two are different categories, and both must be honored if the organization is to survive – and sometimes they come in conflict. Should the reins be held by the obviously capable Tony or the vastly experienced Junior? The situation is resolved in a war which claims the lives of several mobsters and results in Junior’s installment as a puppet boss while Tony serves as the actual decision-maker. In this sense, Junior is as much a recalcitrant boomer as Livia, though he at least has a case for his right to rule, where Livia has none.

In the second season, we are introduced to Janice Soprano, Tony’s wayward sister who has spent the past decades as a West Coast hippie. She barrels into the family and starts causing trouble for everyone, from fomenting misbehavior in her niece Meadow to maneuvering to strip-mine Livia’s property by acting as her primary caregiver and chief beneficiary, while also mooching off Tony himself. We are treated to the spectacle of an ugly, middle-aged fat woman using her sexuality to seduce various violent and perverted mobsters in order to secure her material well-being. While she has the same Freudian excuses as Tony, she has none of his redeeming qualities. Anthony John Soprano, Sr. is a creature of intellect and will, in control of his violence – a king. Janice Soprano is a maelstrom of dysfunction, perversion, gluttony, and greed, wrapped in the false spirituality characteristic of low-functioning narcissists – not to imply that high-functioning narcissists are spiritual, they’re just better at faking it. Indeed, the narcissistic personality cannot conceive of a being or thing greater than itself, and automatically rejects any idea of God. Nevertheless, feigning religiosity is part of the narcissist’s mask of sanity. In Janice, we see a younger Livia of limited intellect. The old girl knew how to pull the strings of the most powerful mobsters in North Jersey, while her daughter is hapless in the face of such wannabes as Richie Aprile and Ralph Cifaretto.

To finish our portrait of the Soprano family, we need to take a look at Christopher Moltisanti, Tony’s “nephew” (actually Tony’s second and Carmella’s first cousin) who is being groomed to take over from Tony as well as to be the insulating point man who stands between Tony and the DiMeo crime family. Tony’s plan to avoid either the can or the grave is to issue orders only through his nephew, relying on blood. It’s a great idea, as nothing can quite replace familial affiliation as a loyalty motivator – just as long as the trusted family member is not a moron who thinks he is living in a movie. As Donald Trump would demonstrate in real life, nepotism only works if your nephew (or son-in-law) is actually and exclusively loyal to you, and not a dumbfuck. Christopher is a competent button man and goombah, but as we follow his criminal career, we see him falling victim to the Peter principle and getting himself promoted to a position he’s not suited to handle. In fact, the show is in many ways a long litany of Christopher’s fuckups and Tony putting out those many fires until Christopher’s death in the sixth season. Christopher would like nothing better than to be his uncle’s right-hand man, but his true loyalties lie elsewhere: He is a slave to heroin and booze, and it shows. Christopher has his uses, but he is not leadership material. He’s not even an effective lieutenant. More often than not, he’s a liability. His fiancée, Adriana La Cerva, is a fine example of the model American woman: barren, obsessed with “independence” and business success, attractive and yet abrasive, an enabler for an abusive addict, and a fifth columnist for the state in a very direct fashion.

If we understand The Sopranos as a study of power, then we understand that men like Christopher are common in aristocratic families. They are the undershoots and overshoots of the very narrow target: the leadership neurotype which runs in aristocratic families; the striving, highly intelligent, sub-sociopathic creature of indomitable will and pragmatic ruthlessness who nevertheless believes himself to be good and moral. Christopher is a failure in it that he doesn’t get the joke about the glamour of the Mafiosi, he lacks Tony’s intelligence and self-control, and doesn’t even have the required ruthlessness; his violence is intermittent, impulsive, and stupid, an overshoot of striving. Tony doesn’t realize this until the sixth season, and his reward is the thankless job of putting out Christopher’s many fires.

I hope to see a rehabilitation and mass adoption of sociobiology and its thought tools in the years to come. The notion of society, human affairs, and politics as products of biology and the social sphere influencing biology, rather than the two magisteria being separate from each other, seemed intuitive to our ancestors, before socio and bio were cruelly rent from each other in the inglorious culmination of mind-body dualism which has plagued Western philosophy since the time of Plato.

For reasons historic as well as hubristic, Western man dislikes thinking of himself as an animal. We use comparisons to animals as insults in all European languages, German considering them as particularly severe. Our friends in dearly denuded Deutschland use essen for consumption done by humans and fressen when the same act is done by animals. In part, this is justified: Eating is much more than consumption of sustenance for man (or should be, at any rate). On the other hand, by forgetting our animal nature we destroy the biological basis of our existence and cease to exist.

A part of the Dissident Right movement is almost solely dedicated to bringing sociobiological thinking back into discourse. We call these people the human biodiversity (HBD) crowd. They have the perennial favorites of racial IQ differences, racial differences in criminality, and gender differences in physical aptitude, among others. They are very good at gathering the data on the bio part of sociobiology, but they rarely venture into the socio bit, partly because venturing into it armed with biology is a very good way to invite deplatforming, persecution, fines, arrests, and harassment from the ruling regime — partly because semi-autistic data-crunching HBD people rarely have the personality type to see the sociological picture. Specifically, they usually lack the ability to extrapolate out a forest from the individual trees. When they try to, the results are usually embarrassing. For this reason, while the biological component of sociobiology is usually very well covered, in the socio components there be for the most part dragons.

Let’s demonstrate the nature of the imbalance by presenting a problem we’re painfully familiar with: white demographic displacement. Due to mass immigration of non-whites into white countries and the higher birthrates of non-white populations, white people are being displaced from their homelands. We all know the projections; there’s even a countdown clock. This is very obviously a problem; a biological problem. And biological problems require biological solutions. An obvious answer presents itself: Make white babies.

The exhortation for white people, and especially racially-conscious white people, to reproduce, and to reproduce at a higher rate than they would otherwise, is one of the most common reactions of people exposed to the problem of white demographic displacement. It is a very direct way of tackling the problem: We must outbreed the blacks and browns. The white birthrate is too low, so we must boost it. It also appeals to our biases, formed by the prevailing liberal interpretative framework (negative liberty, state inaction), which dictates the organizational framework — the model for our institutions (primacy of the individual) — that in turn produces the operational framework (private and individual action). You can read more about the concept of the interpretative, organizational, and operational framework model of human political action here.

The urge to counsel breeding is an attempt to solve a biological — or more precisely, ecobiological — problem through biological means. Indeed, making more white babies is a way of solving the demographic crisis. However, it is also one which is very unlikely to work due to some oft-ignored facts about white and non-white reproductive strategies. White people are indeed having fewer children than we did before, but even at our peak reproductive levels we were still having fewer children per woman than the average non-white. We also had a later average marriage age, thus lengthening our generations. White people are strongly K-selected, meaning we have fewer offspring and invest heavily in them. Non-whites in general are to varying degrees r-selected, which is to say favoring more offspring with less parental investment in them. This is the first fact.

The second fact is that Western states are subsidizing non-white reproduction and punishing white reproduction by disproportionately taxing and prosecuting white people while paying social transfers — welfare, food aid, medical aid, free housing, etc. to non-whites — and allowing non-white criminality to augment their incomes. The destabilizing economies in the West also work against white fertility, since the K-selected white people are unsure they can invest highly into their children in precarious economic conditions, whereas they don’t faze the r-selected non-whites — who breed like rabbits come hell or high water.

But since society is a biological phenomenon and human biology is a social phenomenon, and given that the one merges into the other like the two halves of a peach, each human biological problem has a social solution. The reality is that the West’s demographic crisis can be solved without any changes to the white birthrate merely by closing the borders to non-whites and expelling those already in white countries. This is a political solution which requires that White Nationalists seize control of the state and use its power to enforce our vision of the white ethnostate.

This is of course a tall order, but it is less unlikely than raising white birthrates to the levels necessary to outbreed non-whites, and the beauty of it is that it can be implemented at any stage of the replacement process. A state whose population is only 30% white can still be taken over by White Nationalists and gradually expel non-whites until it is 100% white. However, a state where whites are 90% of the population and breeding at a rate of 1.8 children per woman, while the non-white population breeds at a rate of 3.4 children per woman, and where there is mass non-white immigration every year, is still doomed to become majority non-white even if the White Nationalists within it counsel fighting the rising tide of color merely with increased reproduction rather than with political power. The invasive non-whites must be expelled from the country — the biome, if you will — if the native population is to recover and survive.

Being aware of differences between races in terms of biological parameters such as IQ, skull size, reproductive strategies, and so on is not enough. One must also take into account the effect which state policy has on the evolution of a people. At some point in the distant past of civilized nations, state policy became the preeminent Darwinian selection pressure acting on the human genome, rising above the weather and other creatures in deciding whether a given genetic line would continue or end. At the time of writing, state policy in the West favors compliance, low IQ, impulsivity, and criminality, as well as those belonging to any of the non-white races. Independence, intelligence, self-restraint, lawfulness, and whiteness are punished by state policy in their reproductive aspect. Aside from the demographic displacement of whites from their ancestral homelands, this will also lead to a dumbing-down of society — the beginnings of which we’re already starting to observe. This dumbing-down can be mitigated by expelling all non-whites from white countries, as this would raise the average IQ, but the state must also take action to ensure the reproduction of intelligent, independent-minded, lawful, and conscientious people.

This is what was traditionally known as eugenics — but again, an explicit eugenics program is a direct solution which is likely to fail due to a combination of the human heart’s fickleness and uncertainty of what “eu” (good) really is or could be at any point in the future. All we can really know is the human phenotype, whereas the genes and their expressions in the world of men are and are likely to remain a mystery. What is dysfunctional in one age is invaluable in another, and we breed this “dysfunction” out of ourselves at our peril.

What is necessary is subtle societal intervention — not in the choosing of individuals to breed or genes to proliferate (even the smartest among us are too dumb to make that choice), but rather in creating conditions where excellence is rewarded; or in other words, constructing a framework in which an intelligent, lawful, conscientious man will be more highly valued, in terms both economic and sexual, than an unintelligent, criminal, and inconstant man. Equally counterproductive to the goal of ensuring the reproduction of the best is the approach of calling on high-IQ, conscientious, and lawful men to learn the tricks of the pick-up artist, sometimes known as game. It requires that the man wear another personality over his true character as a mask. It may be a personal solution which some men can implement to attain female companionship, but it is not a scalable solution. High-IQ men should concern themselves with other, better things than learning psychological tricks with which to woo women. What’s necessary is constructing conditions under which those men, without any special training, can find wives for themselves. Conditions under which high-IQ, lawful, and conscientious men are preferred to low-IQ, criminal, and inconstant men are historically rare and fragile, requiring a massive, society-wide constraint on female hypergamy we sometimes call “the patriarchy.” But such a societal framework must be constructed and implemented if we are to succeed in heading off the mass dumbing-down of society, even among whites.

Our worldview owes a lot to biology, and our policy recommendations must reflect biological insights. We are Darwinians, we are racial identitarians, and we are White Nationalists. Our political formula depends on demarcating political lines along the already existing divisions between man’s biological categories. We must also understand that society is an aspect of our biology, as much a part of our bodies as any other organ, and we are as much part of it as the organs are of the body. We cannot be considered physically and mentally healthy until we live in a healthy society.

We are strange mammals, incomplete and without axis mundi, our brains being so evolved and our bodies so dependent on other men that we’ve lost the ability to exist as individuals or even as isolated families. Individual approaches may work locally, but they are spray-and-pray. The only certain and lasting solutions to our problems can come from organized collective action in the construction of functional frameworks for the society we want to manifest.

Here’s an uncomfortable truth: You are going to die. Not right now, probably not all that soon, but you will.

Here’s an even less comfortable one: Before you die, you’ll get old. Not all of you, but most will. Your skin will lose its luster, your hair will go gray or fall out, your strength, vitality, and energy will leave you. Your worst enemy will be your stomach. Your organs will show signs of imminent failure. You’ll become slower, remembering will be a chore, and you’ll be crankier. The world will be one big unruly child bebopping and skedaddling across your lawn and all you’ll be able to do is shake your cane at it, powerless to stop the inevitable march of time. And make no mistake, time will march on you and ravage you like a steppe nomad bursting into a late-stage degenerate civilization’s repository of gold and women.

Well, you can take action to mitigate the effects of time and live your golden years in relative comfort. You need to work out, eat right, and above all, have a family, have children and grandchildren who will give you purpose into your old age. And still time will run you down like yonder savage horseman.

Time has done a number on Joe Biden. He has hairy legs and they turn blond in the sun, so he learned about roaches and children jumping on his lap. He loves children jumping on his lap.

A major candidate for President of the United States of America is having an extended senior moment while African Americans in Wilmington, Delaware, laugh at his garrulity. Moments like this make you appreciate being young and in full command of your faculties. My grandfather, God rest his soul, couldn’t walk for the last two weeks of his life, found it difficult to move in the last 6 months, but God be praised, remained sane and his speech made sense until the end. Joe Biden is a source of amusement to us, but let’s not forget that this guy has a serious shot at the presidency. This doddering old pantaloon is gonna have access to the nuclear football. For eight years, he was one prep overdose away from the presidency.

The rest of the presidential field is similarly wizened. The four people likeliest to become the next president, Donald Trump, Joe Biden, Bernie Sanders, and Elizabeth Warren, are all septuagenarians. Michael Bloomberg, a late joiner who might just be the sanest choice in the Democratic field, is 78. Rounding out the Boomer Brigade is Bill Weld, whose pitiful attempt to primary Donald Trump doesn’t even evoke the satirical aspect of a Vermin Supreme campaign. Then it’s a drop down to Marianne Williamson who’ll be a spry whippersnapper of 68 come Inauguration Day 2020.

It’s interesting that the Dissident Right got really excited about Tulsi Gabbard and Andrew Yang, who at ages 38 and 44 are some of the youngest in the field. Make of that what you will.

Between Sloppy Joe’s hairy legs and roaches and Bernie’s heart attack, this raises serious questions about the quality of leadership America’s ruling class has to offer. I won’t jump on the Trump health scaremongering train, but I will point out that even a relatively healthy 74-year-old man doesn’t have the same energy he did when he was 54. Even if he does, indeed, have a young wife. Maybe that’s why he delegates everything to Kushner.

Time grinds everything down, every man is eventually conquered by time. Gerontocracy is rule by men who are either defeated or are about to be. It is also the hallmark of dying regimes – before they go tits up, countries are ruled by the old. The old usually lack the energy to fight the entrenched interests. Inertia and sclerosis are the rule. Plunderers move in to strip-mine the realm as wizened Fisher-Kings resign themselves to their fate and maybe shake their canes impotently at the plunderers. Sometimes they tweet about how they’re monitoring the situation.

The problem with the political class is reflective of a broader problem in the West, where wealth inequality between the old and the young is becoming scary. Now, nobody in their right mind would argue for intergenerational redistribution of wealth to achieve equality between the generations. The old have been around for longer and they therefore have more – this is very natural. There is however a difference between the old having more than the young and the old having everything and the young nothing. Especially if the young are being priced out of the housing market. No house means no roots means no family. We in the Dissident Right like to speak of a traditional family, where the husband is the breadwinner and the wife is the homemaker, but in reality, young people cannot afford to live like this, nor can they afford a house even on two incomes. Living in a pod is a necessity of modernity.

Now, the lack of upward mobility is not entirely the fault of the old – the political elites have their own reasons for keeping the young impoverished and on the edge of poverty). Yet it’s helpful to think of labor-driven wealth generation not only as the leveraging of skill/knowledge inputs for money in the market, but also as securing market access for oneself, in order to leverage those skills and knowledge. Imagine the world’s greatest computer scientist magically teleported to the 16th century, or a desert island with no internet connection. His skill is now useless. If we cannot access the market, it might as well not exist.

The flipside of securing market access, the ugly side if you will, is erecting barriers to entry for people who would access the market once you’re on the inside. To not do so is to risk dilution of one’s market power through the laws of supply and demand. Those who are out want in, those who are in want to keep others out. However, those who are in want new people to come in, preferably through them, to do their bidding and enhance their status within the market by being part of their patronage network. Those out want in, but they want to guard their insider status once they’re in.

A consensus, therefore, arises of a semi-permeable barrier to entry in the market, and the way in was “the old boys’ network.” The problem with admitting new kids through the old boys’ network for the older boys, however, is that new kids are always a threat to old men – those young whippersnappers are faster on their feet, have more energy and are hungrier (which should never be underestimated as a motivator). They are a threat to your position, their ambition is boundless – some of them succeed in reaching the top through shortcuts and do not honor the pecking order.

In the olden days, the old made peace with their eventual replacement by the young by engineering the rise of their young, so that at least the guy taking your job is your son. The problem, as usual, is individualism. You can always slam the door shut or only admit relative incompetents (nonwhites) in order to protect your status against the encroachment of youth. Once you start guarding market access for yourself and start defining “me” as not “me and my people,” where people can mean anything from your nation to your family, but as actually “me,” well, then, you’re enriching yourself at the expense of the next generation’s market access. You’re pulling up the ladder behind you; you’re devouring the future of the young for your own narrow, shortsighted, hedonic interests.

I am always shaken to the core by the tales of the old men who would “go hunting” in the dead of winter, when food was scarce, in order to increase, if even by a tiny margin, the likelihood of their family’s survival. Our lives are our most precious possessions, to give them away is the ultimate sacrifice. To judge oneself too weak to contribute, to humble oneself to the reality of hunger and cold is the ultimate humility. To take the step away from the hearth and into the frozen wilderness, to give oneself entirely over to the darkness of deep, cold winter is a kind of heroism.

As the snows close in on Europe and North America, I think to myself, what is the exact opposite of this sacrifice? And the answer barges in with the social graces of a scantily clad 63-year-old cougar on the prowl for man-flesh: the reverse mortgage. I can think of no bigger fuck-you to the next generation than devouring one’s accumulated property to have one last piss-soaked hurrah before croaking, instead of bequeathing them an inheritance. After all, the proverbial 63-year-old cougar needs money for her plastic surgery, her trashy clothes, and her travels to poorer climes where young men are willing to overlook a dearth of fertility markers for a wad of American currency, and I doubt that Social Security covers those expenses. And who cares if your children resent you for your callousness and profligacy? You can always hire Mexicans to swap out your bedpan in hospice care.

Oh, and you’ll of course keep voting for and donating to yesterday’s politicians and boost yesterday’s ideas, crowding out the politics and ideas of the young. Baby Boomers hurl shovelfuls of money at Ben Shapiro and TPUSA in order to relive their Reaganite glory days, thereby preventing the rise of serious alternatives in both the political and ideas realm – we had the Groyper Wars in part due to this. One can hardly bring up any form of state intervention in the economic system, even if only to reassert sovereignty in the economic sense without loud harrumphs about “soshulism.” And good luck getting these stubborn oldsters to admit that the old boy networks they used to get in and then dismantled were actually good things.

The internet has more than enough bitter denunciations of boomers and boomerism. I don’t want this to be the takeaway from this article.

Personally, I have been lucky. My elders have been, on the whole, fair to me. My other grandfather, who is still alive, is one of those oldsters who rages against the dying of the light, but not in a futile and vainglorious revolt against aging, but in fighting like a lion for the prosperity of his children and grandchildren. As we walk through town, those old eyes still twinkle when they see “for sale” signs – grandpa’s always had a nose for real estate. We go to his orchard to pick apples, and I bring a friend to help – and to assess the viability of setting up a cider brewing operation. Grandpa already has a general idea on how to do it – he doesn’t even know what cider is, but he knows growing, he knows producing, he knows buying and he knows selling.

He says to me, “I will be gone in 10 years, most likely.” My heart sinks and I bow my head. He grabs my hand. No, Nicky, listen to me. I will be gone in 10 years, but you can run this property. I don’t think your mother is interested. The land over here is good, but back home it’s no good for agriculture, you might want to develop it. We were talking about the foot path, you should get the city to pay for it, even if you do build it yourself. Your brother and cousins are still young, you’ll have to help them. He pauses. He gets lost deep in thought. If you don’t know him, it looks like a senior moment, but it’s not. I too sometimes stop mid-sentence to think. I feel the weight of the land pressing down on me. Our people lived here. My grandpa’s grandpa was headman of this village.

So, instead of the usual “well, I’m a baby Boomer and I am nothing like that” in the comments, how about you oldsters do something for the youth. It doesn’t have to be much. Often, what the youth craves more than resources, or even market access is respect. For God’s sake, don’t do the reverse mortgage thing – if you really do have to mortgage your property, take out a loan to help your children start a business (which is what my grandfather did for my mother). Transfer knowledge and essential skill, transfer your invaluable experience. Accept the fact that you’ll probably be gone from the world sooner rather than later and set your affairs accordingly – think about how your estate can be used to further ideas which will protect your progeny.

Stop thinking of yourself as “me,” but as us. You are your children, your grandchildren, and your extended genetic group – your nation. This is good general advice for the young, as well. Seek out your elders, especially those worthy of respect and reverence and learn from them. Loneliness is a scourge characteristic of our age – none are worse affected by it than elders.

Most importantly, for elders, understand that at some point you have to make way for the youth. Not only because it’s their turn, but you’ll also save yourself some embarrassment. The last thing anyone needs is to be caught on video talking about their hairy legs and children on their lap. Have the decency to age gracefully and not get too deep into politics – it is, after all, a young man’s game.

The ongoing conflict between Conservative Inc. and the America First wing of the Right has escalated. Whereas previously Conservative Inc. has been getting it good and hard from the intrepid groypers, this recent engagement at North Carolina State University has seen Conservative Inc. improvising and adapting to, if not quite overcoming, the amphibian opposition. Charlie Kirk, who’d managed to get himself quite a reputation as a punching bag for green-fisted questioners, actually fought back. Several online pundits – even so-called Groyper Generals such as Nick Fuentes – have declared the event a defeat, and they are in a sense right. In another sense, the North Carolina event, if less than perfect, cannot be quite painted as a defeat. This is for several simple, yet counterintuitive reasons which will be the subject of this analysis.

First, let’s get the obvious out of the way. There were at least several false-flag plants among the audience whose mission was to associate the America First patriots with neo-Nazism, stupidity, and defunct organizations, chief among them the fuckhead who rushed to the microphone when Charlie Kirk shoehorned Identity Evropa into the discussion. However much Conservative Inc. is paying him, it ain’t enough. This hurt the optics of the questioners something fierce. Secondly, the venue was smaller, which allowed Turning Point USA (TPUSA) to limit the amount of people who were present, and you can bet your bottom dollar that they screened against young, white men with alpha physiognomy, given that this is your model groyper. Thirdly, much of the low-hanging fruit with regard to tough questions had already been picked in previous events, so unless groypers want to repeat questions, they have to improvise and invent ever new ones. This is tough under the best of circumstances – and the circumstances weren’t even good.

Moving on, we observe in this event not just the usual passive-aggressive venue manipulation, line-jumping by TPUSA plants, and evasiveness by cuckservatives, but outright hostility and deception by Charlie Kirk. The first questioner’s question was derailed by a hostile Kirk forcing him to either endorse or denounce Identity Evropa, which he holds is “a neo-Nazi organization which intended to overthrow the government.” This was despite the fact that Identity Evropa (consistently mispronounced “Yevropa” by Chuckie Boy) being a defunct organization which was none of these things even when it existed. This led to the aforementioned TPUSA plant volunteering to defend this strawman of Identity Yevropa and wresting the microphone from the genuine groyper. For those interested in how Charlie managed to force this issue, this video by Steve Franssen should provide valuable insights. Overall, Charlie was biting back, answering questions with questions, and hectoring in a hostile tone. We are once again reminded of the long-term damage wrought to our movement by short-sighted people, like the ones who delivered this rhetorical weapon into Charlie Kirk’s hands. Any future nationalist movement will have to burn off this deadwood, whether it comes from White Nationalism 1.0 or the failures of the Alt Right period.

Here we arrive at the first way in which this defeat has traces of victory in it. Charlie Kirk and the rest of Cuckservative Inc. like to present themselves as rational, even-minded, and fair people, in contrast to the insane, mercurial, and bullying Left. Charlie might have beaten back the groyper question onslaught this time, but he did it by acting like a bully swinging at Yevropian phantoms. There is fault in the groypers, too, for preparing to deal with tame and gelded Charlie and not Ghostbuster Charlie, but the fact that Conservative Inc. has been forced to put on its war face is a minor victory in itself – especially since that war face is not quite warlike, but rather, bitchy and bullying. Schoolyard, not battleground. He sounds very much like a beta who first reads about negging women in order to get laid and then goes to the nearest woman and calls her a dirty whore in a shrill voice. This is in keeping with the conception that Conservative Inc. is staffed by low-energy, low-testosterone cucks. The war face and war tone are not a good fit for Chuckie Boy, and while this sudden change of tactics may have caught the groypers off-guard, in the long run, he cannot pull it off convincingly.

But even if Charlie and Co.’s newfound hostility does turn out to be an effective groyper repellent, it ultimately costs them more than it costs us. I will now draw an analogy with a military conflict, so to any and all disingenuous and dishonest journalists, Leftists, cuckservatives, federal agents, wignats, and other species of pond scum: THIS IS NOT AN ENDORSEMENT OF OR INCITEMENT TO ILLEGAL ACTION.

During the Troubles in Northern Ireland, one of the greatest IRA victories came without much fanfare and did not lead to jaunty folk rock tunes about single-handedly taking out a column of British armored vehicles. By placing IEDs on the roads, the IRA forced the British Army to travel around Northern Ireland in helicopters, burning expensive helicopter fuel rather than comparatively cheaper gasoline, just to avoid casualties. This greatly escalated the price of the conflict for the British government, increasing the pressure to come to an accord with the IRA, and ultimately leading to the Good Friday Agreement which ended the conflict in the IRA’s favor. Now that the analogy has been made, the author disavows terrorist organizations, the construction and deployment of IEDs, and composing jaunty folk rock songs about liquidating members of the Royal Ulster Constabulary with an assault rifle.

The measures that Charlie Kirk has taken to eke out this stalemate masquerading as a victory against the groypers run contrary to the nature of both TPUSA and the broader cuckservative establishment. Their self-cultivated image of the open-minded, rational, and fair alternative to the nutcases and bullies of the Left falls apart if they point and sputter at defunct organizations in tones which are equal parts schoolyard bully and annoying yenta. So much for the rational Right.

Doesn’t sound like much? No, it doesn’t. But it is. If you force a boxer to fight like a wrestler, pretty soon he’s going to make a catastrophic mistake, even if the sudden change of stance throws you off your game on your first encounter. Similarly, in chess, the chaotic and improvisational style of amateurs can throw even grandmasters off balance, but the grandmaster will always recover from the initial shock and deliver a brilliant victory in the next game. Chuckie Boy’s mask of toughness does not become him.

Understanding these hidden victories is the key to understanding Fourth Generation Warfare. I warmly recommend that everyone reading this read the Fourth Generation Warfare Handbook by William S. Lind. In this sense, the groypers are a fourth generation political force, and victory doesn’t come in the shape of your classical rout, but rather in forcing the enemy to systematically play against type. This has been achieved in North Carolina. Now we look to the next encounter, in Texas, in order to observe the behavior of our enemy.

However, we’d be remiss if we did not look at ourselves and see that there is room for improvement. A new and improved fourth generation groyper may be necessary for the upcoming slog with Conservative Inc.’s machinery of evil. Steve Franssen urges groypers to familiarize themselves with Kirk’s trickery in the video linked above. Nick Fuentes has some advice and criticism of his own for the groypers. I generally agree with both of those takes, but with a caveat: Do not think of them as scripts. The classic mistake of betas trying to “learn game” is to think of it as a script to be implemented – and so you get the bitchiness demonstrated by Charlie Kirk.

Far better, in my humble opinion as a former actor, director, insurance salesman, and current attorney, is to actively transform yourself into a person capable of not only implementing what the groyper generals prescribe, but also thinking on your feet – and maybe a little bit of generalship yourself. This is a difficult and arduous task which will take a long time, but successfully completing it might just be the smartest thing you ever do – not just for the groyper wars, but for your entire life.

The key to becoming the kind of guy who can defend himself from Charlie Kirk’s attempts to reframe the discussion and even actively dominate Charlie Kirk is confidence. Confidence in yourself is, in my experience, the absence of fear (or more precisely, its conquest by courage). I heard a lot of shaky voices from groypers in the North Carolina video. Maybe the lack of fellow groypers in the audience (a situation purposefully engineered by TPUSA) discouraged them, but my instincts as a penniless hipster director who had to work with amateur actors tells me that they had a bad case of stage fright.

Stage fright can be fought in two ways. The first is rehearsing, which you ought to be doing anyway, and since we’ve now seen what Chuckie and probably other cuckservative puppets will do, you should rehearse with a friend who will play the role of Charlie Kirk. Make sure that your friend doesn’t play a caricature of whomever you’re questioning, and that he is presenting not a strawman but a steelman. You will have to outwit Charlie Kirk and fight off his reframes.

The second way is increasing your adrenaline tolerance. Experienced actors do not get stage fright because their systems handle adrenaline differently. Most of you reading this will probably not go out seeking glory on the boards of a theater, so the most practical way to flood your system with adrenaline is to practice martial arts, and specifically, open sparring, which you should be doing anyway. Nothing else in the civilian world compares. Once you’ve faced the oncoming fist of another man, Chuckie’s loaded questions will slide off you like crimes off a Clinton.

Take this with a big caveat: Not all of us are cut out for verbal swordplay, even against someone as hapless as Charlie Kirk, not to mention a motormouth like Ben Shapiro. And even if you are, you might not have the improvisational skills necessary to head off all attempts at reframing the conversation. Research your question, head off possible rabbit holes the enemy might want to lead you down, and keep your eyes on the ball. Train your body and mind to withstand the terror of scrutiny and attention, especially hostile attention. Do everything in your power to boost confidence. Tailoring and grooming become important not just due to optics, but also to give you that spring in your step, the hallmark of the well-dressed Chad. And if you feel you’re not up for it, step out of line. Live to fight another day.

The Groyper Wars have gone beyond the initial bombast. Conservative Inc. has cycled between gatekeeping tactics, from ignoring, mockery, indignation, and censorship, and seems to have stumbled upon a combination of bullying, manipulation, and reframing as a halfway successful counter to groyper questions. They are, however, playing against type, and cannot act as tough guys for much longer. It is now up to the groypers to adapt to this development. Above all, we have to watch the behavior of the beast and other actors – chief among them, President Trump. The battlefield is always changing, always shifting, and the rules of engagement and tactics are in flux. Vigilance, courage, and mastery of self will win the day.

What, you thought it would be easy? You’re better than that, anon.

One of my earliest memories of the theatre is a Christmas play about Santa Claus teaming up with Batman and Robin to protect Christmas from the Joker. I am near certain that none of the ticket proceeds went to DC, as it was staged in the early 90s in the former Yugoslavia. Even today, we have a cavalier attitude to intellectual property laws, especially the convoluted and unenforceable kind that American and Western European governments pass. Ever since then, I’ve been a Batman fan. And even more than that, a Joker fan.

Batman is a subject of many discussions on the Dissident Right, especially here on Counter-Currents, where we take a close look at the Caped Crusader and his antics in numerous articles and even books. And indeed, vigilantism, as well as vigilante fantasies such as Batman or Death Wish, are symptoms of a decaying society such as the one we currently inhabit. Vigilantism and the will to vigilantism arise when the state has failed in its role as keeper of law and order and has lost control over parts of its territory, as well as supremacy over those who would break the law. At the same time, the state tyrannizes the law-abiding citizen out of weakness, greed or outright collusion with the criminals. We call this sorry state of affairs anarcho-tyranny. Vigilante fantasies are a balm for the law-abiding citizen or the would-be lawman who find themselves powerless to fight either the anarchy or the tyranny.

The mirror image of Batman is the Joker. Where Batman seeks to harness the darkness in order to impose order, i.e. serve good, the Joker seeks to harness the light, the comical and the silly, in order to wreak havoc, unleash chaos and destroy the illusion of order. The Joker is the one who will quite rudely remind us that civilized life is, as per Joseph Conrad, a dangerous walk on a thin crust of barely cooled lava which at any point might break and let the unwary sink into fiery depths. The Joker is a societal gadfly, a psychotic Socrates armed with lethal gag guns and 10,000-volt joy buzzers. He is the man who will tell you that “life is but a dream” in your darkest hour. The best you can really do is laugh. There is something eerily Nietzschean about this merry acceptance of chaos and birthing of a new morality, which is governed not by good and evil, but by boring and fun.

Modern cinema gives us three Jokers worth thinking about: Jack Nicholson’s gangster-turned-gagster, Heath Ledger’s nameless lord of giggling terror, and Joaquin Phoenix’s gutter clown. All three have been discussed. All three have been analyzed as characters. But I’d like to think about them as mirror images of the man in Death Wish, who sees himself as either a law-abiding citizen craving the return of order, or the would-be lawman who cannot find his place in the current law enforcement environment and realize his true destiny. As in real life, the mirror can tell us a lot about what we really are, and it’s important to remember that there is such a thing as a face of a thug — indistinguishable from the face of a cop. Physiognomy is real, and oftentimes, a cop is psychologically just a gangster employed by the gang in blue, or as anarchists are fond of saying, the state is a gang of thieves writ large (and the converse is true as well).

In the 1989 Batman directed by Tim Burton, Jack Nicholson portrays Jack Napier, the second-in-command of Gotham’s crime boss Carl Grissom. He is cuckolding his boss with a floozy, the kind that goes after high-ranking mobsters. The boss responds by setting him up to be killed by a crooked cop, but Batman foils the assassination, leading to the death of the cop at the hands of Napier and the disfigurement of Napier in a vat of acid, leading to nerve damage which causes a permanent grin and complete bleaching of his skin. Upon seeing his new face, Napier completely loses his mind, assassinates his treacherous boss, and embraces the new identity of the Joker, rebranding himself as an artist and considering his crimes conceptual works of art.  The aesthete in me definitely picks the Nicholson Joker as his favorite, given that I, too, am given to respecting art done for art’s sake, no matter how much it offends the sensibilities of polite society. The Joker’s art doesn’t just offend — he uses men and women as material, transforming them in order to create, but the goal isn’t death. The death and destruction wrought are mere Bob Rossian “happy accidents,” the goal being art and through it, beautification of the artist.

Did somebody say “the beautification of the artist?” Sounds awfully narcissistic. And indeed, if the Joker as a character were to be realistically constructed, he would be a consummate malignant narcissist whose loss of identity (and literal loss of face) would result in the mother of all narcissistic rages, followed by a consolidation of an omnipotent and omnipresent false self. And what better way to become omnipresent and omnipotent than to transcend human identity and become a concept — comedy incarnate. Indeed, “Jack is dead, my friend. You can call me Joker. And as you can see, I’m a lot happier.”

There can be nothing outside of the narcissist’s boundless self, so Joker Jokerizes the population of Gotham using poisons, gasses and lethal combinations of cosmetics, which then forces the news anchors to reveal their own ugliness through the inability to use cosmetics. Art, outsider art, has exposed the ugly face of the prevailing order.

The aesthetic of the Joker presents itself readily to a narcissist. His signature color is purple — the color worn by Roman emperors. His face is instantly recognizable; there is no way to mistake him for anyone else. And through his criminal actions, he is everywhere; on every magazine and every newspaper column. And his position at the top of Gotham’s criminal hierarchy ensures a steady supply of underlings to push around and dispose of at will. And that laugh is something that’ll haunt lesser men even in their uninspired dreams.

In this mirror, we see the dark demons of the vigilante or wannabe vigilante. He can never be sure if his drives are a genuine desire for justice or his own hubris. Further, the fact that he is not a part of the corrupt but nevertheless ruling order indicates to us that this is a man who doesn’t do as he is told. Could it be that he is obstinate and unyielding not due to his own inner sense of right and wrong, but merely because of narcissism or antisocial tendencies? We certainly have no shortage of narcissistic or antisocial personalities here on the Dissident Right, who are — for the time being — our comrades in the struggle against the corrupt prevailing order. But how long can we rely on them, and more importantly, is our own struggle based on such vain glories rather than a sense of right and wrong? Even if you are true, you must search yourself and answer this question, but search yourself with a critical eye. Egotism can be a powerful motivator, but is it welcome in an organized and necessarily hierarchical movement which sometimes must act without the full consent of all members? Are you ready to subsume yourself to a greater will, for a noble, larger cause?

If you thought Jack Napier was bad, wait till you get a load of Heath Ledger’s Joker, from Christopher Nolan’s 2008 The Dark Knight Rises.

This Socratic Joker doesn’t quite shock by creating transgressive art or by imposing his own untrammeled ego on the world, but by poking directly at the lava crust on which civilized society stands. The central premise of Joker’s position is that normal people, even ostensibly good people, turn into monsters when given the right incentive. This is, of course, also the premise of The Killing Joke, one of the best Batman comics out there. But unlike the comic book Joker, who follows a methodical path to driving Commissioner Gordon insane, in the Nolan film it is taken to a whole new level, where the Joker pushes forth his thesis by starting random acts of chaos, allying himself with the mob against the Batman, planting bombs around the city, manipulating the police and Batman, and allowing himself to be captured. Being a pure avatar of chaos, he has no coherent plans. He is by his own admission, “just a dog chasing cars — I wouldn’t know what to do with one if I caught it.” The introduction of this chaotic persona into the city of Gotham aspiring to order is all it takes. Why so serious? Don’t you understand, silly rabbits, that life is but a dream, that you’re all insane rodents in a cruelly designed maze? Poke, poke, poke.

In the end, Joker’s thesis defeats Batman’s antithesis, even though Batman defeats Joker — Batman is forced to become monstrous. He lies about the true nature of Harvey Dent in order to fully empower the Gotham police to crack down on crime. This functions as a nice jab against the hypocrisy of a bourgeois liberal society which depends on the very fascist military and police in order to survive when faced with the chaos of criminality and insanity. This spiritual and metaphysical defeat of Batman is apparent in the sequel, where he and his Gotham are easy pickings for Bane and his organization. Even after the defeat of Bane and the League of Shadows, Batman must die, even if Bruce Wayne survives.

Tellingly, Ledger’s Joker is even less human than Nicholson’s Joker, who retained some traces of Jack Napier in the wake of his plunge into the chemical vat. Whatever made him doesn’t matter. He accepts it, just as Nietzsche’s Ubermensch accepts all that led to his creation, laughing at such inane concepts as “good” and “evil.” Much like the dog chasing cars, he is a force of pure chaos, acting and reacting on instinct, in contrast to the civilized man who is self-aware and reflective.

The second mirror presents us with the shadow of the vigilante as someone who likewise pokes at the edifice of society until it reacts. The very presence and effectiveness of a vigilante lead the populace to ask: “if this guy can do it, why can’t the cops do it?” And in good time, “why not me?” But “why not me” has a very good answer — because you can’t hack it. This question is very rudely answered by Batman in the beginning of the Nolan film, when he kicks the crap out of an obese Batman impersonator acting as a wannabe vigilante. Most people aren’t cut out for vigilantism and moral crusades against anarchy, tyranny or anarcho-tyranny.

Indeed, just as by physiognomy alone we cannot reliably tell the difference between a policeman and a thug, so it is that the neurotype of the vigilante is eerily similar to that of the chaotic criminal who only wants to see the world burn. So-called accelerationists in the Dissident Right would very much want to see the present order burn, as would I and any other sensible person. The difference is that I am more worried than them about the well-being of the innocent who’d be destroyed as the old order burns. Batman is always only one misstep, one momentary lapse of discipline from becoming Joker. As we know from The Killing Joke, not Gordon but Batman snaps and becomes monstrous. In the Nolan film, both Harvey Dent and Batman — and even the venerable Lucius Fox — are forced to become monsters.

To be a dissident rightist is to walk on the bleeding edge of sanity as we go against all we know, all that our family members and friends hold dear, as we dare doubt the religion of our tribe. No wonder many fall off the edge. Such content that can hold our boys grounded in reality, or “based,” so to speak, is invaluable.

Which brings us to our third Joker, Joaquin Phoenix’s contemptible, physically repulsive stick insect of a man. Trevor Lynch hated the film. Stefan Molyneux called it a disgusting spectacle of nothing but pain. Devon Stack called it a hack copy of Taxi Driver and The King of Comedy. Nick Fuentes wasn’t so giddy about it that he started “schmooding” in his Dlive streams. A lot of people I respected had divided opinions about it. And I realized before even seeing the film that they were all right, in the sense that they were all reacting, in their own various ways, to the same thing: the mirror image of a vigilante as a chain-smoking, mentally ill loser.

Even in a film without Batman, the funhouse mirror reflects back at us the existential fear that yes, the man who dresses up as a flying nocturnal mammal and jumps on rooftops at night might indeed be insane. To be Batman is to doubt one’s sanity every day. Because he cannot, unlike the Joker, embrace his insanity, Batman’s always on the precipice thereof — and not on the precipice of Nicholson-Joker insanity which includes running the city as a personal art project, or Ledger-Joker insanity which includes terrorizing the city into barbarism — but on Phoenix-Joker insanity, which mostly consists of having laughing ticks and being robbed on the subway. The vigilante fears, always, that he is not quite the prince of dark justice he imagines himself to be, but indeed, just another loser unable to adjust to modernity.

What if you really are the Joker of the 2019 Joker? Is your revolt really just atavistic scratching at structures you cannot even comprehend? Are you, in keeping with the mirror as a motif, just a right-wing mirror image of the pathetic antifa thug, noodle-armed and orbiting an average woman? Are you just mentally ill, substituting paranoia and cluster-B personality disorders for leftist schizophrenia and body-dysmorphia? Are you a loser who is about as deserving to participate in the modern world as the illiterate Mexican or Arab peasant who is coming to replace you?

You tried your hand at politics in 2016. You memed Donald Trump into the presidency. Now he has abandoned you and your ideology and endorses Charlie Kirk. Just like your father, he looks disapprovingly on your “wignat” antics. You can’t even punish him by withdrawing your support — he has too many MAGApede boomers in his pocket, and if he doesn’t win, the Democrat who does will probably pass a law mandating you chop your dick off. So why not take the black pill? Why not descend into despair, and then start fedposting and then. . . well, I don’t think I have to say it.

Scary, huh? You know what’s even scarier? There’s sufficient circumstantial evidence for that eerie yarn I just spun for you to push you over the edge. This is why the stick-insect of a man repulses and attracts the big heads of our movement. His disgusting nature repulses the older men, who prefer to think of themselves as accomplished and in control. His ultimate subversion and victory over the prevailing order inspires the young ones, many of whom have internalized — at least subconsciously — part of the story of abandonment I just told you.

You want to give yourself a good, godly fright? Wait until 03:45 in the morning and look at yourself in the mirror, illuminated only by a candle. Then smile. If you’re alone in the house, start laughing, and then continue laughing despite yourself. Bear in mind that some people believe that looking at yourself in a dimly-lit mirror will summon demonic entities. I’ve yet to test this hypothesis.

When we look at the Joker, we are looking in a dimly lit funhouse mirror. The demonic entities we summon are our own darkness, our own capacity for chaos and evil. Jung was right when he claimed that the roots of the human soul reach all the way to the bottom of Hell. Whether as narcissist, chaos vector, or pathetic loser, the Joker unleashes demons we’d rather keep well-buried, preferably chewed at by the three heads of Satan himself.

The Joker of my childhood Christmas play threatened to ruin Christmas by switching off the city’s power supply through a light switch sewn into his pink jacket. Children are instinctively afraid of the dark and the monsters it may contain. Batman is, at his core, a frightened child cowering before the darkness. But adults are afraid of the dark because they know exactly what is concealed by it. To be an adult is to understand that one is a monster struggling to escape the constraints of society; that darkness is a temptation to let the monster run free upon the world.

I have a rule about films: I don’t watch any made after 2008, which I consider to be the last year in which good films were made. Sometimes, however, my rule can be wrong and I’ll make an exception. I’m pleased to report that my rule was wrong about The Banshees of Inisherin, a 2022 Irish film starring Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson and directed by Martin McDonagh.

Colin Farrell portrays Pádraic Súilleabháin, a farmer living on the fictional island of Inisherin, off Ireland’s western coast, in the 1920s, during the waning months of the Irish Civil War. He lives with his sister Siobhán, a bookish old maid, and his animals, of which Jenny the tiny donkey gets the most attention and relevance to the plot. A simple man, kind-hearted and friendly to everyone, he reserves the most affection for his best friend, the fiddler Colm Doherty, played by Brendan Gleeson. The film opens by showcasing the island’s amazing beauty, cultivated over time to feature lush green meadows demarcated by iconic stone walls. Pádraic is introduced as he is walking down a sunny village lane, greeting everyone in the friendly manner typical of romanticized rural locales, and indeed, everyone is nice to him — except for the local Garda (policeman) Peadar, who ignores him.

Pádraic is going to Colm’s house to pick him up on the way to the pub so that they can have a pint or two and share a conversation. The scene is full of light and color, drawing the viewer into a fantasy of slow-moving village life in bucolic Western Ireland; we are in Tolkien’s shire, but it is real.

And then, disaster strikes. Colm informs Pádraic that he doesn’t like him anymore and will not be joining him at the pub. Pádraic does not understand why Colm wants to end their friendship, and keeps thinking he’s done something wrong or that by changing his behavior in some way, he could convince Colm to be his friend again.

Colm, however, wants to end his friendship with Pádraic because he finds him dull and life on the small island uninspiring. As a musician who can feel himself ageing, Colm wants to be remembered, and so he has decided to spend the rest of his life thinking, composing, and teaching music to students. He thus feels he has no more time for Pádraic and his company. For all his genuine kindness, Pádraic simply isn’t the good and intelligent company that Colm needs if he’s to make the most of the rest of his life. As Colm later says to Pádraic during a fierce argument, “Nobody is remembered 50 years on for being nice.” We learn during a scene set in a confessional that Colm is struggling with despair. This suggests that his abrupt decision to break his friendship with Pádraic is an attempt to regain control of the life he sees slipping away.

Pádraic is unperturbed by Colm’s rejection and resolves to rekindle their friendship, but Colm rebuffs him once again and threatens to cut off his own fingers — and what’s more, the fingers of his fiddle hand — unless Pádraic does not stop badgering him. Nobody, including Pádraic, takes the threat seriously until Colm actually does cut off one of his own fingers, throwing it at Pádraic’s front door. It then becomes clear that this is no ordinary feud between villagers.

The film is set against the backdrop of the Irish Civil War of the 1920s, which was a conflict between the Irish Free State, which was a dominion of the British Crown and seen by its supporters as a step towards true independence, and the Irish Republican Army, which rejected the treaty with the British and saw the Irish Free State as just another means of subjugating the Irish people. The conflict between Pádraic and Colm is clearly meant to be an allegory for the war, which was fought for reasons many people did not understand and inflicted a great deal of suffering on the Irish people. The anti-treaty IRA could not countenance the oath of loyalty to the British monarch that had been imposed on the new Irish parliament. Being something of an inflexible ideologue myself, I can sympathize with that position, even if I can also understand the position of the Free State forces, who understood that rejecting the treaty would just mean a prolonged war with the British Empire. As an outsider, I can’t say who was right and who was wrong; just as the slow-witted village boy Dominic in the film, all I can say is that I’m against wars.

What I can understand, however, is the sensation of feeling trapped in a life that by all means shouldn’t feel like a trap. Pádraic, Colm, Siobhán, and all the other villagers live the sort of lives that are envied by today’s online Right. They live in an ethnically cohesive village, they are in touch with a land that is uncorrupted by modern technology, and seemingly spared from the whirlwind of political strife that’s enveloped the Irish mainland. They go to church and the pub, and are surrounded by green meadows and neat stone walls. They enjoy traditional music and are nice to each other. And yet, Colm is unhappy and bedeviled by despair — and so is Siobhán.

The online Right will rush to romanticize the agrarian idyll of a picturesque Gaelic village, but will forget that rural life always had its discontents — and very often these discontents were the best that humanity had to offer. Colm feels as if he’s wasting his time on the tiny islands, fearful of being forgotten. Siobhán is an old maid in that always precarious position held by a woman with high intelligence. Young Dominic, the son of the rude and corrupt policeman, is a victim of both physical and sexual abuse at the hands of his father, who nakedly uses his power and position to bully Pádraic. When Siobhán dreams of moving to Dublin, we can almost imagine gaggles of online Right-wingers wanting to warn her that city life is meaningless or inauthentic, the implication being that she should be content with quietly wasting away as a spinster on the island while living her deeply authentic life in 1920s rural Ireland. And, of course, what could be more authentically human than a deep and all-consuming existential crisis as age, that thief of youth, encroaches? Colm’s drastic behavior is seen as an unnatural aberration by both Pádraic and the villagers, but every man born with talent has to fight a similar battle: either to live a normal life and fade into obscurity, or endure great suffering and loneliness while having a shot at immortality.

What the film does not explicitly state, but does a good job of implying, is that village life — and perhaps social life in general — relies on a degree of insincerity. Throughout the entire film, the only moment when Colm seems to reconsider his decision to end his friendship with Pádraic is when Pádraic gets drunk on whisky and launches into a tirade pointing out all of Colm’s flaws and the hypocrisy of his situation. This is further underscored by the presence of a large number of masks in Colm’s house. Colm finds the act of wearing a false face exhausting, and I can certainly empathize. But there is also a degree of wisdom in Pádraic drunken rant in which he defends “niceness.” The sophomoric retort would be to point out the irony of a man defending white lies and false faces under the influence of truth-revealing alcohol, but that does not mean there is not a case to be made for sparing our neighbors the terror of our true selves. Personally, as someone who’s worn many false faces, both in a professional and personal context, I can understand the fatigue they cause — but I can also see the necessity for such faces, even as I find them distasteful and uncomfortable.

A banshee is a spirit whose screaming portends a death. It is unclear in the film whether there is an actual banshee around, or if the purported banshee is merely old Mrs. McCormick, who delights in making the villagers squirm. Regardless, even though there is an actual death in the film as well, there are also many metaphorical deaths. Both Pádraic and Colm are metaphorically dead by the end of the film, having lost what made them the men they were. Pádraic, having allowed himself to become cruel and vengeful, has lost his kindness, and Colm, having cut off all the fingers of his left hand, has lost his music. The film is darkly comedic at times, but at its heart it is a deep and enduring human tragedy — the tragedy of disparate levels of satisfaction in which what works for some will not work for others. This disparity will inevitably lead to brutal, dehumanizing, and seemingly senseless conflict.

In both the small theater of village feuds or the large theater of ideological conflict, when a man strikes another man in anger, he sometimes hurts himself more than his purported foe.

Counter-Currents is trying to raise $150,000 this year. Thus far, we have received 675 donations totaling $95,411.84, for which we are enormously grateful. Thus we are almost two-thirds of the way there! We will keep the fundraiser going as long as needed but the ultimate deadline is the end of the year, less than three months away.

To help us reach our goal, a generous donor has offered a $5,000 matching grant, so the next $5,000 you give will be doubled! You can find details on how you can give below.

It means: Buckle your seatbelt, Dorothy, ‘cause Kansas is going bye-bye.

— Cypher, The Matrix

I’ve been at this dissent thing for a while now. I remember a time in the not-so-long-long ago when our main problems weren’t the various forms of deplatforming, but rather the absolutely deafening roar of nobody giving a flying fuck about the warnings, theses, and ramblings of political dissidents.

Older hats, concealing heads grayer and balder than mine, might remember an even earlier long-long ago when the audience for dissident thought was minuscule compared to my salad days of the late 2000s and early 2010s when I wrote an obscure blog in an obscure corner of an obscure linguistic sphere, angrily broadcasting my general Disco Tent for everyone to hear. We’ve moved a bit beyond that at this juncture, or so I’ve been led to believe.

Unlike dissidents from hard tyrannical regimes, we do not have to hide in basements and distribute our illegal literature through an elaborate system of winks and nods that piggybacks on the black market for its logistical needs. From what our erstwhile editor Dr. Greg Johnson tells me, he does not, in fact, print Counter-Currents on stolen government paper with stolen government ink on the government’s own presses in the government’s largest printing house in the middle of the cold Warsaw night, and neither do you buy your weekly edition of Counter-Currents magazine out the back of a rickety old Lada Niva with the back seats removed from a shifty-eyed, mustachioed man whose aroma is one part unwashed armpits, one part cheap tobacco, and ten parts poorly distilled grape liquor. For a good price, he’ll also get you real coffee, real sugar, hookers, plastic jug vodka — even a nuclear device! While I admit that takes a little bit of the adventure out of it, it has allowed us to reach a far greater audience. We’re no longer screaming into the void. And through the miracle of modern technology, we now have the comment section. What joy, the void screams back!

Turns out, that void screaming back at me and sometimes threatening to kick my ass is big and growing. It consists of people, which has its own problems, but also comes with certain compensatory advantages, the chief being that political messages are spread and implemented by people. What’s more, political messages are better spread and better implemented by smarter people. The void that I scream into (and occasionally screams back at me) seems to be populated with that kind of person. Even that one German guy who hates my guts and comes out with delectably clever insults to replace my middle initial with. If you’d told me ten years ago that I’d be happy that someone is calling me a robbery toad on the internet (German insults are strange like that), I probably would have believed it wholeheartedly. Better to be feared than hated and better to be hated than ignored. And better to spurn clever men into action, even if by being a gadfly, than to scream into nothingness.

Events, some of which are completely out of our control, have brought us to this juncture. Counter-Currents has significant reach and is a major influence on dissident thought, and in good time, can mainstream this dissident thought. We are now too big an institution to ignore, though some will steadfastly try. Globohomo likes to pretend that nobody opposes its policies other than a smattering of meth-smoking skinheads, illiterate rednecks, and cringeworthy LARPers. The alt-lite, Conservative Inc., and rival dissident factions (you know who you are) all like to pretend that the only outfits opposing Globohomo are them and the aforementioned smattering of meth-smokers, illiterates, and LARPers. There’s ignorance, fixable by education, and then there’s pig-ignorance, which I suspect can only be cured with beatings. These are usually also the people who try to muddy the waters as to the true nature of the enemy (or the true number of enemy factions). But we’re way past that now.

Counter-Currents has been on the receiving end of unprecedented financial deplatforming. We’ve been barred from the global book market because That Bald Fuck (you may know him as Jeff Bezos) feels threatened by our evil words for some reason. The long-nosed individuals running the credit card racket have decided to put us on some sort of bad list which means you can’t donate to us in normal ways, nor can you purchase our books normally. Of course, we nationalists are a wily bunch and have come up with ways of financing this thing of ours, but for the time being, these ways are the financial equivalent of printing a magazine on stolen paper with stolen ink by the light of stolen candles in the middle of the cold Warsaw night. Our legal department has informed me that I might even have to start smoking again in order to accurately replicate the shifty semi-criminal mustachioed delivery man in a rickety Lada Niva aesthetic.

Things are getting tougher. More precisely, they’re getting real.

But I’ll say this: it’s easier to fight a mountain of muscle than to wrestle a half-ton of jelly. Obviously, I say this as someone who’s been put in an uncomfortable armlock by a tenth-ton of jelly. No matter how hard you punch, the jelly just wobbles and absorbs all the energy of your punch. That’s all behind us now. We’ve cut our way out of the jelly and are now facing the mountain of muscle. More precisely, we are facing a very large but poorly-programmed robot made out of very brittle steel which will twist itself to pieces trying to destroy us.

Now, to do that, we need your support, and by support, I mean money — though not to the degree that I am now refusing praise and the void screaming back niceties at me. Yes, “Hail King Jeelvy, I kiss your golden feet, your wise words give meaning to my dreary existence” is still a valid form of support, but until White Nationalist superscience finds a way to hook up my overactive ego to a generator, we’re gonna also need your money to keep the lights on around here.

There’s some who think this is a video game. In many ways it is — for many, their only interaction with organized dissident thought is through the computer. 2020 has been the year of politics rudely barging into meatspace, even though we spent a good deal of it confined to our homes. Things are getting real. If you have hitherto supported us mostly in video game ways, your support is gonna have to be real. If you’ve supported us in real ways, I sincerely thank you. Keep at it, and we’re gonna make it through.

Even if I have to deliver a paper copy of Counter-Currents to your doorstep in a rickety Lada Niva, we’ll keep going — and we’ll win.

Here is how you can help.

Credit Cards

Currently, we are unable to take credit card donations except through Entropy. Entropy is a site that collects “paid chat” or “superchat” donations for live streamers. But they can take donations any time.

Just go to our Entropy page and select “send paid chat.” Entropy allows you to donate any amount from $3 and up. (You can make a donation, even when Entropy says that we are not currently livestreaming.)

If you want to leave a question or comment, they will be read and discussed on the next Counter-Currents Radio livestream, which air on Sundays noon PST/3pm EST on DLive: https://dlive.tv/Counter-Currents

Money Transfers

If your bank does free money transfers to other banks in the US, please contact [email protected].

Gift Cards

Gift cards are a useful way to make donations. Gift cards are available with all the major credit cards as well as from major retailers. You can either send gift cards as donations (either electronically or through the mail) or you can use them to make donations. If you can find a place that sells gift cards for cash, they are as anonymous as sending cash and much safer.

Checks and Money Orders

Sometimes the old ways are best. The least “de-platformable” way to send donations to Counter-Currents is to put a check or money order in the mail. Simply print and complete the Word or PDF donation form and mail it to:

Counter-Currents Publishing, Ltd.
P.O. Box 22638
San Francisco, CA 94122
USA
[email protected]

Thank you, Boomers, for keeping your checkbooks, envelopes, and stamps. There are youngsters reading this site who have never written a check or put a letter in the mail.

Bill Payment Services

If you wish to make monthly donations by mail, see if your bank has a bill payment service. Then all you need to do is set up a monthly check to be dispatched by mail to our PO box. This check can be made out to Counter-Currents or to Greg Johnson. After the initial bother of setting it up, you never have to think about it again.

Crypto-Currencies

In addition to old-fashioned paper donations, those new-fangled crypto-currencies are a good way to circumvent censorious credit card corporations.

The Counter-Currents Foundation

Note: Donations to Counter-Currents Publishing are not tax-deductible. We do, however, have a 501c3 tax-exempt educational corporation called The Counter-Currents Foundation. If you want to make a tax-deductible gift, please email Greg Johnson at [email protected]. You can send donations by mail to:

The Counter-Currents Foundation
P.O. Box 22638
San Francisco, CA 94122
USA

Remember Us in Your Will

Finally, we would like to broach a very delicate topic: your will. If you are planning your estate, please think about how you can continue helping the cause even after you are gone. The essay “Majority Estate Planning” contains many helpful suggestions.

Remember: those who fight for the Golden Age live in it today.

Suppose you’re out there on social media and you’re arguing for nationalism. Suppose you make the argument that the activities of transnational gigacorporations undermine the health, security, and welfare of independent nations. Suppose you put forth an argument for state intervention on behalf of the health, security, and welfare of that nation against said gigacorporations. You’ll probably be hit with a barrage of cuckservative claptrap decrying “socialism.”

For reasons not quite clear to myself, I maintain among my social media contacts a good deal of normie-con Boomer and Gen-X Americans (the latter group insists on making the distinction). As a result, my feed is full of cringeworthy attempts at memeing, mostly revolving around the themes of “Hillary lies,” “Orange Man Good,” and “Democrats are un-American anti-Semites.” One particular type that annoys me to no end is the “AOC is dumb” type, probably because the Boomers posting it actually believe they’ve pwned Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez. Say what you will about AOC, but she is not dumb. Even if she is lacking in raw processing power, she has that kind of practical intelligence that gets you elected to Congress and makes you the face of the rising Woke Coalition at age 30. My own big three-oh is looming ever closer, and I’m starting to think that raw processing power ain’t all that it’s cracked up to be, especially compared to AOC-style demagoguery.

It’s bad, and it’s gonna get worse. Boss Boomer (you may know him as Donald Trump) himself successfully pivoted to anti-socialism as the chief plank of his platform after the Swamp proclaimed that it is mighty miffed by attempts to drain it. People aren’t sure if Orange Man is drinking the cuckservative Kool-Aid, or if it is a Machiavellian move in a political world where old people vastly outstrip youngsters in voter turnout – but then again, it doesn’t really matter. Ironically, he is the only Right-winger currently in America who has made headway on economic policy which puts nation over GDP and sovereignty over wealth. By imposing tariffs on America’s trading “partners,” he’s shaken up the underlying assumptions of the global order and won the beginning of a victory for America.

Tariffs, import quotas, restrictions – these are all methods of limiting foreign entities’ access to a nation’s domestic market. Employing them to deny an enemy – or even just rival entities – the ability to generate wealth for themselves on the domestic market is a step in the right direction, especially if such wealth is generated at the expense of domestic wealth generation, or worse yet, at the expense of the nation’s health (sometimes in a literal sense, as with fentanyl imports). Likewise, border security is another tool in the sovereign’s kit, and indeed, we can conceptualize lax border security as an in-kind subsidy to smugglers of all goods (and labor).

However, state borders aren’t the only dividing lines in our world. Most financial and economic literature only deals with market access as a phenomenon of international trade, but this is, I suppose, based on the wrongheaded assumption that trade is limited (or limitable) only between states. Internally, market access is assumed. Okay, not really. For example, if you want to work as a barber, you need a license from the state, which is to say that access to the hairstyling market is restricted from the supply side. Restrictions on the demand side are seen in vehicles, weapons, and similar – chiefly dangerous – goods (dangerous here in the sense of posing a threat to the regime; I am not allowed to purchase these 54 books from Amazon, and I believe they’re deliberately delaying delivery of one tome I bought way back in August). But this does not quite reflect the nature of market access limitations, as the process is ostensibly merit-based, and whoever fulfills the requirements can obtain that license. In reality, this is a perversion of market barriers to entry.

If there is one thing you’ll take away from this article, let it be this: People make economic decisions for non-economic reasons. This is the core red pill on economics. If we marry this to the Hegelian notion of “if it exists, it is reasonable” (which is to say that there is a reason for it, even if it is not necessarily a good one), we have developed an insight into economics that brings it into alignment as a field with the various strands of Dissident Right thought. Rather than make a fetish out of wealth and efficiency as the cuckservatives and lolbertarians, we take the (ironically Misesian) position that value is subjective and that what people want out of economic activity isn’t necessarily greater wealth, greater efficiency, or consumer goods.

For example, my current employment makes zero to negative economic sense. Despite (or maybe because) of my intellect, I am a bad worker. I am often late for work, and when I do arrive, I arrive with the insomniac’s world-contemptuous scowl overlaid against a stubbled jowl. I resolve office politics with threats of violence, and I’ve been known to disappear for hours on end, only to return in a state of mild inebriation. I write monograph-length critiques of TV shows from ten years ago during office hours. What value I do produce is mercilessly exploited, and my successes are due more to innate charisma and an ability to charm people into forgiving my worst offenses rather than effort or passion. You have to be either crazy or my mother to hire me – in fact, the latter is my employer. The poor woman’s business slaves on with a Nicholas R. Jeelvy-shaped elephant strapped to its back for one simple reason: Anything else means ceding control of the concern to a genetic line different from the one for whose upkeep the business was established. Without me and my brother, my mother’s business has no reason to exist, and for this reason, it will sacrifice its efficiency in order to keep us employed, and hopefully give us the necessary skills and experience to one day operate it. We do not make a fetish of profit, but rather, the business’ interests are subordinated to the family’s. Meritocracy is, in a sense, a morally bankrupt method of economic activity, paling in comparison with the sheer power of nepotism.

Gradually, genetic lines which are cohesive and which put kin before ability, insofar as they allow exceptionally talented non-kin to enter (someone has to do the actual work, after all) triumph. Take the Jews, for example. Much has been made of their in-group preference. In reality, I think that Jews mostly engage in nepotism, and that this nepotism looks like in-group preference as seen from the outside due to their low numbers and high degree of inbreeding. Every Jew is the genetic equivalent of third cousin to every other Jew – and most of the time, they really are cousins, nephews, and nieces to each other. I don’t believe the tales of exceptional Ashkenazi IQ. I do believe that nepotism is sufficient to explain their overrepresentation among the wealthiest and most powerful in the West.

Scaling up from the basic model of nepotism, we can see that familial and pseudo-familial links, as per J. Philippe Rushton’s genetic similarity theory, scale up to vast patronage networks, which are mostly based on kin- or pseudo-kin selection for entrance and advancement. These patronage networks straddle entire markets and industries. In many ways, these informal yet iron associations are the real economic superpowers of today. My essay on woke capital’s free option deals with one such example of a patronage network, based on woke ideology but coalesced around the Jewish Wojcicki family, which aside from having an interest in the Wikimedia foundation also managed to marry into Google’s management and ownership structure. The patronage network protects YouTube CEO Susan Wojcicki and will make sure she is taken care of even if she nosedives the video-sharing platform. She therefore doesn’t have to make decisions with economics in mind, but rather can focus on what she really wants. From YouTube’s behavior, we can see that they want power for Leftism and the corporatization of the Internet. Economically, this is insane, as Styxhexenhammer will tell you in every other video, but it makes sense when viewed from other perspectives.

One thing that has to be understood if we’re going forward that this is, as the kids say, the absolute state of human economic activity. We win by strategically denying and granting access to markets we control depending on loyalty to ourselves. This is good advice for microeconomic behavior (as a general rule, loyalty is more valuable than ability) and a good way of looking at things at the macro level. Human economic life consists of a vast mesh of overlapping, competing, intersecting, cooperating, and ever-expanding patronage networks. To various degrees, they’re all a combination of the familial and ideological. They’re all concerned with limiting and granting access to various markets, or market segments that they control. Only once you’ve got your foot in the door and have entered the market does your ability to perform begin to matter. Libertarian cringe aside, the free market does indeed provide the best and most efficient solution among those on offer, and it will reward the best from those allowed to compete, but concerns relating to loyalty behoove us to disallow some from competing, even – and especially – if they’re liable to defeat the loyal in competition. Protectionism merely means valuing loyalty over ability and efficiency, given that it is a scaled-up version of nepotism.

The cuckservative-lolbertarian trope of “muh gubment interference in the economy” is therefore a dead end. Traditional society did not have a public sphere as we understand it. There was a King or an aristocrat who owned the land, there were yeomen who owned land, there was the church which owned land, and city-states – whether aristocratic as per the Ragusa model, or nominally subject to an Emperor, as those of the Hanseatic League – which owned land. Everyone else was their tenant, and economic life was entirely private. Disputes were resolved privately. The most hardcore of traditionalists decry the peace of Westphalia, which concentrated violence in the hands of the state and asserted their right to wage private war as lords, yeomen, Church, guild, or city-state. Yes, guilds. Yes, armed hanse. Yes, recreational McBattleships. Project Management Consultants are only the beginning.

The Hanseatic League could conquer market access for itself by force of arms. Minor medieval guilds could do that, too, and even though they operated under royal writ, many of them were more or less sovereign entities, especially in light of royal and noble disinterest in commercial matters (war and farming being the two professions fit for an aristocrat). A guild is a formalized patronage network seeking to restrict market access to insiders. More often than not, guilds would coalesce around familial cores.

We live in a degenerate phase of our civilizations. Following the Treaty of Westphalia, the power to compel was monopolized by the state as an entity. Guilds, hanses, and churches lost their military edge, and still the need to bar outsiders from protected markets persisted. Trade unions seek to restrict entry into specific labor markets on the supply side for the benefit of insiders. In days of yore, they might have used their own muscle; today, they have to rely on the government’s muscle (or take a blind eye to their own flexing). Chamber-like organizations are trade unions for yuppies. For example, I am a member of the Macedonian Bar Association. It means I am better than you, in the sense that better means “has the right to represent others in a court of law in the Republic of Macedonia, unlike you stinking peasants.” It also means that I kissed the right asses and paid the right fees (or rather, my mother did), and that gives me the right to enter that very lucrative market on the supply side. If you threaten my privileged position in this market by attempting to force your way into it without the guild’s stamp of approval, rough men in blue uniforms will give you a good going-over with billy clubs and boots, and cart you off to a prison for further humiliation. In better days, the bar would have had its own cadre of leg-breakers (although we would have probably called them lictors). In this degenerate age, we have to make do with cops and bailiffs.

Since the state has reserved violence solely for itself, it now has to do violence on behalf of the various guilds, unions, aristocrats, and yeomen jockeying for power, who persist. This is true despite the fact that their positions may have ended. But if a position is abolished, it does not follow that the concept it signified is abolished as well. What has happened is not the end of patronage or economically-motivated violence, but rather a frantic competition between the aforementioned groups to capture the state for the purpose of controlling market access.

In this sense, the state is now forced to interfere in economics, even though previously, a King would not have concerned himself with the bickering of merchants. Instead, the state has to play an active role in economics in order to protect its sovereign interests and the interests of the nation it rules over, given that it has an inherent interest in its health for military reasons first and foremost.

However, rational state intervention in economic matters is conflated with socialist utopianism in the mind of the Boomer, and this is merely due to ignorance. America is ultimately a child of Enlightenment liberalism, and tradition is as much an enemy to it as is socialism. The Boomer mind has collapsed the entire “enemy” category into “socialism” (pronounced: soshulism), mostly because the feel-good liberal ideology doesn’t brook the idea of “enemy” – it only recognizes unreconstructed, toothless reactionaries to educate. In their eerily honest Twitter cringe, Boomers will equate monarchism and socialism.

We like to make fun of the Boomer here, but it’s good to understand ourselves as well. We are not socialists in the sense that we want the nationalization of industries (well, not across the board at least), but in the sense that we recognize that some compulsion is necessary in the market, and that whereas once this compulsion would have been handled by private actors, in this degenerate age, the state is the only one which can swing the big club to control market access.

For this reason, I am greatly intrigued by Third Positionism. I do not want the state to be ideologically beholden to either free markets or economic control, but rather to see the two as tools which can be used for achieving certain goals. Third Positionism is morally neutral: It supports that which is useful and leaves the ruler to determine the ontological direction of policy.

To summarize, what they call socialism isn’t really socialism. The contemporary American – and American-style liberal – cannot conceive of a world outside his own limited model, and will act and speak accordingly. Insofar as we want (or can) to convert these normies to our cause, we have to explain to them that the world is much bigger (and much older) than they believe. The normie conservative deceives himself if he lumps tradition in with socialism. He mustn’t believe that you belong in the same box as AOC. Rather, you’ll have to patiently appeal to his social instincts and – hopefully – any vestige of understanding that men aren’t, as Thomas Carlyle put it, beavers whose end-all-and-be-all is labor, labor, and more damned labor.

From my political praxis, I find that whenever I speak to mainstream conservatives and mention that some titular Leftist leader — be it Joe Biden or Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez in America, Jacinda Ardern in New Zealand, or whichever stuffed shirt they have heading the United Kingdom’s Labour Party these days — is smarter than they look, I’m immediately assayed with people insisting that I affirm that, yes, Joe Biden is obviously senile; and yes, Jacinda Ardern is obviously insane; and yes, AOC is stupid (because only stupid people believe in soshulism, you know). They’re only a threat because shadowy and powerful figures surrounding them are controlling them, and it is they who think in their stead.

Obviously, I’m very well aware, and the audience is very well aware, that Joe Biden is a senile coot, and that Jacinda Ardern would benefit from a belt to the mouth and a rough shag. So why do we have to go through that whole song and dance every time I want to speak about their nefarious plans? It’s simple, really: They’re expecting me to act as a priest, bless them, declare their cause righteous, give them courage and strength of conviction, and say that the enemy leader is head over heels in love with Satan and his little wizards — or that maybe he only has one ball. They want me to say — nay, repeat, mantra-like — that the bad guys are not only bad, but stupid, defective, degenerate, immoral, impotent, unhygienic, slavish, brutish, Irish, and all sorts of nasty epithets so that the righteousness of our cause may once again be ritualistically reiterated. The problem is, I’m not a priest.

If Rightism were one big faith, I’d be a dervish, whirling in circles of ever-greater political ecstasy here in the Sublime Tekke of Counter-Currents. Folklore describes the dervish as a figure of great wisdom, but also of great mystery, and men of all faiths fear the dervish. A dervish is the closest thing that the Muslim faith has to a Christian monk. Tales of the frightened reverence common men give these itinerant holy men are oddly chilling, as the dervish himself is a portent of the world beyond the perceptible. His wisdom can be incomprehensible, and it can be delivered with humor or seriousness. While my conservative friends want to hear about how righteous our cause is and how Justin Trudeau is a Ken Doll, I tell them obscure tales — some from actual instead of political dervishes.

It is said that one day, Nasreddin Hodja’s neighbor asked to borrow his donkey. For whatever reason, the mullah did not want to lend his donkey, so he told his neighbor that he’d already lent the donkey to someone else. At that moment, the donkey brayed in the back yard and the neighbor accused the mullah of lying, to which Nasreddin replied: “Whom do you trust? Your mullah or your lying ears?”

At first glance, it seems all but impossible that anyone would believe the mullah over his own lying ears, but we live in a world where the vast majority of people trust the mullah, because the notion that the mullah might be lying is less believable than the notion of your ears lying to you. If your ears are lying to you, then you could just be imagining things, or at worst going insane. If your mullah is lying to you, then it is society and the world that have gone crazy. If the man of God is lying, then what stops him from turning us to sin?

A Macedonian folk horror story tells us of a Jew who falsely converted to Christianity became the abbot of a monastery, and then through his deception ordered the monks and the surrounding peasants to participate in inverted and sacrilegious rituals which he presented as liturgy. Everyone believed their abbot, and nobody believed their lying eyes. Only on his deathbed, in order to spite them, did the false abbot reveal himself. God, of course, punished him by ordering the Earth to spit him out wherever he was buried, but the commentary on society stands. So, Nasreddin Hodja will ask you again: Whom do you trust?

Obviously, you should therefore believe your eyes and ears. But then, it is said that one day Nasreddin Hodja went to the teahouse and someone asked him where the center of the world is. The wise Sufi answered, “The center of the world is in front of this teahouse, where I just now hammered the nail to my donkey’s bridle.” When the questioner said he did not believe this, the mullah sat back, took a sip of his tea, and answered, “If you don’t believe me, go measure it yourself.”

How is an earnest and honest man to respond to that? If not for your mullah, how will you know what the things beyond your ken are? And if you disbelieve your mullah, what will you do? Thus, you’re bound to believe him whether you really believe him or not, especially since your mullah has, with great authority, declared things to be as he says they are and you have no means of independently verifying them. Whom do you trust? The science or your lying, infarcted heart? And if you don’t believe that Saddam has weapons of mass destruction, go take satellite photos of Iraq yourself.

Am I saying that Nasreddin was a liar? No, even though he did not tell the truth that was asked for. A righteous, orthodox mullah would loan you his donkey as part of zakat, the obligation of giving alms. He’d also have told you that the center of the world is the Kaaba at the Masjid al Haram in Mecca. While his neighbor only wanted the donkey, he instead got a lesson in the corruptibility of authority and the impact of elite corruption. Whereas the questioner in the tea house probably wanted reassurance about the state of the world, he got a lesson about his place in the world — and his vulnerability to lies from above.

But only when the student is ready will the master appear. Thus, for a man uninterested in learning his place in the world or the effects of corrupt authority, the great Sufi is a figure of selfishness who mocks him. When Nasreddin Hodja lost his key, he started looking for it in the light. A policeman saw him looking and helped him to search. Exasperated after a long time, the policeman asked Nasreddin where he’d lost the key. The mullah replied that he’d lost it in a dark alley.

“But why, then, are we looking for the key here?” the policeman asked.

“Why, there’s no light in the dark alley,” the mullah replied.

We look where we have light and eyes to see, not where things really are. We understand that which we have the wit and wherewithal to understand, not what which we ought to understand. I am listening to ‘80s Yugoslav synthpop and it makes me feel cultured, but I’m not listening to it because I’m especially cultured, only because I understand the language. Why not Latvian synthpop? Or Hungarian? Because those languages are completely incomprehensible to me. I have ears to hear very little of the world, and even then, I believe my mullah before those floppy, cartilaginous liars.

Did you just take my word about the story of Nasreddin and the policeman? What if I told you that it’s not a story about Nasreddin, but a joke about a drunk man who’d lost his key? What if I told you that the joke about the drunk man and the policeman grew out of a story about Nasreddin and his wife looking for Nasreddin’s ring in the garden rather than indoors?

Allow me to conclude this essay about Nasreddin and Sufism with a biblical lesson: Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s and render unto God what is God’s. Learn to discern between situations when you can verify the truth independently — when you should believe your lying ears — and situations where you’re at the mercy of information from above, for better or worse. Naturally, the question of the presence or absence of a donkey belongs to the former category, and the question of the center of the world to the latter. The donkey is of this world, Caesar’s; the center of the world is God’s. To attain your proper orientation towards the center, you must find a righteous priest to guide you. “If you do not believe me, measure it yourself.” Will you, dear reader? Can you?

The revolutionary sees that the clerics lie and cries, “Down with the clerics, down with the Church!” But the discerning student of Nasreddin will see that if the priests are corrupt, they are to be replaced with righteous men of God. He knows the danger of believing the mullah over your lying ears, but knows that without the mullah, we are blind to those things we have no eyes to see and no ears to hear. Without the mullah, the center of the world might as well be the nail where we hammer the bridle of Nasreddin’s donkey. Without the mullah, without the priest, without the whirling dervish, the center of the world might as well not exist. And a world without a center is a world without order, a world not worth living in, a world without God.

Having directed a couple of skits, ads, radio plays, artistic performances, and auteur hipster films in my time, I know that when people know they’re being filmed, they act strange. A lot of people think it’s the camera that does this to people, but in my experience it’s the knowledge of being perceived, scrutinized, and watched by “the public.” Put a camera in front of a woman’s face, and she starts imagining the reactions on social media. Take a full body shot of a man and he’ll suck in his belly and straighten his back.

This is true even outside of movieland. By observing, and announcing that we are observing, we modify the behavior of the observed. This is why voyeurism is so appealing: To observe without the observed knowing is to see them at their most natural.

In racial terms, white America rarely sees American blacks as they are. Whenever white America observes blacks, they put on a show. They are helpless victims, or maybe hard-ass niggas from the ghetto ready to bust a cap in yonder honky’s ass. Maybe they’re swaggering macho men who wonder ‘fuck timmy gon’ do” should they accost and proposition white women. But these are all performances, mostly put on for the benefit of the white observer. Even historically, the negro has performed for the white man. He has been a jive turkey, an Uncle Tom, a subservient lackey, a magical negro — all negro behaviors carried on for the benefit of the white man. It is rare that a white man is accorded a view into the heart of blackness without the blacks putting on a performance for him. Fortunately for us, such a view exists in the media that blacks produce for other blacks.

Which brings me to one of my favorite films, the 2004 by-blacks-for-blacks Soul Plane. Since seeing this film, I’ve continually asked myself about why I find it so good, aside from its pure comedic effect (which is astounding; it is a rib-cracking rollercoaster of laughter). The answer is that it allows us a peek into black Americans as they present themselves to themselves. The racial strife and pathologization of racial discourse characteristic of our age have made actual study of blacks in their own media taboo, but I find them a fascinating people to observe — if not to be neighbors with.

The movie opens with Nashawn Wayne, played by Kevin Hart, dreaming of air travel as a small child, and then running to catch a plane as an adult, his dog in tow. He has to check his dog in as luggage before he’s allowed on the plane. Once aboard, every other passenger is white. He’s loud and obnoxious to the stewardess and to the middle-aged white woman passenger sitting next to him. After a disagreement with a beef stroganoff, he runs to the bathroom, but his ass gets stuck in the toilet bowl during turbulence. Panicked, the stewardess tries to empty the airplane’s waste tank in order to release Nashawn, but she accidentally unloads the luggage, which results in his dog getting sucked into the plane’s engine.

As Nashawn is wheeled out of the airplane and into a waiting ambulance with a block of ice on his ass, he swears revenge on the airline company, loudly proclaiming that they’ll pay even if he has to go on every talk show in America. And indeed, a court presided over by an Asian judge with a majority black jury finds for him and awards him $100 million in damages. This leads Nashawn to start his own airline.

Pretty soon, NWA — Nashawn Wayne Airlines — is in business and ready for its maiden flight (O-69). We see it through the eyes of the Hunkees, a family of whites returning from their vacation to Crackerland. They turn a corner and end up in Terminal (Malcolm) X, and it might as well be Platform 9 3/4 by how alien it is. It’s the world of the American negro, transplanted into the logic of an airplane terminal. In fact, the entire movie follows this logic. An airline, an airplane, air travel — but black. They might as well have called it Spooks on a Plane or Nig-Nogs in the Sky. It’s like one of those Mel Brooks genre parodies, except the comedic element comes from the introduction of blacks and the notion that they can fly. Everything from pilot Mack, who is just Snoop Dogg playing himself, to co-pilot Leslie Gaeman (pronounced gay man), an African immigrant and notably more competent and professional than the other blacks, is just blackity-black and black, y’all. Mind you, since the movie was made in 2004, it depicts the black aesthetic in a manner which is not completely fake and commercialized out of existence, so it falls just within my tolerance window for vulgarity.

We’re treated to an ensemble cast of blacks, Sofia Vergara (¡Ay, caramba!), and of course the Hunkee family, consisting of inoffensive and ineffectual patriarch Mr. Hunkee, hypersexed Heather and Barbara, and dorky but negrolatric Billy. This is because, regardless of what Tariq Nasheed tells you, blacks are scared of white males and especially white male sexuality expressing itself. In Mr. Hunkee, white men are represented as blacks would have us be: bland, inoffensive, impressed by blackness, sexually incontinent around black women, and willing to be cuckolded by black men.

As Soul Plane is a movie by blacks for blacks, black dysfunction — or what the white eye would consider black dysfunction — is on full display. Pilot Snoop Dogg is completely unqualified and overdosing on mushrooms. Nashawn’s deadbeat cousin is running gambling and stripper operations onboard, and hiring the unqualified Snoop Dogg. There are two overweight, ugly shaniquas abusing their power as security officers to grope attractive men and give them cavity searches. Everything that blacks really are is on display, and more, for our comedic enjoyment. We are given a glimpse into their world as they perform without knowing they are being observed by white people. This is what the first European explorers in Africa must have felt like.

Soul Plane comes from the relatively simpler time of the early 2000s, when it was still possible for blacks to have their own media spaces where they wouldn’t expect the white gaze to penetrate. Lords of the Bling and Don’t Be a Menace to South Central While Drinking Your Juice in the Hood are also from this period. Unfortunately, once American blacks took their position as the nominal heads of the bioleninist coalition, they allowed themselves to become the cudgel in the hands of the woke Left in order to bludgeon white people. Subsequently, they lost the privilege of having their own conceptual and media space where the white gaze is presumed not to exist. Today, everything blacks do is watched, so they are always performing for whites, and increasingly, they’re allowed no role apart from that of the victim. People have speculated that the decrease of quality in rap music and other black media is due to the emasculation felt by black men as they’re forced into the role of perpetual victim. But they can’t walk away from this deal, because the benefits of it are too staggering. (Crime is basically legal for them now, after all.)

Were they not instrumentalized against white people in America, I suspect we’d be able to appreciate black art and comedy. Whatever else can be said about them, they are a creative people, and while their culture might be a little lowbrow by white standards, they’re at least entertaining. If steps could be taken towards a racial divorce in America and elsewhere, we could perhaps resume the cultural dialogue between white and black. Until then, gems of black ingenuity like Soul Plane will remain mementos of a rapidly disappearing time.

“Hey, did you hear about that thing Trump did?”

“Nah, what did he do?”

“Something pretty based.”

“Man, I don’t care. We Yang Gang now.”

“Look, I know you’re disappointed in him, but at least he beat Hillary and the nukes aren’t flying.”

That’s the bare-bones structure of a conversation I had with a friend about a week or so ago. I don’t remember the ostensibly based and red-pilled thing that Trump did, which means it was probably – as the kids are fond of saying – cringey and blue-pilled. That which is truly based and red-pilled resonates with you and is burned into your memory. When the Access Hollywood tapes came out and Trump dropped a truth grenade regarding female hypergamy, it immediately spread around the world, and it remained in our collective memory. Women do let you grab ‘em by the pussy if you’re rich, famous, or are alpha in other ways. You can get away with violations of their personal and private space that’d land the average beta in jail.

Through the misty fog of nostalgia, we look back on those years when many normies – indeed, many of us – were galvanized, when the red-pills made the scales fall from our eyes, and we were full of hope for the future. We felt the courage that comes with the certainty that there’s someone powerful at the helm, that a lion beloved of God marches at the head of the column. God help us, we marched behind him and put our faith in him.

We’ve come a long way from that time. No longer are we dealing with a pussy-grabbing, wall-building, swamp-draining God Emperor, but rather with a boomercuck, Israel-firster who wants legal immigrants to come in by their millions, and dances to the tune played by his spoiled brat of a daughter and her (((husband))). The Swamp drained him – or he was The Swamp from the get-go. It doesn’t matter. The mainstream media arsed it up, as usual. He’s not Orange Man. He’s Orange Golem.

But he ain’t Hillary, remember?

So was Obama. I’ll admit that during my conservative phase, in the Tea Party era, I had an inordinate amount of hate for Obama, to the point of believing the Ulsterman Report’s bullshit “White House insider” stories, in which someone who was ostensibly a Democratic party operative was leaking info on Obama out of loyalty to the Clintons. Unfortunately, I can’t find you a link to the reports themselves (which were somehow lurid and boring at the same time), but you can use any non-Google search engine to track down the general context of the thing. There was also a short-lived attempt to character-assassinate Michelle Obama by comparing her unfavorably to past First Ladies, especially Hillary Clinton, who was apparently ladylike, as well as claims that the Clinton camp would vote Republican in the following presidential election. These wild conspiracy theories and character assassination plots were most likely cooked up by the Clinton crime family, but they never really took off in the way that Qanon and other boomer-bait stories did, probably because a necessary assumption of these theories was that Hillary Clinton is ladylike and not a monster. I strongly doubt that even the most deluded of paranoid schizophrenics would believe that.

Now that I’ve managed to purge myself of this Obama-hate, I can in retrospect say that he had one thing going for him: he was Not-Hillary. Not-Hillary is important in a politician, as my friend put it. It means the nuclear nasties are grounded and not zipping willy-nilly through the air, seeking out the great cities of Europe, Asia, and North America, shredding the best of human stock whilst sparing those people too primitive to build a target worth nuking. As we’ve already established, Orange Golem himself is Not-Hillary – which is good, I guess. But as far as Not-Hillaries go, he’d seem to be worse than Obama on several important counts.

Firstly, Trump would appear to be worse on interventionism. It took much arm-twisting from Hillary, Leon Panetta and other warmonger types in his administration, as well as foreign leaders, to get Obama to acquiesce to adventurism in Libya, and even then he “led from behind” and let the French under Sarkozy take the lead. Plus, that did not transpire until the third year of his presidency. Trump, on the other hand, seems to be very gung ho for interventions in Syria and, chillingly, Iran. He’s swinging his dick around in Venezuela, and is at this point very much an Israeli-firster. Obama, famously, snubbed Benjamin Netanyahu and was less favorable to Israel than either Trump or Hillary. It sent the tribe into such hysterics that they produced a ridiculously funny and outrageously racist parody video where Obama sings about relocating Israel “under the sea.” Blackface and offensive accents are apparently okay if you’re of the Joo persuasion. Contrast this to Trump’s proskynesis before Netanyahu and his service to Israeli interests.

Secondly, Obama was in a sense less bad in personnel selection than Trump. Whereas Obama appointed black kakistocrats and race-hustlers such as Van Jones and Eric Holder, Trump seems intent on surrounding himself with crypto-trotskyite Jewish fanatics such as his much-beloved son-in-law, Jared Kushner, and the countless others who’ve goaded him into various cuckeries and stupidities. The black kakistocrats, at least, can be bought off and controlled by careful dispensation of gibs, and there’s also the black tendency to be direct and forthright, which is refreshing compared to Jewish dissimulation and neuroticism. Blacks are easier to control and mollify, whereas Jews are out-of-control and insatiable in both greed and demand for unearned respect. Regardless of race, thieves are always preferable to fanatics, for they can be reasoned with. Also, to his credit, Obama did not bomb foreign countries because his daughters cried at obviously staged videos of chemical attacks.

Now, I’ll give Blumpferino credit where credit is due – he didn’t arse up the Supreme Court nominations, and he’ll probably not arse up his third one when the Left finally admits that Ruth Bader Ginsburg is dead. However, this is probably not due to his own merit, but rather, as Jim puts it, due to the fact that he can draw upon the personnel pool which is the Federalist Society, which is a self-policing group devoted to an ideal amenable to our side. That blog post, incidentally, contains good information on exactly what is necessary to govern, so I wholeheartedly recommend reading it.

So yeah, you could say that, in a sense, I sorta kinda miss Obama. That song makes our dear ol’ milquetoast mulatto sound like a full-blown ghetto nigga lord – which would have been preferable to eight years of mild-mannered cuckery, but hey, that’s life for you.

Obama not only had the benefit of being Not-Hillary, but also the benefits of being Not-McCain and Not-Romney. Why Not-McCain is good is pretty self-explanatory, I’d say, but it bears repeating that he was a warmongering piece of shit who set an aircraft carrier on fire, killing 134 sailors. He was also an unlikeable liberal-leaning opportunist, which is why Republican enthusiasm for him was poor in 2008, handing the White House to Obama. Not-Romney is pretty good as well. Romney is a rich man in an age where wealth is mostly accumulated through graft and plundering of the commons, and Romney’s Bain Capital did exactly that. He got mocked for what would later become the official narrative of the globohomo: scaremongering against Russia. He’s also a Mormon, which is just plain weird and creeps people out. If one were of a conspiratorial bent, one would think that the GOP was softballing Obama with these two screwballs.

Obama was, of course, preceded by Dubya. Dubya is a historic personage in more ways than we currently understand. Éordred, in a recent article, tries to get to the bottom of what constitutes the Dissident Right, and he gets closer than most, but he misses the essence of what we were in the very early days: we were Not-Dubya, but on the Right. We were skeptical of global capitalism, we were skeptical of interventionism, and somewhat indifferent to the limp-wristed way in which the evangelo-cons fought the culture war. That’s a huge umbrella to get under.

Now, Dubya himself had two major benefits. He was Not-Kerry and Not-Gore. It seems like ancient history now, but Dubya wasn’t exactly popular back then, and we saw that his approval ratings collapsed in the wake of the 2004 election. You can run on Not-Kerry, but you can’t govern on it. Again, those of conspiratorial bent would be inclined to believe that the Democrats were softballing Dubya.

Which brings us back to Orange Golem. Much of his campaign was centered on being Not-Hillary, Not-Jeb, and Not-The Swamp in general. It turns out that he can’t govern on that. What is necessary for governance is positive identity, both ideological and biological. The Federalist Society is such a positive ideological identity – a “synthetic tribe,” as Jim puts it – whose organizational model lends itself well to good governance. White Nationalism is another such positive ideological and biological identity, rather than the Alt Right, which for a while just meant Not-Dubya, or, more exactly, not the mainstream conservatives; literally, an alternative Right. Not-The Other Guy will do in a pinch, but governments, nations, and other complex corporate entities cannot be built on negative identities. Incidentally, this is why what Steve Sailer calls the Coalition of the Fringes, and what the Spandrell calls the Bioleninist coalition, will eventually collapse. Their cooperation is predicated on not being white males.

Trump eschews positive identity by dodging clear identification of his voter base and his intellectual support. The identity vacuum has therefore been filled by Jews and Zionists, since this is the second-best positive identity that Trump can access, through his daughter and the oy grey eminence of Jared Kushner. Not-Hillary doesn’t automatically mean us; it could very well mean Netanyahu.

Having read Morris van de Camp’s and Kathryn S.’s recommended reading lists, I thought that I’d like to do one of those. The problem is, however, that due to my miseducation and subsequent intellectual deformity, I have no specialized focus, and as such I had no idea how to thematically list five books that people should definitely read. It bothered me greatly. But then it hit me: My lack of focus is itself a product of a specific intellectual path I’ve taken. It is the path of lateral thinking and radical doubt, the path which manifests itself in front of he who walks it only after the step has been taken, the path which is savage and unpredictable, but blissfully far away from the humdrum noise of modern intellectual life. We shall proceed from our current position, backwards towards the first step taken, because this is the only part of it that we know: that which has already been discovered.

In the great tradition of doing everything ass-backwards around here, let’s start our list by discussing the political implications of the as-of-yet undeclared philosophical foundations with Mishima’s excellent three-act play about the waning days of the Weimar Republic and the birth of the Third Reich. In this romanticized retelling of the events leading up to and during the Night of the Long Knives, the fate of Germany is decided by four men of differing and opposing temperaments: Adolf Hitler, Ernst Röhm, Gregor Strasser, and Gustav Krupp. At first glance, they represent the forces in German society: Röhm the militant SA, Strasser the agitated workers, and Krupp the Rhineland capitalists, with poor Herr Hitler left to balance between them. Indeed, this seems to be the play’s dominant reading: a political power struggle between interest groups.

On second glance, they form a sort of caste structure: the warrior Röhm, the priest Strasser, the merchant Krupp, and the artist/divine king Hitler. And indeed, there is a minority reading of the play as a violent clash between the tendencies represented by the three lesser castes and their final subjugation by the King, who has absorbed everything within the divinely-inspired state — finally completing the system of German idealism.

But my own reading of the play is different (and can be heard here). I see a battle of four great wills which are not fully rational, nor completely good or evil. They are in many ways forces of nature and animal spirits often present in elite classes, and these forces are what drive politics rather than rational interest groups or historical processes. Owing to his fascinating speech about the true will of Iron, see Gustav Krupp not as a capitalist or mercantile archetype, but as a hereditary high priest of the furnace-temple, not directing but serving Iron. Strasser accuses Krupp of representing the interests of the Rhineland capitalists, but we know better. Strasser himself is supposed to be “just a chemist,” but he too serves cruel and strange gods no less than Herr Krupp; he is an agitator who cannot and will not stop, and indeed does not know victory when he has it. We know his kind, this irrational person who cannot admit that he has won and has to find reason time and time again to fill the gaping void at the middle of his being with the pursuit of a grand and unattainable cause. It is pathological, of course, but it is Quixotic in the most noble sense.

Able to see his demise, Strasser appeals to Ernst Röhm to join him, but Röhm is, tragically, not a rational actor, either, for just as Herr Strasser, there is a void at the core of his being as well, filled not with ideology, but with dreams. That dream is one of companionship and loyalty, an ultimately doomed attempt to combat the lies and hypocrisy of civilian life with military discipline, camaraderie, revolutionary fervor, and great strength — all dedicated to service of one man, “my friend Hitler,” to escape the ugly secular world in the great childish fantasy of the parade ground, where beautiful, strong men in uniform set the world to rights. Much has been made of the play’s supposed homoeroticism, but it is relatively mild; far more jarring is the sheer childishness of Röhm’s fantasy. And indeed, who wouldn’t want to retreat from the ugliness of the world?

I believe Dr. Goebbels said it best when he pointed out that anime girls are so beautiful, but meanwhile, in the real world, we have liberals. As we learn in the play, however, Hitler has nothing but contempt for Röhm’s fantasy — not because he’s a cold and rational man who believes his eyes and ears alone, but because Röhm’s fantasy is simplistic. Röhm is a boy, whereas Hitler is a man and his dream is inspired by Wagner’s music. Hitler’s dream is of himself as a storm to be unleashed on the world, and indeed, it is this supremely all-encompassing and radical will that wins the day, defeating Strasser’s ideological fervor and Röhm’s childish fantasy while hewing even the will of iron to itself. The storm has come and swept it all away.

Yes, I know — non-fiction. Che brutta. But hazard your valuable time with this one, because it reads like a charm. You’ll hear some fine insights from mathematics and finance, some riveting anecdotes about wearing comfortable shoes and walking the streets of Zagreb, a debate between Fat Tony and Socrates, a treatise on teaching birds how to fly, and speculations about populations in the ancient Mediterranean. You’ll find that you’ll blaze through the book because it is just so well-written and entertaining. You’ll also struggle to remember any specific thing you’ve read, but something would have changed irreversibly in you: You’ll no longer put so much stock in knowing, and you’ll find that doing suddenly sounds more attractive. You’ll have developed a nose for sniffing out unsehn and a heuristic for detecting nonlinearities. In a word, you’ll be given a crash course in avoiding the impoverished and neurotic intellectualism of our age.

If there’s a great graph of thinkers ranked by how conducive their thought is to autism, Ayn Rand would be the most strongly pro-autism and Taleb the one on the exact opposite of the spectrum. Of course, this is not to say that autistic or autistic-like people will not benefit from reading Antifragile. Quite the contrary; one of the book’s great strengths is that it is autism-friendly, with the ultimate goal of instilling some practical and interpersonal wisdom in the reader. You’ll find yourself chuckling whenever someone mentions being “reasonable” after this one — reason is powerless before dreams.

But beyond the ability of this book to shatter the autistic age’s preconceptions, Taleb’s most lasting influence may be aesthetic. I have called before for the formation of a dissident high culture and an aesthetic standard which would incorporate world-consciousness and ethnic nationalism. Nassim Taleb might help us there, not only because he’s a friend of the local and time-tested but also because he has in some magical way managed to remain cosmopolitan without becoming a libtard. We should definitely look into ways of developing this superpower.

I wish Nassim Taleb had never gotten on Twitter and embarrassed himself with his hot takes on IQ and COVID. Then I wouldn’t have to waste time convincing people that Antifragile is worth reading despite all of that. Tragically, although his position of IQ is about 80% wrong, nobody else is talking about the 20% that he got right, specifically the very weak correlation between IQ and incomes and this fact’s implications. The only person I remember even noticing this, aside from myself, was Jean-Francois Gariepy, who invited Taleb to discuss this. This discussion will never happen, of course, and that’s a tragedy. But don’t let somebody’s Twitter stupidity blind you to genius in other areas; in fact, Taleb would be the first to point out that genuine insight usually comes from people who disregard such superficial things as appearing smart on Twitter.

There was a red-haired man who had no eyes or ears.
Neither did he have any hair, so he was called red-haired theoretically.

He couldn’t speak, since he didn’t have a mouth. Neither did he have a nose.
He didn’t even have any arms or legs. He had no stomach and he had no back and he had no spine and he had no innards whatsoever. He had nothing at all!

Therefore there’s no knowing whom we are even talking about.
In fact it’s better that we don’t say any more about him.

They’re not even short stories; they’re “incidences”: an entire theater company being sick, Pushkin and Gogol tripping over each other onstage, Pushkin and his sons falling from their chairs, men going to the cinema and never coming back. Girls growing up as a function of will. A young man astonishes a watchman. Man is sphere, and fat women have distinctive smells. All the trees peef, all the rocks puff, all of, all of nature poof. Russians used to tell them as jokes in the Communist period. You will enjoy this. You will laugh like a madman. You will be forever changed, or so one hopes. A dead man rises from the funeral bed and eats three meters of linen. One does not read the incidences to learn, because there is nothing to be learned. One does not read the incidences to be inspired, because they inspire nothing. If you want an image of the future, imagine old women falling out of windows one after another, forever.

We could find ourselves living in a world not very different from the one inhabited by the esteemed Daniil Ivanovich very soon. Leningrad in the 1920s and 1930s was not a happy place, but it is definitely one where the weird arts could be practiced; it provided enough absurdity to fuel OBERIU for a while, at least until it was shut down in the Stalinist purges.

Reading Kharms is a breath of fresh air after a lifetime of dust. It reminds you that at a distant point in the past, literature was fun and innovative and that things were written in books that people read for entertainment, not only for “edification.” But most importantly, reading Kharms exercises those areas of the brain which one needs to think irrationally, absurdly, laterally, and over the top. Over time, one starts getting the meta-story, the thing that lies beyond the first-order uproarious laughter courtesy of our good friend Daniil Ivanovich. We learn to reject the hidebound and formulaic, but also live beyond it and attain the freedom we always sensed we could have. We arrive, in a lengthy journey through modernist literature to an ancient and very traditional Orthodox thought: that all, including what we call truth, is vanity.

He was a troll. He was a mullah. He was a wanderer. He was a wise man. He was a fool. In a word, he was a Sufi, or so we think. He may not have been real in the sense in which you are, but he is real in an archetypal sense. He would use humor and mockery to make a greater point, or to teach men that they don’t know as much as they think — or that knowing is a much taller order than anyone had imagined. He would ride his donkey around, dispensing wisdom in this way. He was known as Nasruddin Hodja, or Mullah Nasreddin. He was probably a Seljuk Turk, but he belongs to us all. He was friends with Itar Pejo in Macedonia, Aldar Köse among the Kazakhs, and Reynard Fuchs in the Netherlands. He is appropriate for all ages: Children will love hearing about how the clever Mullah Nasreddin outsmarted the man who asked to borrow his donkey, or how the Mullah resigns himself that he’ll never please the fickle crowd. As they grow older, they learn that their childhood companion wasn’t quite as silly as he appeared at first glance and find that his wisdom will help them on their political path. And the old Sufi will smile and stroke his beard as he sinks back into the shadows to sip his tea, for he has set one more wayward soul on the path of righteousness.

Man often has all that he needs to be content, to succeed, and to be in the world right in front of him. He is often blinded by envy, greed, pride — by all of those things which we used to call sins. He finds himself questing for truth, never stopping to think what that elusive thing may even be. He wants to do things, but can’t even think of a thing to do, he is restless yet underfed. He appeals to aesthetics, yet has no sense of beauty. Man is a moron sometimes, but a beautiful one. Sometimes the Mullah must teach him a harsh, yet humorous lesson in humility, contentment, and clarity.

Adults think they’re very practical, aren’t they? They chase money and status, believe themselves kings of the Sun itself, enslave themselves to narcissism, count the stars as if they were their own, and cannot even tell a drawing of a boa constrictor eating an elephant from an image of a hat. But that which matters most is invisible. Indeed, things as they are do not fit neatly into the boxes of preconceived notions and reason-based reality. Grownups are a strange lot. Come to think of it, so are roses. They’ll believe themselves to be unique, but there are thousands like them. They can preen and prickle their thorns, pretend to fall ill and demand bell jars for protection against caterpillars, but in the end they are rooted and not as one-of-a-kind as they imagine themselves to be. And yet what matters is that there is one that is ours, and that is invisible, intangible, and immeasurable.

When the Little Prince falls into the desert, the aviator, who once entertained dreams of being an artist, is given a chance to learn that what is most important cannot be seen or measured. They are surrounded by ugliness, but somehow they find a way to understand the intangible bonds of mutual taming that go into human relations and find beauty in them. When we find that elusive person who can understand what we are about, who can see the boa eating the elephant where others can only see a hat, who can understand that inside a plain box is a sheep that will eat the baobabs off the small planets to keep them safe, we have found an invisible treasure. Because man is born alone in the world, to know another soul is to resolve the problem of solipsism and to start the great journey towards bridging the gap between A and B, between himself and those around him.

The Little Prince represents the triumph of the genuine over the false, of the essential over the ephemeral, and of the undying over the perfunctorily rational. The Little Prince conquers those who think the world is simple enough to understand and measure and those who have no heed for the lost dimensions of beauty. He is humble enough to realize that what he has is not precious because it is expensive or rare, but because it is his and his alone, because he has grown accustomed to it and it to him, whether it be the Rose or the Fox or, ultimately, the Aviator. It is a tale of friendship and also of belonging: The Little Prince gives himself to the snake so that he may return home.

Something we keep coming up against in our journey is that man’s pretensions to reason are his greatest vanity, but in his rationality he has lost the eyes to see that which is truly important: that the irrational desires and tempests of men are what governs the world. Man, having been almost fully abandoned to himself in the world, seeks to salve this great suffering. Some men will fill the gap with ideology. Others will serve strange gods. Others still will retreat into fantasy. But a lucky few will learn to smell, like Fat Tony, the deception on their enemies’ breaths. They will learn humility, both epistemic and personal from the Mullah Nasruddin. They will find in the roaring humor and quiet sorrow of Daniil Kharms that all, even truth and beauty, is vanity. And finally, they will find themselves becoming the storm, like Hitler, for the benefit of what was essential and invisible to the eye, to that which was important to the Little Prince.

When we build a new ideology for the white identitarian Right, let it be an ideology that does not fear to soar into the great, burning sky of the fantastic and irrational. Let it never be said again that we were autistic little inchworms measuring the marigolds, but that we’ve drunk from the well in the desert that ought not have been there, that we shook the hand of the red-headed man who did not exist, and that we bore ourselves with courage and wisdom — and that our strength was tempered with humility.

Congratulations, folks. We are about a week into our second White Boy Summer and already things are, as the kids like to say, popping. Roe v. Wade has been overturned, hoes are mad, and we still have most of the summer ahead of us. I write these words and a pleasant laziness permeates my body, calling me to the inactivity of the shade and the self-satisfaction of summertime repose.

Last year there was an “official White Boy Summer soundtrack” which was heavy on rap and other forms of negro music. While White Boy Summer was indeed invented by the wigger Chet Hanks, the instinctual impulse behind it is quintessentially white, one could even say Aryan. As such, I never believed a white boy summer soundtrack should consist of anything but California surf rock.

The dream of summer is an almost universal presence in European culture. European man has been forged by winter, and our flesh and souls are embers of defiance in Old Man Winter’s kingdom. And yet, European man is always dreaming of a life without that onerous season. Unburdened by worries of civilizational death or the softness that would arise out of a lack of hardship, our ancestors sought after and yearned for an easier life, the yearning for endless summer. European man, a product of the icy North, yearns to conquer for himself a piece of the South, a piece of summer, so that he may have a brief respite from the endless war against winter.

When we talk about Tiki culture, we talk about the culture of those Americans who conquered the Pacific Ocean and Polynesia in the Second World War. It is an expression of escape from the humdrum of everyday life into the warm, welcoming sand and sea of a Polynesian island, of drinking a Mai Tai under the shade of lush vegetation as bronze-skinned native girls, unspoiled by Western ideas of propriety, frolic in the shallows. We talk about a land without cold, without winter, and with no need for the rigors of discipline — a place where a warrior takes solace. We talk about a sort of Heaven.

Post-war Europe did not look to Polynesia in building its summer cult, but to its own long-suffering southern frontier: the Mediterranean. In that kaleidoscope of cultures and nations, Europe looked to find solace after the cataclysm which nearly ended our race. First it was Dalida, herself an Italian born in Egypt who took inspiration from sun-kissed Italy and Greece, and even the Arab world, to forge a new exoticist aesthetic in Europe. She was followed by ABBA, the Swedish pop group which remains to this day the best example of exoticism done right. I’ve called ABBA the most perfect expression of Aryan aesthetics only half in jest. After all, what is more Aryan than to pluck absent-mindedly at a lyre while a woman in a state of undress sings, yearning for the last horizon — a sunny, sandy beach looking out to an infinite ocean? And while you’re at it, why not have a Mai Tai?

As I type these words, hundreds of thousands of Europeans are seeking out the Mediterranean basin’s ancient shores in order to experience their week or ten days of heaven. Friendly and overweight German salarymen will roast themselves a peculiar shade of red and drink thrice their weight in beer daily in the courtyard alehouses of the Balearic Islands. Droves of Britishers will overtake the Greek islands and demonstrate once again the sad fate of people who’ve come out the ass end of the civilization-wringer. Russians in their thousands will descend upon Italy and Turkey, the men making spectacles of themselves with their drinking and the women with their beauty. Aryan Man will once again arrive in force on the shores of Mare Nostrum and honor the blood of untold millions — Roman, Greek, Spanish, French, English, and German — who have perished there by bathing his body in its sacred waters, imbibing its magic potions, participating in the bacchanalia on Ibiza and Crete, and sacrificing his skin to Father Sun.

But there is one place where the sublimated Aryan cult of summer and Sun is stronger than anywhere else. I am, of course, talking about the edge of the world and all of Western civilization — and no, not the whole state, either, just the iconic Southern half where we’ve all been (and I don’t mean on vacation). It’s what you get when you light out for the territory ahead of the rest to avoid being adopted and sivilized by Aunt Sally, at scale. People ran from the onerous life imposed by civilization until there was nowhere left to run, and somehow or other, they ended up in La-La Land.

Its current woes – multitudinous, but all stemming from demographic displacement — notwithstanding, it’s important to remember that California was at one point a white state; indeed, a conservative white state and a center of the summer-loving Tiki culture as well as the treasured surfer dude culture. The beach bum: tall, blond, chiseled like a Greek god, sun-kissed (but not like the neurotic and feminine bodybuilder of the ‘80s or today), laid back, relaxed and friendly, amusedly contemptuous of bourgeois norms of “work” and “money” – in short, a Diogenes with the beauty of Alexander, or Alexander were he truly Diogenes. Unhurried and relaxed, SoCal beach life was genuinely the end of the West — or how it should have ended, at any rate: Aryan Man, forged by ice, finally conquering this land of endless summer and living out the rest of his years in well-earned bliss. Alas, it was not to be, but that’s a story for another day.

When we say White Boy Summer, we awaken the ancestral yearning for the land of summer. We imagine a victory state for the white race: a land where cold hath no more dominion. It is a Faustian dream, no doubt, but then again, we are who we are. When we say White Boy Summer, we yearn for the promise of Sun, sea, sand, and above all, carefree youth, a respite from the terrifying progress of time and the attendant spell of ageing. When we say White Boy Summer, we stake our claim to the warm regions of the planet and announce our intent to hew them to our will.

White Boy Summer is far more than a pathetic wigger’s attempt to invigilate himself into blackness, but rather a bold and shameless proclamation of summertime whiteness. It is a glove thrown down on the sand and a message to the swarthy races of the world that the heat will not protect them, and that like the proverbial mad dogs and Englishmen, we will walk in the midday Sun, and we will swim, fish, surf, frolic, and build sandcastles.

There is no escaping Aryan Man. He will have his summer, his sea and sand, and by God, he will have his Mai Tai.

That’s right. I’m going to Greece for the sex. Sex for breakfast, sex for dinner, sex for tea, and sex for supper.

Sounds like a marvelous diet, love.

Yes, if you haven’t heard of it, it’s called the F plan.

It’s summertime, and many of us are flocking to various bodies of water for swimming, beachgoing, and respite from the humdrum of everyday life, so it might be a good time to have a look at one of the United Kingdom’s best films, the 1989 romantic comedy Shirley Valentine. It follows the story of a Liverpool housewife portrayed by Pauline Collins who travels to Greece on holiday without her husband. Contrary to the salaciousness of the quote at the top of this essay, she doesn’t go to Greece for the sex, but nevertheless finds plenty of it when she gets there.

When we first find Shirley, her last name is Bradshaw, she’s 42, and married with two adult children who’ve moved out. She’s frumpy and sits in her house, talking to the wall, anticipating her husband’s arrival from work for his tea, which he expects to consist of steak. It doesn’t, because Shirley has fed her husband’s steak to the neighbors’ dog, who being vegan themselves, feed the dog a diet of muesli. We find out, through a series of flashbacks, that Shirley Valentine used to be a rebel in school, that she used to torment and resent the Head Girl, Marjorie Majors, that she and her husband were passionate with each other, and that her feminist friend Jane has just won two tickets for a two week holiday in Greece. Shirley is still unsure whether she will go, certain that her husband Joe will disapprove, all the while lamenting how boring, predictable, and stale her life has become. At first, she wanted to refuse Jane outright, but then she ran into Marjorie Majors who now works as a high-class hooker and has a glamorous lifestyle and travels a lot, and all the while, she secretly admired Shirley while they were in school because Shirley was a rebel and a cool girl who wore her skirt short, smoked, and found everything boring.

Shirley’s husband Joe comes back and is upset that a) He’s having his tea at 6:15 rather than at 6:00, b) He’s having chips and egg for his tea on a Thursday when chips and egg are a Tuesday food and c) His steak has been fed to the vegan neighbor’s dog. He shoves the plate of chips and egg away, and it falls into Shirley’s lap. Shirley then opens the cupboard where promotional material for trips to Greece is stuck to the inside and dramatically smears the egg from her lap all over it, triumphantly declaring her intention to go to Greece without Joe. Joe is very upset. We’re supposed to feel bad for Shirley who’s in the thrall of this boring and abusive man who probably doesn’t love her, and indeed, the movie is framed exactly so, but a second in Joe’s perspective tells us the story of a working stiff who’s just come back from his job, stewing in stress hormones, only to find out that the steak he’s probably been looking forward to all week has been fed to the neighbor’s dog. My sympathy for the bloodhound being forced to eat muesli notwithstanding, I also sympathize with Joe. Man or dog, it is the height of cruelty to deny someone his meat.

Joe storms out, and Shirley packs for Greece in secret. Just before she leaves, her daughter Millandra moves back in after deciding that her roommate is a complete mare, and immediately starts treating Shirley like her personal servant, until she finds out that her mother is planning a trip to Greece with Jane the feminist. Millandra declares the whole situation obscene, convinced that her mother is going to Greece for the sex, leading to the notorious “sex for breakfast, sex for dinner, sex for tea and sex for supper” exchange with a stranger in the middle of the street. She then storms out and returns to her roommate.

Shirley is momentarily dissuaded, seeing reason in her daughter’s pronouncement that the idea of two middle aged women traipsing around the Greek islands and coquetting with the local lotharios is genuinely obscene, and she should remain home, but is again convinced to go to Greece when her vegan neighbor gives her a silk robe and calls her “brave and marvelous” (“stunning and brave” was not quite in vogue at that time) that Shirley is finally confident enough to go. And go she does.

Now, in Greece, we find her talking to a rock on the beach, once again all alone because her friend Jane the feminist has left her for a fellow she met on the plane, who apparently has a mansion on the other side of the island. We’re then treated to scenes of Shirley showing up the other English tourists who’re practicing a bit of the old English parochialism with regard to the local cuisine and naval architecture. In a scene which is probably the dream of every person of slightly above average intelligence, Shirley tells them off by informing them that the Greeks invented a whole lot of things, including the wheel while the English were still running around in loincloths. Now, granted, the parochialism of the other tourists is a bit grating, but believe you me, reader, I’ve seen far, far worse from Brits abroad than mild ignorance. Compared to some of the obscenities I’ve seen and heard from Brits abroad, someone wondering whether Macedonia is a salad or joking that a fishing boat’s been made by Noah is rather quaint.

Shirley then finds a local taverna where she asks the owner to move one of the tables closer to the seaside so she can drink wine as was always her dream, in the country where the grapes are grown. The owner complies, and then Shirley laments to the audience that she’s lived “such a small life,” as if keeping house, giving birth to and raising two children were something to scoff at. Noticing her melancholy, the owner, Costas, portrayed by Tom Conti, invites her to join him on his brother’s boat the next morning. When she hesitates, Costas assures her, in the movie’s most memorable quote, that “you think I want make fuck (pronounced fock) with you? Of course I want make fuck with you, you are beautiful woman, man have to be crazy not want make fuck with you. But I am not calling fuck. I am calling brother boat. Different thing. Boat is boat. Fuck is fuck.” Conti’s Greek accent is not convincing, at least not to my ears, but Greece in 1989 was still an exotic location for many Westerners.

One thing leads to another and while on Costas’ brother’s boat, Shirley goes swimming without a bathing suit and finds out she doesn’t want Costas to not make fuck with her, so she kisses him and they make fuck, complete with orchestra music which Shirley comments on in delightfully postmodern fashion. Now, the sex scene is not exactly pleasant to watch. Pauline Collins is not attractive in the film. I understand that she’s supposed to look frumpy, but frumpy is not the same thing as unattractive. Frumpy women are attractive, if in need of better grooming. Shirley is overweight, wrinkled, and her cleavage is covered in liver spots. I’d put this down to the ravages of time, but she’s only 42. 42-year-old women aren’t necessarily ugly, even if time and hopefully childbirth have left their mark on them.

While it is evident even earlier, the sex scene on the boat makes it crystal clear that the film is trying to pedestalize the infantile whims of an ugly woman who nevertheless had a good life. The film would be much better if they’d used a more attractive actress. If this sounds shallow of me, so be it. Part of the appeal of the whole thing — the sex for breakfast, sex for dinner thing — is the perverse grotesquerie of an older woman behaving as impulsively as a younger woman, traveling to exotic locales for sex. But film is first and foremost a visual medium. Someone reading about Shirley would imagine a frumpy yet attractive English housewife, but Pauline Collins’ liver-spotted saggy tits leave very little to the imagination.

Costas himself is a remarkably flat character. He has no character beyond being amorous and, as we find out later in the film, he likes dancing at his nephew’s wedding. Shirley even comments that he doesn’t say much, to which he retorts that he likes to listen and watch, while ogling her. He is, in a sense, the perfect kind of man for a middle-aged woman out chasing her whims, consisting of nothing but ears to listen to her prattle, eyes to ogle her sagging body, and a penis to satisfy her with. He is only Greek, I suspect, because that’s as exotic as you could get with sexual foreigners without seriously scandalizing the sensibilities of the 1989 British public. If the film were made today, he’d most certainly be black, named Ngubu, and there’d be at least 10 minutes of the film dedicated to extolling his sexual prowess.

And so, Shirley is renewed, reborn, to the point that she refuses to board the plane back home and stays behind in Greece. When she returns to the tavern, she finds Costas seducing another tourist woman with the “boat is boat, fuck is fuck” line. We then find out that Shirley is not mad at him, because she didn’t fall in love with him, “she fell in love with the idea of living” or herself, or something inane like that. She asks for a job and stays on the island, mingling with the locals and tourists, until her husband Joe becomes so desperate that he flies to Greece to retrieve her. When he arrives on the seaside, he doesn’t recognize her, because, in Shirley’s own words, she has become Shirley Valentine.

So, there you have it, girls. If you’re in a bit of a rut, feeling a little bored with your life, why not fly down to an exotic location, insisting you’re not going for the sex, have sex with a rapacious stranger, stay behind while insisting that you’re not staying behind for the stranger or the sex, but because you’ve fallen in love with the idea of living. Throw away your life and pursue your childish whims. Be a perpetual tourist. Much is made of Shirley’s enjoyment of Greece as a holiday destination, but when she actually attends the wedding of Costas’ nephew, she finds herself a mute observer of the strange religious rituals, she can’t converse with the attendants — the only words of Greek she seems to know are kalamari and evcharisto — so she goes away.

Then her husband forgives her for making the fuck with Costas and comes to fetch her from Greece, because that’s the ultimate female fantasy. Do stupid things, be adored regardless of what you look like, be easily forgiven for your bullshit, drink cheap wine (retsina) by the seaside and feel cultured for it, speak two words of Greek and consider yourself erudite, fuck a mustached lothario and declare yourself in love with the idea of living, stay behind in a holiday location to play tourist all year round. Everything wrong with the modern woman is on display in this movie, in Pauline Collins’ full wrinkled, liver-spotted, and flabby glory.

Imagine drinking beer with your neighbor. Imagine your families having a barbecue. Imagine helping your neighbor fix his vehicle, which is notorious for breaking down at inopportune moments. Imagine your neighbor picking your kids up from school because you can’t get out of work.

Then imagine that the next day, you’re shooting your neighbor, burning his house down, killing his sons, and raping his daughters. Oh, and you appropriate his car for your use afterward. Tough to imagine. But it happened. We called it the Yugoslav wars.

While they’re nowhere near the scale and scope of other conflicts, I maintain that the Yugoslav wars remain the most intensely brutal of white-on-white conflicts due to the sheer mutual hatred of its participants, doubly underscored by their previously pacific and even bucolic coexistence in a common state. When I say no more brother wars, I do not think of faraway Kursk or Somme, but of things that happened to men I know. Peaceful and normal men, with large pot-bellies in their middle and old age, but capable of unimaginable brutality, just like Colonel Kurtz’s VC who “hacked off every inoculated arm.”

When I discuss war and brutality, I always harken back to Chesterton’s fence. Madmen did not wander off from the asylum to build this fence in the night. Reasonable, rational men constructed this fence for reasons which appeared sound to them. If you’re asking me, Chesterton’s fence is just a special case of Hegel’s “If it exists, it is reasonable.” When we say reasonable, we don’t mean good, but we mean that the men doing it have good reasons for doing it, i. e. they are not doing it to their detriment as they understand it. So, why did Yugoslavia erupt into violence, death, and destruction in the 90s? Keith Woods has an idea. 

If you want my take on why Yugoslavia went the way of the dinosaur, you can peruse any of my articles on the subject. From its charlatanic intellectual class, of which the most famous is Slavoj Žižek, to the hilarious attempts to foster civic camaraderie through national military service. And of course, there’s my three-part vision of a future for whites which attempts to learn from the lessons of the Yugoslav disaster, of which the first part tries to dissect the problem of forcing people to live together. I take a stand against petty nationalism, but also against racial imperialism. The consequence of the first is weakness. The consequence of the second is Bosnia, followed by weakness.

I’ll also add that Yugoslavia, in its initial form, was a thoroughly globalist project, initiated by Woodrow Willson in the wake of the Great War. It was seen throughout its existence as a model multiethnic, multicultural state; a state of the future that would transcend ethnic and religious boundaries. It was a creature of Versailles and of Yalta, beginning as a Serbian imperialist project, but ultimately ending as an anti-Serb project, while remaining anti-Croat, anti-Slovenian, anti-Bosniak, and anti-Macedonian to the bitter end. Any attempts by the rulers to reform the country into something more manageable, such as Prince-Regent Pavle Karadjordjević’s attempts to give each constitutive nation home rule and achieve neutrality during the Second World War were cruelly subverted, usually by either English, Soviet, or American intelligence services stoking Serbian imperialist fantasies. I want to add a disclaimer here that I do not blame Serbs for Yugoslavia and their breakup. They were taken for a ride and lied to, probably more than any other of the constitutive nations. They were given cheap and mostly symbolic privileges over the other nations, but in the end, paid the heaviest of prices with the bombardment of 1999 and the loss of Kosovo.

Keith contends that Yugoslavia fell apart as a result of American intelligence pressure. Reality, however, shows us that Yugoslavia was — for all 70 years of its existence — propped up by either Britain or America. While the common people of Serbia and Macedonia felt a kinship with their fellow Orthodox in Russia, and Croats and Slovenes preferred closer relations with Germany and Austria, Yugoslavia consistently acted against the interests of those countries and for the interests of the two Anglophone thalassocracies, even when it had to be nudged into it by their intelligence arms, such as in the March putsch of 1941 which dragged the Kingdom of Yugoslavia into an unnecessary war with the Axis powers. During the Cold War, the country’s failing socialist economy was endlessly propped up by both Americans and Soviets, each fearful that Yugoslavia would turn to the other in the event of economic hardship. You can read about this and much more in Dr. Tomislav Sunić’s phenomenal Woodrow Wilson’s Defeat in Yugoslavia: The End of a Multicultural Utopia. This work was written in 1994, so it’s about as fresh as it gets. Here’s a quote which I believe greatly encapsulates the state of affairs immediately following the Yugoslav wars:

The results of the war in the former Yugoslavia will certainly lead to an unparalleled historical revisionism regarding two world wars in Europe. Some German observers have pointed out that the Croatian fight for independence indirectly challenged the legacy of Versailles and one of its crucial pillars, Serb-controlled Yugoslavia. Should Serbia lose in the Balkans, then the real winner of World War II, in a retroactive way, becomes Germany.

For America, Yugoslavia was a model multi-ethnic state, which aside from being a buffer zone in the East-West condominium, had also had a duty to weaken the natural German glans in Central and Eastern Europe. With the dissolution of Yugoslavia, Woodrow Wilson suffered a serious defeat in Croatia.

An important takeaway from Dr. Sunić’s assessment was that the crisis arising out of the Slovenian and Croatian declarations of independence were ultimately solved by Zagreb, Ljubljana, and Berlin. Data that became available after the publication of that article revealed that Belgrade was likewise involved in the de-escalation of the crisis. All the while, Washington and Brussels dithered. A silver lining of that whole sad historical episode gives us an important lesson: sovereign nations working together in concert can find solutions, whereas large supranational entities mostly get in the way. I can see many parallels between the way my own homeland of Macedonia and our dear neighbor Greece gradually learned to grudgingly work together between 1991 and 2018, only to see the old wounds reopened in a violent fashion by globohomo’s supranationalist structures. Nations work together when given space to breathe. But force them together and the urge to murder, burn, pillage, and rape arises in the featherless biped’s simian hindbrain.

A note on “divide and conquer.” Keith makes the point that Yugoslavia had to be divided in order to be conquered by international capital. However, a casual look at the economies of the post-Yugoslav nations indicates a lower presence of international capital than in many other countries, certainly when compared to old Yugoslavia, when one adjusts for the rate of internationalization of capital which has certainly increased since the 1980s. Of course, Yugoslavia wasn’t “divided” in the 90s. Rather, it was a divided, unstable, and ungovernable entity between 1918 and 1991 which fragmented into six relatively homogenous, stable, and safe entities. All six of the republics weathered the 2008 crises far better than their Western counterparts, not only because of their lower levels of internationalization, but also due to the simple fact that it is far more natural to take one for the team if you have genetic similarity with everyone on the team.

As to the claim that six republics are easier to manage than a single federation, I’ll point out US influence has waned in the region, with the exceptions of Albania and Kosovo, and since the illegal, Albanian-backed seizure of power in 2017, Macedonia. Serbia is quite successfully triangulating between China and Russia, with Croatia closely cooperating with its historic German ally. Compared to the direct lines of coordination that existed between Washington and Belgrade during the Cold War, this is a remarkable retreat. And indeed, anyone who has been in a fight will testify that in many ways, it is easier to handle one big man than it is to contend with six smaller ones, especially if they’re not chained together at the ankles.

What’s that about a failing economy? Wasn’t Yugoslavia a socialist nation? That’s supposed to protect from a failure of the economy, right? Unfortunately, a lot of people in the Dissident Right have taken the repudiation of the markets-and-GDP cult practiced by Conservative Inc. to mean a full endorsement of socialism. When I say I’m a third positionist, it means that I refuse to worship markets and efficiency. I assert that the state is sovereign, and this sovereignty applies to economic matters as well. I am willing to take on any and all economic measures for the good of the state and people, without being beholden to either free markets or command economies. Socialism, much like neoliberalism, means becoming beholden to such ideologies. If an economic sector is best run by the state, let the state run it. But if it’s best run by the market, let the market run it. Usually, whenever we want efficiency (and we do want efficiency), we delegate to the markets, understanding that this comes at a cost of security. Wherever security is needed, the state steps in, understanding that this comes at a cost in efficiency. However, Yugoslavia’s economic system wasn’t the kind of socialism you saw in the Soviet Union, nor was it the kind of socialism you see in the Scandinavian countries. It was the kind of socialism you could see in 19th-century Britain, or 20th-century America, which is to say socialism for the ruling class.

The first thing that was done was the nationalization of farmland, much of which was held by small and medium-sized farmers, as well as some estates held by large landowners where individual farmers held parcels of land in perpetuity and paid percentages of their crop profit to the landowner. This land was taken from all the owners — large, small, and medium — and then given over to a local party potentate to manage, who’d employ only fractions of the population as farmhands (it was more “efficient”, see), forcing the bulk of the people to move to the cities.

Something far more sinister was done in the mountainous areas where the primary method of agriculture was animal husbandry. It involved the wholesale massacre of farm animals, sometimes for ridiculously stupid reasons. Macedonia’s first communist president of government, Lazar Koliševski, infamously instituted a (I hope you’re sitting down) goat genocide, killing almost every goat in the country with the rationale that goats eat shrubbery on which soldiers depend for concealment, therefore threatening national defense. In practice, this meant that entire families which had depended on goatherding as their source of sustenance and employment now had to move to the cities.

Once they were corralled into the cities, the people’s labor was exploited to construct and later work in the factories managed by the communist party. Many of these factories were placed with zero regard to public health, pollution, or environmental issues. I give you the most flagrantly stupid example: the Veles lead and zinc smelter. The smelter closed in 2003, but to this day, the ground and groundwater are so imbued with lead particles that children in Veles are more often than not born with growth deformities. Veles, as some of you may know, is also the name of the Slavic god of the underground, herders, music, trade, and wine. He is a serpent living in the roots of the world-tree, struck at by mighty Perun’s thunderbolts. Pollution of his city and criminal negligence for public health have angered this cunning god and we are now paying the price.

Having grown fat on the labor of their fellow man, the communist managerial class came to be known as the “red bourgeoisie.” The jig was up, however, and the common folk were rapidly re-learning the old arts of dolce far niente, of pretending to work, of “boss makes a dollar, I make a dime, and so I shit on company time” which they’d practiced for so long during the 500 years under the Ottoman empire. Whether the production capacity is owned by the bey, or by the state, it makes very little difference to the man who toils. All he knows is that someone else — someone of a different ethnic and religious group — is getting rich off the sweat of his brow. And so he ceases to sweat. And so he re-appropriates some of his labor from the company’s inventory. And so he neglects to show up for work, falls asleep on the job, or sneaks out to play hide the ćevapčić with the bossman’s wife.

How do we get one over him? Well, enter self-governing socialism, where the productive capacity is not state-owned, as with the Russians, nor are they privately-owned, but directed by the state, as in most third-positionist regimes, but “commonly owned,” which is to say “everyone’s and no-one’s.”

It makes as much sense to me, friends.

In practice, workers were often issued shares and were required to participate in self-governing councils, but this went the same way as every other experiment in democracy did. A managerial class arose to wield power and extract value from the labor of these workers, and whenever they were called out on their abuses, they could always very credibly claim that they were just another worker, just another voice in the multitude, certainly not the owner or the boss. When control and ownership are unclear, the controllers and owners cannot be held to account. And so it went, for many long years, until “democracy” came, and the managerial red bourgeoisie privatized the companies which they’d run for 40 years, profiting once again from the labor of the much-exploited workers. These people and their descendants form the bulk of globohomo’s creatures, NGO grifters, nation-wreckers, and government-academia-business-media apparatchiks in the post-communist era. Many of the people whose fathers and grandfathers sang the glories of self-governing socialism now extol the virtues of homosexualism and globalism.

Where I will agree with Keith is his treatment of Kosovo and the Kosovar Albanians. I don’t have much to add to that section of his video, except to say that I believe that present-day Kosovo is the end-stage of demographic replacement. First, it’s Western Europe, with 10% minorities causing a ruckus. Then it’s the USA, with 40-something percent minorities waging low-level civil war. Then it’s Brazil, with a mostly white ruling class trying to keep an unraveling nation together, then South Africa with a nonwhite ruling class plotting to eradicate white minorities, and then Kosovo, when the nonwhites (I do not consider Albanians to be white) have proliferated to such an extent that they form a supermajority; the final stage. Whatever’s left of the white population is at the mercy of a regime and a populace which hates it, and all memory of it ever having existed will probably be erased from the territory.

The Albanians have had the full support of America and her deep state, and their mafia now threatens the great cities of Western Europe as well. This is only to be expected. America is a bioleninist empire and its foreign policy is likewise bioleninist. It will intentionally seek alliances with the weak in order to ensure their undying loyalty, using them as excuses to get involved in various areas of the world.

Keith then overcompensates in the other direction and tries to whitewash Serbian atrocities during the Croatian and Bosnian wars. I’ll reiterate my reluctance to pass blame around and my willingness to heal the very deep wounds caused by these brother wars, but the artillery shells which fell on Dubrovnik were very real, and they came out of Serbian guns. You can still see the shrapnel pockmarks on historic buildings in Dubrovnik. Every local seems to have a horror story, and then a tale of heroism and togetherness in the war. We’ll get nowhere by denying that monstrous things were done. What must be understood is that these monstrous things were the natural response to people being forced to share living space.

Yugoslavia failed because it was an insane and stupid project. It was an attempt to force people to live together while they had irreconcilable differences. People naturally respond violently to such pressures, and when they are forced by authoritarian states to live together, those violent instincts go to ground and are unleashed all at once at the first opportunity. This makes the state insanely fragile. If foreign intelligence services exploited ethnic fault lines, it was because these fault lines existed and were handily exploitable. Naive Westerners will often deride our conflicts as the narcissism of small differences, but when you live here, when it’s your skin in the game, these differences do not appear at all small. In fact, they are life and death differences, often with significant implications for reproductive success, material well-being, or even just pure honor and prestige as understood in the Hegelian master-slave dialectic.

What right has any Westerner to tell me that I am basically the same thing as a Serb, with minor linguistic differences? What right has any outsider to tell a Croat that he must pay homage to a federal presidency in Belgrade? What right has any outsider to ask a Serb to sacrifice himself for the security of some Slovene who considers him half-Turk? That’s not even getting into the fact of the far greater genetic diversity which the Balkan peninsula has compared to Western Europe. If genetic similarity theory is anything to go by, no wonder we can’t stand each other. But provide us with spaces which are for us alone, and suddenly we’re friendly and can even work together on common projects.

Keith’s a good kid. I’ve followed him for a while now. He’s a bright fellow, although he has that tendency to overcompensate in the other direction. Like all young people, like myself when I was his age, he has no patience for the middle ground. Like others of a philosophical disposition, he can’t brook the open contradictions and even hypocrisies necessary to get things done in real life. In fact, whenever I find myself disagreeing with Keith, I find that the voice is Keith’s, but the words might as well be a demented rant about octaroon midget kikes, professions of love for a good burger with caramelized onions, or mad visions of racial imperium. It’d appear that the PR department at NPI/Radix has decided that Spencerism sounds less inauthentic and insane if said in an earthy Hibernian baritone, rather than a flinty, smarmy twang.

Keith, buddy, if you’re reading this, understand that you’re better than that. I understand your frustration with petty nationalists in Ireland — Lord knows I have very little patience for my own kinsmen who lack racial consciousness. I can’t really fault them for that, though. Racial consciousness, and taking part in an international racialist movement, are an elite phenomenon. The Dissident Right is itself an elite phenomenon, formed by the disaffected sons of the first and second echelons of power in the West, the men who would have been potentates if not for their unusual attachment to their people and unwillingness to consume them for profit. I can no more expect the common Irish or Macedonian man to think of himself as a white European than I can expect him to understand Heidegger’s object-act of consciousness distinction. And furthermore, the existence of race as a category and layer of identity does not invalidate the existence of the nation as a category and layer of identity, nor need the nation be the enemy of the race, as the region isn’t the enemy of the nation, the town isn’t the enemy of the region, and the family isn’t the enemy of the town. I understand, likewise, your desire to curb international capital and restore the dignity of your people. The answer does not lie in embracing socialism, or looking among the failed and discredited economic theories of the past for solutions to such problems, and certainly not to nations which produced astounding inequalities and exploitation even during their socialist period. I’d also caution you not to consort with has-beens who’d mud-wrestle their own mother for a moment in the limelight, or at the very least, re-examine their ideas in the context of the ideas here discussed.

Only when each brother has a house of his own will we see an end to brother wars.

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Have I got news for you, folks. Apparently, someone used the word “family” at Googlestein headquarters and the various inadequates, lunatics, and sodomites which comprise the workforce of the data-thieving gigacorp found themselves horribly offended. This accursed three-syllable construction is ‘exclusionary’; it triggers homosexuals, who like to think of their unnatural unions as families, barren spinsters, and cock carousel riding spinsters-to-be as well as someone whose, and I quote: “. . . family consists of me and several other trans feminine folks, some of whom I’m dating. We’re all supportive of each other and eventually aspire to live together. Just because we aren’t a heterosexual couple with 2.5 kids, a white picket fence, and a dog doesn’t mean we’re not a family.”

As the Jew said after his nefarious plot to subvert gentile well-being failed, “oy vey.”

Families are now homophobia, according to this ragtag bunch of inadequates which diligently spies upon you and sells your personal data to government agencies, criminal organizations, and advertising agents. The CivNat, garden-variety anti-SJW Sargonite clique are gonna have a field day with this one. Expect much signaling of centrist virtue from the likes of Jordan Peterson, (((Dave Rubin))), while the neocon after-shul special will probably sound something like “The Conservative Case for Abandoning Families.”

However, we in the brainier, non-cucked Right cannot merely tut-tut at the loss of muh freeze peach, call for the restoration of non-political workplaces, and sarcastically demand our audience imagine our shock at the latest in Leftist lunacy. Rather, we must delve deeper. We have to gain a profound understanding of what exactly we’re facing, why we are faced with it, what it intends to do, and how to combat it.

The Spandrell, one of the most incisive contemporary neoreactionaries, is of the opinion that this is a power play, that the inadequates are lording their newfound power over a helpless normal majority, on pain of loss of livelihood. Speaking out against this insanity gets you fired, and in certain European countries, jailed. I, for my humble part, retorted that it also accomplishes the goal of humiliating us before our conscience, as Theodore Dalrymple points out, by forcing us to utter untruths, and absurd untruths at that. The regime destroys our sense of probity, constructing a society of emasculated liars.

The truth, I fear, is even deeper than that.

There’s truth to the statement that the lies our enemies spout are demonstrations of their power to lie with impunity, this is only true insofar as we know they are lies and have an alternative – the truth. Therefore, Leftist propaganda is power play against a red-pilled Dissident Rightist. Furthermore, the humiliation only functions is the globohomo has the power to compel us to utter these falsehoods, or at the very least remain silent and not question them, which implies that one lacks fuck-you money or at the very least fuck-you employment in the US, or applies to everyone in Europe where speaking out against these lies constitutes a criminal act. To a red-pilled man nevertheless hamstrung by his position in life, the propaganda is an agent of humiliation. However, neither of these two types of man are the object of propaganda.

The object of propaganda is yon humble normie, the salt-of-the-earth John Q. Citizen who diligently pushes the right buttons in his cubicle to keep the world turning. Now, it’s not likely that the propaganda will deceive our archetype of averageness – his body will by itself revolt against these lies. For example, no matter how many times one repeats that Bruce Jenner is not only a woman (a lie), but a stunning and brave woman (a damned lie), a heterosexual man will not desire to copulate with said masochistic, attention man-whore.  And yet, that it’s Caitlyn not Bruce, and that said Caitlyn is stunning and brave is repeated ad nauseam by the rich and beautiful, by the smart and educated, and most importantly, by the powerful. How is a normie to digest this?

Well, a better question would be “how would the white normie digest this?” We pale men have the blessing and curse of building high-trust societies. This doesn’t just mean we trust each other, but also that we trust our societal superiors in the government, priesthood (religious and secular), in the systems of production, and elsewhere to do what’s best for us, or at least not step on us too roughly. The Chinese have no problems when it comes to pointing deer and making horse. It has something to do, I suspect, with the Chinese conception of the government as a dangerous tiger to be avoided. Deception is justified when one thinks like that. The Chinese also do not trust strangers, or each other for that matter. This, I think, imposes a hard limit on their civilizational attainment when compared to whites, but that’s a topic for another time.

The white normie, however, is the descendant of warrior aristocrats who roamed the Pontic-Caspian steppe, fighting among each other for pure prestige, and even before that, the descendant of men who lived on the edge of habitability in the frozen wastes of Northern Europe, perhaps even on the ice sheets itself, hunting megafauna, attaining prestige and status by this. We are, in many ways hunters, driven by that heroic quest for the truth as the most elusive of quarries. To be lied to is not pleasant. To be lied to, and prohibited from saying “you lie” is even less so. But being lied to while you’re prohibited from saying “you lie” AND having no words and concepts with which to retort is horrible. It’s more or less what gaslighting feels like.

Briefly, gaslighting is the systematic use of deception in order to make someone else question his memory, perception, or sanity. It’s a favorite tactic of sociopaths and narcissists to gain complete psychological dominion over their unfortunate victims. The usual way to do it is to do something, e.g. insult the victim and later on claim that the insult never took place and insinuating that the victim is inventing or imagining things, especially to third parties. This is especially insidious when the third parties expect a normal interaction between the abuser and victim, e.g. a normal parent-child relation and find claims that the abusers did abusive things incredulous. The phrase “no mother would do anything like that” might be bandied about.

Propaganda as gaslighting is somewhat different in our world. By assuming the commanding heights of society, our enemies have effectively created a situation where they are alone with us in the room, they the abuser who controls the information flow, we as a helpless victim. Imagine a child born to a narcissistic mother. Or better yet, plumb the YouTube archives for thousands of thousands of videos of people who’ve grown up with narcissistic parents. Few things are more pity-inducing than the stories of these wretched sons and daughters of real-life monsters.

Imagine being immersed in deception from birth, but unable to escape the truths embedded in your body and your very genes. Imagine being lied to relentlessly, having no way to the truth, yet still sensing that there is such a thing as truth, of something you’ve been denied and yet your body craves as much as it craves water, if not more so.

Now imagine being called crazy, or worse, evil, when you try to seek the truth. You’re terrorized into believing that only muh Nazis seek the truth. In fact, truth-seeking is self-actualization, it’s a vector into infinite space, which is the essence of Faustian man and therefore muh evil Nazis.

You’re not allowed to notice things. Noticing patterns is evil and crazy. You don’t wanna be like those crazy people we’ve cordoned off from good society. No, what you hear in the media and in the universities is true and any instinct you have to the contrary is evidence that you’re just as crazy as those crazy Nazis. You are bad for wanting to know the truth.

Reviled and persecuted as we in the dissident right may be, at least we have a model with which to compare the lies produced by the opposite side, indeed we can differentiate between friend and foe based on the quantity and quality of lies produced by various people and institutions, which is to say we can think politically in the Schmittean sense.

A good heuristic I use in my personal life is to be careful about trusting normiecons and CivNats who espouse a seemingly non-political globohomo lifestyle position. Carbohydrates vs. fats and long-distance running vs. weightlifting are particularly good heuristics. Mike Enoch and Eric Striker have perfected the art of identifying and decrying bugman behaviors. A grown man losing his shit over an overproduced, overhyped, and overpriced gaming system is in all likelihood not /ourguy/.

But the normie operates without this awareness. In fact, he’s not allowed to think in a Schmittean manner – he is bombarded non-stop with calls for “unity” and incessantly propagandized into fearing “polarization.” In fact, anything that helps him draw a distinction between friend and foe is bad, which brings us back to the war on noticing. Race, religion, ethnicity, language, lifestyle, these are all political things – things we can use to differentiate between friend and foe. To notice them is to have a map of the world, which allows you to orient yourself. However, he who can orient himself is neither lost nor frightened, and cannot be controlled, manipulated, molded and treated as a fungible asset by the Lovecraftian edifice which sits astride the world.

The propaganda serves to make the normie question his sanity whenever he questions globohomo. It doesn’t help that we on the margins have our eccentrics and weirdos. The thing about incessant, bare-faced lying is that it hurts the person being lied to, especially if the liar receives no comeuppance. For the normal white person, who has a conscience and finds lying wrong as an activity in of itself, the world stops making sense when liars go unpunished. It’s enough to make a bloke seriously consider himself insane.

Compounding the problem is the fact that our enemies control the psychiatric establishment, and in fact might have invented psychology and psychoanalysis as a means of industrializing the gaslighting process and giving it a veneer of scientism. The very idea of normative psychology makes me shiver. The entire field is intensely hostile to neurological pluralism, to the very idea that not conforming to the environment of, for example, the school is not indicative of mental illness. Fidgeting in class now constitutes grounds for loading up young boys with amphetamines. The psycholophasters work hand in glove with the pharmaceutical mafia to line each others’ pockets and extinguish the creative fire of Aryan man, smother it under mounds of lies and chemicals, so that they may reign over a wasteland populated by eunuchs, cowards and their nonwhite morlock familiars. Or so I’ve heard.

It’s not just silliness. It’s not just political correctness gone mad, as the center-right and other impotents like to say. It’s not just a deviant insisting that their commune of self-mutilating sex addicts wallowing in the filth of their own fornications is a family! It’s a case of soul-shattering chutzpah, lies so enormous as to mortify the spirit with all truth declared insanity and evil. It’s war on our civilization and who we are. And if we dare raise our voices, then in comes the friendly doctor who’ll load you so full of psychotropics, you’ll quite honestly love Big Globohomo.

In the distant and ancient era we now call the “mid-2000s,” there arose a phenomenon we now call New Atheism. New Atheism was militant; its adherents not only rejected religion, but actively sought to expurgate it from society, usually by haranguing the religious online. The idea was for humanity to reject all irrationality, delusion, and superstition and bring about an era of enlightenment and progress through reason and evidence.

If that sounds suspiciously like a caricature of the Enlightenment-era philosophies, it’s because it is – eighteenth-century anti-religious sentiment repeating itself online as farce, spearheaded by bloviating buffoons amazed at their own imagined intellects. The defining image of this movement slowly emerged: an obese man with patchy facial hair and extensive acne, wearing a fedora hat and admiring his purported great awareness of how the world really is. Indeed, “fedora-wearing atheist,” later shortened to “fedora,” became one of the enduring Internet archetypes.

Defeating New Atheism’s arguments and tenets was one of the fledgling Alt Right’s earliest victories The deleterious effects of religious faith’s decline in the West are plain for all to see: broken families, lost confidence, lost community and friendship, an increasing turn toward hedonic pleasure-seeking, and a loss of public morality are all contributing to white countries’ demographic and political crises. Gone are the days of “be fruitful and multiply.” Instead, secularized whites, whether atheist or nominally belonging to the various Christian churches, are having fewer children and pursuing other aims: sometimes the elusive euphoria experienced by being enlightened by one’s own intellect, at other times fame and fortune. For the most part, people have no idea what to do with their lives, because with the end of faith there’s nobody left to tell them what to do. It may seem incredibly counterintuitive, but this is a peculiar characteristic of the white human animal: left without the instruction and motivation that was historically provided by religion, it’ll just sit there doing nothing, especially if it is highly intelligent. Our great brains, our great intellects drown out the instinctual drives possessed by lower animals. Without a heaven to look forward to, and without an interpretational and operational framework with which to identify and pursue that heaven in this life, we are worse than useless.

One of the best arguments against the New Atheist position ironically came from Stefan Molyneux, himself an atheist. His reasoning was that while religion is indeed false and irrational, it nevertheless served a purpose in society, and as such, deconstructing it without providing an alternative was reckless of atheists, including those Enlightenment philosophers who believed that religion is a fetter upon man’s great capacity to create and invent. Molyneux then went on to try and develop his own alternative to religion: a moral-philosophical system of Universally Preferable Behavior. It was unsurprisingly unsuccessful in its stated goal of developing secular ethics. Then again, the libertarian Weltanschauung has never really had much patience with ethical systems. The zeroth ethical rule of rational self-interest is “don’t get caught.” Breaking a rule without getting caught gives the actor a free option, an extra turn, a crucial edge in the games men play with and against each other.

Parallel to the New Atheist movement — and in part overlapping with it due to shared attitudes regarding the nature of knowledge, rationality, and life — was the early, late 2000s iteration of Neoreaction. People whose exposure to Neoreaction is recent only dates from 2020 might be surprised to learn that the movement was at least initially a very weird offshoot of transhumanist and ultra-rationalist schools of thought, specifically arising in the LessWrong forum, which attempts to use probability mathematics as a means of making the most rational decision possible. And indeed, even a cursory glance at the old Neoreactionary authors’ archived writings tells us that these guys were at least the New Atheists’ fellow travelers, fighting the same demons of superstition and irrationality.

The difference is, of course, that the Neoreactionaries recognized early on that progressivism, or what we now call woke, is also a form of religion, and in fact the irrationality and superstitions emanating from this religion are a far greater danger than whatever superstitions Christianity conjures up. It wasn’t until the notorious Elevatorgate scandal that woke even appeared on the New Atheists’ radar as a threat.

For the blissfully unaware, Elevatorgate refers to an incident where Rebecca Watson, a New Atheist blogging under the sobriquet of “SkepChick” (get it?), was offered a cup of coffee in an elevator by a man while both were attending a New Atheist/Skeptic conference. The man’s offer made her uncomfortable and she blogged about it, prompting PZ Myers to raise the alarm about men awkwardly approaching women in elevators. This in turn provoked a dismissive response from the Jesus of atheists himself, Richard Dawkins, who mocked SkepChick by comparing her predicament to the plight of genitally-mutilated Muslim women. The incident caused a rift between woke/progressive and non-progressive atheists, which later ballooned into the skeptic-SJW conflict of the mid-2010s. Indeed, we could say that the anti-SJW era of the Internet began with Elevatorgate, and the onus of atheists’ online activism shifted from arguing with Christians to “triggering SJWs,” as the kids like to say. The New Atheists, having now become anti-SJW warriors, took the Neoreactionary insight that SJW/woke is like a religion, applied their old anti-Christian weapons to them, and were met with resounding success.

Their initial successes gave way to ever-mounting failure, however, as all of that SJW-owning did not make a lick of difference in terms of concrete political gains, or even halting the march of progress in movies and media. To top it all off, the New Atheists, now recently rebranded as Skeptics, found themselves in the Alt Right’s crosshairs. Even in its diminished state after Charlottesville, the Alt Right still had enough fight left in it to humiliate the Skeptics in the Internet Bloodsports era, whose political views could uncharitably but accurately be described as warmed-over ‘90s liberalism. Rational, pragmatic, and sensible skepticism was trounced by the ideological fanaticism of the woke Left and then humiliated by the nationalist Right’s iron commitment. Having mistakenly attributed their earlier, easy victories over self-doubting Christians to the actual strength of their arguments, the old New Atheists found themselves square in the middle of the ideological age with nothing to guide and motivate their actions.

Old habits and prejudices die very hard. Secularists will easily accept the insight that religion is necessary, even though it is irrational, because its social, organizational, and personal benefits are plain to see. They will also easily accept the insight that ideologies are religions– irrational, faith-based interpretational frameworks for men and organizations incorporating ritual, taboos, restrictions, holy texts, myth, an Axis Mundi, concepts of the sacred and the profane, saints, and sanctities. Despite this, seemingly smart people, while possessing, accepting, and seemingly understanding these two insights, will nevertheless still proclaim that ideology must be transcended and that a rational, pragmatic, non-ideological approach is necessary in politics. Perhaps they never threw out their fedoras.

It doesn’t matter how many times the immense power of religious or ideological faith is demonstrated: The skeptic will not countenance irrationality and superstition. Time and time again, he will don his fedora and seek out the dragons of superstition to slay and make the world from their bones, because every fight in a man’s life is the same primordial struggle against the demons he thought he had slew when he was 16, riddled with acne and worried about George W. Bush instituting an Evangelical theocracy in America. Back then it was the “faithheads” holding society back by denying the secular worldview which is self-evidently rational and derived from evidence and reason; nowadays it’s wokies and wignats getting in the way of Sensible Centrism,™ which is self-evidently rational and derived from evidence and reason.

At the heart of this delusion is the notion that the world can be understood simply from first principles, using nothing but the human reasoning and evidentiary apparatuses. In a delicious irony, this notion, which lies at the heart of the New Atheist, Skeptic, and now Sensible Centrist worldview, is deeply Thomistic, having been first proposed by St. Thomas Aquinas, although I suspect it’s been around since the time of Aristotle. I did not realize that this idea was the operating error of the skeptic-atheist-libertarian meme complex until a Thomist called me irrational for accepting the existence of God and the resurrection of Christ as a matter of faith. “That’s an appeal to authority.” I should have been convinced by one of the rational proofs for God instead. And here was I thinking that religion is a faith-based affair.

Orthodox theology, on the other hand, is less likely to throw words like “rational proofs of God” around. While I’m no expert, my friends who are avid readers of Orthodox theology tell me that the Eastern Church’s position is that finding rational or empirical proof of God is not possible. Indeed, reason itself is a boon from God, attained by right-believing Christians once they’ve accepted God’s grace and law. Only through faith can man become rational, being a rather sorry excuse for a creature in a state of unfaith — less than a beast, for a beast at least has instincts, whereas man is incomplete without faith. This accords with my own observations: Those without faith or any other type of interpretive framework do precisely nothing with their lives. Only by accepting an interpretive framework, be it religious or ideological, can man know what to do with his life, have a goal, have a plan to attain his goal, develop methodologies for implementing his plan, and seek out allies and friends towards the attainment of that goal via implementing the plan. In short, man needs faith — or ideology — to attain not only direction and directional movement, but also the means of giving meaning to information, of parsing the relevant from the irrelevant, and of differentiating between valid and invalid methodologies. In short, the ability to reason.

This is not to say that we do not find this same old disease in the East as well. As it happens, Orthodox Christianity is just as vulnerable to the passage of time and decrepitude of will as its Western counterparts. People in the East are nominally Orthodox, just as Westerners are nominally Catholic, Lutheran, or Evangelical, but in reality we practice different religions that more closely resemble ideologies than classic religious faith. Most of these have Western roots, even if their expressions remain Eastern in the East. You could even say that the East is currently the more rationalistic region. Indeed, while both sides of the white world have their fair share of worn-out, empty husk religions, it is the Western part that has an active, living, breathing major faith: wokery. The East is eminently more practical, pragmatic, and rational — in a word, more animalistic, which makes it weak and corrupt. It simultaneously fears, envies, and respects the fanatical — and therefore more human — West.

It is relatively easy to point out that an ideology is like a religion, or that it fulfils the same function as a religion. The concept of civic religion is born out of an acceptance that classical religions such as Christianity, Islam, or even paganism are no longer capable of providing a central organizational principle for society. We’ve therefore turned that task over to ideologies, which, due to the loaded nature of that term, we call civic religions. It is difficult to accept that such ideologies or civic religions are necessary, and that societies will always have them, and furthermore that societies and individuals which strongly and irrationally believe in their ideologies will defeat societies and individuals that are ruled by rational concerns. We associate irrationality with animals, but I’ve yet to witness an animal behave in an irrational manner. All animals are almost perfectly guided by what libertarians like to call rational self-interest, and this is what makes them so easily controllable. We call them lesser creatures because they lack our ability to behave unpredictably and irrationally, to do things against their short- or even long-term interests for the benefit of a higher ideal (which in practice still ends up benefiting our tribe, at least). Atop the hierarchy of being stands God, a being so irrational that His mind and He himself are beyond human knowing, at least in Orthodox theology. It appears to me that we have this idea of rationality backwards.

Of course, if we accept that rationality is the ability to reason, put together a plan, act on it, change it when it fails, and keep going in the face of failure, or more simply as the ability to go with intentionality from point A to point B, then man is indeed more rational than animals and God is more rational than man. But this sort of rationality requires a little bit of unreason in order to work — a fanaticism, a willingness to keep going even in the face of overwhelming odds, certainty in the face of massive (apparent) evidence to the contrary. A better word might be rightly-guided. I like the Arabic name Rashid, which means this, but an Anglo-Saxon version would be Æthelred: nobly advised, contrasting well with king Æthelred’s unfortunate sobriquet, Unræd.

If we conceive of faith as guidance, then the believing man is Æthelræd or Rashid: rightly guided and nobly advised, while the atheist is he who is left unguided and unadvised — Unræd. If we accept that ideologies are modern variations on religion, then the worst thing we can do, both as individuals and as a movement, is to willingly impose on ourselves a state of Unræd because we want to attain a temporary rhetorical edge over some low-level SJWs. Those who abandon ideology do not attain any enlightenment or wisdom, but merely lose their ability to impose their own agenda, instead becoming instruments of others who’ve retained an ideological agenda, merely reacting to an ideologically-motivated and -driven enemy. The old New Atheists will likely never hang up their fedoras, but the nationalist movement cannot afford to get bogged down in their ignorant and arrogant campaign against the irrational.

No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true.

— Nathaniel Hawthorne

Ever since I was a young buck, observing American politics from afar, watching with great intensity this greatest theatrical show on the planet, I’ve been flabbergasted by the popularity of men like Tucker Carlson and Ann Coulter. Here were these people who don’t seem all that different from the rest of the Republican cuck and pony show, but for some reason, American conservatives think they’re the bee’s knees. A full-cheeked cheeky bugger and an unpatrolled mannish conservathot? Harrumph! And yet, I found myself proclaiming quite vociferously that America didn’t deserve Tucker not five days ago on twitter dot com. I proclaimed something quite similar to that with regard to Ann Coulter. Many of my fellow travelers on the North American continent assure me that Tucker Carlson and Ann Coulter are, if not secretly based, then at the very least secretly us-adjacent. After all, didn’t Ann appear on a Stefan Molyneux podcast all those years ago? And Tucker’s been working tirelessly to expose and delegitimize the tired old cuckservative GDP and Israel narrative, giving backhanded shoutouts to the groypers and throwing jabs at Dan Crenshaw and Ben Shapiro.

The story is that Tucker and Ann, and others like them, are purposefully misrepresenting their true views. This is commonly referred to as “hiding their power level.” They do this through a method of dissimulation known as “tactical cucking,” so as to keep their bully pulpits and avoid being canceled, turned out by the Outer Party, also known as Conservative Inc. And indeed, this may be the case. There are some interesting tapes of Tucker in the mid-2000s which show us that he’s at the very least deeply redpilled on the woman question. Ann Coulter’s basedness bona fides are less glowing. She mentions in her Molyneux interview that she’s in favor of reparations and affirmative action for blacks, but not everyone else. She has retweeted a link to Counter-Currents before, though, so make of that what you will.

In any case, Ann’s schtick seems to be “thus far and no further” and “halt immigration until we can assimilate the ones already here,” themselves literal Nazi positions in the current year, which appears to me to be woefully inadequate and at odds with observed reality. I trust the Counter-Currents reader, being a cut above the usual internet rabble, will be able to figure out the falseness of that proposition on his own. Tucker’s position is more nuanced and advanced than Ann’s. He appears to believe that racial and gender wokeness is meant to create divisions between the working class in order to facilitate their exploitation by the moneyed classes. Here I am reminded of a scene in It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia where the immoral and corrupt Frank Reynolds is trying to incite a garbage strike. He walks in, all stereotypes from an 80s business drama, insulting the union rep for being educated while the garbagemen are salt of the earth and working-class, to no avail. But then his clueless daughter Dee walks in, made up in brownface as journalist Martina Martinez, managing to rile up the brown and black garbagemen just by calling the white union rep white boy and then screaming about being raped. Tucker here is the old man, trying to downplay the racial angle.

“Guys, it’s class, not race.” is also the schtick of the so-called dirtbag left, which some on our own side have thought about recruiting to at least a coalition. The difference is, of course, that unlike Tucker’s understanding of class divisions (which pits the middle and working class vs. the elites and a lumpenproletariat), the dirtbag left would be overjoyed to grind down the middle class into dust, with the tacit assistance of the elite and lumpenproletariat, while using the white working class as rhetorical cover against accusations of wokeness. At least Tucker’s class analysis makes sense. And indeed, reality looks like a racial conflict unfolding because of a preexisting class conflict, which is to say, nonwhite lumpenproles being used as a cudgel against working and middle-class Americans by the managerial elite. Or in other words, Mencius Modlbug’s old BHD vs. OV conflict. It’s as good a class analysis as I’ve seen. Moldbug, of course, has his own problems. He’s strangely silent about the ethnic makeup of the Brahmin caste, out of cowardice or mendacity (and his physiognomy suggests cowardice), but I think we can work with that basic model.

Carlson’s model, however, doesn’t allow for even the idea that the Brahmin caste (some of whom may or may not be Jews acting as Jews) are actively stoking the racial resentment of (brown) Helots and (black) Dalits against (white) Vaishyas in order to get one over on (white) Optimates. It’s evil, non-racial elites (but he puts the Jewish Paul Singer front and center) that are destroying the (mostly white) working and middle classes, for their own benefits, unlike responsible elites, such as the (white and decisively J-woke) Henry Ford. Oooh, I see what you did there. Clever boy, Tucker!

Here I want to draw your attention to something the great Theodore Dalrymple said in an interview with FrontPageMagazine:

Political correctness is communist propaganda writ small. In my study of communist societies, I came to the conclusion that the purpose of communist propaganda was not to persuade or convince, nor to inform, but to humiliate; and therefore, the less it corresponded to reality the better. When people are forced to remain silent when they are being told the most obvious lies, or even worse, when they are forced to repeat the lies themselves, they lose once and for all their sense of probity. To assent to obvious lies is to cooperate with evil, and in some small way to become evil oneself. One’s standing to resist anything is thus eroded, and even destroyed. A society of emasculated liars is easy to control. I think if you examine political correctness, it has the same effect and is intended to.

With that passage of text in context, I ask you to reflect.

What is more humiliating? Acknowledging that Soviet industry is far superior to the decadent capitalist West, or affirming that feral mobs of sub-Saharan savages rampaging through the great cities of Europe and North America in honor of a drug-addled, fat criminal who blew a gasket while being arrested is actually a good and honorable thing? Is it more humiliating to put up, like Havel’s greengrocer, a sign proclaiming that the workers of the world should unite, or to suffer through struggle sessions of checking your privilege and being lectured by ugly women of color about how you, the overworked, underpaid, and hated white man have it all made?

I’ve spoken at length with the old commie workers and managers. They have a sense of humor about the late 80s, when everything became first shambolic, then went violently tits-up and they had to keep the dying communist economies going with (communist-made) duct tape, elbow grease, and sheer willpower. When the story of our time is written, I doubt people are going to have a sense of humor about the woke commissars, obese black women, and state-sponsored homosexuality. In fact, I suspect it’s going to be treated like the Prague Spring, or the crackdown on Polish and Hungarian nationalism. Just like speaking Russian in the streets of Warsaw and Budapest is a good way to get your ass kicked today, I suspect that using woke vocabulary in the future will lead to some serious beatdowns.

But back to the subject at hand. Are Tucker and Ann secretly redpilled? I don’t know. But ultimately, it doesn’t matter. Even if they are, just like the vegan wearing a fake leather jacket, they’re perpetuating the culture of cuckery, mendacity, and wokeness by not challenging it openly. Sure, their lives might get more difficult, but there’s a limit to the amount of cancellation the woke mob can inflict on a well-established public person, as the example of Michelle Malkin shows. Michelle openly consorts with groypers and she’s still standing. Still standing is good enough for me. Still standing means still winning in the game of guerrilla intellectualism. Counter-Currents has caught the full blast of deplatforming, especially the really nasty financial type, but we’re still standing. I won’t ask what Tucker and Ann are afraid of. I know exactly what they’re afraid of. The thing is, that thing is not that scary after all.

This brings me, at long last, to the real problem with Ann and Tucker and everyone else who thinks they can wear one face to the multitude and another one to himself — you eventually forget which one is real. Human beings are strange creatures who are capable of thought, and yet doing matters far more than thinking; and furthermore, doing forms thinking. The philosopher-king was a king before he was a philosopher and the warrior-poet was a warrior before he became a poet. One can only conclude that kingship leads to philosophy (or more accurately, wisdom) and that war leads to poetry (or more accurately, a direct link to the numinous). But mendacity and cowardice only ever led to ruin, sin, and a well-founded hatred of the self. To conceive of oneself as a powerless cur cowering under the all-crushing boot of wokeness might be accurate, but it is destructive of the self. It kills a man’s sense of honor and integrity.

For this reason, I cannot in good conscience recommend that you be secretly based and publicly woke. There are people on the Internet, even people I respect and admire (ahem, BAP, ahem) who will counsel you to do this. You’re welcome to try. I must admit I never had a choice in the matter. My redpilling was a public process, and my facedox were fairly easy to obtain even before I started appearing on a weekly livestream with Fullmoon Ancestry and Greg Johnson (hey, a brother gotta shamelessly shill). I am, as Bronze Age Pervert would put it, a “facefag.” The local Antifa have had my name and address for ages, and I’ve been on their shitlist since at least 2012. I live 50 meters from their local headquarters. They’re too chickenshit to even touch my car, even though they have my license plate number, too!

I’m not calling on you to stand for white nationalism — or any other Dissident Rightist ideology or precept — under your Christian names, with your faces, job descriptions, or addresses in the public eye. Our esteemed editor Dr. Greg Johnson is very right when he says that everyone should determine his own level of involvement. If you don’t want your face out there, with the label “white supremacist” attached to it, don’t hold these views in public. There will be consequences, not only economic. Today, people are losing their jobs over demonstrating in-group preference while white. Tomorrow, the state might get in on the fun of hunting Nazis. Be advised that you could be arrested for your views at some later date. All I’m going to say is that the psyche follows behavior. “Performatively woke while secretly based” will soon morph into “performatively woke while secretly cucked,” and ultimately, probably into “full-blown woke and gatekeeping against the based” as we’re observing with the weaker-willed and lower-IQ BAPists on Twitter.

There is a steep and severe price to be paid for being publicly based. But there’s also a steep price to be paid for wearing one face to the world and another to the infinitesimally small (by comparison) space where you’re free to be the evil racist your coworkers suspect you to be. Ultimately, there is no magic formula that will keep you sane and based at the same time. Each of us has to make the decision, within the parameters of choice we’ve been dealt, and insofar as one’s choice has meaning. More often than not, man is a plaything of crueler gods than we’d like to imagine, older than we consider possible, monsters of survival in the context of a cutthroat struggle for status in a complex and sprawling hierarchy, entities which the puny conscious mind foolishly believes it can control. Self-deception begins with a performative lie, with smiling and nodding while the powerskirt hens in HR lecture you about toxic masculinity, of silently affirming that yes, indeed, you as a white man are uniquely guilty for her obesity while Brobdingnagian Shaniqua showers racialized invective all over you in guttural ebonics.

Lies disfigure the liar, which is why woke insists on having us repeat them. No matter how manly your physique is, even if you get retweeted by BAP on handsome Thursday, you become Dalrymple’s emasculated liar, easy to control, in some ways evil himself, a blind weapon in the hands of woke, a mameluke, a eunuch slave soldier, at best, not repeating anything more dangerous than Tucker and Ann, at worst, a willing executioner of bolder men who’d otherwise be your friends.

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Nancy Pelosi’s flight landed in Taiwan on August 2 despite very loud and vigorous protests from the People’s Republic of China. For the time being, the Chinese have done little but whine impotently, rattle their sabers, and announce military exercises near and around Taiwan. They’ve declared a state of emergency in the coastal regions nearest to Taiwan, which is expected to last until August 7. Chinese sources are calling this the Fourth Taiwan Crisis.

Even pro-regime Chinese journalists are openly saying that if the Chinese Communist Party does nothing in response to this provocation by America, it loses face and should no longer have the loyalty of the Chinese nation. The Russian meme of “China’s final warning” has been circulating on the Internet, mocking Chinese inaction. China is further embarrassed by being, at least on paper, the stronger half of the Moscow-Peking axis, but doing nothing while weaker, poorer, Nigeria-with-snow Russia is ostensibly fighting the “fascist West” in Ukraine. So, America has put the heads of a state whose culture depends on maintaining face in a position where they either declare war or lose face. Ooooh, boy.

Any sort of tension between America and China is a major geopolitical event that cannot be ignored by white identitarian nationalists. Crisis is opportunity. A clash with China has the potential to weaken the ruling regime. It also has potential to strengthen it. After all, power is a resource which increases when used. The Biden administration successfully humiliating China and getting away with it would be a major foreign policy victory, increasing its internal legitimacy not only publicly, but also to stakeholders within the American governance structure. On the other hand, the Chinese could take the bluff and give the US military its first real test in decades. Or, they could simply be blown out of the water by combined US-Taiwanese and possibly Japanese forces, and left seething on China’s shores. While China’s army is gigantic, its navy is barely capable of coastal defense. Taking Taiwan would mean a state which is civilizationally hydrophobic (China has never had serious naval commitments) mounting an amphibious landing on a hostile shore, in contested seas, and under contested airspace against the greatest thalassocracy the world has ever seen. Behemoth swimming out to meet Leviathan in the sea: If Dugin were dead, he’d be turning in his grave.

Since crisis is opportunity, the opposition in the West, mostly gathered under the umbrella of MAGA and allied organizations, has been accusing the ruling regime of being irresponsible and needlessly provoking China. The gamble there is that the war-weary population of America and its allied states will flock to the banner of such opposition figures if they condemn escalation of hostilities with China. Others, having been radicalized and believing that the regime is their greatest enemy (which is true, incidentally) are openly cheering for China in the hopes that an embarrassment for the Biden administration or an all-out war will lead to destabilization and opportunity for them. Many times, this plays into the very well-developed — one might say overdeveloped — thanatic impulse of the online Dissident Right. Other times it’s messiah complex. With Donald Trump having failed and turned to pure grifting, and with Putin’s Russia being consistently shown as both anti-white and incapable of posing a serious threat to the West, the hopium addicts have turned yellowed sclerae towards glorious Chairman Xi, who’ll karate-chop the gay unipolar world order, et cetera.

In any case, there are good and bad reasons to be skeptical of escalation with China. I’m going to go against the dissident grain here, however, and give some reasons why conflict with China is not only inevitable, but could also improve the situation of white people in the world.

For starters, let me dispel a common myth. The idea is that China is not imperialistic because it hasn’t expanded outside of its own borders historically, outside of perhaps treating the kingdoms of Korea and Vietnam like vassal states. Indeed, a common trope of dissident discourse regarding China is that the only time they had a foreign intervention was in Vietnam (just after America withdrew) — and lost to the Vietnamese. This historical trend is often used as evidence that China does not constitute an imperial threat against anybody, least of all white people.

To this I’ll respond that a casual look at the map will tell us that Chinese expansion is only checked by natural and political obstacles. To the east, China is bounded by the Pacific and its littoral seas; to the West, by impassable mountain ranges and bone-dry deserts; to the south by dense jungle and more mountains; and to the north by the harsh steppe and its transition into tundra. Even its small border with Korea is mountainous and marked by the Yalu River. Furthermore, the notion that China does not practice imperialism would come as news to Tibetans and Uyghurs. Tibet was an independent state until the 1950s, when it was annexed by China. While it is true that the kingdoms of the Tibetan plateau historically had links with China, and had often been vassals of China, the same thing can be said of Korea and Vietnam and yet we do not consider it right and proper that China should invade, subjugate, and assimilate Korea and Vietnam. Indeed, the Chinese invasion of Vietnam is rightfully considered to be an imperial venture.

Historically, China has expanded until it overstretched its supply lines or ran into something as impassable as the Himalayas. It would then retrench and begin the process of assimilating the newly-conquered lands and peoples. Some areas and peoples would become part of China not by being conquered, but ironically by conquering it and then losing their own elite, who were then the rulers of China, to sinnicization from the bottom. This famously happened to Kublai Khan and his descendants, and more recently to China’s Manchurian rulers of the Qing dynasty, leading to parts of Mongolia and all of Manchuria being absorbed into China and rapidly being sinnicized. However, this sinnicization has given China plausible deniability for its imperialism. Yes, it expanded outwards, conquered peoples, or was conquered by peoples, but it absorbed them all into the umbrella-ethnicity of Han and declared their lands eternal and inviolate Chinese land, so it never in fact expanded. All those conflicts were in fact a form of self-defense.

I’m not faulting China for this, of course. States and civilizations expand until they find a barrier. The West is far more expansionist than China ever was and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Good and bad are wrong terms to use in the context of geopolitics. Morality presupposes an authority to instantiate and moderate it. Between states of the same civilization, morality can exist because it flows from the same civilizational presuppositions about the world, usually expressed in religious terms. So, we can speak of China treating Korea immorally within the context of the Confucian ethic, or France being gallant in its dealings with Germany within the context of the West’s Christian and post-Christian ethic. Obviously, this is not always the case, but it is never the case between states of civilizations alien to each other. In fact, the very idea of a single moral system for the whole world is precisely what we mean by globalism, universalism, and all of those nasty things we tend to oppose on the Right.

Further, even if China had historically not been an imperial power, there’s nothing to stop it if there is no opposition to it. States are water; they flow until they are stopped. More often than not, what stops them are other states. Japan was isolationist for 260 years under the Tokugawa Shogunate and then exploded violently outward after the Meiji Restoration, humiliating Russia in the Russo-Japanese War, conquering Korea, Manchuria, and Northern China, and then it finally attacked the Western powers and their colonies in the East in an effort to control the Asian part of the Pacific Rim, including Australia and New Zealand. The much-vaunted honorary Aryans planned to subjugate or exterminate the white people of Australia and Asia. Disastrous though the 1939-1945 conflict may have been for the white race in other theaters, in the Pacific theatre it was very explicitly a race war between the Japanese on one hand and the Americans, British, Australians, New Zealanders, and Dutch on the other. Or, to quote Francis Parker Yockey in The Enemy of Europe:

The third of these wars was related to the second: the American war against Japan, like the European war against Russia, was a war of the West against the outer revolt. In this war, America’s role was that of a Western colony, and its victory over Japan was also a victory for Europe, just as a victory of Europe over Russia would have been a victory also for America.

Some of Yockey’s terms seem a little jargonistic to the newcomer, so a mini-glossary: The “third war” refers to the three organically distinct conflicts that made up the Second World War, the first being an intra-European conflict between England and Germany, masking an ideological conflict between capitalism and National Socialism; the second being a war of the European Imperium led by Germany against Russia in its function as the leader of the Outer Revolt — i.e. the coalition of non-white peoples resenting white dominion over the world and fighting against it; and the third being a less grand version of the same conflict in which European America attempted to subjugate non-white Japan and beat back the Outer Revolt in East Asia.

Again, we may quote Yockey on the conclusion of this theater of war:

The extent to which the military victory of the Washington régime over Japan was also a political victory for all of Western Civilization over Japan is thus very slight. The American policy of rebuilding Japan undermined the greater part of the victory. America’s abandonment of China and Manchuria to Russia, leader of the outer revolt against Western Civilization, undermined it even further. The last remaining step, the restoration of Japanese sovereignty, is only a matter of time, for in this domain the initiative lies with Japan. The outer revolt against the West was only locally contained by America’s military victory. But in all other parts of the Far East, the revolts were successful. The Chinese, Malays, Indonesians, and the natives of the Philippines drove all their Western masters from positions of control.

In the metapolitical sense, Western Civilization lost the War against Japan, despite the local and nakedly military victory of the Americans.

With the defeat of the Japanese Empire, the People’s Republic of China (PRC) took its place as the preeminent power of the yellow race and the primary challenge to Western supremacy in East Asia. Of course, this did not come about naturally. Beginning with the treasons and espionage within the American government which allowed Mao’s Communists to triumph over the eminently more controllable Chang Kai-Shek, it concluded with the strategy developed by Henry Kissinger and implemented by a wing of the American Deep State to break relations with the Republic of China on the island of Taiwan and prop up the PRC as a counterweight to the Soviet Union. Billions in American and Western investment went into China, allowing it to industrialize on a scale that Mao never dreamed of, all to poke the Soviets in the eye. And now America faces off against this paper tiger with nuclear teeth of its own making.

Even Russia, China’s ostensible friend, doesn’t feel comfortable with their new senior partners. With the loss of the European energy markets due to sanctions in the wake of the Russo-Ukrainian War, the Russians can either sell their crude and gas to China at discount prices or pound sand, as it is popularly described by people on the Internet, all while ethnic Russians are being demographically displaced by Chinese in the Russian Far East.

One of my biggest points of disagreement with Yockey in The Enemy of Europe is his description of Russians as Mongol savages. It leads to wrongheaded analysis on his part and wrong conclusions. When we look at the problems with modern and historic Russia, they are typically white people problems, i.e. the valuing of moral communities above communities of kin. Indeed, the problem of Russians considering an ethnic Tatar, Chechen, or even Nigerian as their kin, insofar as he is Orthodox and speaks Russian, while rejecting their actual racial kin in Europe as “heretics and Satanists” sounds like a very European problem to have. The Russian expansion into Siberia and the steppe, as well as its subjugation of northern China during the Century of Humiliation, can be understood as a Western subjugation of non-whites, but for us to accept that, we need to understand that Russians are white.

Nevertheless, the concept of the Outer Revolt, and crucially, the resentment against white domination that motivates it is very useful. The Century of Humiliation is itself a propaganda term which the Chinese Communist Party uses to gin up anti-Western sentiment, and indeed, we must not underestimate the degree to which Chinese policy is guided by this sense of humiliation and a thirst for reassertion of their national pride. The CCP, in part, has the loyalty and cooperation of the Chinese population, the Mandate of Heaven if you will, because it has promised an end to this humiliation and revenge for it. Having ensured the West’s retreat from Hong Kong and Macau, Taiwan is now the last in the string of pearls, the final bastion of white barbarians in China proper. After Taiwan is secured, China will have to renegotiate the positions of Vietnam and Korea within the Chinese-led order. These countries have historically been Chinese vassals and are part of the Confucian/post-Confucian civilization led by them. The last battle will be Japan, the ancient enemy, and China’s only real rival within the Confucian civilizational space. After that, the righting of wrongs stage will be over and the revenge stage will begin.

In China’s cartoonish proclamations that they’re numba one, we see their fundamental civilizational insecurity. Sure, they are The Middle Kingdom, but they were also trod underfoot by the blue-eyed beasts from beyond the sea for more than a hundred years. The Chinese both resent and hero-worship the West, building life-sized replicas of Western cities and poisoning themselves with milk, even though they have no lactose tolerance, just to show that they can be like us. They resent us completely — not only our civilizational achievements, but also, on a much pettier level, our tolerance for milk and alcohol, our large bodies and great physical strength, our height, our long faces and facial hair, and the fact that we engender lust in their women while they themselves only inspire contempt in white women. Given the chance, they’d kill us all.

It used to be common sense that all political parties and movements in a country could agree on that country’s long-term strategic interests. For example, it would be uncontroversial that no matter who was the Prime Minister of Sweden, the country’s neutrality has to be respected and that will be the geopolitical orientation of Sweden, come hell or high water. Nowadays, however, public trust in the West is so eroded that cheering victory or defeat in a civilizational clash is contingent on one’s political belonging. And so, we have white men hoping that God-Emperor Xi will destroy the West and liberate them from the tranny regime. We have ostensible China hawk Donald Trump throwing a wet blanket over Pelosi’s high-stakes gamble in Taipei, suddenly worried about escalation. It’s all very entertaining, but let me offer a modest proposal.

White identitarians and nationalists should seek to make China a friend to the West — by that, I mean the kind of friend that Japan has become to the West: a nice, friendly country which makes affordable cars, high-quality electronics, and produces the best cartoons on the planet. A peaceful country which will not even dare think to rise up against the white man ever again, content to amaze the West with its culture, its exquisite cuisine, and its business practices, descended as they are from the samurai code of honor. We eat sushi and tayaki, we bask in Bashõ’s quiet splendor, we enjoy the Japan-Western syncretist work of Akira Kurosawa and Hayao Miyazaki, and even indulge our morbid fascination with the weird side of Japanese culture: the tentacle stuff, the panty-vending machines, and Yukio Mishima. But Zero fighter planes now exist only in memories and media. As evident from the media they produce, the Japanese view Americans and white people in general as blonde six-footers covered in muscle and driven by an unstoppable will. For all the bluster leading up to 1945, and for all their valor, actual and imagined, they are now completely cowed and docile. And that is what China ought to become. A peaceful, grass-eating, hero-worshipping friend of the West. Just imagine the syncretic art we can beat out of them. Shanghai Jazz is only the beginning.

What is necessary in the long term is a subjugation of China and a shattering of their dreams for revenge. Having wrested from the Soviet Union the title of Leader of the Outer Revolt, they are now the greatest civilizational threat to white people and are fueled by dangerous levels of resentment against us. This is and will remain true regardless of who holds power in the West. Supporting China in any conflagration between China and a Western country, or a Western vassal state such as Japan or South Korea, is therefore a big no-no. As dissidents, we should also be aware that we’re always in danger of being co-opted by imperial rivals to the Washington regime, foremost amongst them Moscow and Peking. A strong and unstinting policy of “China is asshoe” guards vigorously against the danger of Chinese cooption, much as how robust anti-Semitism guards against Jewish infiltration. The optics of supporting China are also horrible, especially for people who purport to be pro-white. Any white identitarian cannot possibly support racial outsiders in a white-on-yellow conflict and would lose credibility as the result of such a position.

Of course, seeing as how we are Western dissidents, we shall nevertheless use any weakness that accrues to its ruling elite as a result of conflict with China to further our own political prospects. This means undermining and sabotaging the regime’s credibility and legitimacy. But a careful balance must be struck: China must not be allowed to break the fences that have cut it off from the Pacific Ocean, and under no circumstance must it be allowed to encroach anywhere near white homelands. Chinese immigration into and infiltration of Australia, New Zealand, and Canada in particular is dangerous and must be stopped. Parallel to hurting the regime, we must also use this crisis to remind white people that yes, the Chinese are racial outsiders and enemies, and no, the existence of subjugated and friendly Asians (Japanese, Koreans, Taiwan Chinese) does not negate the fact that the bulk of the Asian biomass is arrayed against the West and its preeminence in the world.

The ZOG regime will try inasmuch as possible to depict this conflict as being one of democracy versus authoritarianism, and liberty versus despotism. We must, however, deconstruct that narrative and impose our own. White vs. Yellow. Aristocratic egalitarianism vs. Oriental despotism. Smiling, heroic Aryan warriors vs. faceless Asiatic hordes. This will not only delegitimize the regime by exposing its hypocrisy, but also awaken people in the West as to the fundamentally racial and ethnic nature of conflict — not just this conflict, but every conflict on the planet.

Above all, dissidents must not allow themselves to be suckered into carrying water for either side of this conflict. If you’re part of the US Navy, unless you’re a commander who can win fame and then convert it into political success, you probably have no business being anywhere near the theater of operations. If you’re in a country other than the United States, you probably want to steer clear of this whole bullshit. This is not Ukraine; there’s no cause for white solidarity. I care about Taiwan only insofar as they can make computer chips and be used as a promontory from which the West can launch attacks against China. Save your powder and your strength for our struggle back home, where we seek to reassert white control over white countries.

Ideally, the Washington regime breaks China’s back, but is so weakened that we can simply sweep it aside and take our rightful position as leaders of our respective countries in the West. The real world is rarely ideal, so we’ll probably have to do some vigorous fighting back home first before the West rides out in force once again — this time to inflict ten thousand years of humiliation on the Pompously Prideful Han.

In the now-halcyon days of late 2019, I was called to participate in a debate which was billed “nationalism vs. patriotism,” but adherents to the dissident Right’s creeds would probably categorize it as “ethnonationalism vs. civic nationalism” which then branched out into “traditionalism vs. liberalism,” because those things tend to go hand in hand for some strange reason. After the introductory niceties, once we stated our premises, I quickly surmised that my interlocutor, a self-styled patriot, did not inhabit the same empirical universe as myself and the rest of the dissident Right, which is to say, his basic postulates on how the universe, and specifically human beings work, were different from my own.

His model of a human being was a blank slate, with parameters such as IQ, emotional stability, impulse control, time preference, and others being the result working more or less (conscientiousness and industriousness included). Once this became apparent, I quickly declared that no meaningful conclusion could be reached with regard to policy proposals or ideology, since, and I will reiterate, we do not agree on the nature of human beings or even the universe itself. My opponent refused to discontinue the debate, and we spent the next five hours talking more or less past each other. But at least one of my double takes, when my opponent suggested that a Negro in traditional Macedonian dress is just as Macedonian as the two of us garnered a dose of notoriety on Instagram.

Since then, I’ve eschewed debates, even though I’ve been dragged in more than one more or less against my will. The fact of the matter is that if the two people debating do not agree on what human beings are, any discussion of human matters and especially the ultimate human matter of politics is pointless, until such a time they can agree to inhabit the same empirical universe, which is to say, one or both of them change their opinion with regard to the nature of man. In linguistic terms, while we share a medium of signifiers — language and words, our conceptions of the signifieds corresponding to those signifiers are so vastly different from each other, that our maps of the world — the empirical universes from the first paragraph, are two very different conceptions of reality, which wouldn’t be problematic if humans were inclined (the cynical would say able) to look up from their maps and conceive of the territory. If even one of the interlocutors using different maps is unable to, or refuses to, look up from his map and argues his map, while his opponent argues his own map, or worse, the territory (such as he imperfectly perceives it), then all the debaters really do is hurl signifiers at each other, more often than not past each other, failing to communicate the intended meaning, communicating instead misunderstood, often innocuously hostile meanings.

In all our subsequent discussions on the subject, my opponent and I never managed anything except to frustrate each other, he with his religious fervor in favor of liberalism, me with my knowledge of the map he was arguing from (being a former liberal). Nothing good came out of them, aside from grist for the meme mills.

If you are on Gab, you’ll see something similar going on, and in fact it has been going on since January. A new crop of members, known to the old hats as J21rs, because they joined Gab after the massive social media purge of MAGA conservatives on January 21st and the subsequent collapse of the Parler scam, have been running headfirst into the already established dissident Right there and to their great surprise, finding out that their make of map is not hegemonic on the political right, in fact, that there’s an entire book of dissident maps out there, that just throwing out the old, hackneyed signifiers of right-alignment is not the be all and end all of resistance to globohomo.

The response from the J21ers has been mixed: some have tried to sequester themselves from the dissidents, others have sought debate with them, which usually ends with screams of “nazi, racist” and other terms you’d not expect from a self-proclaimed rightist and a small minority have actually done some soul searching and have at least attempted to go through a process of deeper redpilling, seeking out the enemy’s implanted narrative cores and trying to excise them.

For most, though, it’s been an exercise in futility, and so they’ve latched on to Gettr and the “freedom phone” as technological solutions to their problems which will allow them to keep on using the old map, without excising the old narrative cores — i.e. to keep on being essentially liberals and pretending like they’re the only option on the right. Personally, I don’t blame them. My own redpilling process is best described as a two-year-long slow-burning nervous breakdown, culminating in a bout of nervous fever. Rejecting all that you’ve been taught since childhood is not easy and not pleasant.

But if those J21ers leave for Gettr or whatever other new scam Conservative Inc. is preparing to grift off of Trump’s directionless base, and the leftoids remain on twitter, then won’t Gab risk turning into an echo chamber? In fact, haven’t we been told, essentially, that echo chambers are the ultimate evil of political movements because they unmoor us from political reality? Well, I for one, welcome the so-called echo chamber.

First of all, I question the very validity of the term. Echo implies that it’s just the same sounds getting bounded about the dreaded chamber, but one look at the dissident Right tells you that we’re producing anything but the same sounds. Just in this webzine, you’ll find such pluralism of thought, from European-style identitarianism, to American nationalism, to neoreaction and allied views, from HBD-centered dissident thought, to pan-Europeanism, Christian reaction and Christian nationalism, pagan revivalism, post-libertarianism, even the dreaded racist liberals have been known to contribute an article or two, shoulder pressing close to national-socialist shoulder.

And then you have all the other happy harbors of dissident thought, such as American Renaissance, VDare, the Unz Review, and many others, each of which presents a panoply of diverse opinion, even though we theoretically agree on the big questions. We do not argue from the same maps, but our maps are similar enough that we can form a sort of rough composite shared reality within which we can discuss and operate. In other words, the fundamental problem of human communication is solved for us, meaning that we can talk to each other rather than past each other. Now, whether we’re willing to is another matter, but the ability is there. We speak the same language.

Second of all, I question the notion that individual members of the dissident Right suffer in the dreaded echo chamber. The idea behind this notion is that adversity will both breed innovation of thought and keep us moored to “political reality.” First of all, I doubt that adversity will lead to innovation. Time and time again, when facing adversity in debate, I’ve found myself defaulting to movement fundamentals, repeating them almost verbatim, whereas my more esoteric and innovative thought is usually developed without adversity, after conversations with fellow dissidents, from a position of absolute security in the fundamentals with much room for error.

I will here draw a parallel to scientific progress. Historically, the bulk of invention has come from either bored and underemployed aristocrats and priests — i.e. people with secure incomes and little to do, (sometimes known as the English model) or from scientists given grants for independent, blue sky research with little expectations of immediate results and maximum freedom of exploration (sometimes known as the German model). In no case has innovation, either in science or art, come from adversity, nor is necessity the mother of invention. As I learned during my time practicing combat sports, when times are hard, when adversity is great, the right thing to do is to “remember your training” and do the things you know how to do very well, even if they are old hat.

Thirdly, and addressing the point that the echo chamber keeps us moored to “political reality,” I will question the necessity of being moored to “political reality.” This political reality we’re supposed to be moored to isn’t as real as those who want us to participate in it claim. It is theater, and worse than that, malicious theater, meant to mislead, deceive, bamboozle, confound, and instrumentalize the earnest right-winger (see under: MAGA). The framework of political reality is completely controlled and indeed, manufactured by the enemy, whether directly or through mind-controlled opposition. To participate in this theater is to be a collaborator in your dispossession and enslavement. The enemy wants us to chase those sticks, they want us wasting our energies on pointless debates, hurling signifiers at the scarecrows they erect for us, and of course, they want us to feel bad if we ever find ourselves among friends, in the dreaded echo chamber. Oh, if only some well-meaning liberal could travel back in time to Medieval Europe and inform the Christians that by burning heretics, expelling Jews, and defending their lands against Muslims, they’re creating an echo chamber.

While we’re on the subject of Christianity, we should note that Christendom did not separate itself out from the world, even while it maintained an echo chamber within Christian lands. Rather, it dispatched missionaries to convert the various realms, but here’s the thing: missionaries are specialized priests. Orthodox Christianity calls those who’ve converted previously pagan realms “Equal-to-Apostles” (isapostolos, ravnoapostolni). The average believer, or even a priest, is not up to the task of going into the lands of the infidels and turning them to Christ. It takes a special kind of man, a St. Patrick, a St. Boniface, to go among the infidels and teach them. Many will fail. For the rest of us sinful souls, we live on in the Christian echo chamber, far from heresy, far from infidel thought, good and fulfilling lives. Even the highest-ranking members of the Church, the bishops and cardinals, do not walk around among the infidels. Rather they sit at the very top of the echo chamber, enforcing it for the good of the faithful. And let’s say a man wishes to spend some time apart from the church hierarchy, which could be oppressive. He goes not among the infidels, but to the woods and mountains to become a holy hermit, and those who hunger most for God become monks and nuns, sequestering themselves in monasteries and creating such an airtight echo chamber that not even lay Christians are suffered for long.

Now, whether we like it or not, the dissident Right is a collection of rival faiths, standing in opposition to the prevailing faith of the West, which is progressive liberalism. We’re not yet so big that we can afford the specialization of the mature Catholic church — an individual prelate, let’s call him a content creator, must at various points be a confessor for the faithful, conduct liturgical service, contribute theological and practical insight, enforce orthodoxy in the ranks, set up churches and monasteries and yes, even engage in proselytising.

But when men come to church, they seek solace from the vicissitudes of the world and when men come to the dissident Right, they seek a place where modernity doesn’t press on them, or at least not as hard. I distinctly remember the sensation of relief and peace when I attended my first Scandza Forum conference — even though the venue was under literal siege by Antifa terrorists, it was the first time in a very long time that I did not feel under siege, for I was surrounded by friends, in a so-called echo chamber where I could credibly assume that we were all if not of one, than at least of a similar enough mind to communicate. And indeed, contentious person that I am, I found grounds for vigorous yet friendly debate there, among friends.

The echo chamber is a bogeyman, a concept intended to pathologize the state of being surrounded by and conversing with friends, which every human being naturally and justifiably craves. We can draw analogues to the similarly evil concept of racism, which aims to pathologize the state of preferring the biological ingroup and harboring a distrust of the biological outgroup, which is natural and normal in every human being.

What racism is to biological categories, the “echo chamber” is to ideological and religious categories. At its core lies the very liberal (and therefore ideological) assumption that conflict stems from insufficient learned and reasoned discourse, that if we were only to have a conversation with the enemy, conflict would abate, and we’d peacefully and vegetatively engage in productive and mutually beneficial activity. Of course, one look at how these things work in practice and this notion becomes laughably false. Christendom did not argue the Muslims out of conquest; we did not convince them of the divinity of Christ with facts and logic, rather, we had to employ military might to break the back of the Caliphate. Even St. Boniface did not argue the Germanic pagans into accepting Christ — he chopped down Irminsul, the world tree, in a demonstration of his will and the might of the Christian God, and even then, it took the armies of Charlemagne to defeat the last of the pagans. Detente is not reached through conversation, but when force of arms fails to decisively break the enemy.

Does this mean we should eschew debate? No, just as the Church did not eschew proselytizing. But know its limits and know that it is not for everyone. If, like me, you believe we’re close to peak redpill, our time as priests of the dissident church is better spent administering communion to the faithful, keeping up their spirits in these troubled times, and developing new approaches which will help us win in the future. People are always on about building institutions and creating culture, but you can’t really do that if you’re always fighting lefty with one hand and the mainstream right with the other. Culture arises once a space, conceptual or real, has been conquered and separated out from the wilderness where heretics and infidels abound. Or in the words of modern political discourse, culture arises in echo chambers.

Rasmus Paludan, the Danish-born leader of the Swedish Stram Kurs (Hard Line) party, burned a copy of the Qur’an in front of the Turkish embassy in Stockholm on January 21. The act, which was permitted and protected by the Swedish police, prompted Turkey to withdraw its support for Sweden’s accession to NATO. While Turkey has been reluctant to grant assent to Sweden for some time now, owing to Sweden’s policy of granting asylum to Kurds and other enemies of the Ankara regime, it is likely that allowing Paludan’s Qur’an-burning to transpire was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

The Qur’an-burning script is one we’ve seen many times before. Some self-proclaimed counter-jihad activist or politician declares that free speech is the highest of enlightened liberal values and that burning the Muslim holy book is part and parcel of the freedom of speech our grandfathers paid a heavy price for. He then proclaims that the Qur’an is a vile, illiberal book, comparing it unfavorably to Mein Kampf –which is where the term Islamofascism usually surfaces. He then may declare, seemingly unprompted, his ever-enduring love and loyalty to Israel and the Jewish people, who are the bulwark of democracy and Western values opposing the Islamic menace. He also reassures his audience that they’re not racist for being there, but rather are merely opposing the religion or ideology of Islam or Islamism, and proceed to burn the Qur’an. Thus the “radical Muslims” will be annoyed, in order to show them that free speech is alive and well.

Predictably, the Muslim response to this is unpleasant. In fact, given the typical Muslim in Europe, it’s often violent. But even a non-violent response is presented as Muslims being unable to accept free speech. The Qur’an-burners counsel them to respond as enlightened Christians, such as when they do nothing while so-called artists immerse crucifixes and Bibles in urine.

The Leftist media denounce the act, relativize the violent response (if there was one), and then nothing really changes — but at least everyone had a good time. Then, the Qur’an-burner, the Leftist media, and even the Muslims go back to their followers and claim some form of victory. The Qur’an-burner does so because he succeeded in accomplishing the act and attracted a lot of media attention, the media because they reinforced the Nuremberg moral paradigm by condemning the far-Right boogeyman with sufficient hysteria, and the Muslims because they did not let this insult against their faith go unanswered.

Each, of course, has indeed won, because each of the three sides in the drama has different objectives. The media has a moral paradigm to uphold, so they focus on controlling the narrative. The Muslims, more often than not driven by concerns of honor, are motivated to not allow an insult to go unpunished. The activist, however, craves media attention, because his ultimate goal is to raise awareness, which could uncharitably be described as “attracting attention” — words which would accurately describe Rasmus Paludan’s career as a politician and agitator in both Denmark and Sweden.

One wonders what the end goal is for such activism. Is the ultimate goal for Muslims in Europe to become as cowed and as docile as Christians are when they are subjected to insults to their own faith? If so, I can’t say that’s a positive development from an aesthetic viewpoint, first and foremost. Few things are as ugly as ornamental faith — faith not taken seriously. The lack of faith that European Christians exhibit is not something that adherents of other faiths should aspire towards.

I’ve personally had the misfortune of meeting a number of secularized Muslims, people who use Islam in the same ornamental way in which most Christians today use Christianity. The women may wear a hijab or a smaller headscarf, and the men may exclaim bismillah instead of “damn,” but otherwise they’re indistinguishable from their secular, globalized peers. I remember once seeing a young Turkish woman walking around wearing a light headscarf, which is supposed to protect a woman’s modesty, while also wearing a bikini top, with half of her bottom hanging out of her outrageously short Daisy Dukes. It is simultaneously one of my fondest (she was a very shapely woman) and most depressing memories: the hijab on her head concealing her hair, but revealing her hypocrisy. This is, of course, not an isolated incident. As I was recently informed by my younger friends, the phenomenon is common enough in Bosnia that it has a humorous name: Selam gore, bujrum dole — tastefully translated as “honor upstairs, welcome downstairs.” As much as I enjoy observing young women’s shapely bottoms, I am not a fan of faith taken lightly. And indeed, the Christian cousin of Selam gore, bujrum dole — the gaudy gold crucifix draped over silicon cleavage — is just as indicative of a faith becoming merely an ornament; a flavoring in an otherwise homogenized global anti-culture.

But even leaving aside my personal hang-ups, we have to ask ourselves what is achieved by burning the Qur’an from the perspective of white identitarian nationalism. How many browns will be deported as a result of the act? In what way will the Nuremberg moral paradigm be deconstructed? Will this act stimulate the development of white racial consciousness? Will it encourage white people to reproduce at a higher rate? Will it intercept and halt the actions of anti-white regimes? The answer to all these questions is no, with a possible exception concerning racial consciousness: Insofar as white people have a genetic tendency to be fair-minded and in a sense liberal, the resoundingly illiberal calls for censorship and retaliation from the overwhelmingly brown Muslims could hypothetically make white Europeans see them as more of an “other” than before. This would nevertheless remain inchoate and easily misled into various dead-ends, as we’ve already seen in the counter-jihad movement over the past decade-and-a-half that they’ve been kicking around. Moreover, if the problem is that brown Muslims are acting illiberally and are actually willing to make sacrifices for their faith, then the solution is not what we, as White Nationalists and identitarians, want to implement — the removal of browns and other racial aliens from European countries — but rather something that our enemy wants: the homogenization of Muslims into the denuded global anti-culture, just like the Turkish girl with her ass hanging out of her jean shorts.

A clever quip that I’ve seen floating around the Internet is that you’ll never see one of these counter-jihadists burning a copy of the Talmud, even though that text is orders of magnitude more hateful and supremacist than the Qur’an. This is of course true, but allow me to point out that burning the Talmud would not accomplish anything, either, except perhaps to draw attention to the burner. When it comes to tackling the Jewish question as a key part of implementing the White Nationalist agenda, our resources are far better applied to deconstructing gentile Zionism, exposing Jewish subversion and crimes, pointing out the alien nature of Jews, and generally revealing the Jews for what they are — piercing the veil of lies they use to cloak themselves as they ply their nefarious trade. In other words, the White Nationalist cause is far better served by reading and publicizing the truth about the Talmud than by burning it.

Rasmus Paludan’s burning of the Qur’an may have opened a geopolitical can of worms the effects of which will be interesting to observe. I have my own opinions about Sweden, Turkey, and NATO, as well as what ought to be done to ensure Europe’s security, but we’ll leave them for some other time. For now, suffice to say that his stunt has done little to advance the cause of white people in Sweden, has not meaningfully contributed to the effort to deport brown Muslims from Sweden, and in certain ways may even strengthen our enemy’s position. But at least he got those Muslims angry — and we know that whoever gets angry loses, right? RIGHT?

All the, all the, all the trees
And all the, all the, all the stones
All of, all of nature — peef.

All the, all the, all the lads
And all the, all the, all the virgins
And all of, all of matrimony — puff.

All the, all the, all the Slavs
And all the, all the, all the Jews
And all the, all the Russias — poof.

— Daniil Kharms [1]

At the time of writing, it has been twenty-three days since Joe Biden was sworn in as President of the United States, and yet the time of the Trump presidency feels like a lifetime ago. That’s because it is an entire lifetime ago. You may have heard of the redpill and how there are different tiers to it. I’m going to drop a particularly potent one. You’re not the same person you were on January 20. None of us are.

I’m sure you have the same arms and legs as you did twenty-three days ago, but you’re not the same person. You’re not the same person because you believed at that time that the world was a certain way and now that illusion has been shattered and there’s no going back to it. You were dreaming and now you’re awake. You were probably shocked and saddened, and this is why I put the big-brained political things on the backburner and focused on helping you bear the trauma of awakening. But we’re not out of the woods yet.

We use terms like awakening and sleeping, but when I wake up in the morning, disappointed though I may be that the blonde with the big bazoongas isn’t devoting her life to my personal enjoyment, I am nevertheless waking up to a world I know how to navigate. People rarely wake to a world where gravity or time works differently. The change from the old world to the new isn’t as drastic, but it presents similar difficulties if we’re expected to function. A far better metaphor would be childbirth. But alas, newborns aren’t saddled with useless — or worse, counterproductive — knowledge, skills, and assumptions they must now unlearn if they’re to function.

You lived in a world where voting mattered, where the President of the United States of America wielded actual power and could make decisions that could affect your life. You lived in a world where the best ideas would win out in a marketplace of ideas, and wouldn’t just be shut out of the discourse because they hurt someone’s feelings. You lived in a world where politics was divided into Leftists and Rightists, between liberals and conservatives. You lived in a world where the courts, the police, and the military would stand for the rule of law and would protect laws against violations. 

You woke up in a world where elections are blatantly rigged, the President is abjectly powerless, where ideas aren’t judged on their merit but on how much they injure a sacral center our intellectual class venerates, with ideas injurious to this center being shut out and those voicing them hounded out of the public square. You woke up in a world where politics was squarely divided between us and them, Cloud People and Dirt People — to borrow a phrase from the Z man of the Z blog — and the police and military you believed would be on your side, or at least the side of the law, are now manning the battlements of the Washington DC Green Zone.

The blonde with the big bazoongas isn’t real either.

Here’s the point where I usually offer a helping hand, as a pioneer in this “wakefulness” thing, but here’s the kicker: I too am awakening from a dream. The only difference between you and me is that I was having a lucid dream. As Dissident Right activists feel the noose tightening around our necks, we’re in for a rude realization that the time before the reign of the Demented Despot was more like a video game than reality. This is reality. Many will feel that this is not what they signed up for and it probably isn’t, but life isn’t fair and there’s very rarely full accounting for what things are, not out of malice or due to malfeasance, but due to mere uncertainty. At some level, I guess I understood it. I signed up to fight the ruling regime and unofficial state religion of the West. We now might have to pay a price for our position. Honor demands that I follow this thing through to the bitter end.

That’s all very good and bleak and hopeless and all of those nasty epithets, but I’ve got news for you. The enemy was also dreaming. And they’re also waking up. In this Time article, the journalist brags about how a gaggle of NGOs, unions, Big Tech, big money, federal and state government employees, journalists, race hustlers, and other types of criminal “fortified” and “defended” democracy from the evil and authoritarian Trump machine. I’d recommend you at least skim through the thing, because that article might be the most important piece of reporting of the 21st century. A shame it’s written in the insufferable cunty style typical of Jewish woman journalists.

This democracy-defending coalition not only reads like a who’s-who of hebes in high places, but also nicely tracks the informal system of government in America as opposed to its charade of elected officials. I’ve mentioned the neoreactionary Cathedral before. I’ve been reluctant to use that term yet in the past, because it lets the so-called Red Government (military, some parts of the intelligence community, energy sector, chamber of commerce, etc.) off the hook for our present situation. This article shows us that the red part of the government was a willing participant in the election fraud. While there’s no mention of the military and intel agencies getting in on the fun, nothing votes harder than a grenade launcher (I wish I could credit the inventor of that phrase, but his blog got nuked). The military is at least complicit in not enforcing the law. In other words, this article describes exactly how the real power in America pushed Donald Trump and his 75 million supporters aside. It means that for better or worse, the enemy has also awakened from a dream.

Their dream was horrifying. In it, America was ruled by Orange Hitler, who was in cahoots with Bad Vlad Putin, a notorious Russian fascist with a penchant for murdering gays and riding bears. Together, they used hacking, Facebook ads, and mind control to steal the 2016 presidential elections to implement Nazi white supremism in America. Indeed, their whole lives were spent an inch away from certain death, or at least internment into concentration camps. Even before Orange Hitler, there was Fake Texan Hitler (you may know him as W), and way back before him, Tricky Dick Hitler. It was, in fact, a world of Hitlers, of white supreemists, of evangelicals electrocuting gays, of klansmen police officers hunting inner-city Negroes for sport, of legalized rape, witch burnings, lampshades made out of Jewish skin, but above all, Hitler, Hitler, Hitler, and them always managing to escape certain gassing by the skin of their gender-nonspecific balls. 

But it gets worse. 

Remember the blonde with the big bazoongas? Her name is Stacy Hitler, and she oppresses proud Jewish whamen of color by being pretty, having straight hair, and attracting the attention of high-status men. But now the dream is over. As the dawn breaks, the horrors of the night recede. Turns out, they’ve been in charge of the country for a very long time. Orange Hitler was nothing but a blowhard who was himself dreaming of an age long gone.

And here we may see the silver lining of this rude awakening. The power of our enemy depended on its occult nature, that nobody, themselves included, knew that they had all this power. Not only because now that they own this power, they’ll invite scrutiny. Not only because of the whole uncle Ben thing about great power and great responsibility. These people have no idea how to be the top dogs. 

They know how to act like underdogs from a position of power, wailing and gnashing against Orange Hitler and raging at white supremism, and they know how to resent the good and the beautiful, but they have no goddamn idea how to govern. 

And now they must. When their distributed network of power-brokers believing themselves to be powerless sprung into action to illegally oust Trump, it became self-aware. And distributed systems do not do well when they become self-aware. For one thing, they’ll necessarily stop being distributed and will have to centralize. Instead of many wills pushing in the same direction, there is one Will, indivisible, which must animate all parts of the machine — a machine which is more like an ecosystem than a machine, one which cannot function in a self-aware and centralized manner. The ruling class will not suddenly lose their phobia of authoritarian rule and merrily subjugate their will to this new machine. People don’t change. They yearn for the righteous narrative of fighting Orange Hitler. What they’ll get is the dreary reality of being a third-rate desk jockey under the stern and senile leadership of comrade Brezhnev. If there is a civil war or violent confrontation, it’s likelier to be triggered by bored liberals pining for the good old days when they were a hunted rebel band. What my good friend Serdar Martoloz realized almost three years ago, the ruling class has now learned.

This is not how we win. This, however, is how they lose. We win by outlasting them. We win by being better men, better capable of governance, by taking care of our own, by forming a cohesive group that is ready to step into power once their machine twists itself apart in self-aware rampancy. But to do that, we must first survive. I’ve chosen the poem in the heading because I believe a time of things going peef, puff, poof is upon us. It was written some time in the 1940s, in Saint Petersburg, which was then called Leningrad, by an author who’d soon starve to death in a psychiatric hospital for having written it. I put it up also to remind myself of what must be done. Tempted though I am to abandon my commitments to the Dissident Right, both internationally and back home, and regress into being an idle man of letters, dissecting the true meaning of Russian futurist and absurdist literature while the world burns around me, honor demands I see this thing through. Just because the enemy is due to tear itself apart, doesn’t mean that our job is complete. The death of Globohomo will leave a great big sucking power vacuum that may be filled by factions that may not have our people’s best interest at hearts. 

The death of the Leninist government did not lead to the fall of communism — it led to Stalin, and it was ol’ Jugashvili’s machine that put comrade Kharms in the psychiatric hospital. Whatever happens, we cannot afford to stop. 

This is reality now.

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Before the American general election, my friends kept asking me who’d be the likely winner, Trump or Biden. My response, which infuriated everyone who got it, was usually some variation of “define winning.”

Do you mean who’ll win the most votes? Do you mean who’ll win the elections, presuming no shenanigans, which was a laughable proposition even before the evidence started pouring in for America’s advanced banana republicanism? Do you mean who’ll hold the office of President once it’s all over? Do you mean who’ll seize power; if, indeed, power changes hands? Or do you mean who’ll visibly gain, or whose enemies will visibly lose (gain and lose subject to redefinition themselves) in the aftermath?

It’s a fine way of losing friends and getting called an obtuse faggot.

I cannot in good faith deny the accusation. When someone worried about their future is asking you whether /ourguy/ will win or not, or what an impending battle will do to shift the delicate power balance of the world, they do not want the truth, but rather reassurance. Ours is a degenerate age, so when normal people see a man with imposing facial hair and a flamboyant sense of dress, which often includes flowing, long coats and ostentatious hats, they immediately think “priest.” But a priest does not necessarily tell you the truth. He corrects your moral failings and reassures you that God is on your side. My friends make the mistake of assuming that I and other thinkers of the Dissident Right are priests, but we’re far closer to mystics. I suppose I am partly to blame for it. I do not dress like a yurodiv, nor like a dervish, nor like a hippie, nor do I cultivate an image of a mystic thinker, but I prefer the sweater vests and silly suit jackets of a college professor, a leftover from my academic days. This may sound superficial, but it’s important. As Nassim Taleb would say, a bishop on rollerblades would no longer be a bishop.

Now we’re on the other side of the election, and indeed, what constitutes “winning” is an unclear category. Trump supporters will repeat “Trump won” with a degree of truthfulness, but if Trump won, why does he appear to be in a weaker position than he did before the battle? Does he, like Hannibal, know how to gain a victory but not how to use it? Did he actually lose? Did he fight the wrong battle and lose by winning? Or is Trump just playin’ possum, and it’s just a part of The Plan, concocted by Good Guys in government, headed by QAnon to initiate The Storm? And let’s not forget that the battle is far from over, and that therefore it’s premature to proclaim victory.

What Trump won was the adjusted headcount that American electoral law requires for victory in a democratic process. He has not seized power. He has not checked Democratic shenanigans. He has not learned how to convert victory into political gains. And crucially, he has no vision for the future, no dream.

What is Trump’s dream of the future? Make America Great Again? Great as it was back in the day? Was it all that great back then? Napoleon famously said that if you want to understand a man’s politics and worldview, you have to know what was going on in the world when he was 20. Donald Trump was 20 in the 60s. Was America great in the 60s? Edward Dutton seems to think so. What constitutes greatness? What are the prerequisites of greatness? Is this the dream? Is 60s America the dream? I must admit that I, too, am charmed by the sleaze and satin aesthetics of the Rat Pack, discussed in this article from 2016, which cleverly contrasts Donald Trump’s 60s to Hillary Clinton’s 60s. I sit in a hipster coffee shop as I write these lines and a portrait of ol’ Blue Eyes stares at me, a token white surrounded by jazz greats. He seems to know something I don’t. He’s got the ghost of a smile about his mouth.

Sinatra is dead, though. So is Dean Martin. The mob is a shadow of its former self. Las Vegas is a parody of its old self, which was always a cheap plastic knockoff of the entire world. Atlantic City is the abode of aged and aging has-beens pulling levers on slot and video poker machines. Gambling is less glamorous in an age of economic hardship and widely available video games. Not just America, but Europe has also abandoned this glorious era. Only try-hard balkanoid nouveau riche play baccarat in Monte Carlo anymore, and only incorrigible hipsters like yours truly attempt to recapture the aesthetics of Dalida and Aristotle Onassis.

The dream of the ring-a-ding-ding 60s is an old man’s dream of his youth. His energy appearance of good health notwithstanding, Donald Trump is an old man. But when the old men are dead and buried, we will have to live with the world they bequeath to us. And more importantly, young men must not live out an old man’s dream.

Or maybe they’ll have to.

After all, what would be a better indicator that a civilization is old in the Spenglerian sense than young men living out and dreaming an old man’s dream? What would be a better indicator of the dissolution of the forms than a cargo cult of the old forms? Maybe Trump really is Caesar and the forms of American civilization will become frozen in his backward-looking dream, which I suspect will be better for me personally. I know many Sinatra and Dean Martin songs by heart and I have a raspy crooner voice and an alcohol intake to match. Maybe therein lies the rub. Dino and Frankie drank like fishes, whereas Donnie boy and alcohol don’t mix. But old men can rarely hold their liquor. Maybe the future of Western civilization is that: racist liberal political forms, mob casino aesthetics, but with responsible drinking and the gambling kept to an acceptable minimum. Sin City without the wages and risks of sin.

Donald Trump also likes to have a Space Force so that America can go back into space and repeat the triumph of 1969, when men walked on the moon. I talk to men (now old) who remember having watched that event on television. It must have been an event of profound and staggering impact, forever changing their perception of the world. But I was born decades after this momentous event and it means very little to me, just as 9/11 means next to nothing to my kid cousin who was a mewling infant on September 11th, 2001.

Contrast that to the woke Left who have a compelling dream of the future, a future in which white people are dead or subjugated to the nonwhite, a future in which women are completely feral, out of control, and free to fritter away their fertility, a future in which all faiths are outlawed, except Moloch worship in its various forms, and a future of humanity merging into a formless, brown goop, living in pods, eating bugs, and inhabiting the ruins of civilization.

To us, it is a nightmare. To them, it is a powerful motivating force. They hate us with a passion, as whites, as men, as Christians, even as pagans, for those of us who are of native faith. They’ll even begin to hate us for liking Sinatra one of these days. They won’t stop until we’re all dead or in chains.

So, what’s our dream of the future? Is it the white ethnostate, which looks suspiciously like 50s America? Are we living out the dreams of old men once again, but this time the dreams of Tom Metzger or maybe H. L. Mencken? Is it the neoreactionary dream? Do those guys even have a dream? I find that the best way to turn people away from NRx is to have the neoreactionaries honestly describe their dream for the future. Turns out that being a serf for a cybernetically-enhanced corporate bureaucrat (neocameralism) or surrendering political power to the actual power-brokers of today and then hoping a marketplace of power would arise (formalism) cause visceral disgust reactions in people, and not just your unwashed peasant either (who’d likely have no problem with being a serf), but precisely with the people who have the ability to effectuate change. The NRx crowd, bless their hearts, is simply too autistic to understand this.

Maybe the wignats and Eurasianists can jump in with their dreams of based Imperial Sino-Russian domination of the West, which is just neocameralism — except the cybernetically-enhanced corporate bureaucrat on top looks suspiciously like Winnie the Pooh.

Unlike St. Fatso the Rape Ape (you may know him as the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.), I don’t have a dream. I used to have a dream, but it was a stupid and ugly libertarian dream. I set about to put it on paper, as a series of short stories set in the very far future. Then events transpired which made me abandon libertarianism — you could say I was sucked into a certain pipeline. I suffered a severe nervous breakdown, although reading Mircea Eliade after the fact has convinced me that it was, in fact, an involuntary shamanic initiation. I woke up from a three-day delirium with completely realigned priorities about what my purpose in life is, what my dream ought to be. The price I paid was the loss of my old dream and my old voice. God took it away from me to punish me for my hubris, for the belief that I could transcend the body of my nation when I had a duty to lead them. He gave me a new voice, coarser and more ancient, harkening back to the damp, swampy soil which lies beneath the asphalt of my hometown. Tellingly, my physical voice got even raspier when I quit smoking, which was my final symbolic rejection of Randian (which is to say ultra-Apollonian) aesthetics.

If this sounds crazy, it’s because it probably is. Dreams are crazy. Dreamweavers are even crazier.

Dreamweaving, alas, is a communal activity. It is not enough for the yurodiv to strip naked in the winter or for the dervish to whirl in his trance. He must, in discourse both learned and childlike, transcend the current to deign both the deep past and obscure future, to abandon for a time the world of is and inhabit the world of ought, the world of might, the world of will. He does this by friction with the world around him, by denial of the surrounding reality, by breaking the norms of society, by journeying to Hell itself if need be. He must balance this with an unquestioning commitment to the good, so that he may resist his travails and reject the temptations of evil. The best way to do that is to not go the long, thorny road alone. The soul must find joy, so that it may know why it is a soul. And joy, much like Hell, is other people.

We in the Dissident Right often go on about building institutions. This is a step in the right direction and many of our friends and fellow travelers are already on the job. We must also corner metapolitics, chiefly art and philosophy. This is even better and many are already on this very important job.

But one thing I’ve been asking people recently is “what does victory look like?”

What are the victory conditions? When do we get to clasp our hands over our hearts, thank God for our great adventure, and retire? The parameters of victory will be governed by a dream we’ve yet to weave. When we say “positive vision for the future,” this is what we mean. It doesn’t have to be overly specific, but it has to be real, as real as Donald Trump’s Rat Pack, the Leftist brown goop, the neoreactionary corporate hellscape, and the Eurasianist Sino-Russian corporate hellscape. It has to ring true and it has to set a fire in the soul, so that the soul must know why it is a soul.

Only with a dream of spring can we survive the winter.

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“Give not that which is holy unto the dogs, neither cast ye your pearls before swine, lest they trample them under their feet, and turn again and rend you.” — Matthew 7:6

Suppose I defy the above admonition and give something good and holy to a dog, or even cast a literal pearl before a literal swine. I guess it won’t be good and proper, but at the very least the merry pig cannot destroy a pearl or render it ugly. My people have a saying which serves as a handmaiden of the above Bible verse: A pearl in the mud remains a pearl, and fables teach us that even among chickens, an eagle is an eagle. After the pig and dog have had their fun, I’ll take the pearl, wash it, and it will again be an object of great beauty. But Jesus wasn’t talking about literal dogs and pigs.

The ancient philosophers were fond of saying that a man who loses his reason is less than a beast, that he becomes wicked and malicious in a way that a beast cannot. Hence, throwing pearls before a man without such reason as can appreciate a pearl’s beauty is what leads to that pearl being trampled, and the wicked man turning and rending he who cast the pearl before him.

First, the pearl. Take the time to listen. I’ll wait.

You may not understand the language. Neither do I. But you’ll probably feel the same grandeur and melancholy that I did when you hear the vast universe of music contained in those four odd minutes. Let it flow through you. The gentle beginning is a pleasant seaside morning, cool and calm, giving birth to those strange reflections on life which amaze with their simplicity; it’s a world of things small, gentle, and real, a microcosm of Mare Nostrum no greater than one man can see while standing on a hill, and not stretching further than a young boy can run in pursuit of love and merriment. The world is yet to awaken as we regard the lightly shifting sea.

Over this background, Bocelli chants rather than sings: human, all too human and human-sized, a respite from megalomaniacal modernity. And, slowly, the Sun rises, and greater things start to come into view. The chorus is a great beam of light cast across the sea, and each chorus asserts itself a little more than the previous one, with each chanted verse a little more ethereal than the previous one, for as the day progresses, the inner soul of Faustian man grows ever more intricate and profound. As the day nears its end and more instruments join our ever-growing seaside village, becoming greater still, and as mighty ships crisscross the sea, Bocelli’s voice communicates ever more hope and cautious joy, drawing the bowstring ever tauter, retreating ever deeper into the self before exploding into the great nothing, a force vector burning with energy. For a blessed and timeless second, there’s nothing but the cold, cold silence of infinite space and Bocelli’s voice. As the timeless second ends, the brass section meets him as a turtledove mated for life would greet its mate, and they wander off into the far west, to pay homage to our Father, the Unconquered Sun, as he goes to sleep for the night.

And now we read the lyrics’ translation. At first glance, it is a love song about being far from your lover, and that’s the interpretation that Sarah Brightman takes in her rendition. Indeed, that’s what the song’s composers might think about it, but the raw power and vastness of the song suggests something greater than romance, something grander. There’s alienation from love and cosmic alienation, and the song contains a good deal of the latter.

I believe that in certain moments, romance and patriotism and the love of woman and nation are the same thing. Much like in physics, where at a certain point immediately after the Big Bang the fundamental forces of the universe were unified, there’s a confluence of factors that can cause the unification of these two great loves in men. My personal experience would indicate that five shots of hard liquor are a necessary, but not sufficient, precondition. Replicability is sadly poor due to the strongly subjective nature of these forces. Indeed, I believe this to be true all over, for he cannot serve his people who doesn’t love a woman, especially in such a way that results in children. This is especially strong in Mediterranean men due to our far longer history with agriculture and our resulting deep connection to the land itself. The song’s trajectory from the human-sized to the infinite would seem to follow the schema of a love of woman morphing into love of nation as children are born, grow, and join the community. Therefore, longing for a beloved woman is longing for a beloved nation – especially one unfairly stolen.

I will leave with “you.” The “you” in this case is the Old World, taken to the New. Specifically, it is the heart of the Mezzogiorno, cruelly ripped out in Italy’s War of Northern Aggression (which the cowardly bankers’ dogs dared to call “Italian unification”). As a result of this brothers’ war, the best and brightest of Italy’s south now live in “countries I never saw and shared with you.” The heart of the Mezzogiorno now beats inside the breast of a Frankenstino from the Joisey Shore. Learned and wise men like Antonin Scalia waste their brilliance on healing the incurable Yankee sickness and on girls which would have frolicked with their many children in the Sicilian sun, but here waste their youth in tanning salons and house parties. Wicked fate has made us into fools, living in a clown world. Ridi, pagliaccio.

And there’s hope yet in the world, hence the positivity mixed with melancholy in Bocelli’s voice and the accompanying orchestra. And so boys and girls still meet each other for St. Gennaro’s, and legend has it that gabagool exists, even beyond the great sea.

And now, the swine.

Indulge in that mellifluous oinking, friends.

They’ll use the chorus from “Con te partirò” to draw you in. It’ll sound familiar. It’ll sound like it ought to be good. It looks like an old friend. But it’s actually a cannibal who’s skinned and eaten your friend and is now wearing his skin as a disguise.

This is a song about a promiscuous woman who’s had sex with a man, and that man is now preparing to leave, and she begs him not to, enticing him with her many lewd qualities and willingness to perform perverse acts. Or at least that’s what I think. It could actually just be a song about some sheboon’s butt.

Uh, tell him seh’ it proper and it prim (and it prim)
A mermaid ting, and he wanna swim (he wanna swim)
How gal bright suh but dem eyes dim (eyes dim)
Ch-ch-chain heavy but I’m light skin (I’m light skin)
I pull up on him let him put the pipe in (pipe in)
Then I gotta dash like a hyphen (hyphen)
I bring the cake let him lick the icing (icing)
Some little open toes Stewart Weitzman
Advising… ye-yes this ties in (okay)
N-none of you hoes will ever see my pen
YSL Nicki boot, just to drive in
The way my football, just give me the Heisman
Touchdown, touchdown, touchdown, touch . . .

What riveting poetry! Touch down, heh hehe. She said touch down. My inner Beavis is positively giddy. And since no modern song is complete without Spanish reggaeton-ish rapping, we are treated to “Papichulo, cuanto amas ese culo?” I only understand half of that sentence, but I wish I couldn’t. The spectacle of ugliness is overwhelming. It’s good and proper to be angry.

I’ve suspected for a while that the core of philosophy is aesthetics, given that it is the only branch of philosophy that cannot be bound up in a nutshell, indeed bad dreams disrupt nutshell empires. Aesthetics, beauty, it is experienced psychically, but also physically – we have physical reactions to beauty, and involuntary ones at that. Experiencing a great work of art is something that leaves a man both humbled and empowered – both mental states have physical manifestations. And to understand the ethics, metaphysics and all other philosophies of a man, or of a people, we must first look at what they claim is beautiful. Our enemies in globohomo and the nonwhite hordes they employ as bioweapons against us consider this drivel beautiful. Meditate on that.

I believe that there’s a lesson to be learned here. The civic nationalist dream of the brown world accepting white culture and mores is less than impossible. It is not that nonwhites will not accept white culture, but rather that they’ll twist it into something horrifying, something base, that they’ll transform a masterpiece of the musical art into gluteal rhythmic abominations – what my disgusted wife calls “butt music”. Unless we assert our right to our culture, and our right to exist, we will be killed and all we have created will be taken from us. It will not live on, but it will be desecrated, despoiled and deformed into pure ugliness. The swine of the world will trample our pearls, turn again and rend us.

As I write these words, war rages in the Ukraine. Once again, white people are at each other’s throats in a bloody and brutal brother war. Much will be written about it. More will be said. Much of what is written and said will be false, loaded, unexamined, unkind, uncouth, and unfeeling. We will be unpacking this war for years, if it does not escalate into something that’ll kill us all. So while we’re all still around, I want to direct you to one of Europe’s past bloody brother wars.

The Yugoslav Wars were an orgy of violence and horror, not merely because of their intensity but even more so because the men who were killing each other, burning each other’s villages, and committing atrocities had been friends and neighbors only a few years earlier. I’ve heard from oldsters who took part (or who stood by as it happened) that it was surreal. Nowhere is the conflict’s surreal nature better portrayed than in Srdjan Dragojević’s film Pretty Village, Pretty Flame.

This film concerns a squad of Serbian soldiers who are cornered in an abandoned and reputedly haunted tunnel by the Bosnian army. As they run out of water and are killed one by one, they struggle to stay alive and sane. Its atmosphere of claustrophobic dread would make Hitchcock and Lovecraft proud. The Serbian squad is trapped between the Bosniaks outside the tunnel and the purported drekavac which haunts the tunnel. But the drekavac is not the only spirit haunting the tunnel. The spirit of “the country which no longer exists” — of Yugoslavia and its Marshal, Josip Broz Tito — hangs over the whole film. But what interests me is the colorful cast of characters that comprises the Serbian squad.

I’ve often said that the Serb soldiers trapped in the tunnel represent every stereotype about Serbs in the 1990s gathered in one place. The squad is commanded by Gvozden (meaning Made of Iron), an old-school officer from the Yugoslav National Army, still enamored of his beloved Marshal Tito, having walked 350 kilometers in 1980 to pay his respects at Tito’s funeral. He is a no-nonsense, by-the-book officer stuck commanding a motley crew whose discipline disintegrates as they slowly die of thirst and lose their sanity. He is portrayed by Bata Živojinović, which has symbolism of its own. Živojinović is sometimes called the “Yugoslav Rambo,” being the premier action star of Yugoslav cinema and the hero of hundreds of films about the partisans from the Second World War. Here he is already a senior (63 at the time of filming), still strong and still dignified, but age has already left its mark on his face. The character he portrays is likewise an ageing career soldier, someone who’s still loyal to the Yugoslav ideal even though Yugoslavia is already dead. He is out of touch, out of his mind even, but never loses his composure. Even as they’re about to die, he insists on shaving (with his impeccably sharpened combat knife) — ever the officer, ever the gentleman, ever the loyal pioneer.

Gyozden’s first counterpart is Brzi (meaning Speedy). He is a Belgrade junkie “in military therapy”: young, rash, and born to die, as people are fond of saying, wearing a uniform because he fell from an overpass into an army truck headed to Vukovar during the Croatian War. He is the son of a Yugoslav National Army officer and stereotypically hedonistic, irreverent, disrespectful of authority, enamored of the West’s culture (including drugs), and contemptuous of state myths, both the Yugoslav and the post-Serbian Yugoslav myths. He’s an ambulance driver, which is apt, since he is directionless and has been his entire life. Brzi, being the son of a career Yugoslav National Army officer, shows us Gvozden’s future: the broken branch of the Yugoslav tree, the full gas in neutral of Yugoslav nationalism, the pointlessness of it all.

His second counterpart is Veljo, a career criminal who avails himself of the loot and seems to be genuinely enjoying himself in the war. He is a worldly man; he has seen Frankfurt and Hamburg, and has robbed banks and stolen cars in every major West German city. He’s seen Amsterdam’s whores and has eaten Switzerland’s cheese and chocolate. He once stole a cistern of beer at Oktoberfest and drank it all in three days. His ease with the carnage unnerves Gvozden, but more importantly Veljo reminds Gvozden of Yugoslavia’s dark side, the state security-sponsored organized crime gangs led by men such as Željko Ražnjatović, aka Arkan, a criminal, war profiteer, and himself the wayward son of an army officer who had at one point been a partisan liberator. Whereas Gvozden is an officer of the Yugoslav National Army — a gentleman, a knight –, Veljo is an avatar of UDBA, the state security agency which unleashed Yugoslav criminals on the West, created the modern Serbian and Albanian mafia, and still controls political and economic life in the post-Yugoslav world. Whereas Gvozden represents what was best about Yugoslavia, Veljo represents the worst.

Their reasons for fighting, however, are paradoxically the opposites of what these men are. Gvozden is fighting in vain for a state that has already been dead for three years at the time the film takes place. He refuses to let go of this dream, and it’s unclear if he can let go of it. Veljo, however, has taken the place of his younger brother, a talented archaeology student, who would have been drafted had Veljo not pretended to be him. The criminal, the spook, and the bank robber are in the war because of the one noble thing he has done in his entire life.

Even worse, Veljo embarrasses Gvozden by declaring the entire edifice of the Yugoslav state to be criminal and dishonest in a Scarface-like speech about who the bad guy is and who deserves respect and doesn’t. He lays bare the ugly truth about Yugoslavia, that its brotherhood and unity were built on dictatorship and many billions of American dollars in Western loans, Eastern privileged trade, and black funds which men like Veljo provided. The outraged Captain is ready to kill him for that.

Joined to Veljo at the hip is Marko, “the kid” or “the mascot.” Barely 18, overweight, overly zealous, sporting braces and a round jaw, probably mildly autistic, trigger-happy, and flying a Confederate flag — a symbol often used by Serbian skinheads due to the commonality of the American Southern and Serbian struggles against American imperialism –, he often screams Veljo’s name when the going gets tough (or when he accidentally riddles a child hiding in a closet with bullets). He is wounded in a Bosnian assault as his squad retreats to the tunnel. In him we see the typical wignat. Marko is ill-prepared for war and not taken seriously by the older, more experienced men. His patriotism consists of spray-painting nationalist slogans and symbols on the burned-out ruins of buildings. He is a burden to his squad and also its youngest member, a sad vision of the future. The Bosniaks capture him and torture him, broadcasting his screams into the tunnel as a form of psychological warfare.

Matching Marko in zeal but thankfully capable of carrying their own weight are Laza and his brother-in-law Viljuška (Fork). They’re peasants from Central Serbia. Laza joined up after seeing a news report in the now-infamously paranoid style of post-Yugoslav news media about the New World Order drawing up plans to carry out a genocide of the Serbs, whereas Viljuška followed him so that Laza would not be alone. Their nationalism is of the romantic variety. Viljuška wears a fork around his neck because he sees it as a symbol of Serbian sophistication — claiming it as a Serbian invention that was first used by Serbian nobility and kings while other Europeans still ate with their hands. They also clash with Gvozden. When Veljo plays the “Internationale” on his harmonica for Gvozden, Viljuška poo-poos the song.

Ironically, the Serbian knights and nobles that Viljuška looks up to are best incarnated in Gvozden himself: the stoic, disciplined warrior, ready to die with his weapon in his hand, and driven by honor and loyalty which extends beyond the death of the man he was loyal to (Tito) and the state which he served (Yugoslavia). Lazo and Viljuška see him as a relic and more or less as an outsider for his Communism. Laza’s impulsivity kills him. While the Bosniaks torture Marko, he rushes out to save him but is killed by his own grenade under fire. Soon after Laza’s death, Viljuska suffers a nervous breakdown after having to shoot an approaching woman who is shell-shocked and has been raped, but who is suspected of carrying a belly full of explosives strapped to her by the Bosniaks to turn her into an improvised and unwilling suicide bomber. Viljuška walks out of the tunnel, claiming that he’s going home. He is immediately cut down by automatic fire.

The penultimate member of the squad is the Professor. He is an actual professor, which is an honorific given to high school teachers in the Balkans. He is a Bosnian Serb who used to teach in Banja Luka, the urban center of Serbian Bosnia, even today the capital of the Republika Srpska, the Serbian subdivision of Bosnia and Herzegovina. He is a quiet man — not quite a soldier, not effective in combat, but not useless, either. While his compatriots loot jewelry, appliances, cars, and booze from the burning villages, he steals books. He appreciates poetry, gaining a grudging respect for Veljo’s native talent with words. He is nostalgic for the old system, but unlike Gvozden, realizes that it is over.

The final squad member is the film’s central character, Milan. He too is a Bosnian Serb, but a rural one. The tunnel in which the squad hides is next to his village. In the flashback sequences, the story focuses on his pre-war lifelong friendship with Halil, a Bosnian Muslim. They were kids together, chased girls together, and finally went into business together as auto mechanics. Then the war tore them from each other. Milan’s mother is killed early in the film, reportedly by Bosniaks from Halil’s detachment, which is the same one besieging them in the tunnel.

Milan is a no-nonsense character. In the Belgrade hospital where he and the Professor are recovering alongside the comatose Brzi after the fight to escape the tunnel, he is disgusted by the great city’s decadence: the rude yet promiscuous nurses and uncaring doctors who treat him like crap because they feel oh-so-urbane. When Brzi’s junkie friends come, they mock him and the war effort. When he asks one of them his nationality, he replies “d-d-drug addict.” It is probably the film’s most quoted line, and even Milan chuckles, despite himself.

To everyone else, the war is something they do, but to Milan, the war is something that happens to him. It is his village that gets looted, his mother who is killed, his best friend’s auto repair shop that burns down, his schoolteacher who is raped and used as an unwilling suicide bomber, and the tunnel of his childhood nightmares that they use as a redoubt. Ultimately, it is his land that bears the brunt of the brutal war, and recovering in the Belgrade hospital, it is made clear to him in no uncertain terms that as a Bosnian Serb, he is considered provincial, uncouth and uncivilized, and that Serbia proper is “not his land.”

All the other characters have motivations that are to a lesser or greater extent false. Gvozden fights for the vainglory of the failed Yugoslav state. Veljo fights under his brother’s name. Brzi fights to escape the horror of heroin addiction. Laza and Viljuška fight to prevent the New World Order from exterminating the Serbs. Marko, bless his soul, has no idea why he’s there except that he thought being at war would be cool. Only for Milan, and to a lesser degree the Professor, is the war something real, salient, and immediately present.

In these various characters, we see replicated the various approaches we are seeing to the Ukrainian conflict today — and possibly to every conflict everywhere on the planet. The warriors for a lost dream like Gvozden correspond to those boomers who haven’t yet realized that America is long gone and that there’s nothing left to fight for. Lazo and Viljuška are normies, caught up in anti-Russian hysteria and propaganda but who’ll soon run into the reality of the war. Brzi and Veljo represent those who run from their own pathologies, whether as drug addicts or criminals. Marko, poor soul that he is, is a dumb, autistic kid who gets in over his head, the Western wignat who joins the Azov battalion or the Russian skinheads rushing to kill svidomy. But Milan and the Professor are those who have no choice to enter or exit the conflict because it is being done to them, on their land and against their people. In today’s conflict, they are the Ukrainians and the Russians who live in the Ukraine to whom the conflict happens even as they participate in it.

Before we dismiss all of these people, let’s not forget that all of them have nobility in them. It is Gvozden who sacrifices himself to save the squad in the end, courageously singing an ode to Tito as he drives the ambulance truck into the Bosniak lines. Laza and Viljuška fight pro patria, for their people, and retain their childlike innocence, even amidst horror. Brzi and Veljo use their time in the war to heal and redeem themselves, and even Marko seeks out conflict as a means of self-actualiziation (though he fails in the end). The blood of warriors is always sacred.

I strongly recommend you watch this film. It is available here in full, with English subtitles. The latter do not do the dialogue justice, but they’ll suffice. Unless you’re familiar with post-Yugoslav culture, the film will not be quite as impactful on you, but it is worth watching for its atmosphere, cinematography, and for being a slice of history.

There is one last character in the tunnel, an American female journalist who stows away on Brzi’s ambulance truck when he drives into the tunnel. She records the squad, drinks urine with them when the water runs out, kisses Veljo before he shoots himself, and is ultimately killed by shrapnel. Her camera likewise does not survive the encounter. She starts the film with prejudice against the Serbs as monsters, as was ginned up by Western propaganda at the time, but grows sympathetic to the squad, seeing them as human. Her presence and death are symbolic: The West’s eyes will never see what happens in the tunnel.

If you’re a Westerner, you can watch the film, but the linguistic and cultural barriers will lock you out of the full experience. It makes me profoundly sorry that we cannot share this experience. The ex-Yugoslav people hate each other, but we’re the only ones who can share the full experience of being post-Yugoslavs. It is our tragedy and joy.

Serbs aren’t monsters, even though they did monstrous things in the war. Neither are Bosniaks or Croats, although they, too, did monstrous things. What was monstrous was the system that forced these people together and forced them to fight their way out through monstrous means. An additional layer of tragedy is that this system provided an avenue for goodness, greatness, and nobility in the forty-odd years during which it existed, as we see in Gvozden and the Professor, and its value cannot be discounted or fully rejected (as it is by Veljo). There are no good guys and bad guys in life, and there are no good guys and bad guys in Pretty Village, Pretty Flame. It’s a ghastly depiction of ordinary men committing evil acts. Towards the end of the tunnel sequence, Milan and Halil shout to each other across the front lines. Who killed Milan’s mother? Who looted and burned down Halil’s shop? Was it the drekavac from the tunnel? Or did good, God-fearing, law-abiding men do these things for noble reasons?

The tragedy of a brother war is that we cannot blame the drekavac in the tunnel, nor can we exit it as a predicament without staining our souls, perhaps becoming so deformed in the process that we resemble monsters more than men in the end. I wish there were a good way out of an evil system, but I do not see it. Maybe I am blind.

I will drink and pray for every white man who falls in the Ukraine: Russian, Ukrainian, and every other nationality. I will even drink for the Chechens and the Asiatic Buryat Russian soldiers who are dying a continent away from their homeland. I will impose sorrow upon myself for these strangers because I have great sympathy for them. The Ukrainians are defending their home from Russian imperialism, while the Russians are also defending their home from NATO’s encroachment. There are no good guys or bad guys — only decent, courageous men performing monstrous acts which they have been fated to perform.

I’ve been thinking about Canada a lot lately, mainly because of the truckers, and mainly because I’m preparing to review George Grant’s Lament for a Nation with my true blue Canuck friend Endeavour on Sunday’s Writers’ Bloc (10 PM CET, 4 PM EST, 1 PM PST). The review’s been a long time coming, predating the truckers. It even predates the current iteration of The Writers’ Bloc.

So here I am, reading a book about Canadian nationalism which laments the loss of the Canadian nation. Of course, I’m gonna listen to the best songs about the Great White North while reading. Unfortunately, I only know one: Warren Zevon’s “Hit Somebody (The Hockey Song)” featuring David Letterman (yes, really).

Released in 2002, it is an epic tragedy about the life career of Buddy, a hockey player from “Big Beaver by the borderline.” Wikipedia tells me that it’s an organized hamlet with a population of 15, the ever-proverbial small town. Buddy is passionate about hockey, dreaming he is Rocket Richard, but he’s not very good with the puck. But the Calgary Flames soon pick him up, because there’s always room on the team for a goon.

Now, first of all, I want to make it clear that I don’t understand hockey, nor do I intend to start understanding it at this late stage of my life. But apparently, a goon is a hockey player who is tasked with fighting the other team’s players and protecting his team’s star players from the opposing team’s goons. This sounds ghastly to me, exactly what a savage tribe of unreconstructed Northern barbarians would consider to be sport, but it is what it is. Ultimately, the sport itself does not matter, since we’re going to delve into something far more important than that.

When I say the song is an epic poem set to music, I am not kidding or exaggerating. It tells us the tale of an extraordinary man fighting through life, seeking an unattainable goal — literally, as Buddy the farm boy from Big Beaver has never scored a goal in his entire career. It gives us a glimpse into his yearning soul and is a beautiful aristeia for Buddy the Goon in both his bloody career as enforcer and on the final night of the final season, when he finally scores his long-coveted goal. It is an epic tragedy, as Buddy the King of the Goons (with a box for a throne) dies shortly after scoring the first and only goal of his well-fought life. All of the elements of Joseph Campbell’s hero with a thousand faces are present in this Canadian farm boy. He is a hero whom we live through.

What strikes me is that even in 2002, the mercenary nature of sports is commented on. As the refrain says,

There were Finns to the left of him, Russians to the right.
A Czech at the blue line looking for a fight.
Brains over brawn, that might work for you
But what’s a Canadian farm boy to do? (Hit somebody!)
What else can a farm boy from Canada do? (Hit somebody!)

These ethnicities are all white (the alternate refrain mentions Swedes as well), but they’re all non-Canadian outsiders, and they’re pitted against the farm boy from Big Beaver. Even in the end, when Buddy puts the biscuit in the basket, the man who cold-cocks him on his follow-through and kills the big man is a Finn, a foreigner. This is a prominent part of the song, making a point of enumerating these various ethnic groups playing for Canadian hockey teams.

One has to ask what motivation a hockey fan would have to root for all these foreigners wearing the home team’s colors? Why should a man from Calgary support the Flames if there are no Calgarians or even Canadians on the team? Furthermore, I find it baffling that people with no connection to cities where teams are based support these teams, as I often see with Eastern Europeans supporting Western European football or American NBA teams. I personally know two Real Madrid fanatics who’ll punch you in the face for intimating that Barcelona might have a better team. None of them have ever been to Madrid or Barcelona. Many people I know will support a team “because it’s good,” in some bizarre version of bandwagonism. The fact that the men actually running in those jerseys have nothing in common with them doesn’t bother them at all. As my favorite Jew Jerry Seinfeld put it, they root for the clothes.

I hadn’t gotten excited about sports in a long time, but on a spring day in 2019, I attended a rugby game between my local team and foreign guests. Rugby in Macedonia is completely amateur and virtually non-existent. By my reckoning, there are only two teams, and they both play poorly. I’m not a rugby expert, either, and while watching the game, I couldn’t comment on the plays, but I couldn’t help but notice that the players’ athleticism left much to be desired. But I found myself cheering my home town’s team nevertheless, for one simple reason: I went to high school with half the players, and I knew a few more from my social circle. These were my people. They were dragging their feet, they came unprepared, and they got their asses kicked, but I screamed my lungs out in support for them. It was a beautiful, sunny day, and the small crowd, consisting mostly of friends and family of the home team, got properly sloshed drinking beer in the bleachers.

I compare that to the absolute indifference I have for my home football team, which was bought by a Russian Jew oligarch who proceeded to pump seemingly infinite money into it, assembling a mercenary force of foreigners to play. Even the local basketball teams have begun importing low-rent negroes from America who can’t quite make it in the NBA. Why should I root for these people or fight the opposing team’s ultras for their honor?

Many Americans — and even more disturbingly, many Europeans — recently watched the Super Bowl. From what little I understand about it, it’s a spectacle where negroes collide into each other while whites throw an egg-shaped fetish above their heads. This is interspersed with clips of intense anti-white propaganda which the American regime outsources to private sector contractors. There’s also apparently a halftime show where once upon a time, some ageing hag’s tit was revealed for all the world to see. It may come as a shock, but I regret to inform you that if you’ve watched this ugly demonstration, you’re a spiritual degenerate and will not be allowed to live in the ethnostate. Indeed, in the future, known sportsball watchers will face a punishment of up to 20 lashes and forfeiture of all property. Vile spectacles of mercenary combat and anti-white propaganda are absolutely haram and enjoyment of them is irredeemable.

Regardless of all that, there will be sports in the ethnostate. Man is a creature who enjoys sport, both as a game simulating war and as a practical equivalent thereof, an outlet for his animalistic, violent passions, both as participant and spectator. It’s also an excuse to get out of the house, enjoy the Sun, and meet with people. But sports must be local.

Far from being an ugly spectacle of blacks chasing balls or slamming into each other, sports must once again be rowdy, yet noble contests between local worthies competing for the position of village hero, just like Buddy the Goon from Big Beaver, a giant of a man and salt of the earth Canadian farm boy, a veritable Hercules on ice.

It’s been about a month from the day two enterprising young men went up to Charlie Kirk, wearing suits and clutching rosaries, to ask him tough questions about the nature of America, the goals of conservatism, the utility of funding foreign nations, and the future of immigration into the USA.

Whether or not they knew that they would unleash a rift in the conservative movement not seen since 2016, the halls of Conservative Inc. are trembling with anticipation. Many questions were posed, none were successfully answered, and the quest for answers might just spiral into something more interesting than merely trolling a few cuckservative hand puppets.

I, for my part, have tried to make sense of the groyper phenomenon (here, here, and here) within the context of Dissident Rightist thought, specifically my belief that the American Empire is nearing its end and that the American nation is yet to emerge from its ashes. The groypers might just be the first step towards this process of ethnogenesis. Every journey of self-discovery starts with an unanswered question. Now that the assault on cuckservative Q&A sessions has wound down, the movement will enter its next phase, so it is a good time to reflect on this month of developments.

The worst part about covering the groyper war was the breakneck pace at which it all unfolded. I do not make snap conclusions, and my thought process usually includes a lot of walking by the river, hiking up the local mountainside, lifting weights, staring into the distance while my wife accuses me of ignoring her, hashing out arguments in verbal form while playing action-packed video games and absorbing the relevant data.

It’s thorough but slow, and so, by the time that my analysis of the stalemate at North Carolina State University came out, the groypers had successfully adapted and routed Charlie Kirk at the University of Houston. The article itself was finished and sent to Counter-Currents for editing about 10 minutes before the Houston event started. My predictions that the groypers would rapidly adapt and that Conservative Inc. just isn’t cut out for rough and aggressive counterattacking as attempted by Charlie Kirk were proven right, but the timing of it all made it a bit hollow.

Now that the events have wound down, however, we hang up our hats and coats, we retire to our sitting room, to our favorite armchair by the fire, pour ourselves a glass of the 12-year good stuff, put on our thinking caps and comfortable slippers, and contemplate with walrus-mustached mindfulness the consequences of the conflict.

Conservative Inc. is predictably losing its mind. A coordinated effort to smear Nick Fuentes, who has emerged as the most eminent so-called groyper general, has been undertaken by National Review, TPUSA, YAF, an effort spearheaded by Benny Johnson, Ben Shapiro, and Charlie Kirk, and supported by the broader Conservative Inc. Check out this twitter thread. Even if you weren’t a Nick Fuentes fan before, this series of videos will turn you into one (hello, cookie math department?).

This has prompted a counterattack by Nick Fuentes and allies who’ve dug into the sordid pasts of many Conservative Inc. luminaries. Salacious details have emerged, from massive amounts of premarital sex at YAF conferences, to Kassy Dillon’s employment of a literal child-molester who made threats to kill blacks on the subway, to YAF’s connection to a PAC linked to Richard Spencer’s National Policy Institute, not to mention Ben Shapiro’s advocacy of ethnic cleansing of the Palestinians from Judea, Samaria, and Gaza.

Oy vey doesn’t even begin to cover it. More and more it looks as if kissing the right rings and greasing the right palms gives card-carrying members of Conservative Inc. the right to employ, associate with, and speak like literal wignats who call for violence against nonwhites. And here was I thinking we’re the bad guys.

Good news: the groypers have received support implicitly from such figures as Ann Coulter and Tucker Carlson, and explicitly from one Michelle Malkin. YAF has disassociated from her for her vocal support of Nick Fuentes. Malkin, despite being a nonwhite civic nationalist, is strongly opposed to mass legal immigration and even “merit-based” legal immigration, which she decries as a way of selling American citizenship to rich Chinese and other wealthy infiltrators of America. This, in my humble opinion, puts her a cut above the cuckservative dog and pony show.

Now, I remember Malkin from the Bush years. She is an eminent member of the conservative commentariat. Getting a vote of confidence from her gives the groypers an inroad to a greater audience. The spreaders of negativity should also take note that Michelle Malkin’s deplatforming by YAF has not damaged her or the groypers, but YAF and Conservative Inc. Our enemies’ edifice is rather weak. They are being rapidly exposed as gate-keepers and pacifiers of a resurgent America.

The response from the dissident right has been interesting. Three general patterns of response have emerged – the optimistic, the cautious and the bitter. Let’s dive into what’s what.

The optimistic views are well-represented here at Counter-Currents, not only through my own efforts, but also in the front-line reporting of new writer Thomas Steuben and the meticulous analysis of Robert Hampton. Outside of Counter-Currents, we can count on YouTuber RamZPaul and comedy duo Revenge of the Cis for optimistic support of the groyper rebellion, outside of the so-called groyper generals themselves. We see in the groypers a force for good, a way for Dissident Rightist ideas to make a comeback after the defeats of 2017 and meanderings of 2018. Not for nothing is the energy of 2016 being brought up again.

This time, however, we are shorn of much of the Alt-Lite grifters who proved themselves to be cowardly, duplicitous, driven by vainglory and greed as well as personally odious and degenerate. First of all, it is obvious that the so-called groyper generals are men of significantly greater integrity than the Jack Posobiecs and Mike Cernoviches of the world, and secondly, the groyper generals aren’t quite commanding the movement as much as they are surfing the wave of America First youthful energy. At some strange and high levels of complexity, the general commands the army at the same time as the army guides him forward.

Bleeding into the optimistic camp are the cautious, ranging from the cautiously optimistic, to the overly cynical who would be optimists, if not for having seen many failures in the past. Of the cautious camp, the most eloquent, if not the most widely known are Jean-Francois Gariépy and Semiogogue.

Semiogogue approaches the matter with cautious optimism and offers excellent tactical advice to the groypers, which I endorse. Of note is that Semiogogue’s video was published following the stalemate at NCSU, and that the groypers have already taken much of his advice and adapted.

JF, however, approaches the matter with less optimism and although he supports the idea of a revolt against Conservative Inc. he has major objections to Nick Fuentes’ approach to optical presentation, arguing specifically that Conservative Inc. is an absolute master of optics and that the groypers cannot defeat it in a battle of optics.

While I am open to JF’s criticism and recognize that he reveals several weak points of the movement as it exists, I would like to see him defend his position in open discourse with Nick or better yet, another groyper general (preferably Vincent James or Steve Franssen). Of course, it wouldn’t hurt him to read my essay on the dynamics of Alt-Lite vs. Dissident Right. Being optics-conscious isn’t optics cucking, and to paraphrase Sam Francis, optics aren’t everything, but they aren’t nothing.

I say all this cognizant of the fact that at the core of it, J.F. probably dislikes the non-biological frame which the groypers are using due to his status as a biologist and that the man has always been a bit of a downer, which is on-brand for an existentialist Frenchman blackpilled on the DNA-based life question. J.F. has also quizzed Rei Murasame, Keith Woods,and Aleksandr Dugin on their positions with regard to the groyper war which I commend. He approaches the matter in a methodical manner typical of a scientist gathering data.

Finally, we come to the bitter view. Nobody is more emblematic of this approach than one Richard B. Spencer, president of the NPI. In a rather unflattering appearance on The Public Space (yes, I do watch a lot of JF’s content), he accused the groypers and Nick Fuentes of acting as yappy lapdogs for Donald Trump, under the direction of Steve Bannon and Milo Yiannopoulos.

Spencer’s creatures, including the ever-nauseating Eric Stryker and delusion-peddler Mark Brahmin have flooded my twitter feed with paranoid confabulation about the true motivations of the groypers, Nick Fuentes, and other groyper generals. They’ve decried America First conservatism as cuckery and weakness, spreading negativity and defeatism and trying to derail the uprising by demanding a return to the disastrous presentation of the 2016–2017 era.

Attempts by the groypers to tamp down on wackier comrades and even outright TPUSA plants who want to make the America First message “all anti-Israel, all the time” are construed as cuckery.

Of note is that much like the finger-waggers of Conservative Inc., the wignat approach has been to conflate the America First movement with Nick Fuentes himself and hope to destroy the phenomenon by attacking Nick Fuentes. In a fundamental misunderstanding of optics and politicking, the bitter wignat brigade has poured scorn on the groyper phenomenon, ranting about everything from the “Jewish God” of Catholics, to the alleged misdirection of racialist energies.

I suppose this was to be expected from a bunch of imperialists.

As I’ve already written here, the groypers and the broader America First movement are vectors of the deep American nation which is yet to emerge in the wake of the collapse of the American Empire. Richard Spencer is on the record denouncing nationalism in favor of imperialism – he seeks not to topple the globalist elite, but to replace them and then “rule the fucking world,” showing those octoroon midget kikes exactly who is boss. If the groyper commitment to an America First foreign policy is implemented, much of the infrastructure necessary for “ruling the fucking world” will be dismantled. For someone who has sneered at the idea of happy homelands, it makes excellent sense to oppose the idea of constructing a happy homeland for the American nation.

Furthermore, it doesn’t surprise me that religious fantasist Mark Brahmin would oppose a movement which puts its Christian, and specifically Catholic faith at the forefront. Whatever your opinion of Catholicism, we can agree that it has a two-thousand-year tradition, with pomp, ritual, and actual adherents, which is more than one can say for Brahmin’s hare-brained and delusional attempt to frame the history of religion as a struggle between Aryan Apollo-worshippers and Semitic Prometheus-worshippers (yes, it really is that crazy).

Rounding out the bitter brigade is outright socialist Eric Stryker, who seems insistent on repeating tired 20th-century tropes even as the 21st is nearly a fifth past. While the groypers, the America First movement and others are cognizant of the problems with untrammeled free-market capitalism, it is important to remember that tradition isn’t socialism and that the righteousness of traditional limits on free markets, and especially free international trade does not mean that outright socialism is righteous. Being Dissident Rightist, we are skeptical of both the free-market capitalist position AND the state-operated socialist economy. Third positionism means markets where markets can do good and intervention where intervention can do good.

For their part, the America First patriots seem to be firmly in the third position camp, prioritizing national security and the American worker before the economy (even assuming that the economy is helped by neoliberal policy), while opposing to various degrees free-market capitalism and free foreign trade, especially as propagated by Conservative Inc. The groypers are right to distance themselves from these toxic people and their self-defeating ideas.

Routing Charlie Kirk and others in Q&A sessions was the beginning of something fresh and new. Rattling the cage of globohomo’s tame conservatives has sparked a civil war within the American mainstream right. With allies such as Michelle Malkin and Tucker Carlson, the America First conservatives can go far and they can shift the Overton window to the right. The concerns of ordinary Americans have been loudly voiced, so loudly that the tired old cuckservative chants of free markets and legal immigration have been drowned out. TPUSA is falling apart, and YAF seems to be following in its footsteps.

Having dealt a mortal blow to Conservative Inc., the groyper army retires to winter quarters, as the snows close in and the Yuletide approaches. In these days of reflection, as we sink ever deeper into our comfortable armchairs, we look back fondly on the courage of the first two groypers, the decisive victories in Florida and Texas, the now-famous groyping of Donald Trump Jr., and even the stalemate at NCSU which exposed the systemic weaknesses of Conservative Inc. and in the long term, exposed the futility of wignat tactics.

From our repose by the fireplace, we look to even greater victories as we move into 2020, the year of the US Presidential election, which increasingly looks like the last hurrah of the American empire and politics as usual before something new is born, something midwifed by the groypers and the America First movement.

When the Soviet Union was new, there were those of us Stalin turned to for our particular skills. We were trained to turn men’s minds to our will. This is Stalin’s psychic legacy.

— Yuri, Red Alert 2 

When we use the words “controlled opposition,” we usually mean that someone has been paid or is even employed by any of our enemies to play the part of the opposition to the regime in order to act as a resistance sink — to absorb Right-wing energies and pump them safely out of the system, divert them into pointless efforts, or perhaps deliberately lose in order to demoralize the opponents of the regime. We think of controlled opposition leaders as pied pipers leading us to ruin, or as sacrificial lions set up to spectacularly fail in order to crush our spirits. I won’t lie to you and say there aren’t such entities out there. Eastern Europe and Russia abound with them, because the states of Eastern Europe still live with Lenin’s dictum that “the best way to control the opposition is to lead it ourselves.” 

But Lenin, alas, was wrong. As we should already expect by now, the West is far better at totalitarianism than the East. 

In the East, such opposition that is allowed is usually run by counterintelligence agencies for the reasons listed above. Cointel operatives or outside contractors appear in the political discourse out of nowhere, are showered with media attention promoting them as “a dangerous opposition figure who has the government worried,” a bold person with a vision. The media might even play their part as the bogeyman and write egregiously false hit pieces on these controlled opposition leaders. They might even have a groundswell of astroturfed popular support on loan from the intel services, or perhaps another force backing them with covert institutional support under a thin veneer of institutional opposition. Here in the East, we are used to such creatures and we consider them part and parcel of the normal political landscape. Most of us can sniff them out after only a cursory examination. And now we’re seeing the rise of such figures in the West as well. This lengthy and extensive Revolver piece more or less alleges that the Oathkeepers’ leader Stewart Rhodes is a federal informant, if not an agent. The observations pass muster. But the West has far more sophisticated methods of running controlled opposition. 

If the article is right and the Oathkeepers is a controlled opposition outfit, and has been one since 2009, this tells you a thing or two about the nature of politics in America. Of course, from a regime standpoint, it makes perfect sense to prop up an organization that appeals to patriotic veterans, servicemen, and policemen, allowing the regime to drag any opposition to itself within the security services by the nose whenever they become too big for their britches. Note also that the Oathkeepers’ aims, goals, and means never went outside the Overton window. Stewart Rhodes was a libertarian (tfu tfu) blogger before founding the Oathkeepers. The danger of (overwhelmingly white) regime-skeptical veterans, servicemen, and cops coming in touch with white identitarian thought is simply too great. This brings us to the main point. Now that Stewart Rhodes has been revealed as a fed and the Oathkeepers exposed as a controlled opposition group, the honest veterans, servicemen, and policemen who joined, hoping to “uphold their oaths to protect the constitution against enemies foreign and domestic,” will presumably be cagier about joining such organizations in the future, but unless they face some unpleasant and dangerous truths about the human condition, they will remain in a state of controlled opposition — specifically mind-controlled opposition, with no need for federal handlers and honeypots. People who, though they may oppose the regime and its latest excesses, nevertheless do not grasp its true nature, nor do they understand the root of its central organizing ideology, nor do they recognize the barriers the regime has erected against wrongthink within their very heads. A self-minding flock of sheep, if you’ll forgive the metaphor, for bigger and more creative minds within America’s government than the hamfisted FBI which cannot even run a decent limited hangout op these days have built the mother of all mind control machines. 

As the opening quote will tell you, I grew up playing Red Alert 2 in the 2000s. In that video game, it is the Soviet faction that specializes in mind control, which is direct and practiced by specialized psy-corps commandos whose native talent for mind control has been augmented to the point that they can compel an enemy soldier to shoot his friends and protect his enemies, but alas, any one psy-corps commando can only control one enemy at a time and he also has a minimum range he has to maintain in order for the enemy to be controlled. That is mind control in video games. In real life, mind control is less direct, but far more permanent. 

The very idea of video game mind control is to compel someone to do things against his will. In practice, making people go against their will, or more precisely, what they believe is their will, is damn hard. The mind has very robust defenses against extraneous thought and will, and strong heuristics against extraneously-guided action, often dispelling it with potent magic spells such as “what’s in it for me?” or “fuck off with that fake-ass shit.” Trying to practice mind control like Yuri is as impossible as slamming your head against a wall of solid concrete, expecting it to give way (don’t ask how I know either one of these things). Oh sure, you can prevail upon people sometimes, nag, beg or just plain bribe them into doing things against their will, just as sometimes slamming your head against some doors will make them give way (once again, asking is forbidden), but most of the time, it’s about as useless as repeating wololo over and over again. Don’t do it outside of video games. 

In real life, mind control is achieved by forging a narrative that encourages the subject to follow his own, inborn neurological biases in such a manner that comports with the will of the mind controller — in other words, the mind controller doesn’t override or overwrite the controlled subject’s own will, but rather, creates a framework within which true expression of the subject’s will is in accordance with the controller’s will, or at least not substantively opposed to it. 

There are two steps to forming a narrative. The first is to implant a narrative core. This is the framework through which the world is interpreted at an early age when children develop their maps of the world. 

The second step is the formation of magic words, such as racism, fascism, sexism, or diversity, which activate the narrative core when new data is incoming in order to prime the subject to assimilate the new data in accordance with the narrative core. 

The third, hidden step, is the burying of such information which cannot be modified to slot into the narrative core’s receptors. This system creates a seamless form of mind control. This requires power — it requires control of the education system, control of the media, and control of the economic and security levers of power, but it works, and it works with very few exceptions. More often than not, the exceptions are due to a malfunctioning in the subject itself rather than a weakness of the programming or a resilience of the subject’s mind. 

It sounds complicated and expensive and it is.

The Western liberal — even one calling himself a conservative — is used to thinking of individuals making rational choices. To him, this talk of frameworks and expression of the will is alien, as if we were describing bees or other hive creatures. When we think of mind control, we think of Yuri mind-controlling American tanks. When we think of brainwashing, we think of brutal Eastern European-accented military men using Pavlovian conditioning and torture in order to force an alien set of behavioral modes on an unwilling subject. We do not think of good, decent, law-abiding, hard-working men and women following their instincts to conform to the majority opinion, participate in the dominant religion, and protect their children from falling prey to the self-destructive whims of youth. The Western liberal, convinced that all men are rational creatures, possessed of independent will, can only conclude that endowed with reason, men can see the truth, process it, and then through learned discourse arrive at a conclusion amenable to everyone. The very idea that behavior and ideas come “from above” — and especially that bad ideas come from above, and more importantly, that the vast majority will lap these ideas up and be rewarded for it — disturbs the liberal. Even we, evil, fascist nazi racist dissidents speak contemptuously of “normies” who mindlessly obey globohomo, because, although we may have intellectually rejected the notions of liberalism, we are still part of the liberal culture and our biases are still such. Indeed, speaking with a normie on any subject which requires thought fills me with contempt and disgust, especially when the normie starts repeating the cliched catechisms he believes to be profound wisdom. Yes, yes, I’ve heard all that, and I’ve rejected it as asinine 10 years ago. And yes, dear reader, I indeed am very fun at parties. 

Normies are very easily controlled, but how does one mind-control people unsatisfied by mere catechism? Well, simple, really. Develop a framework for them that’ll guide them to desired or at least neutral conclusions. Give them a parallel ethical paradigm that conveniently doesn’t challenge the system’s basic presuppositions and core tenets. Give them, in other words, a stick to chase, and in the very unlikely case that they catch it, yank it out of their mouth, throw it again, and convince them that they didn’t catch the stick hard enough. Best part? You as the regime don’t even have to actively set up such a stick-throwing operation. Rather, the Marketplace of Ideas™ will produce just such an ideology that nicely comports with everyone’s neurological and educational biases (which you, as the regime, implanted during the educational process). Then all the regime has to do is put a spotlight on such stick-chasers, maybe throw some money at them, and hey presto, you’ve invented Conservative Inc. 

There are probably many cynical grifters and federal operatives within Conservative Inc. But many of the talking heads and a majority of their followers are true believers. They genuinely believe the folderol spouted by such stuffed shirts as Mark Rufo and James Lindsay. They genuinely believe that critical race theory is only problematic because it is “Marxist” and that calling it anti-white runs the danger of summoning Hitler. Styxhexenhammer genuinely believes the ANC is anti-white because they are socialists. Nobody is paying these people to say this or lead dissidents astray — they genuinely believe it, and they trigger the enemy strongly enough that they get some token pushback. Nothing quite like the deplatforming, banishment from banking and finance, and 2-month-long continuous DDoS attack that Counter-Currents has caught, though, but enough of a booboo that they can consider themselves genuine opposition. 

And it all goes back to partial redpilling. The mind-controlled opposition considers itself redpilled because it has found a good enough heuristic for defending itself against the narrative’s software updates, but has not examined itself for any remaining implanted narrative cores, nor have they attempted to steel themselves against the overwhelming might of the magic words — indeed, they question the very possibility of such a thing existing, owing to their cult of reason and belief that men are naturally rational. 

At the core of the mind-controlled opposition is always a tenet of religious faith. They categorically refuse to believe anything that implies that men are anything but equal across races and nations or even within. They’ll strut around with smug self-satisfaction, considering themselves the smartest in the room, not realizing they’re neutered, tame beings, the successful outcome of globohomo’s project to create controlled opposition without need for control, a self-policing, self-financing, self-starting, mind-controlled opposition. 

As the old Sicilian saying goes: don’t get angry — get even.

I believe that everyone reading is familiar with the idea that revenge is a dish best served cold. Rage makes us stupid; anger drives us to make mistakes, waltz into traps set by our enemies, and go on embarrassing rants about ritualistically humiliating “octaroon midget kikes.” But a cool-headed, patient man with a grudge can inflict catastrophic damage on an opponent who has wronged him. An act of well-executed revenge is the hallmark of a master.

Dissident right politics are like revenge. We have been wronged by the powers that be — they’ve inflicted multiculturalism, racial replacement, immigration, dispossession, alienation, criminality, and deculturation upon us. These are indeed great wrongs, great crimes committed against us and our people. It is only natural to be angry. However, to get angry is to fall into a trap set for us by the enemy, specifically, to fall prey to one of the oldest tricks in a ruling regime’s playbook — controlled opposition.

Many of the gatekeepers on Fox News and other mainstream right news outlets have garnered the moniker “rageheads.” They keep their audience in a state of perpetual outrage at the antics of the “libruls.” Their online counterparts release update after update of insane SJW antics on college campuses. Conservative commentary has always had the subtext, and sometimes the explicit text, of being mad as hell and refusing to take it anymore. The liberals, socialists, globalists or whatever (pick your poison) have done it now! They’ve implemented an absolutely insane, sacrilegious, treasonous (pick your poison) policy and your complacency is to blame. Well, it’s time to get angry and rage and rally and say enough is enough, now it’s time for the silent, sleeping majority to wake up and take matters into its own hands, restore the constitution, kick out the corrupt liberal clowns, put an end to socialism and take our country back from the globalists! Cue Hulk Hogan performing a tombstone piledriver on a Sino-Iranian heel.

For purely aesthetic reasons, I would love to replace every normie-right ragehead commentator with Hulk Hogan, purely because he knows how to own rage. Rage and anger are the provenance of the strong and powerful. They look impotent and embarrassing coming from the rotund men with wobbly chins fielded by Conservative Inc. Hulk Hogan at least looks like he could easily break me in half. Billo Reily and Rush Limbaugh do not pose credible threats to my physical safety.

Well, you’ve got the conservative audience well and truly steamed. You do it night after night with your inane repetition of The Latest Excess of Librulism™. Now what? Well, nothing, really. When election year rolls around, funnel them to the voting booth to reliably circle the number, or pull the lever, or push the button for the relevant cuckservative political option, so that we can retake our country from the librul soshulists etc. etc.

Now that a Real Patriot™ is in power, we can all relax and maybe push back a little bit, right? Wrong! The Real Patriot™ has been compromised, or he was taking us for a ride from the get-go, or he is under siege in his office, or he is sabotaged by his own party of traitors and cannot get anything done. Now it’s time to get even angrier! Cue Hulk Hogan performing a body slam on an establishment-conservative heel.

In case you’re wondering why the Real Patriot™ can’t get anything done, it’s probably because he is either in on the scam, or he is genuinely under siege and sabotaged by his own party, which is genuinely full of traitors. In the latter case, the problem arises out of an absence of political infrastructure and crucially, a cadre from which he can draw staff for his administration in lieu of the aforementioned cucks and traitors. I’ve already written on the importance of constructing political infrastructure and I’ve even tried my own hand at such construction.

So, now that the rageheads have gotten you good and angry, what are you going to do? Well, nothing. Because come election year, there’s nobody else on offer, so you will have to hold your nose and vote for Conservative Inc. because it’s either them or the librul soshulist left that got you so angry in the first place. You become dejected, vote for the cuck, and sink into a funk until the next librul outrage rouses you from your blues and the cycle is repeated once again, bringing great profit to the rageheads and a safely contained, easily-controlled vote bank to Conservative Inc.

I mentioned infrastructure. Infrastructure has to be built. You know what’s really difficult to do when angry? Building. Anger is an inherently destructive emotion. I’ve never built a house in a fit of rage, but I have destroyed a great deal. Perpetual anger keeps you focused on the negative, on punishing the libruls, on causing a great ruckus and throwing a temper tantrum. Whereas we could be making contacts, organizing metapolitical and political action, we find ourselves in a state of perpetual outrage and without the infrastructure to genuinely challenge the enemy when and where it matters.

In the business of politics, as well as elsewhere in life, we should look to the wise Sicilian who teaches us to not get angry, but to get even. And by getting even, I mean rolling back multiculturalism and globalism, ending immigration, asserting economic sovereignty, restoring national dignity, expelling hostile and criminal foreigners, as well as punishing those who attempted to destroy our nations. And by punishing, I don’t mean voting them out of office, but outcomes more radical and Sicilian.

To do that, we must restrain our urge to anger. My experience running for office taught me that giving in to depression is the easy way out. Giving in to anger is the even easier way out, as there’s already an archipelago of institutions ready to nourish, cultivate and harness your anger towards nefarious ends. Rather, practice serenity and detachment in your labors. Develop a healthy contempt for the sources of annoyance; let them not hamper your efforts to construct something which can dismantle globohomo. The answer lies in an inward form of stoicism, a marshaling of the senses and inurement against the ravages of rage. However, when I say stoic, I don’t mean humorless and cold, but rather serene and unperturbed, certain in the justness of our cause and its eventual success. So, take a minute to calm down and get to building, men.

Over time, I find, serenity turns to joy.

Well, friends, we dun goof’d. We predicted, as a movement, as thinkers, that Russia would not invade Ukraine. We are, of course, at the time of writing, into the third week of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, so it behooves us to look into what happened and where we went wrong so that our analytical apparatus can meet the next crisis better prepared.

For a slice of the wrong predictions in that long-forlorn time of February 2022, you’d do well to read John Morgan’s article about why Russia won’t invade Ukraine (but is still winning) right here on Counter-Currents. Before we proceed, let me first clarify that in no way, shape, or form am I singling Mr. Morgan out for criticism. We all screwed the pooch on this, as did I. When I went to bed on the eve of the invasion, I agreed with that article’s predictions about the future. My own reasoning was that Putin wouldn’t invade Ukraine because it would be irrational to steal what you can buy cheap, and he could have simply bought the notoriously corrupt Ukrainian government’s loyalty. I believed at the time that the Ukrainians were getting wise to NATO’s treachery and America’s fickle nature and would try to deescalate their ongoing conflict with Russia. I was wrong on that, too. Many people were wrong. John’s article is merely emblematic of those mistakes that we made in that period.

So, we dun goof’d. Why? Russia was massing troops on Ukraine’s borders. Why didn’t we see it coming? Many people explained their reasoning as such: The media in the West warned of an impending Russian invasion, therefore they believed the opposite. Russian troops were merely on a military exercise. The Russian media claimed Russia didn’t intend to invade Ukraine. Ostensibly independent analysts claimed that the Western media were just stoking fears and that Russia wouldn’t invade. Nobody believed Russia would invade. I myself conveniently forgot all I had learned about geopolitics in the European plain and predicted no invasion and no war. One of my friends, the genuine Russia insider who runs the Edward Slavsquat blog, called it “complete epistemic failure” on the part of dissident media to predict this war. But before we get into why, let’s take a detour into the exciting world of modern Korean cinema.

A Taxi Driver is a 2017 Korean film about the 1980 uprising in the city of Gwanju. A West German reporter retains the services of a Seoul taxi driver to drive him to Gwanju so that he can investigate the rumors of an uprising. The taxi driver, himself ignorant of what is happening, drives the reporter there. What they find is a full-scale uprising by student radicals and a city under siege by the Korean military, with all communications cut. Nobody can get in or out of Gwanju, and no word can come in or out of it, either. For all intents and purposes, nothing is going on in Gwanju.

The film is entertaining and presents a slice of Korean history not often discussed in the West. It is also built using the tropes and canards of the Nuremberg moral paradigm, and as such deserves a savage and merciless deconstruction. But that is a story for another day. For now, I’d like to direct your attention to a very important fact in the film. The Korean military completely locks Gwanju down with the cooperation of the communications services (the post office, telecommunications, etc.). No information can come from Gwanju except what the military and the communications monopolies deem acceptable to make public. So, how does one learn what’s going on in Gwanju? You’d have to be a Western reporter confident of his relative immunity and a taxi driver desperate for money to even try to get into the city, and that means trying to go around or breaking through the military blockade. In other words, there is no legal way to do it; you’d have to break the law and expose yourself to imprisonment and death.

But that’s now impossible in this day and age. The Internet has unleashed the citizen-journalist, and governments can no longer lock down cities in such a way. How is censorship possible when everyone has a camera and a microphone in his pocket?

I hate to break it to you, folks, but the Internet is more centralized than we’d like to think. Governments can always cut it off at the ISP level, but beyond that, most of what we consider “the Internet” these days consists of centralized platforms. This is probably inevitable, The fact is that most people aren’t technically savvy enough to run their own sites, or even to take part in forums, as was the case in the 1990s and 2000s. The many little forum fiefdoms of that period have been replaced by the hegemonic Big Tech entities of today. Predictably, we are seeing all sorts of censorship from them. Therefore, if a sufficiently powerful entity decides to cut a region off from the rest of the planet, it is going to happen. But our epistemic failure on this latest Russo-Ukrainian conflict wasn’t merely due to lack of information.

The Kremlin regime does not have much power over Western Big Tech. While they can crack down on VKontakte and Yandex, strong-arming Google, Facebook, and Twitter is a taller order. There’s a subtler way to practice the art of deception than outright censorship, however, and that’s the cultivation of various forms of narratives which not only deceive, but also sometimes cultivate an environment of epistemic nihilism through their blatant falsity. While the Kremlin is masterful at this, the West is no slouch in this department, either. Anger totems such as Alex Jones and irony bros like Nick Fuentes have created an environment where nothing said need have truth content; it only has to “feel right” according to the prevailing mood of the moment.

Such screamers and snarkers exist on the Left as well, as in the center. What they utter are worse than lies, they’re anti-truths: lies formulated so as to break the framework which would allow for any notion of truthfulness in expression. The Kremlin has its own coterie of such anti-truth peddlers speaking in the dissident thought space, of course, exploiting the epistemic nihilism created by Western governments for their own ends. We know them as “the Russophile media,” and they were adamant that there’d be no invasion of Ukraine. In fact, they considered anyone who said there would be an invasion of the Ukraine a neoliberal shill. Thus, they managed to hijack dissident discourse on this issue. Believing that Russia is intending to invade Ukraine became “cringe,” as the kids like to say.

All of this could have been dispelled by facts. But facts were drowned out in a sea of hot takes, and very difficult to come by. I have contacts on the ground in Moscow and St. Petersburg. Counter-Currents and allied organizations have many friends in Kiev and Kharkov. But we didn’t have men on the ground in Belgorod, Kursk, and Rostov-on-Don, where the invasion was being staged. The Russian government managed to limit the information coming out about its genuine intentions and movements while saturating the Internet and media spaces with disinformation, misinformation, and anti-truths, managing to polarize the West, including its dissident space, by making positions in the conflict a loyalty test. Conservative-minded people in particular are vulnerable to such loyalty tests because they have the brains of soldiers: Loyalty is the highest virtue for them, and they’re always checking the loyalty of their compatriots while signaling their own. Even dissidents fall prey to this instinct.

I want to reiterate that all the Kremlin does is exploit vulnerabilities already created by the governments and other powers in the West. The state of epistemic nihilism is already here, fomented in order to make impossible the mounting of effective resistance against the West’s ruling regime. Nihilism breeds defeatism, and defeatists accept the default ruler, following only the basest animal instinct to seek reward and avoid punishment. By injecting a dose of weighted misinformation, foreign regimes such as the Kremlin’s can cause further confusion in already confused spaces.

There is a silver lining to this, of course. I’ve already pointed out that Western intelligence services are concerned with monitoring and controlling — and if that’s not possible, disrupting — the Dissident Right thought space, as well as any political organizations which arise out of it. The hijacking of dissident thought on the question of the Russo-Ukrainian War shows us that not only the Western ZOGs, but also the Russian ZOG in the Kremlin is interested in controlling and directing this thought space. That’s two out of three globalist empires desperately trying to disrupt this tiny, niche ecosystem of thinkers, bloggers, podcasters, publishers, and researchers. Sometimes they succeed, but we can always retrench, regroup, and learn from our epistemic failures to become better thinkers.

The last concern is the problem of not having eyes and ears on the ground. We did not have the relevant data because we didn’t have the eyes to see and ears to hear, but these are problems we have no power over. I will leave you with the story of Nasreddin Hodja and the Center of the World.

It is said that one day Nasreddin Hodja went to the teahouse, and someone asked him where the center of the world is. The wise Sufi answered, “The center of the world is in front of this teahouse, where I just now hammered the nail to my donkey’s bridle.” When the questioner said he did not believe this, the mullah sat back, took a sip of his tea, and answered, “If you don’t believe me, go measure it yourself.”

You can, of course, read my own treatise on dissent and the dervish (linked above), but briefly, the moral of the story is that some things are unknowable from a position of powerlessness. The center of the world is one of them. Positions of Russian troops on the eve of an invasion of Ukraine is another. The answer could be to believe the mullah, but another way might be to attain the mullah’s wisdom ourselves — and part of wisdom is recognizing that we have no eyes and ears where the bulk of the action is. We are looking at the world through flashing rectangles and confuse them with the world, but they’re not the world. They’re things through which men tell us things, and men lie: out of malice, out of ignorance, as part of a stratagem, for sport, or because they’ve stopped believing in truth. But they lie nevertheless.

More than one person I’ve spoken to, both offline and online, has commented on how the passage of time seems to have changed very little in the past two years. Some statements I’ve heard repeated multiple times: everything’s the same, it’s 2020 all over again, it’s like it’s not Christmastime at all. This is curious to me not only because I’ve noticed it myself, but also because I am interested in how people process time, and of course in how it is measured.

When modern man thinks of time, he’ll usually ask, “What’s the time?” But what he usually seeks is not an idea of the thing itself — time elapsed or lapsing — but something else related to the human contextualizing of time. Specifically, one needs to know the time of day because one needs to achieve something related to this human contextualization of time and use it as an aid in order to orient myself within time.

Maybe I am an Englishman set in my ways, and what I want to know is whether tea time is approaching. Tea time in the United Kingdom is famously 5 o’clock in the afternoon (or in the modern day, at any rate, Victorians took their tea at 6 in the afternoon). Even if my expectation is not tea, I might still use “tea time” as a marker and make use of the British cultural context as an ancillary orientation tool in order to determine the time of day with regard to my own needs. Suppose I have a meeting at 6; this is an hour after tea time. The object I seek to orient myself towards is the meeting, and “tea time” or “five o’clock” are what I use for orientation. To draw a spatial analogy, “tea time” is the equivalent of a landmark, whereas “five o’clock” is its street address, or maybe even coordinates.

“Tea time” is a useful landmark because it’s a recurring event at a known temporal position, at least in our time. As recently as 2009, my father would often refer to 3 in the afternoon as “suppertime.” Folktales and older literature will usually tell us the time of day by referencing a recurrent natural event, mostly the motions of the Sun and other celestial bodies. Gunslinger duels usually take place at high noon, which modern terminology calls “solar noon” to distinguish it from “twelve o’clock,” as the vagaries of the seasons and the varying lengths of the day conspire to make sure the two rarely correspond.

The position of the Sun was very important to our ancestors because they spent a good deal of time outdoors. As the saying goes, only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday Sun. This is for very good reason. The Sun at noon is merciless in more southerly climes. Part of the reason why the Mediterranean work ethic developed, which includes taking time for riposo after a big lunch (and lunches are always big in the Mediterranean), is because working is impossible for the better part of the day, especially in the summer. Even performing light labor is asking for trouble. Our ancestors would have a big meal, then sit or nap in the shade until the worst of the heat subsided. In the north, it’s easier to defy Father Sun, but in the south, he’s just as merciless as Old Man Winter.

I was recently regaling friends with an amusing anecdote about meeting a creepy man while exploring an abandoned swimming pool. I described the period when it happened as “sweater time,” because being an incorrigible dandy, the only period-sensitive factor I could think of was the clothes I was wearing. It occurred to me while I was telling the story that “sweater time” contains far more information than, say, “February.” Indeed, categories of time such as winter, summer, coat time, shorts time, and such refer to periods in the context of observable and measurable effects. The old Slavic calendar, for example, refers to the months with descriptive names. October is Listopad (leaf-fall), November is Studen (cold one), and December is Snežnik (snow bringer).

Our modern representation and measurement of time would have been alien to our ancestors, who were bound by the rhythms of agricultural life. Agricultural labor was not evenly distributed throughout the year, but rather had extended periods of light labor and shorter periods of intensive labor. Indeed, harvest time usually meant that the able-bodied men and women from several villages would congregate together in order to counteract a local dearth of labor. The rhythms of agricultural life corresponded to periods divided by the eight perennial holidays corresponding to the solstices and equinoxes. As I write these words, we approach the winter solstice, which will see the longest night of the year, and the shortest day. Many people have marked this period with the Feast of St. Nicholas, which Orthodox Christians celebrate on December 19. In the future, when we win, maybe our descendants will honor St. Woes with the festival of Millenniyule.

In a world of near-absolute security as a result of modern heating and air conditioning, winter, summer, Father Sun, and Jack Frost have become just words. We use clocks and calendars to reckon time. Unlike his great-great grandfather, who lived according to the movement of the Sun and the passing of the seasons, modern man barely notices them, unless he is inconvenienced by a heatwave or icy roads. He takes antihistamines to fight his pollen allergy and uses a leaf blower, but his workday is always the same: the 9-to-5 grind, regardless of season, a great big 8-hour pie chart taking up three-quarters of the clock’s face, each day a black cell plotted on a calendar. Even the names of the days lose their meaning. What connection does Monday have with the Moon anymore? Instead, we look to Garfield to hate Mondays and corporate restaurants to celebrate (TGI) Fridays.

Modern man doesn’t even genuinely feel time in relation to himself. He passes through life as his body ages — a physical manifestation of the passage of time — and is consistently surprised that this is happening. His ancestors accepted time’s ravages as a fact of life and found ways to live in all stages of life. Boys planned for manhood, young men planned for their adulthood, old men made provisions for their death. Young girls played with dolls, preparing for the time when they would be mothers. They’d string flowers together and dream of the day when they would marry and become women. Fathers would speak to their sons of the times when their grandfathers were children and when they would one day be old men. The passage of time was noted with real things: last summer, when your grandfather was a boy, Bishop Clement’s third year, when the King’s men last passed through the village — meaningful events, landmarks of local history. But modern man will insist that he is young at 55 and refuse to understand that time has passed. The greatest criticism that can be levelled at the Baby Boomer generation is that they stubbornly refuse to admit that it is no longer 1987. Time has no meaning for us anymore.

I guess the answer to my question is right in front of me: We do not feel the passage of time because we’ve insulated ourselves from the thing itself. We hide from the seasons in our heated and air-conditioned pods, we ignore the movements of the Sun and Moon, we’ve decoupled our work and religious cycles from the natural passage of time, and we do our best to ignore time’s effect on our own bodies. We cheat the body’s natural limitations and speeds with caffeine and sleeping pills, we disrupt our circadian rhythm with artificial lighting and screens, and for the past two years, we’ve spent the majority of time indoors, hiding from a disease with a 99.99% survival rate, thus completing the process of severing ourselves from time. Now we cannot even mark its passage with the calendar-based communal holidays. Nobody is in the mood for Christmas because Christmas is something you do with other people, and people can give you the coof.

No matter how much we pretend to ignore it or venerate the clock and calendar as false idols, time is not something that will go away, however. The days pass, the seasons change, and men still grow old and die. Modern man, thinking time is something that lives in the clock, does not fully grasp its inexorable march and omnipresence. We are moving, as a civilization, towards a different time, a time which I predict our descendants, if we indeed have them, will call the time of reckoning.

At the funeral, the rabbi is supposed to give a speech extolling the virtues of the deceased. But there’s a new rabbi and he says, “I’m sorry, I did not know the man. Can one of you step forward and say a few kind words about him?” A dead silence fills the temple, until someone in the back says: “His brother was worse!”

— Herman “Hesh” Rabkin, usurer and political thinker.

It’s election season the world over, it seems. Here in lovely Macedonia, we have our parliamentary elections on July 15th. Most of the campaign from both sides, but especially the center-Right, would seem to be “we’re not the other guys.” While my countrymen are content to ascribe this to just regular Balkanism, further evidence that we’re incapable of building a serious state, I’m quick to point out that the West is at least just as bad, if not worse. Western politicians, from Donald Trump to Boris Johnson, seem enamored of running on the platform of “not the other guy.”

Now, far be it from me to say that the cult of Mammon is anything quite like the cult of Moloch, but I feel honor-bound to point out that “not the other guy” is not a valid political platform, even though it may be in some cases rather attractive. After all, didn’t Boris Johnson run and win on “not the other guy”? And seriously, have you seen the other guy? I hear he’s an antisemite! Oy vey!

Not that the other guys aren’t helping. What’s on offer? Explicitly anti-white globohomo while implicitly allowing global corporations to run roughshod over national economies (Leftism) versus implicitly anti-white globohomo while explicitly allowing global corporations to run roughshod over national economies (Rightism). What? You don’t like us? What are you gonna do, vote for the other guy!?

Even if you withhold your vote and sit this one out, because you have no representation this electoral cycle, you usually get blamed, as a Right-winger, by the center-Right of wanting the other guy to win. Don’t you understand that unless you sacrifice your children to Mammon, the Moloch cultists will take your children and — gasp — sacrifice them to Moloch!? Well, maybe you really want the other guy to win! After all, we know from the research of the venerable Dinesh D’Souza that Democrats Are The Real Racists™. Could the converse be likewise true, that racists are the real Democrats? After all, we know from Ayn Rand that racism is a form of collectivism. Yes, yes, that makes sense. You are raising all these objections about “being replaced,” “economic dispossession due to globalism,” and “failure to crack down on crime” because you want The Other Guy to win, precisely because you are The Other Guy. Well, we won’t have it. We stand firmly against other-guyism, and other-guyism has no place on the real Right. We know who we are and we’re not the other guy. Now get in line and shut up, or the other guy will win.

Indeed, “not the other guy” is a very versatile rhetorical tool. It can even be used to justify failure and inaction outside of election years. Before the biggest feather in Donald Trump’s hat was that he’s not Sloppy Floppy, Sleepy Creepy, Crooked but not yet Booked (it rhymes in my head) Joe, the main selling point cum cope was that he’s not Hillary. And indeed, he’s not Hillary. And Napoleon wasn’t farmer Jones, from what I’m being told.

Many on our side seem to assume that if the Left gets crazy enough, then white people will wake up (assuming that white people are sleeping), that a silent minority will have enough and it will start fighting back against the insanity and that’s how we win.

But let me construct an alternative scenario for you: What if, and do bear with me here, especially the skull mask and Propertarian types, the rise of craziness on the Left leads to a spike of not-the-other-guyism on the Right? What if the absolute insanity of Corbyn’s Labour allowed BoJo to win on milquetoast civic nationalism, globalism, and not-Corbyn-ism. What if the absolute batshit army of sub-Saharan reprobates, obese women, walking biohazards, and money-changers presided over by a literal dementia patient can suffer an electoral defeat by anyone who isn’t absolutely batshit, surrounded by inadequates, or suffering from dementia? What if “not the other guy” suddenly becomes a viable election strategy? What if you can really get by on just tweeting “law and order” in all caps like some boomer?

LAW & ORDER!

— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) July 3, 2020

The insanity of the Left works for us. It generates Rightist and reactionary energies that we can ride to victory. However, two steps must be accomplished before victory is even conceivable.

Firstly, parallel institutions must be built. We already have Counter-Currents as the University of the Dissident Right, but we need more. We need think thanks, we need parties, both political and frat, we need lobby groups, pressure groups, hats, mugs, shirts, leaflets, stickers, a licensed video game, even. As Fróði Midjord is fond of pointing out, we need our own ADL, especially in light of the massive blood libel leveled at whites in today’s West. Groups like Patriotic Alternative and AFPAC are doing God’s work, but more is needed. The fight never ends and we need you.

Secondly, the entire ecosystem of the Cuck Right, or at least significant parts of it, has to be either captured or dismantled. Remember those Rightist energies I brought up; the Cuck Right, the mitigationists, Conservative Inc, whatever you want to call it, exist as a heat sink. They exist to pump out those energies into the void of space where they do not pose a threat to the established order and indeed, recycle some of those energies for the use of the system — for example, forging hollow civic patriotism to bamboozle white men into working globohomo’s fields and serving in globohomo’s armies. Woke and the Left cannot be defeated if these mitigationist structures aren’t destroyed first. The GOP, the conservative movement, the alt-lite, libertarians, they all have to be captured or destroyed and their resources repurposed towards our movement, our institutions, and our aims.

The Left will help us on this path. The insanity that will buy the Cuck Right several cheap and meaningless electoral victories will soon lead to the cancellation and deplatforming of the whole Cuck Right. Their advantages over us lie in their mass followings and tacit sanction by the Left (at least they’re not those Nazis). As everyone from Stefan Molyneux to Ben Shapiro gets too spicy for the woke mob, they become just as hated and persecuted as us, with the difference being that they’re liars and mitigationists.

We should, of course, be tactical and optical on our warpath. Give an opportunity to some of these people, maybe even Ann and Tucker themselves, to make a separate peace with us. We come not as conquerors, but as liberators. To bend the knee to us is to be free to be white, male, straight, Christian, and damn proud of it. To submit to the wise counsel of the Dissident Right is to cast off the shackles of cuckery, the humiliating supplication to the Left, and its repugnant morality. Far more than mere rhetorical ownings of the libs, we offer the opportunity to triumph over Leftism, liberalism, whatever you wanna call them, permanently.

And how do we do that? It’s rather simple, if quite difficult. We stand for something. We stand for the white race. We stand for the white nations of the world. We stand for morality and we stand for order. We stand for justice. We stand for sovereignty. Far more than merely “not the other guy,” we are the thing that the other guy fears above else, for we have what is necessary to defeat him.

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As regular readers might know, I am a little finicky when it comes to consumer goods, ranging from food to clothes. Owing to my tactile hypersensitivity, I have problems when it comes to wearing certain types of material, most of them synthetic or unnaturally smooth, or perhaps even too rough. Since synthetic materials are legion in the modern world, even in self-proclaimed high-end fashion, I find myself more often than not raiding vintage clothes stores, searching for garments of bygone eras which do not irritate my delicate skin.

As Mrs. Jeelvy is always pointing out, I’m a princess trying to sleep on a pea in the polyester world — not that she is much better. But this poses a problem: If we cannot find a vintage or artisanal option, we often cannot find new clothes, certainly not within our budget range.

She asked me once, while we were walking through the park and observing all the people wearing garbage, “Can’t people see that they’re wearing garbage? Why would they even go out of the house wearing sweatpants and a puffy windbreaker vest? Can’t they sense how badly they smell after wearing a polyester shirt (which they then try to cover up with deodorant and low-end perfumes)?”

It’s tempting to think that the normal person on the street can’t feel the scraping effect of polyester against skin or cannot smell himself stinking up in a polyester shirt, nor is he offended by the very notion of leaving the house in sweatpants; it certainly makes me feel better than those stinking, tasteless rubes. Furthermore, there seems to be some evidence that higher IQ people are more sensitive to stimuli in general, and therefore require less of it to attain sense-satiety but also require less to experience sensory overload. Concordantly, lower IQ people would need more of a certain stimulus in order to even feel it — hence the tendency of low IQ people to upend entire perfume bottles on themselves and then inflict such osmotic terrorism on their fellow man. For this and other reasons, we can indeed judge people by the clothes they choose for themselves and the signal their clothes send out into the world — and clothes always send a signal.

It is pleasant to disdain the stupid, uninspired, and uninitiated, but it is also dangerous; it is, after all, the sin we call pride. For this reason, I resisted the urge to call everyone around us stupid and thought a bit more deeply about it. Then I thought back to the way in which I buy new clothes: I wait until I find something that I feel I simply must have, and then obtain it. It is a very high standard and not one easily met. I easily go years without buying new clothes, and many of my best items I have owned for more than ten, sometimes 15 years. Some of the pieces I own are older, in some cases much older than myself, and not only because I found them at vintage stores but because I raided my father’s or father-in-law’s armoires.

A bit of advice for the young ones: Marry a girl whose dad is roughly the same size and general intelligence as you and you’ll have your pick of high-quality vintage clothes, and furthermore, you’ll increase the chance that your sons will be of the same size, thus enabling you to bequeath those same fine clothes to your children.

By refusing to purchase anything that doesn’t meet my high standards in clothing, it means that my options are limited — so limited, in fact, that I may find myself short in a particular category of clothes. Furthermore, since I insist on natural materials, I can no longer afford to just toss every dirty item of clothing into the washer. Many of them have to be hand-washed, can only be air-dried, and require care when ironed. All of these things I do myself, as I cannot quite afford to have them washed by professionals. Learning to use baking soda to remove odors and stains is probably one of the most important skills I have attained.

I have a similarly high standard in food, refusing to eat and drink garbage, even though this means either paying through the nose for fine dining or purchasing ingredients and preparing the food myself. Quality has a cost, in money or in labor. But notice the common thread of everything here: The key skill to develop if one is to have a refined taste is the ability to say no.

To say no, to refuse, may be the most difficult of modern man’s feats. We are surrounded by ease and convenience. When I say no to a fast-food meal delivered to my doorstep, I elect to physically go to the farmer’s market, purchase the ingredients necessary, return home, prepare a meal from those ingredients, and then, che brutta, wash the dishes. When I say no to a polyester shirt or gray sweatpants, I refuse to purchase an item of clothing immediately, instead electing to wait until such a time that an opportunity to purchase a fine item of clothing presents itself. Since I’m shopping on a budget, this opportunity may not come for a long time. And of course, since I’m purchasing natural materials and not polyester, I am imposing on myself the cost and labor of washing them, since they can’t merely be tossed in the washer and dryer, but rather carefully treated if they are to retain their quality.

That is the answer I gave Mrs. Jeelvy: We stand out from these people because we have the ability to say no in the face of overwhelming pressure, and because we have the ability to choose self-denial in the face of convenience. We are the best-dressed people in the park for the same reason we refused to take the Covid vaccine and for the same reason we are White Nationalists: We have the ability to say no. We do not passively affirm, even in our consumer choices, but rather consciously and actively lead our lives in a way which pursues excellence.

The world offers you garbage clothing, garbage food, and garbage ideologies, and they’re very convenient to consume, but in order to pursue excellence, one must master the art of refusal, the art of saying no, repeatedly, stubbornly, and even when backed against the wall and given (seemingly) no choice. To say no is to choose the highway over someone else’s “my way.” It requires a strength of character and a willingness to forego ease and comfort for a higher goal, even in something as mundane as dressing or eating well.

The art of saying no has yet another level of mastery, however: Once the refuser has learned to say no, he of course must then learn to recognize the moment when he should say yes. Indeed, we could argue that every no we say is uttered in the service of a yet to be necessitated yes. When I refuse to wear garbage clothes or eat garbage foods, my refusal plants the seed to an affirmation of quality clothes and food. When a chaste virgin guards her virtue by saying no to temptation, this refusal is in service to the eventual marital yes, and her transformation into a woman. When a free man refuses to submit to illegitimate authority, his refusal is in the service of eventual submission to legitimate authority.

So, to move toward our ultimate conclusion, we must learn to say no until such a time that we should say yes. I am referring here to the directions and actions white identitarians and nationalists should take in the political arena. There are forces that are eager to take any action, influenced by the pressure of our demographic situation in the West. Some are willing to compromise their beliefs in the face of relentless governmental and institutional pressures against us so that we may engage in mainstream politics, choosing the system’s way rather than the highway. Others yet would rather give in to the pressure entirely and stop thinking about nationalism, focusing instead on winnable battles such as opposition to Covid and allied tyrannies or drag queen story hour, not understanding that the victories from the so-called winnable battles may be hollow. All of these people and groups must learn to say no, and all of these people and groups must learn to accept the price of saying no, if they are to say it. Indeed, the steep price of saying no is what makes them say yes. By refusing to moderate, compromise, or abandon white identitarian nationalist positions, we expose ourselves to prosecution, deplatforming, inability to participate in electoral politics, exclusion from the global financial system — and of course, it’s a lot less fun than running around being a troublemaker.

People willing to compromise will often claim that those who do not compromise are doomed to irrelevancy, because by repeatedly saying no, they are excluded from mainstream discourse. These people are wrong, however. Mainstream discourse is struggling to keep White Nationalism out precisely because the facts on the ground have made White Nationalism relevant and inevitable. As white people are increasingly under threat, and crucially, as the ideologies and myths woven specifically to keep them saying yes to the system come undone, White Nationalism is not only becoming more relevant, but pretty soon it will be the only relevant ideological stance among white people. It has begun, and we are on the road to victory — though I won’t say that we can’t lose. We can indeed lose, if we say yes prematurely.

The system offers release valves: multiracial working-class populism, Christian nationalism, judeo-reaction, all manners of deradicalization schemes, and anything but white identitarian politics. We must fastidiously and consistently say no to these things. Only White Nationalism is good enough for us. We will brave the winds and currents of obscurity, and suffer the slings and arrows of prosecution and deplatforming, but we will refuse to budge from our position and will not consider changing our minds until we have become the political center and it is no longer possible to succeed in politics without being a White Nationalist. We will stubbornly and unyieldingly say no until such a time as we are given an offer to which we can say yes.

For this, we are willing to suffer any price. It means self-denial. It means obscurity and it means persecution. It means denying ourselves the euphoria of a hollow victory or the respite from struggle that a false success presents. While we welcome the mainstream’s movement toward our position, we remain unsatisfied and unwilling to compromise until the mainstream adopts our program in its entirety and purges itself of all anti-white ideology. We will accept nothing less than a radical reorganization of society into a state whose core constitutional mission is to secure the existence of our people and a future for white children.

Prologue: “I had no idea white people live like this”

It was ten or more years ago now, but I still vividly remember the first time I felt my class privilege.

I was visiting a friend — and it was my first time visiting a poor house in a poor neighborhood. My friend had been reluctant to show me his house, precisely because I think he was ashamed of its state. It was in poor repair, filthy and cluttered, and showed signs of recent fire damage. The floor was laminate that didn’t even match. The toilet was filthy and small, and contained a plastic vessel full of stagnant water. If my friend is to be believed, a rat had drowned in that vessel the previous day. At least one room was completely unusable due to clutter. “Hoarding” was the only explanation I was given. The yard was unkempt and overgrown, the drains filled with dry leaves, the window panes flimsy and lacking insulative properties. At least one wall seemed bent. The little dwelling was dark and yellowish in hue, claustrophobic due to the hoarded, useless junk all over the place. It smelled of dust, grime, and cheap booze.

“What do you think?” my friend asked. My answer shot out quicker than I could suppress it: “I had no idea white people live like this.” My friend laughed the labored laugh of men making light of their own misery.

I suspect he wanted to shock me a little bit, or at least have me share in his misery. It’s not easy growing up poor, and it’s even harder if that poverty is clearly traceable to unchangeable and unchanging factors such as addiction and a violent personality. The hardest is poverty despite one’s pronounced intelligence and drive to succeed; sometimes things just come down to dumb luck.

Seeing my friend, whose intelligence levels are comparable to my own and who is my racial and ethnic kinsman to a greater degree than almost anyone around me — he is likewise of partial Russian descent — and witnessing his dire circumstances was a humbling experience. It was also very demonstrative of just how much luck had to do with my own family’s position and wealth. I’ve heard it said that seeing poor co-ethnics arises status anxiety in wealthy whites. For my part, it engendered compassion for the less fortunate.

However poor my friend may have been at the time, he wasn’t trashy. Being like my own family’s temporarily embarrassed aristocrats, his family retained a certain degree of dignity that poverty, filth, hoarding, and generational alcoholism could never truly erase. By their very embarrassment at the state of their dwelling, I could tell that they were in the gutter but looking at the stars. The neighborhood around them, however, had completely embraced the filth.

While my friend sought to associate with people of my social class, his neighbors looked at me with suspicion and resentment. I’ve never been flashy in my dress or behavior, but one doesn’t simply turn on the bon-ton rigorously crammed in and drilled for 30 years off. By my very manner of speaking, walking, and dress, as well as my aesthetic tastes and general disposition, I announced my class and wealth to these people, and my presence made them uncomfortable.

This essay is about people, white people, who’ve embraced the gutter, as well as their presence in the media and the omens surrounding their appearance.

Zef: “I rub my d!ck on xpen$iv $h!t“

Sometime before that incident, I was introduced to the music of Die Antwoord, the South African alt-rap duo whose modus operandi is sampling old techno and synthwave songs and using them as bases for their own rap songs. The combination of catchy music and explicitly and unabashedly trashy lyrics, delivered with the indefatigable quality of the South African Boer accent, had me hooked. The duo also puts a great deal of attention into making music videos and cultivating an image which accords with what they call the Zef aesthetic.

The Zef aesthetic is derived from the real way in which working class white South Africans lived, and still do. South African whites, being on the receiving end of the worst anti-white laws on the planet (so far), have been reduced to extreme poverty and the accordant spiritual and moral degeneration which comes with it. The aesthetic’s end result is predictable: trashy women dressed like whores, conspicuous fake jewelry, souped-up cars, crassness, loudness, promiscuity, substance abuse (primarily alcohol but also some of the cheaper street drugs), and all sorts of familial and sexual dysfunction. I’m sure that the reality is more nuanced and complex than what I’m seeing over the Internet, but the fate of people who have been materially deprived is, more often than not, and in the absence of religious faith, to become morally depraved as well. After all, we’re already in the gutter, so why not start acting like trash?

Notably, the Zef aesthetic is dominant among South Africa’s whites, forming a conscious self-abasement and trashiness among a population cohort which was once noted for its propriety, religiosity, and conservatism. Its worldwide promotion is, I suspect, an attempt at national humiliation of the Boers. Some deeply dysfunctional individuals of that group are, I suspect, having a great time serving as models of Soufrican trash.

This music video by Die Antwoord has it all: sex, drugs, rock ’n’ roll, nihilism, wads of cash, motorcycles, cars, violence, naked women, naked women wrestling in Jell-O, automotive stunts, disturbingly sexualized children, adult women acting as disturbingly sexualized children, bicycle tricks, leopard-print bedding, domestic kitsch, familial dysfunction, incest, Satanism, and gun violence, all performed by lily-white, Aryan-blond South Africans. “What the hell am I looking at?” I asked myself all those years ago. “No idea,” answered my inner monologue. “But it’s awesome!” How can anything this filthy be awesome?

Zef, at least as presented by Die Antwoord, is not merely crass, hypersexualized, and materialistic. It’s also full of contempt for wealth and class itself. It is trashy and proud, but not in the grasping, resentful way of gangsta rap, which is clearly envious of the wealth and power of the hated wypipo. Baked into Zef is a contempt for middle-class morals, but also for the middle class’ wealth and its conceptions of what wealth is or ought to be. Ninja, the group’s front man, doesn’t just want to own expensive shit; he wants to “rub [his] dick on expensive shit” — and not necessarily expensive shit he owns. He wants the status boost, but is at the same time contemptuous of status and class questions. He wants to appropriate the status symbols in order to debase them.

Ninja doesn’t want to rise to the level of the middle class or even the aristocracy, but to bring them down to his level. To rub one’s dick on expensive shit is not to uplift oneself by possessing expensive shit, but to drag the expensive shit down into the gutter with the rest of the poor whites who drink sulphite-enriched beer and soup up their Ford Zephyrs. When Ninja sips Dom Perignon, he does not become classy, but rather makes Dom Perignon trashy. “It’s like an angel peed in my mouth! C’est si bon.” When Ninja’s bandmate Yolandi, having become a Rich Bitch (as opposed to a wealthy lady), indulges herself, she rejects the aesthetic preferred by the upper class, instead choosing to gorge herself on Nutella and shit in a golden toilet. Unlike the middle class, who earn money, or the upper class, which inherits it, the Rich Bitch made her money by setting her family on fire and collecting the insurance money. The only trashier way to get rich would be to win the lottery. Of note is that the lyrics of that song depicting poverty are in Afrikaans rather than English.

Of course, no discourse on the poor befouling status symbols is complete without an account of the utter trashing of that most noble and ancient name of Gucci. Of course, Die Antwoord are way ahead of us, having come up with the concept of the Gucci Coochie. Having secured guest vocals from Dita von Teese (Marylin Manson’s main squeeze), we’re treated to high-pitched squeaking from Yolandi Visser which is meant to emulate the sounds normally produced by orgasmic women. The very idea of a Gucci Coochie is delightfully revolting. It’s cheap, it’s fake, it looks like shit, and at the same time it’s expensive, authentic, and raw. I can almost see the vulgar clasp over the goombah alligator leather, trimmed with an elegant peroxide-bleached muff. Ah, signore Mauricio, how low your empire has fallen.

Pink Flamingos: “Kill everyone now, advocate cannibalism, eat shit!”

Moving from the caravan parks of South Africa to 1970s Baltimore, we again find white people fleeing before the rising tide of color. Baltimore used to be a nice city before it became Lagos on the Chesapeake — or so I’ve been told, at any rate. This transformational process which turned America’s urban areas into unlivable shitholes dominated by non-whites began in the 1960s with civil rights legislation, and became fully actualized in the ‘70s, when the last cultural optimism went out of America, never to be truly regained. Not even the much-vaunted ‘80s could bring back the old civilizational confidence; it was just an ageing nation’s dream of its fast-fading youth.

In what would soon become the ruins of downtown Baltimore, a group of freaks, misfits, and outright degenerates would make what was at the time considered an exercise in bad taste: John Waters’ Pink Flamingos, starring notorious drag queen Divine.

The film is one of those that could only really have been made in the ’70s, where drag queens were still outrageous and still allowed to be grotesque. The thought of modern wokies trying to stomach all the filth and toilet humor, as well as the self-conscious outsiderness of Divine and her cronies, is amusing. They quite openly bill themselves as “the filthiest people alive” and are proud of it. “Filth is my politics, filth is my life.” Babs Johnson as portrayed by Divine is a disgusting individual, hauling steaks between her legs in broad daylight, eating dog shit, engaging in sexual acts with her son, cannibalizing police officers, and conducting a kangaroo court while coquetting with the media. Her rivals are Connie and Raymond Marble, who, despite being quite filthy themselves, greatly resent Divine for having been proclaimed The Filthiest Person Alive, and look down on her for living in a trailer.

By presenting the antagonists as middle-class trashy wannabees, we once again see the contempt which genuine trash has for wealth and status even as the middle class strives to become The Filthiest People Alive. Raymond Marble is an exhibitionist who exposes himself to young girls with a sausage tied to his penis, but he has nothing on Divine’s son Crackers, who crushes a live chicken between himself and a woman he’s raping. Connie and Raymond Marble lick and suck each others’ toes, but Divine blows her own son in a bout of uncontrolled lust. Connie and Raymond Marble abduct young girls, force their gay servant Channing to impregnate them, and then sell the babies to lesbian couples, but Divine stages the trial and execution of Connie and Raymond for loving media people and their cameras. Try as they might, the middle class strivers are outdone at every step by the true mistress of filth. Were Pink Flamingos directed by Christopher Nolan, Divine would have claimed that the Marbles had merely adopted the filth, whereas she was born into it and molded by it.

I chuckle to myself when I compare Divine, who is self-consciously disgusting and proud of it, with modern neurotic activist troons. They want to be accepted by society, while she openly wages war on society. They want to pass for women; she’s very obviously and visibly a man. They insist on pronouns; she insists on being Divine. They try to pass themselves off as well-adjusted citizens; she eats dog shit. Divine, having embraced her fundamentally disgusting nature, is free in ways that modern trannies aren’t, and simply cannot be. Normalization killed the outsider allure of transgenderism and transvestitism. Nowadays a guy in a skirt is likelier to be some low-testosterone hipster trying to sympathize with the imagined female plight rather than a wall of self-confident vulgarity screaming in a scarlet dress.

Sadly, this film made John Waters big, and so the mainstream managed to draw him in and make him boring, or at least less interesting than he was here and in Multiple Maniacs. The last of his spark went into Female Trouble. Seeing his subsequent oeuvre is underwhelming. If you’re new to John Waters’ films, start with Serial Mom and Cecil B. Demented and work backwards from there.

There is only one black character in the film: a two-second role for a post office clerk. Pink Flamingos is refreshingly white, even if bizarre and consisting of the dregs of the whites in and around Baltimore. Race never enters the equation. Of note is that all of the media people appearing to document the kangaroo trial and execution towards the end look Jewish and have names which sound Jewish. The media circus itself is an important background element: It is Divine’s media prominence which excites the Marbles’ envy, prompting them to launch their crusade of filth against her. Without the oxygen of media attention, trash cannot rise to prominence, cannot attract those life-giving eyeballs, and cannot attain status, which is so exalted that a pair of disgusting social climbers like Connie and Raymond Marble would want to be considered the Filthiest People Alive.

It is a strange characteristic of the Western middle and upper classes that they fret about being “authentic” and “real.” They’ll joke about being crazy, and they’ll appropriate the aesthetic of criminality, jokingly or earnestly. White-collar dudes will blast gangsta rap out of their Honda Civics and pose with wads of cash and cigars, trying to look like Tony Montana. But unlike the genuine trash, they’ll only lower themselves. The trash, being as low as it can get, cannot fall any lower, nor can it attain any upward mobility — not that it cares about attaining upward mobility. The goal is to bring everything down to its level. Connie and Raymond Marble want to increase their social standing by taking Divine down, but Divine doesn’t lose filthiness or her crown by receiving a turd in the mail. In the end, the bourgeois bohemians were outbohemed by the genuine and unpretentious trailer trash.

Trash goes to Washington: The virgin Donald Trump vs. the chad Hunter Biden

Having covered trash in South African music and American ’70s cinema, we can move on to that greatest of creative arenas where all the performing arts culminate in one great, pulsating knob of show business: politics. We are on the cusp of the greatest, trashiest, and filthiest spectacles in American — indeed, world — politics. I am talking, of course, about the leaked videos from Hunter Biden’s laptops where he smokes crack, has sex with hookers, smokes more crack, gets blowjobs from hookers, ties up a girl, puts a bag over her head and eats a sandwich, smokes crack in a hyperbaric chamber — and did I mention the hookers? He fucks a lot of hookers. He also seems to fuck one of Obama’s daughters.

When the American Deep State propped Joe Biden up as its puppet, they probably did not foresee the absolute optical nightmare that Hunter Biden would become for his old man. I’ve joked before that Hunter Biden acts exactly the way as WASPs used to imagine the Irish acting: i.e., as essentially animals that swing from trees.

But there is something definitely charming about the whole Hunter Biden thing. I suspect it has something to do with the shamelessness of it all. His father is the President of the United States, and yet he’s smoking crack, engaging in corruption, and soliciting prostitutes left and right. Some faithful readers recently commented that Hunter Biden’s behavior is quite literally that of what Right-wing Twitter likes to call the sigma male. Another reader joked that “if you started shilling Hunter as a paragon of masculinity on RW Twitter, a whole lot of brown people would buy it” — referring to the predominantly Hispanic and (dot) Indian fanbase of Bronze Age Pervert, who glorifies sociopathic behavior as “chad.” In the past I’ve made light of the fact that ostensible Right-wingers want to literally become Patrick Bateman. Nick Fuentes, Scott Greer, and Richard Spencer have, for their part, also exalted Hunter Biden’s behavior. This wouldn’t be news except for the fact that it reminds us once again that psychopaths and sociopaths will always seek to normalize their own pathological behavior, and also that they’re sadly prevalent on the Dissident Right, chasing the notoriety and thriving in its highly contentious environment.

Another aspect of the Hunter Biden scandals is very important to note, however. So far, none of the leaks seem to have hurt either Hunter himself or his decrepit old man’s ratings. Indeed, such has been the discrepancy between Right-wing enthusiasm for Hunter’s leaks and their actual effect that it is now easy comedy to simply make fun of MAGApedes who can hardly contain their enthusiasm for yet another image of Hunter Biden’s penis. Contemptuous though we may be of Hunter Biden’s disgusting behavior, we must look closely at this observed phenomenon.

We must remember that the Bidens are not being judged against some theoretical standard of a Platonic, fully moral First Family, but against the standard of the previous president and his family. The previous president is of course Donald Trump, a man who in a sense embodies crassness and vulgarity, but not in the sense of Zef or Pink Flamingos; rather in the grubbing, grasping sense of a lower-class lout who somehow became filthy rich and is now chasing clout and status he could never have.

Trump made his money in the world of Manhattan real estate through a combination of mafia connections, corruption, stiffing his creditors, and selling gullible people the image of wealth. The scuzzy origins of his wealth is reflected in the man’s personal crassness, his orange tan, his gaudy obsession with coating everything with gold, his bombastic imagery, his clout-chasing in The Apprentice, and taking part in professional wrestling — and even with his glorified self-help book, The Art of the Deal.

His crassness was never shameless, however. This is not a person who fell ass-backwards into money and now trolls the upper class by dragging their favorite status symbols down into the gutter; he is rather the ultimate nouveau riche, a short-fingered vulgarian striver who was always rejected by the jet set for his grubbiness, classlessness, and boorishness, and who made the ultimate status grab by running for President while giving false hope to white Americans. Once in office he helped nobody but his old mafia buddies, now deeply ensconced in the military and intelligence establishments, and also linked to Israel through the Chabad-Lubavitch cult and Israeli intelligence — but he never stopped chasing that elusive status. He bloviated endlessly about having achieved the lowest black unemployment levels ever, rescinding on his promises to arrest Hillary Clinton and her associates while cavorting with fellow vulgarian Kim Kardashian in order to unleash incarcerated black criminals, as well as presiding over the 2020 George Floyd summer of riots while impotently “monitoring the situation.” And yet, his acceptance into the upper class remained elusive until he was run out of Washington on January 6, 2021 — but not before throwing his foolhardy supporters under the bus one last time.

Contrast all this to Hunter Biden’s utter shamelessness. Smoking crack and banging whores is a bad idea. Filming yourself doing it is even worse. Hunter Biden is garbage, and he knows it. He uses his superficial charm, so common among sociopathic personalities, to make you love his filth. He makes lesser sociopaths like Nick Fuentes or Richard Spencer seethe and envy his access to hookers, crack, and the immunity he has. Whereas Donald Trump abuses cocaine, Hunter just straight up smokes crack in a hyperbaric chamber. Donald Trump marries supermodels and has porn stars spank him; Hunter Biden just bangs whores, and probably one of the Obama girls. Donald Trump foolishly thought the presidency would bring him the much-coveted social status he never had as a nouveau riche object of contempt; Hunter Biden drags the presidency through the mud with his Hibernian ape antics.

The broader Biden family is fairly dysfunctional as well, what with Dr. Jill being a bit of a gold digger and apparently a hussy in her younger days, and the old man himself being listed as “Pedo Peter” in Hunter Biden’s phone. But Hunter is the absolute king of degeneracy: “truly Bowdenesque in his exaltation of descent.” How puny and miserable Trump is, the man who for a time embodied vulgarity, next to this genuinely disgusting person, who is absolutely shameless about everything.

Conclusion: “In every forest are mulberry mushrooms . . .”

You’ll notice that not once in this essay did I use the word wigger. This is because I did not write it to describe white people who act black. Indeed, wiggery is more often observed in the middle class than in poor, trashy whites. What I’ve described is a very peculiar, very white way of embracing poverty, trashiness, crassness, and low social status. Blacks are trashy and violent because they covet the white man’s great wealth and social status. Black men lust after white women, and black women hate white women for the lust they engender in black men while at the same time lusting for white men, particularly Right-wing and “racist” white men. In short, the blacks want what the whites have. Even middle-class blacks will “act white” and try to appropriate our manner of dress and behavior as a form of cargo-cultish attempt to attain our wealth and status.

Contrariwise, trashy whites will act contemptuously towards the wealth and status of middle- and upper-class whites, even as they covet and envy that same wealth and status. Painfully aware that they’ll never attain it, they nevertheless seek to appropriate it, not to boost their own status but to drag it down into the mud and deny its use to the middle and upper classes. It is a position born of desperation, a lack of belief in a better future, and a lack of any possible upward mobility, even from poor to working class. Ninja gains no class from rubbing his dick on expensive shit, but he does decrease the expensive shit’s value, both socially and monetarily. Connie and Raymond Marble want media attention to raise their social standing, while Divine attracts media attention to enhance her own filthiness by adding “media whore” to her already large repertoire of trashy behaviors, and trashing the media in the process. Donald Trump wants to become President so the Manhattan bluebloods will finally treat him as one of them, but Hunter huffs away at the crack pipe without a care in the world, even as his senile father turns America into a banana republic.

Why, then, do we have grudging respect for Ninja, Divine, and Hunter Biden? Because unlike the middling, wishy-washy Marbles and Trump, they are fully forces for dissolution. Instead of clinging to the vestiges of the false gods of civility and propriety, they fully embrace the carnival of garbage that is modernity. The Marbles and Trumps are tourists in the trailer park. They want to drink cheap beer, ogle the girl in the Confederate flag bikini, and have a cheap steak with ketchup. Ninja, Divine, and Hunter Biden will stay behind, smoke meth and crack, and fuck the girl in the Confederate flag bikini in exchange for an ounce of weed, then stab her husband in the ensuing knife fight, set the trailer on fire, and get away with it, because men respect honesty and authenticity and despise tourists.

The poor will always be with us. Even in the ethnostate there will be poor white people. Some of them will be crass, others vulgar. Trashiness is a phenomenon of late-stage civilizations, when faith and patriotism offer nothing more to the poor and when faith and patriotism have themselves become ugly lies. What else remains to the lowest of men, who nevertheless wish to retain a degree of freedom and independence? Trashiness, indulgence of their basest instincts, and contempt for the mores, bells, and whistles of their social superiors. The social hierarchy no longer works for them in any way, so they no longer honor it and in fact invert it by inflicting themselves and their low status on polite society. Neoliberal ethics having eroded the possibility of being respected and retaining dignity while poor, the poor now take their revenge by disrupting the civility and decorum of everyday life, unleashing trash on a society no longer deserving of their respect. Atop the trash pile sit sociopaths like Hunter Biden, who just want to watch the world burn while being hated and envied by lesser, more materialistic sociopaths like Donald Trump or Nick Fuentes, who want to roll around in garbage but remain clean. Fortunately for us, the world doesn’t work like that. Garbage sticks.

My friend from the Prologue is a tourist in the land of poverty. In the basement of his crumbling abode is a yellowed document bearing the seal of Tsar Alexander III, attesting that his great-great grandfather had earned the right to call himself “Count.” Misfortune and ill fortune may have bedeviled his family, but their quality will always shine through. Already he is on his way to establishing himself as a small business owner. His children will likely build on this small foothold. His brother is a wealthy and influential engineer serving in the massive German industrial engine. Even his parents, violent alcoholics and hoarders though they may have been, were always tourists in the land of poverty. But some people live there always, regardless of wealth and perceived status. Some people will always serve the gods of dissolution.

When we speak of dissolution, we speak of a degenerative illness gripping civilizations nearing the end of their life cycle. When we speak of dissolution, we speak of the healthful process of civilizational death. When we speak of dissolution, we speak of a breaking down of the old. Many white identitarians become too focused on this part of the struggle — although this doesn’t mean that it’s not an important part of the struggle. Dissolution is not the be-all-and-end-all of dissident politics, but it is an important part. For our civilization to be reborn, it first needs to be put out of its misery. Hunter Biden has done us a tremendous favor by dragging the American presidency down to his own repugnant, crack-smoking level. He is the chaga eating away at the rotten heart of the tree of Western civilization.

I will leave you with an indispensable quote from Maxim Martsinkevich Tesak, a Russian neo-Nazi who met a very trashy end after winding up in prison for hate speech:

I will explain the essence of my ideology. You need to imagine a society in the form of a forest, where trees are social structures. There is a social consensus about friendship or bribery — that it is bad to give bribes. But in fact this consensus is rotten, because bribes are given and taken by everyone, if possible. The installation is rotten to the core.

There is a consensus towards friendship.

In every forest there are mulberry mushrooms; they are also called “chaga.” Every tree contains spores of this fungus. Weak trees begin to die, mushrooms finish them off faster so that the forest can renew itself. We have the same situation in society.

These mushrooms were cut from rotten Russian trees. But this did not make the trees healthy; it only opened the way for a new generation of mulberry parasites, only now they are perverted and dangerous — because if there is rot, then there will be a parasite.

God save us all when this rotten forest will crumble . . .

There are many bad films out there.

There are many cynical cash grab films. There are many sequels that should have never been made. There are many films that serve to convince the makers that their time has not come and gone. There are many low-quality self-proclaimed comedies and horrors that rely on shock and gross-out in order to get a rise out of the audience. Lately, we’ve been seeing films that are just extended Trump Derangement Syndrome episodes.

Borat: Subsequent Moviefilm is an ill-begotten, ill-conceived, and ill-executed example of all of those.

Author’s note: In the interest of brevity, I’ve refrained from adding “yes, really,” “I shit thee not,” “believe you me,” and similar constructions to this review — but rest assured, they apply to the entirety of the described.

Released by Four by Two (get it?) productions, Sacha Baron-Cohen resurrects his character Borat Sagdiyev after 14 years of dormancy to once again tour the United States and obtain cultural learnings from America. Well, no, not quite. Borat has been sent to the gulag for humiliating Kazakhstan in the 2006 film, but is recruited by Kazakhstan’s Premier (a fictionalized version of President Nursultan Nazarbayev) to help induct the Premier into a “strongman club” started by McDonald Trump, which also includes Kim Jong Un, Vladimir Putin, and Jair Bolsonaro. Now, because Borat once took a dump in front of the Trump International Hotel, it is decided that it would be better for him to deal with Mike Pence, onto whom the film’s delusional narrative projects the sexual incontinence now recognized as typical of Baron-Cohen’s tribe. Borat is to deliver a very valuable sex monkey to Mike Pence.

Before he can commence his journey, Borat arrives home to learn that his neighbor, Nursultan Tulyakbay (he pain in my assholes) has taken over his house, his Mikhail Mouse pajamas, and his sons — one of whom has changed his name from Hueylewis to Jeffreyepstein as a symbolic rejection of his disgraced father. All that is left is Borat’s livestock, two pigs, and his daughter Tutar, portrayed by Bulgarian actress Maria Bakalova.

Tutar, age 15 (an old maid by Kazakh standards), is introduced chained in a barn and watching a Disneyesque TV program about Melania, a poor peasant girl from shithole country Slovenia (shh, nobody tell Sacha that London has been a bigger shithole than Slovenia since some time in the 60s) who married rich fat king Donald. Like any good Kazakh girl, Tutar wants to be sold to a fat old king who’ll keep her in a golden cage. She asks her father to take her with him to US of A, but he refuses, citing the Kazakh Ministry of Agriculture’s daughter manual.

Once Borat is in America, we are treated to the usual Sacha Baron Cohen fare of crude humor resulting from interactions with normal people trying to deal with a funny foreigner. This falls flat, because — and this bears repeating — Borat is 14 years old, and Ali G, which relied on a similar kind of crude humor, is even older. Turns out you can’t beat laughs out of a horse that has been dead for 14 years. There’s also a sense of low energy, and that this is just filler to extend the movie for the real happenings, the real humor. Therefore, we have to see what is apparently Nursultan Nazarbayev’s penis on a fax that Borat receives before the plot can move forward.

As it turns out, Borat’s daughter has shipped herself in the cargo container box meant for Pence’s sex monkey — and has apparently eaten the monkey. Distraught and fearing execution, Borat decides to deliver his 15-year-old daughter as a bribe to the sex fiend Mikhail Pence. And thus father and daughter embark on a quest to prepare her to be as pleasing to Mike Pence as possible.

This serves the filmmakers. Most unscripted interactions are with Tutar instead of Borat, who is instantly recognized in America and has to go around in disguise most of the time. They first meet an Instagram influencer, where we witness 15-year-old Tutar open a beer bottle with her asshole (gracefully, the actress is not underage). Then they go to a hair and make-up studio, disrupt a debutantes’ ball with menstrual effusions, and even attempt to get Tutar a rhinoplasty and boobjob at a plastic surgery, where the surgeon shows a canny awareness of the typical length and shape of the Hebrew tribe’s most prominent physical characteristic. Sadly, they are $72 short, so Borat goes to make money working, leaving Tutar in the care of a wise black woman who teaches Tutar all the virtues of female independence.

When Borat enters the RNC to present Tutar as a gift to uncontrollable sex maniac Mike Pence, he wears Klan robes, because that is a fresh and original joke. He then attempts to give Tutar (slung over his shoulder) to Mike Pence while dressed as McDonald Trump, just as Pence is giving a speech and is unceremoniously thrown out by security. The absolute gem of this scene — and perhaps this entire film — is the look of utter disdain on Mike Pence’s face as the fourth wall collapses and we realize that yeah, Sacha Baron Cohen just made an ass of himself and got chucked out for his trouble.

This is how the film should have ended. In fact, now that I think of it, it should have never even begun. If I’m being completely honest, I’d greatly prefer watching just the scene where Sacha Baron Cohen is thrown out of the RNC on his ass with Mike Pence disdainfully looking on.

The film, however, continues on as the wise black woman sows discord between Borat and his daughter when she teaches her that girls can touch their vaginas. Overjoyed, Tutar touches her vagina and then goes on to a Republican women’s meeting to inform them all that they can and should touch their vaginas. The shocked women clap politely and call her an Uber. She disavows her father and the Ministry of Agriculture’s daughter manual, deciding to become a female journalist instead, but not before rudely informing Borat that the Holocaust, which the Kazakhs celebrate as their crowning achievement, didn’t happen. Borat is so distraught that he dresses up as a Jew and goes into a synagogue to wait for a mass shooting. (As we all know, Jews are hunted in the streets of McDonald Trump’s America.) Luckily, two yentas are there to disabuse him of his silly notions that the Holocaust didn’t happen. One of them was even there — she saw it with her own eyes! Borat is so happy that he hugs her.

His joy is short-lived, as he finds himself trapped in the middle of the coronavirus lockdowns with a couple of men the film desperately tries to portray as dangerous redneck survivalist conspiracy theorists — but they look like a pair of regular bubbas to me, if a little too willing to marinate in Conservative Inc. tropes. We in the audience are supposed to be scared, because Borat has infiltrated the heart of the enemy’s encampment in rural Texas. The film treats these men — who out of the kindness of their hearts take Borat into their home during the lockdowns because he has nowhere else to go — as dangerous time bombs ready to explode.

Borat discovers that his daughter has been working as a reporter and is planning to attend a rally opposing the lockdowns. Together with those evil survivalist redneck conspiracy theorists, he devises a plan to win back her allegiance and deliver her as a bribe to Rudy Giuliani to gain favor with McDonald Trump’s inner circle. But before the familial reunion can happen, we are treated to a scene where Borat, in the guise of “Country Steve,” sings a song about how the corona is fake, Obama is a traitor, and that journalists should be cut into pieces like the Saudis. Don’t waste your time listening to the song. It’s not good nor even catchy. Sacha has declined greatly since the glory days of “Throw the Jew Down The Well.”

Long story short, Borat reconciles with Tutar (now Grace Sagdiyev) and she agrees to willingly offer herself to Rudy Giuliani to save her father from a painful execution.

This is it. This is what the previous hour and 20 minutes of filler have been for, folks. The big gotcha interview with Rudolph Giuliani conducted by Maria Bakalova pretending to be Tutar Sagdiyev. And what do we get? We get an older gentleman mildly flirting with what he thinks is a nervous young reporter. She then tricks him into tucking his shirt on a bed, ostensibly to fix the microphone setup, getting us half a second of Giuliani fiddling with his shirt, all to ominous tones and Dutch angles intended to obscure the reality of the situation and present Giuliani as a dirty old man.

I believe that in US of A they call this a nothingburgers.

The climax of the film isn’t even a gotcha, like in the good ol’ days of the Ali G interviews. It’s not even outrageously funny, like Ron Paul’s unfortunate encounter with the “queer as blazes” Brüno. It’s just tense and boring with no resolution.

Having had a change of conscience, Borat bursts in at the last moment to protect his daughter from the belt-ruffling Giuliani. The movie then concludes with the revelation that the Kazakh government developed COVID-19 and used Borat to spread it around the world. Kazakhstan becomes a feminist country. They replace the running of the Jew with the running of the American, where they run a Trump supporter and a Karen with an AR-15, who shoots down a rubber Anthony Fauci. Borat and his daughter are now both reporters and the world’s a little happier. Snooze.

The movie does a good job of throwing a bucketload of Current Year tropes and memes at us, which serve to remind us that Sacha Baron Cohen’s tired old schtick is still as relevant and as amusing as it was in the George W. Bush era. I’ve said much of what I have to say about his brand of humor and its topicality in an earlier article, concerned with his recent commitment to internet censorings as part of the ADL. I could simply copy the main thrust of my argument there word for word. In fact, I encourage you to read or re-read that article, as it gets into some of my objections to Borat’s brand of comedy, Sacha Baron Cohen’s hypocrisy, his motivation for lampooning whites, and his projection of Jewish pathologies on white people.

Nothing has changed in Borat: Subsequent Moviefilm.

The first Borat was lauded for poking fun at Americans, but it was genuinely amusing for combining the funny foreigner trope with unbelievably transgressive slapstick (who can forget the naked fight between Borat and his producer Azamat?). The second film tries to repeat the same, tired, old funny foreigner jokes 14 years after the original — and replaces the slapstick with either disgusting displays of bodily fluids or gags that feel forced and unnatural. Not even Borat dressed up as a go-go girl can evoke laughter anymore. Not even Borat with his emblematic yellow thong replaced by a face mask.

It is the opinion of this reviewer that Borat: Subsequent Moviefilm is a relevant, timely, and side-splittingly funny work of comedic brilliance. . .

Not.

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On March 5, 2023, Estonia held parliamentary elections which saw a victory for the ruling Estonian Reform Party led by incumbent Prime Minister Kaja Kallas, as well as an increase in its number of parliamentary seats in the Riigikogu, the country’s unicameral legislative body, and share of the popular vote. I wouldn’t ordinarily comment on Estonian electoral politics, both because of my distance from Estonia and my general jadedness with electoral politics, but this election was interesting for two important reasons.

Firstly, the runner-up party, the Conservative People’s Party of Estonia (EKRE) led by Martin Helme, won the second-highest number of parliamentary seats, and is now probably the largest parliamentary party anywhere in the world that can reasonably be called white identitarian. Second, despite coming in second, the EKRE saw a decrease in both its share of the popular vote and parliamentary seats, for reasons which I consider completely avoidable, but also part of a larger and unfortunate trend in white identitarian and Right-wing politics in Europe.

But let’s get our facts straight. The Estonian Reform Party, which is best described as liberal, managed to increase its plurality by three seats, while the EKRE, which had been the third-largest party in Estonia since 2019, managed to lose two seats, ending up with 17. While the EKRE has lodged complaints about election irregularities, especially related to the new electronic voting process, and while this is certainly possible, some Estonian nationalist voices have pointed out that the EKRE was mostly the architect of its own defeat, considering Kaja Kallas’ weak initial position and the rising tide of nationalism in Estonia in the wake of the Russo-Ukrainian War’s escalation. As my friend, Estonian nationalist and Counter-Currents contributor James A., put it:

. . . the election in Estonia is basically over, the final votes are still being counted but the results are basically in. EKRE essentially got crushed by Reform. In the 2019 elections EKRE ran on opposing mass immigration, EU skepticism, Nationalism, identity, and pro-family values. They gained 12 seats and rose to become, almost overnight, Estonia’s 3rd largest political party.

Since February 24, 2022, the retarded nerds known as the Helme family have been counter-signalling Estonia’s support for Ukraine far more than their opponents. While all of Eastern Europe, from the Nationalist community to even the liberals (By Eastern European standards) have been united with Ukraine against the Antifa Kremlin and their imperialism, the Helmes have been infected by the Western/Anglo “I oppose the current thing” mindset.

As a result, they got crushed in this election, and have lost several seats as of me writing this. Remember, the polls predicted EKRE GAINS and potentially becoming the 2nd largest party in Estonia. Instead, they have lost seats and have only 1 more seat than the 4th largest party. For a party that was polled to make gains that’s a major failure.

There has been speculation as to why Martin Helme decided it would be a good idea to start opposing aid to Ukraine from a position of Estonian nationalism. While it is true that countries should always look to their own defense first, it isn’t difficult to see how arming Ukraine and otherwise enabling it to dismantle the Russian war machine and possibly even inflict enough damage on Russia to the point where its disintegration might become possible would strengthen Estonia’s security. The best explanation I’ve seen is that the EKRE leadership hoped to attract the votes of Estonia’s Russian minority who, obviously, do not want to see Ukraine armed and supported.

Unless evidence emerges of election shenanigans, like James I assume that Helme’s comments alienated the EKRE’s support base. If it is true, it will not be the first time that a European nationalist party has lost its core constituency because it changed its rhetoric in order to win votes from a segment of the population it mistakenly believes it can win over. When the results from the Estonian election came in, I was reminded of the tragic rise and fall of Hungary’s Jobbik, a once far-Right parliamentary party that at one point was the second-largest party in the county. Its shift to the political center, however, ended up turning it into a liberal party — and in last year’s election, it fell from being the main opposition party to fourth place. While there are many reasons for Jobbik’s transformation (read about it here), the central one is the party’s attempt to attract centrist and Leftist voters in the hope that this would give it the numbers needed to challenge Hungary’s ruling party, Viktor Orbán’s center-Right Fidesz.

Since Jobbik began its leftward shift, however, we’ve seen the rise of László Toroczkai’s Mi Hazánk party, which since its founding in 2018 has become the voice of the radical Right for Hungarians, and is currently the most popular party among the youth. Mi Hazánk formed as an alternative for Jobbik’s original core Right-wing and nationalist supporters and has drawn their votes away from the latter. In effect, Jobbik traded the enthusiastic “yes” of nationalists who were already supporting it as a Right-wing alternative to Fidesz for a perfidious “maybe” from liberals who see them merely as temporarily useful to break Fidesz’s hegemony over Hungarian politics.

Unless Estonia’s EKRE corrects its course, we may see a similar progression. Indeed, the 2023 Estonian general election may eventually be seen as the beginning of the end for the EKRE.

Why do Right-wing, nationalist, and national populist parties do this? Over the course of its existence, a nationalist party may pick up momentum and grow rapidly. This brings media attention, political clout, resources, and the support of new members and sympathizers. At this stage, energy and hope are both very high and everyone assumes that the party will keep on growing until it attains a majority and takes power. Eventually, however, it will hit a plateau — for nationalist parties, this is usually somewhere between 20 and 30% of the voting public. I suspect that this is the limit of the percentage of the population that can be persuaded to think and act, if only slightly, outside the parameters prescribed by the Nuremberg moral paradigm; i.e., this is the approximate percentage of voters who can be persuaded to try identity politics on for size in a cultural climate that is dominated by the opposition and therefore hostile to nationalism.

If any other type of political party could attain this level of support, it would probably become the ruling party, or at least a kingmaker. But in the case of nationalist parties, since other parties refuse to work with them and since they themselves often refuse to work with those parties which they (correctly) perceive to be problematic and untrustworthy, they find it difficult to form coalitions in order to participate in coalition governments. Even if a nationalist party becomes the single largest one in a particular country’s parliament, in many cases all the other parties exclude it, making it impossible for the nationalists to rule as part of a coalition. They may sometimes attain local power and gain valuable executive positions at the local level, but this is rare. Discontent tends to be widely dispersed across a society and better suited for broad, nationwide elections rather than local ones. This means that the party must of necessity attain a minimum of 50% plus one additional legislator for it to even begin implementing its program in any way. Otherwise, all such a party can really do is bark very loudly in parliament and try to disrupt the other parties — something that can backfire spectacularly, such as when Jobbik attempted to torpedo Fidesz’s immigration reforms as mentioned in the article linked above. For this and other reasons, the leadership of such a party are in danger of attaining a half plus one or bust mentality, where they see no price as being too great to attain executive power.

This mad rush ends up causing the party to start looking for votes in all the wrong places. Having picked up the low-hanging fruit — disaffected conservatives, inchoate nationalists, the losers of globalization (for lack of a better term), the Euroskeptics, and libertarians intelligent enough not to support immigration, the party then turns to the harder-to-reach voters, such as liberals who are racist even as they spout anti-nationalist rhetoric, “based” ethnic minorities, sensible centrist folk who just want society to run smoothly, and groups whose interests may in some vague way overlap with nationalism (such as the industrial working class). In doing so, the party shifts its rhetoric and may also change its aesthetic, as for example by dropping its militant appearance or toning down its nationalism. While this may indeed net them some new voters, it usually costs them far more of their previous supporters, and perhaps even key party personnel. This may be because the party mistakenly assumes that someone who votes for them once will do so in perpetuity. In fact, however, the supporters of nationalist parties tend in particular to not be as slavish and bovine as the supporters of liberal parties.

While it may indeed be the case that a nationalist party has limited options unless it can win power, it is also true that getting the message out and deconstructing the enemy’s moral and political framework can also lead to growth. The process of persuading people to take your position rather than shifting your position to accommodate them is slow, but is permanent. Besides which a nationalist party cannot win elections alone; it needs friendly media and supportive academic and social organizations, ranging from intellectual journals and policy institutes to nationalist gyms and martial arts clubs –and perhaps even knitting circles, homemaking advisories, and the rudiments of a mutual aid society for families. Such an approach is less glamorous and may take many years to bring about tangible results. Moreover, the types of people who tend to lead political parties often do so because they see themselves as the saviors of their nation and prefer a rapid and triumphal rise to power. Thus, they may be impatient and want to win while they’re still young and energetic — or because they believe that unless victory is achieved quickly, the nation will be doomed.

I want to be charitable to the EKRE and assume they can still be pulled back from the precipice. They’ve only just begun to bleed support and are not likely to splinter unless the leadership goes all in on its newly-found love affair with Estonia’s Russian minority. Any victory for nationalists is inspiring and brings us a step closer to our ultimate goal of securing the existence of our people and a future for white children everywhere. If EKRE members are reading this, I implore them to take what I’ve written under consideration and steer their party clear of the path toward rapid electoral success at all costs. Sometimes it is better to take the slower path to growth. It is safer and less glamorous, but it is nearly impossible for our enemy to stop.

Say you’re trying to fix a vehicle. You pop open the hood and find that someone threw a wrench in the gears, the relay is worn, and the battery needs replacing. How do you then fix the vehicle? Well, you remove the wrench from the gears, replace the relay and the battery and then check for additional damage (you never know with cars). While you’re at it, change the oil. And then the car runs again. You pop open a can of beer to celebrate, with your hands still greasy from the oil, naturally — otherwise, it doesn’t count.

Now, there are a few problems with this rosy image of self-reliant automotive repair.

The vehicle in question is not a classic muscle car with its masculine hard edges, or even an ol’ reliable slice of Americana which one can use to ferry the family around. No, it’s an ugly and boring blob on wheels that screeches at you if you don’t buckle up. And no, you’re not fixing it in the driveway of your house, because you don’t live in a house. You live in the city and fixing automobiles in the streets is frowned upon. And you’re in all likelihood not fixing the car yourself, because you’ve got no idea how to do it: your father never got around to teaching you how to fix cars because your parents divorced. This is all assuming you own a car, which is a big assumption in this day of stagnating wages for whites and legalized car theft for ethnic minorities, to say nothing of the extortionate excise tax rates on cars and gasoline. Well, at least you can have a beer, right? Well, because of feminism, your wife refuses to bring you a beer, so you have to actually, physically go to the fridge and retrieve said beverage and then physically walk the long walk back to the armchair like you’re some single loser. Well, friend, you don’t have a vehicular problem. You have a societal problem.

So, you pop open the hood and you find that someone threw a wrench in the gears, the relay is worn and that the battery needs replacing. How do you then fix the society? You remove the wrench in the gears, replace the relay and the battery and you check for additional damage (you never know with societies). While you’re at it, change the oil. And then society runs again. Cue beer, greasy palms, et cetera.

Now, there are a few problems with this rosy image of self-reliant societal repair.

First of all, society is not a car. It doesn’t have a hood, gears, relays, batteries, or motor oil. Second of all, a broken car doesn’t run. A broken society does run, but badly, and in ways both stupid and evil. Third of all, society isn’t yours, won’t fit in your driveway, and fixing it doesn’t have the wholesome and fulfilling sentiment of automotive repair.

A feature of the vanilla conservative mindset is the idea that society can be fixed like a car, or more precisely, like a poorly-performing company. There are bad, criminal, evil, stupid, underperforming, or otherwise non-functioning people who’ve made things bad and broken society; people who threw the proverbial wrench in the gears. By removing those people and cleaning up their mess, we can restore the greatness of our society. Then we retire to our armchairs and have a celebratory beer. Much of normie-conservatism is perpetual outrage at the Latest Excess of Librulism™, documented in my last article on this site.

Now, I’m not here to smash yet another chair over the head of doddering old Conservative Inc. Rather, I’m here to test my mettle against you, Dissident Rightist. Yes, sir. You, too, have fallen into the trap of believing that society can be fixed like a car, or a poorly-performing company. The notion of playing corporate hatchet man on a society-wide scale doubtlessly appeals to the bloodlust characteristic of one of our neurotypes. The other half — the mildly and not-so-mildly autistic among us — relish the notion of untangling the webs of the deep state in order to weave them into a corporate Volkstaat.

We’ve performed exemplary work in identifying the problems which plague our society. This review of National Populism: The Revolt Against Liberal Democracy by our esteemed editor Greg Johnson contains the most easily digestible encapsulation and enumeration of our age’s many troubles. I’d only add to it the litany of woes which arise from the Woman Question, which you can learn at any manosphere blog, or from merely being around single women. And what’s more, we understand the roots of the problems. We know that distrust, destruction, deprivation, and dealignment are the results of multiculturalism, multiracialism, feminism, liberalism, political correctness, globalism, crony capitalism, and nihilism. These, in turn, arose from the decoupling of society from traditional religion and its subsequent turn towards materialism, buttressed by the advance of technology and increasingly global commercial activity.

Okay, so we’ve peeked under the hood, and the best way to put it is that our shit’s fucked up. What’s more is that our shit’s been fucked up for a very long time, probably as far back as the rise of the Medicis, if not earlier. A banker purchasing a dukedom is an affront to God and law if there ever was one, and it went entirely without consequence. And the less said about the City of London, the murder of Charles I, and the Bankers’ Revolt of 1688 (which they brazenly call the Glorious Revolution), the better.

You gotta ask yourself: why? Why did we get from society more or less functioning, being well ordered, man on Earth, God in Heaven, to our present state of being? What went wrong?

Well, there’s your problem right there, Dissident Rightist. Nothing went wrong. There is no “wrong.” There is no “broken.” There is no fixing that which isn’t broken.

In Platonic terms, the act of fixing a car is the act of bringing a physical thing into greater accordance with the ideal form which inhabits the world of Forms. In this sense, we are bringing the broken car into accordance with the ideal of Carness, which is what all cars tend asymptotically towards, and functioning cars are closer to this ideal than broken cars. Now, we have to ask ourselves: How do we fix society when we have no idea of Societyness, the ideal form of society? It is so much bigger than us. Personally, I’m a monarchist and I believe that medieval society was a good model, but I believe it was neither an ideal society nor a society that could stand the test of time. After all, its power waned when faced with the money-power of the great merchant cities, and what was left was devoured by the Enlightenment philosophers.

I’m not a big believer in Platonic idealism, so I doubt that there is an ideal Society-form. I certainly do not think that society can be engineered, maintained, and fixed in the way a car is engineered, maintained, and fixed. Mencius Moldbug’s recent clear-pill series of essays for the American Mind remind me of a notion which I repeated often ca. 2015; that engineers should be beaten with sticks if they try to talk about society and politics. Apparently, society is a helicopter and the aesthetics of the ruling class are the Jesus nut. Well, that’s all very well and good, Moldy, but the problem is, nuts and bolts are replaceable and they have a prescribed form and composition if the helicopter is to run. A helicopter and a car are, from the perspective of the manufacturer, repairman and operator; Platonic things which have to correspond, more or less, to a certain form if they are to function.

Bringing us back to the why of today. It is my belief that civilization is a self-devouring entity. Briefly, its success and growth depend on the elimination of such human neurotypes which are high in thumos – which is to say high in drive, or as I like to call them, aristocratic neurotypes. This is because such human neurotypes often defy the will of prospective absolute rulers — hence the relative powerlessness of the medieval feudal kings. In order for society to function, these men have to either submit (and lose their sacred honor) and become workers, or be killed.

Now, I may have mentioned this elsewhere, but work stinks — this is why we have peasants. Hence, such men are eliminated, violently, which is to say the environment of civilization selects against the high-thumos man governed by honor and a quest for personal sovereignty while selecting for the docile man of low thumos, who lives by his belly (senses), and is quite happy to serve. Now, this makes things much easier for the kings, who get to rule over very obedient subjects, and this is how great societal projects are completed. Also, without all those local aristocrats vying for power, you can build a massive trade network and divide labor over the entire kingdom, instead of each count employing protectionism for his own county and demesne; hence great wealth for the king and merchants.

But the catch is this: society loses its defense in depth. The previously decentralized societies of local alphas in mutual-defense pacts with each other — feudalism — were ill-suited for society-wide projects, but could rely on each local power center for defense against bad ideas — if one count lost his mind and implemented female liberation in his county, it did not infect the rest of the kingdom. However, with the defiant, high-thumos nobility erased and replaced by docile middle-managers, all it takes is for one insane idea to breach the perimeter of the shrinking number of alphas who then implement it society-wide. Mass society is the society of mass insanity. It is also uglier and more materialistic, as the docile, bourgeois neurotypes drown out those who yearn for sovereignty, beauty, and the numinous.

These are the biological underpinnings of the civilization cycles described by Giambattista Vico and Oswald Spengler. Multiculturalism, multiracialism, feminism, liberalism, political correctness, globalism, crony capitalism, and nihilism arose out of those same processes which made our civilization great to begin with. Many people hate on Ricardo Duchesne when he points out that liberalism is a uniquely Western phenomenon that brought about our greatness. Indeed, it’s doubtful whether the Industrial Revolution would have transpired without it. So, no, nothing went wrong. Everything went as it should have gone. And that’s why it can’t be fixed.

Next time someone tries to tell you that X is the problem, ask him why X arose. Remind him of Chesterton’s fence — that madmen did not arrive in the middle of the night and develop liberalism, multiculturalism, feminism, etc. etc. Remind him that these things appeared because they were the right thing to happen at the time. “Right” here meaning “good for the civilization,” if not necessarily for its constituting human members.

Now, obviously, this leaves a massive question unanswered: What do we do with our non-functioning society? The engineer, who is a perfect example of the docile neurotype obsessed with solving problems without checking whether the problem is properly framed, solvable, or even a problem, will screech at me for not having a solution. But I’ll cheerfully admit that I do not have a solution. You gotta learn to be humble, you gotta understand that the world is so vastly bigger than you, that trying to understand it fully is a fool’s errand and that the best thing a man can do is start making his own immediate surroundings right. When you’re doing this, you’ll instinctively know what is right.

I mentioned that I’m not a Platonic thinker. This is half-right. I believe that the ideal form of government is rule by philosopher-king. However, I do not think that we should find the nearest philosopher and make him a king. Rather, as per Nassim Nicholas Taleb’s wisdom, I believe that if one is to become philosopher-king, it is better to start as king rather than as philosopher. Doing precedes knowing.

That’s my solution. Do not overthink these things. Rather, if you are so inclined, focus on attaining political or metapolitical power — the wise men will come later and the wisdom will make itself apparent. And then you can collapse in your armchair, your muscles aching from the day’s work — and God willing, your smiling, friendly wife will bring you a beer.

Over the past years, I’ve made some efforts to keep fit and educate myself in the manly arts. So far, I’ve been able to slim down, quit smoking, quit porn, moderate my caffeine and alcohol intake, develop an upper body physique which is best described as “not too shabby,” learn the basics of unarmed and armed combat, attain a minimum of skill with a pistol and rifle, and now I’m looking into developing skills as an outdoorsman.

Self-improvement, I find, is a practical application of Right-wing, reactionary thought in this degenerated modern age. One cannot ride the tiger without strength and wherewithal and these things begin in the body. Self-purification of the poisons of modernity is vital. Gaining the strength to endure the onslaught and the courage to stand athwart the forces of evil begins with the strength to deadlift 200 lbs and stand athwart an axe kick to the head (but not just standing there like a dumbass, waiting to get punched. Keep your goddamn hands up, Jeelvy, or I’ll staple them to your fucking forehead!)

One thing one notices about self-improvement is that first of all, it’s bloody hard. Second of all, it’s bloody expensive. Third of all, it takes a good deal of mental energy to break the inertia of sitting in a comfortable armchair after work. Fourth of all, self-improvement is a team effort – no man is an island, and yet we live like bugmen, alienated from each other and therefore weaker, as we cannot tap into the vast power reserve of the local community, or the gang of men set to doing cool things when we are personally exhausted. These are all solvable problems, obstacles which can be overcome and in no way constitute excuses for not engaging in self-improvement, though problems nevertheless, whose solution drains resources and energy which could be used elsewhere.

Now, what if I told you that back in the day, my father received weapons training, unarmed and armed combat training, physical fitness and survival lessons, and the necessary discipline to keep developing those skills for free, with older men tasked solely with motivating him and breaking his inertia, and with men his own age positioned to bond with him and each other in order to create a powerful team which could together solve various problems. In short, my father was conscripted into the military.

Back in 2014, an overweight, chain-smoking, borderline alcoholic bearing my name would have wagged his nicotine-stained finger at you, pointing out that conscription is a violation of the non-aggression principle, that the conscripts are not there of their own free will and that their labor is expropriated by the government for its nefarious purposes. The consent of the conscripts (or lack thereof) would have been the main point of contention. There’s a meme going around of libertarians allegedly asking ‘what if the child consents?’ There’s a version of that going on here. What if the 18-year-old man, still a child in many ways, withdraws consent? A child cannot consent, but he also cannot signal lack of consent for a course of action determined to be in his best interest. Much as though they protest, our children will eat their green vegetables and brush their teeth before bed. They do not get to not consent to eating vegetables and brushing their teeth. I believe there is no doubt that parents tend to know better than children, and that older men tend to know better than younger men, with exceptions I’ve talked about elsewhere on this very site. So, how’s that for a perspective flip – compulsory military service is not an imposition on your freedoms, but rather a gift given to you by the state, in spite of your pig-headed insistence on growing ever fatter, playing ever stupider video games, and watching ever more degenerate porn. It’s your dad forcing you to eat an apple instead of an aspartame sandwich.

The libertarian retort to this is that it is paternalism and that they’re a strahng, independant citizen who don’t need no state and that any imposition against them is morally indefensible. What is often missed is that the relationship between the state and the subject is a two-way street, that paternalism is reciprocal with patriotism.

It’s easier to think of this in feudal terms. The local lord needs an army, for which he trains his freeholders and peasants in the arts of war, at his own expense. For this service, for giving them the skills and weapons to be strong men, they owe him loyalty and fealty. The lord himself is a vassal of the king, to whom he has similar obligations as the freeholder to the lord, to serve in his army, to be loyal, to contribute to his coffers, and the king is himself obligated to protect the lord and his lands and his people, to provide aid in times of war and peace. The life of a king is a life of obligation and duty.

Moving on to the nation-state, while the personal loyalties to a lord and king are diluted and the edifice of the army is more mercenary than Männerbund, one can still conceive of reciprocal loyalty between a man and a people – loyalty to pluralities is nothing new – I am loyal to my family and they to me, I am a man of my neighborhood and the ‘hood will protect me. It doesn’t scale well, but it’s not all bad. The nation, out of interest in its security will take the young men and turn them into fine weapons of war, which are nevertheless flexible and can be rapidly beaten into ploughshares when times of peace abound. Conscription was, after all, invented in nationalist France. It grates against my patrician sensibilities to have merchant and priest class men hold weapons, but one can scarcely deny the strength of a nation which can mobilize its entire adult male population. Nationalism, of course, has many problems which make it unsustainable in the long run, but that’s a topic for a different post.

Paternalism in peacetime takes the form of ensuring that the people are gainfully employed and have skin in the game when it comes to the state. One of the first policies of Lee Kuan Yew’s government in Singapore was to allow Singaporeans to purchase their public-owned housing, for a very simple reason: Singapore was threatened by invasion from Malaysia, and Singaporeans needed a reason to fight. Having a house, having land and a family means having a stake in the state, means having a reason to take up arms, kill and die under the banner of said state. This usually means abandoning efficiency or GDP growth as a goal of the economy in favor of making sure that as many men as possible are gainfully employed homeowners who father children.

This was well known to King Henry VIII who cut down to size the mercantile absentee landlords who wanted to destroy the commons and dispossess the peasantry. In a move I wish to see repeated by Chairman Yang against the various Bezos-type robber barons of today, he explicitly prohibited the destruction of his manpower reserve in the name of “economic efficiency.”

His efforts, alas, were not continued under subsequent rulers, and the enclosure movement was completed by Roundhead and Whig parliaments, especially following the Glorious (bankers’) Revolution. England’s peasantry was corralled and herded into the cities to become the alienated and ailing proletariat – men whose land was stolen from them were now free to destroy their bodies with back-breaking and lung-blackening labor to enrich the industrialists and bankers. The dignity of man and strength of the state have not recovered and will not until the collapse of modernity.

While the doilies and priests LARPing as rulers in Washington might like to imagine otherwise, there is no such thing as a strong military without strong men who have skin in the game, and I explore this logistical chokepoint of the American hegemony in my article on the American Sardaukar, which, as time passes, I am certain is the most important piece of prose I’ve written in my life. In short – America’s warrior caste is getting shafted by the American empire’s economic policy, and this will be the downfall of the American empire.

Economic paternalism ensures reciprocal patriotism from the people, as long as they see their government as their own and they’re not coddled – jobs, not welfare; land, not food stamps are what cultivate loyalty. Whether service to the state in a military fashion or a reduction of the cost of enforcement through community self-policing, paternalism returns significant dividends to the wise ruler. Of course, this all requires a strong state, which we don’t have anywhere in the West, but rather we have a state apparatus which is used to shore up private interests and strip-mine the commons, just like in the good old days.

Moving forward in time and space, we come to the state which plucked my father from his hedonistic, college boy existence and turned him into a fierce warrior and paladin of justice, the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia. This ostensibly dictatorial and inhumane regime took young men from all six constituent republics and gave them the skills necessary to dismember Yugoslavia in the 1990s.

The professional Yugoslav National Army was dominated by ethnic Serbs, but almost every adult male in Yugoslavia was trained and a reservist. On top of that, there existed Territorial Defense forces in each of the Republics, functioning as a Home Guard, and the armies of the breakaway Yugoslav states were built around these organizations. These skills and resources, given by the federal government in Belgrade to the men and nations which made up Yugoslavia were ultimately the means by which Yugoslavia died – fuck-you power which gave the Slovenes and then the Croats utilized to . . . well, say “fuck you” to Belgrade. You’ll hear many tales of Western support for Slovenia and Croatia, and such support definitely existed, but ultimately, the men pulling the triggers were homegrown Slovenes and Croats.

I find it telling that the socialist and Jewy Yugoslav regime, as well as the various socialist (and Jewy) socialist regimes in Eastern Europe nevertheless had a minimum of paternalistic instinct and trained their young men to be warriors, as opposed to the prevailing regimes in the west which seek to train young men to be jizz-stained, sugar-addicted defeatists.

Similarly, the socialist Yugoslav state sought to have full employment, often in make-work professions. This was inefficient, but it kept the people from descending into hedonism and despair and it engendered into them a sort of civic nationalism, which today manifests itself as Yugonostalgia – a yearning for the good old days of full employment. The East Germans have a similar phenomenon – Ostalgie – yearning for the socialist DDR which similarly, had full employment.

Now, to be honest, one of the rationales behind the Yugoslav conscription program was the rather insipidly stupid idea that the various ethnic identities of the men would be melded into a Yugoslav, civic nationalist identity in the crucible of military service. It didn’t work. Men who’d named each other brother not a year before were shooting at each other with the rancor typical of animals threatened by an invasive species. Ethnic identity triumphed over civic identity.

It took ten days for Slovenian ethnic identity to reassert itself after 50 years of Yugoslav civic identity. Yugoslav civic identity was shattered to pieces along with the many historic buildings in old town Dubrovnik. It was uprooted and told to go fuck itself along with the Serbs of Krajina. It was revealed as at best a dangerous fantasy, at worst a cruel lie in the carnage that was the Bosnian war and in an anticlimactic fashion typical of my long-suffering homeland, repudiated in the 1991 Macedonian independence referendum. That which the regime thought would strengthen and keep it alive ultimately killed it, and good riddance. Yugoslavia was Wilsonian insanity even when ruled by a monarch, let alone in its socialist disposition.

Alas, individualism has triumphed, and most countries in the Balkans do not have compulsory military service, though this could be our edge against the great powers of the world. The heavily mountainous terrain of the Balkans, as well as the defiant and violent disposition of our men can be leveraged in hypothetical asymmetric conflicts against foes superior in logistics and firepower. Think of Afghanistan, but with densely forested mountains, Taliban which are about a standard deviation higher in IQ and operating not out of religious fervor, but sheer contempt for outsiders.

Our leaders, however, feel the need to virtue signal to the stuffed shirts in Brussels and Washington about how modern and democratic they are. And so our men crumble and decay, and this decay is worsened by the paranoid, hedonistic, and violent tendencies of Balkanians. Our ancient cultures disappear in a whirlwind of alcohol, sports betting, and despair, while our societal elites compete with each other to be the best ethnomasochist, the most obedient lickspittle to the Brussels Horror and the most effeminate bugman drinking the most overpriced liquid crap which purports to be coffee.

Ultimately, I suspect that only outright political agonism will put enough steel in our spines for us to reclaim our rightful role of hill-dwelling, cultured savages. Thankfully, the morons in Washington and their even stupider puppets in Brussels seem intent on poking the sleeping dog of the Balkan warrior spirit.

This article was born in a split second, the moment I forked over the last of my monthly salary and a wee bit of my savings to my combat sports trainer, but it was a long time coming. I’ve always wondered what really shook me free of my libertarianism and I think that it was ultimately this song, describing the plight of Newfoundland’s fishermen in the wake of fishing grounds depletions by industrial trawler ships. I have nothing to do with fishermen – my family’s ancestral home is a mountain town engaged in mining, sheep herding, and apple orchards. But each line of the song is a knife in my gut, each stanza a rope around the throat. David Coffin’s melancholy baritone and the weepy accordion don’t help. Friends, I’m not ashamed to say that I’ve shed many manly tears listening to this song about men I’ve never met, in a land I’ve never been to.

Overfishing is a classic example of the “rape of the commons” shtick that the moneyed bastards masquerading as leaders do to enrich themselves at the expense of men who “filled their dories twice a day, they fished their poor, sweet lives away.” The best of serious thought is born in the heart and that tempest of anger kindled by a song broke through the pig-headed whiggery of my youth. My great-great-grandfather, the town headman who, for as long as he could, protected his people from the predations of capitalists, would surely approve.

Let’s talk about nationalism. 

You’ve probably been told that there are two kinds of nationalism: ethnic and civic. This is true. You’ve probably been told that nationalism is a Left-wing phenomenon. This is partially true. If you’re an American, you’ve probably been told that America is a nation of immigrants since birth. If you’re not, the notion of a nation of immigrants is probably more recent to the official propaganda. 

You’ve probably been told that there is a difference between good and exalted civic nationalism, which is centered on ideas and values; and bad, stinky ethnic nationalism, which relies on blood and soil. You’ve been told that civic nationalism stands for freedom and prosperity, whereas ethnic nationalism stands for slavery and socialism (pronounced soshulism). I’m here to tell you that most of what you’ve been told is right. It really is like that, factually speaking. It’s just that the framework of thought you were born into distorts the very facts so horribly that they form a coherent picture that is disturbingly false. 

Let’s start with a historical episode. 

Towards the end of the 18th century, the two brands of English and French liberalism were reaching their apogee. They were challenging what was left of the traditional order in Europe, questioning the position of the church, the place of the aristocracy, and the divine right of kings to rule. In two revolutions, liberals triumphed over the English and French monarchies. In France, the metropolitan nation was seized by liberals who executed the king and forced a radical reorganization of society. In England, the thirteen North American colonies waged war against the monarchy and seceded, forming an independent republic, the United States of America. 

The two new states, the USA and the French Republic, are the quintessential modern states. They are models of democratic republics, completely reimagined to have not an ounce of the old left in their constitution. And yet their developmental paths diverged significantly, even as the two Republics saw each other through thick and thin in joint opposition first to England and then to a rising Germany. 

The United States did not choose a unified identity for itself. Recognizing itself as a federation of thirteen distinct nations, it tried for a while to have no central state identity. It is famously a secular state, having no official state religion. In its initial form, it was one of the world’s loosest confederations of states, united only by military and diplomatic opprobrium from Britain and later Spain/Mexico and the tribes of American Indians. But as Carl Schmitt says, the concept of the political is reducible to the distinction between friend and enemy. Thus, opprobrium creates political entities by designating otherwise loose congregations of people and tribes “the enemy.” 

It may seem strange to us from this late stage, but at one point, there was no American identity to speak of. People were Virginians, Pennsylvanians, Georgians, New Yorkers, and Connecticutters, but there were no Americans to speak of. George Washington was introduced as a “Great Chief of the Thirteen Fires” to a tribe of Native Americans. However, the dream of the decentralized confederation of state died — or, more precisely, was brutally killed in the Wars of Yankee Aggression against the Confederate States of America (also known as the Civil War) and Deseret (also known as the Mormon War). In these bloody and violent conflicts, Yankee puritanism subjugated the recalcitrant and refractory regions of America that purported to be free, extinguishing the cultural and religious pluralism of the United States and cementing Yankee-style progressivism (a toxic blend of English liberalism and Calvinist fanaticism) as the unofficial state religion of America. The new nation was finally unified under the banner of progress. 

The French Republic took a different path. The victorious revolutionaries found themselves presiding over a people even more diverse than the inhabitants of the thirteen American colonies. There was no unified language, no unified culture, no unified identity. There was only one religion, but it was the hated and retrograde Catholic Church that soon found itself replaced with the Cult of Reason and later with the Cult of the Supreme Being. How could Jean-Paul Marat claim to be the “friend of the people” if there was no people? How could the popular will be determined if there is no determinate people? Who is to will this popular will? La France found itself ruling over a motley multitude — Burgundians, Savoyards, Provençals, Aquitanians, Vendeans, Gasconians, Basques, Alsatians, Corsicans, Bretons, Normans, Occitans, and all sorts of strange tribes — but there was not a single Frenchman in sight. And so, the French Republic set out to make for itself a French people. And the process was no less brutal than the Yankee Republic’s bloody annexation of Dixie and Deseret, including among other things the Vendée genocide. For many people, it entailed learning a new language, adopting a new culture, and swearing allegiance to the state in Paris. The French revolution is better described as a Parisian annexation of France, followed by a Reconstruction to rival the American one in Dixie. Loyalty to the state and language became the primary markers of identity. The modern nation-state was born. 

Of course, that’s not the whole of the story. The idea of nationalism based on language and loyalty to a state spread through the continent of Europe like wildfire, resulting in revolutions against monarchies, some successful, others less so. Even the Danes got in on the fun when they tried to take Schleswig from Prussia in the disastrous Second Schleswig War, believing it entirely possible to “educate” the German population of Schleswig into becoming Danes. 

There’s an old German joke that Danish is not a language, but a disease of the throat. Suppose the German Air Force saturated Copenhagen in a great cloud of aerosolized cough syrup. Will that turn the Danes into Germans? 

The nation-building projects grew ever more ambitious. After the resounding successes in France, unification movements arose in Germany and Italy, although these states were forged not so much with unification as with one state annexing all the others. It is a testament to Bismarck’s ability as a statesman that he managed to get one over on the German nationalists by actively imposing Prussian culture and mores on the Kaiserreich, although this Preußentum did not survive Bismarck himself. His Savoyard counterparts in Italy were less skillful. The tale of Italian “unification” is more sordid and wrought with criminality than even the American Civil War. Italy is to this day dysfunctional because of the shortsighted attempt to force the North and South to live in a single state.

And of course, the crown jewel of the nation-builders was Yugoslavia, on which subject I’ve written extensively in the past. Suffice to say, it did not end well. 

That’s a brief history of nationalism for you. Well, then which is which? It is obvious from the history of the concept that the modern form most closely approximating historical nationalism is civic nationalism. Indeed, the idea that Burgundians, Savoyards, Provençals, Aquitanians, Vendeans, Gasconians, Basques, Alsatians, Corsicans, Bretons, Normans, Occitans, and other strange tribes can be educated, bullied and brainwashed into becoming French, primarily by means of changing their first language and securing their loyalty to the state in Paris, is not at all different from the idea that Algerians, Somalis, Guatemalans, Vietnamese, Afghanis, Moroccans, Nigerians, Salvadorians, Hmong, Arabs, Bosnians, Han, Venezuelans, Kenyans, Irish, and other strange tribes can be made into Americans, primarily by them claiming symbolic loyalty to the regime in Washington and accepting “American values” which are so vaguely defined that they don’t really mean anything. 

Now, let’s contrast this to nasty, smelly ethnic nationalism. 

I’m Macedonian. I was born Macedonian. I will die Macedonian. Any of you could move to Macedonia, learn the language, convert to our religion, and pledge loyalty to the regime in Skopje, but none of you would be Macedonian. In fact, I recently ran into a Swedish person who did exactly that. He’s not Macedonian, and neither are his children by his Macedonian wife. I know a half-German woman who’s a native speaker of our language, born here, raised here. She’s visibly and palpably foreign. Maybe her children will be Macedonian, maybe their children, but certainly not if she marries a German. The Macedonian tribe is a closed club. There’s no way in or out, except by becoming “a citizen of the world.” This identity limits me and limits our number — we can only grow the old-fashioned way. But that’s okay. All identities limit, most of all a biological identity. I can no more stop being Macedonian than I can stop being male. I can try cutting my dick off and implanting fake tits, but all I’ll be is a dysfunctional male. 

The Macedonian diaspora around the world is unmistakably Macedonian. The Australian preferred slur for my people is “blockheads,” because apparently, our heads are square. Macedonians in Australia have a Macedonian rather than Australian behavioral profile. There are so many things I want to share with you, dear reader, but I can’t, not just because of the linguistic barrier, or the cultural barrier, but because your flesh and blood do not resonate with the hymn of our great wooded mountains, the cruel poetry of the blood-soaked dawn, the great weight of our historic agonies which bear down upon our backs like the merciless sun on an August day. And that’s okay, because your people have their own songs of both sound and flesh, their own dreams of place and yearning which are themselves inaccessible to me and that makes them special. 

The second kind of nationalism, of blood and soil, is primal. You can call it primitive, and I accept this designation. It’s not even traditional or Traditionalist. It predates tradition. It is a biological category, stemming from the natural human tendency to associate with like, to protect kith and kin, to bind to a place, to nurture and love both people and places. Blood and soil nationalism is the belonging to a great chain of being, which is both historic, going back to ancestors and forward to descendants, and present, extending to all who are of our tribe, who can effortlessly join in our tribal song. It accepts no “values” but survival. It is both practical and romantic, fitting for people who live in the world and yet yearn for the transcendent. It is less an ideology and more a disposition towards one’s own. It seeks to defend, but not to aggress against others, whereas civic nationalism would gladly grind cultures and peoples into dust to fuel its value machine. 

But you’ve been told that belonging to an exclusive club is evil. You’ve been taught to worship mobility, the ability to pick up and leave and go to another, strange place. You’ve been taught to recoil at the notion of being born into a web of obligations and privileges, into a club from which you can never leave. In short, you’ve been taught to hate your nature, to feel guilty for belonging to this club. 

That is the trick to the demonic inversion which presents the meat grinder of civic nationalism as the viable alternative to the normal and natural sense of ethnic nationalism. Civic nationalism would have us pour all the nations of the earth into the gullet of the globohomo empire to strip them of their ingenuity and labor in order to fuel itself — to what end? Certainly nothing good. You’ve been tricked into worshiping Mammon in the guise of Christ. 

Now, don’t take this the wrong way. I am not advocating for insularity of tribes, here. Obviously, I am on this site, working with nationalists from all over the world because we’ve been designated as “the enemy” by the external force of globohomo. We weren’t white people. We were all sorts of Europeans, even Americans. I’ve heard unconfirmed and disturbing rumors that even Australians read Counter-Currents. But by declaring war on whiteness, they’ve made us into a concrete political group. By naming us as the enemy, globohomo has made us. If we are to survive, we have to organize as such. But organization starts at the local level, the tribal level. These tribes form alliances for common defense and elect a warlord and chief diplomat. That’s how nations are born naturally, not through nation-building, not through education, certainly not through “values.”

Practical matters of security and survival grow into romantic attachments as nations defeat their enemies — that forms the Dasein of a people. And that’s what we’re here to do. 

Allow me, dear reader, to take you on a fantastic journey to a mythical time known as the “middle tens.” It was a period between 2012 and 2018 when the hottest political movement was populism. All the cool kids were populists, and we were witnessing the rise of something new and exciting, something that would later be described as national populism. This was the era of Brexit and Farage, the era of Jair Bolsonaro and Marine Le Pen, of Matteo Salvini and the Yellow Vest movement. It was the era when a rag-tag gang of disaffected young men memed Donald Trump into the Presidency — or so we believed at the time. 

Everyone wanted to rush ahead of this new wave of energy, the Left to defeat it, the treacherous Right to deflate it, the various factions of the Dissident Right to claim it as their own. Is there a warm, fuzzy feeling in your belly yet? That’s called nostalgia. It’s what you get when your glory days are behind you and all that’s left ahead are the many and grueling indignities of middle and old age. 

I’ve got more bad news for you. Not only are your glory days over, they were never really glorious to begin with. You got caught in a passing fad that you’ll never live down. Your dad was eventually able to rise above his embarrassing 80s hairdo, but you’ll never live down going full fash. We’re in a big hole, gentlemen. And as the old farmer used to say, the first thing you gotta do when you’re in a hole is to stop digging. 

Many got hung up on the word “populist” and its corollary “working class.” Some used it euphemistically, to mean working-class whites. Some took it seriously and operated on the classical definition. Others still used it as a catch-all term for everyone left holding the bag in the great globalist game. It got so absurd that the owners of small industrial businesses were lumped into that great mass of “the working class” or “working-class whites.” And usage of such terms caused significant confusion, least of all on the Dissident Right. 

Working from the term “working class,” many became convinced that the way to get ahead of the national populist wave was to adopt working-class politics. The way out would be tried-and-true methods of syndicalism, trade-unionism, and a perennial favorite on the Dissident Right: fascism. It was a way of going full fash without going full fash, or at least without the bells and whistles of full fash, which always invite the slings and arrows of the hostile media. It was a way of being racialist, anti-capitalist, anti-globalist, and for white people (and the right type of white people, at that) which simultaneously mapped onto historic movements generally admired on the Dissident Right and sorta-kinda dodging the unsavory implications of traditional fascism. 

Others decided to avoid going full fash by taking possibly the only worse route: full Marx (and then circling back to full fash anyway, because of the whole NazBol thing). 

Now, there were problems with this approach. First of all, it wasn’t exactly clear who this “working class” was. As I said before, people used this term, which seemed to naturally grow out of the populist designation, and then based their perceptions of political reality on what it implied. “Working-class” means, in the classical Marxist sense, people who depend on wage labor to survive. The modern, loose term designates people who’ve been left out of, or worst hit by, the enriching processes of globalization. 

Now, when Marx and others described the working class, it was primarily an industrial proletariat, people living in large cities and deriving wages from selling their labor to capitalists — owners of capital in the sense of the means of production in its most literal sense: the machines used in the production process. What the working man provided to the company was labor, but because any other working man could also provide labor, the working man was fungible and could very easily be replaced, making him powerless in the face of capitalist exploitation. His bargaining power in the classical bourgeois contractualist model of employment was very low.

Hence, working men collectivized and attempted to improve their position in bargaining by bargaining collectively. The result was trade unions, which were organizations that could compel employers to improve wages and working conditions by threatening to deny capitalists access to labor, just as capitalists had before threatened to deny laborers access to capital. An often-overlooked aspect of unionism was the necessity to maintain solidarity and prevent defections, which unions first maintained based on shared ethnic and religious background. Later, as labor forces became more diverse, more violent means and cooperation with organized crime outfits was employed. 

The above history of unionism is what is traditionally meant by working-class and working-class politics. But there are precious few people in America who fit this description today. And what’s more, what wage-earners do exist not only aren’t unionized, but their positions would be eliminated and automated if they did. Most of these positions exist on the sufferance of the political and capitalist class because it isn’t politically expedient to automate them. If, however, fast food workers, supermarket checkout girls, or PowerPoint presentation makers in megacorps were to unionize, their positions would be eliminated and they’d be made redundant, eliminating even the need to fire them. 

Donald Trump brought back some of the manufacturing jobs, proving that it is possible to reinvigorate not only a manufacturing economy but also the economic class that depends on it. However, those jobs can also be very easily automated away, or even sent back to China or an even poorer nonwhite shithole with two-cents-per-hour average wages if they should unionize or try to strike. 

In the industrial era, the greatest weapon of the working class, for which the ruling class had no answer, was the general strike. Now that weapon is useless. And politics predicated on that weapon — and the now-diminished class that historically wielded it — is worse than useless. To engage in industrial-era working-class politics in an age where there’s no industrial working class to speak of is to engage in cargo cultism, the bane of political movements. Everyone wants to be José Antonio Primo de Rivera organizing the workers in national unions, but that world is gone. The facts on the ground are different now. 

A better approach, at least in America and certain parts of Europe, would be to try agrarian populism. After all, 95% of farmers in America are white and they’ve been recently given a rude lesson in racial identity. Now, don’t get too cocky. White farmers have less power than they used to. Big Agribusiness has used every dirty trick in the trade, particularly through pernicious use of intellectual property law over genetically modified seed to bust out the American small farmer and expand their holdings. What’s more, white farmers are economically and culturally encouraged to defect from solidarity by hiring nonwhites, specifically Hispanics, as low-cost farm laborers. 

A hypothetical farm strike (withholding of food) by white farmers would, however, make itself heard in the halls of power. While it may not significantly impact calorie production, it can very well hurt food production, specifically the organic, locally-grown food that the elite likes to eat. Not to say that it’d solve our problems or that it is easily attainable, merely that it is both likelier and more potent a strategy than hashing out the old industrial proletarian scenarios. By rebranding as agrarian populists, we can also dispense with the nebulous term “working-class.” Everyone knows who’s a farmer and there’s little confusion that can be injected into that term.

Understanding that a pivot to agrarian populism has its benefits, and would provide new avenues for our movement to make inroads to political power, I see one major obstacle and one major drawback to the agrarian national populist strategy. The major obstacle is the fact that the Dissident Right, for better or worse, is a movement of city slickers. Simply put, we do not understand country ways and country life, which is different from city — or God forbid, suburban — life. This can be solved with humility. We can declare for agrarian populism and then listen carefully to white farmers, rather than lecture them, but we’ll come across this problem nevertheless, just as we came across the problem of suburbanites with a job history primarily in the service economy pontificating about the industrial working class during the national populist period. 

The major drawback is that a national agrarian populist strategy is still an attempt to smuggle white nationalism under a thin veneer of economics. Economic nationalism has always been the less-toxified, less-vilified side of nationalism, but it is useless without its cultural and security dimensions, without all of the other sides of nationalism. And let’s not kid ourselves. Economic nationalism means that someone, somewhere will have to take an economic hit “for the team.” How can we do that if we do not clearly define the team? How can we ask white farmers to not avail themselves of cheap nonwhite labor if they do not consider race and ethnicity something worth preserving — if they do not consider other white people to be on the team they’re taking an economic hit for? 

This doesn’t mean we shouldn’t explore avenues of action made available by taking an agrarian populist stance. Nor should we abandon industrial workers, no matter how small their number or fragile their position. But if we are to be white nationalists, we must be white nationalists and not make cargo cults or fetishes of economic models or stratagems. We are for white farmers, white industrial workers, white small business owners, white service sector workers, even rich white people. We are suffering economically as farmers, workers, business owners, etc, but we are targeted existentially as white people. 

Rich and educated whites have the option of lending their money and social status to the anti-white machine to buy themselves temporary reprieves, but the machine will eventually come for them as well. Far better to have racial consciousness — far better for them to lend their resources and status to the cause of white identitarianism. The age of industrial liberal democracies is over. We are now living in post-industrial racial societies. We cannot prevail in these societies without adapting to the facts on the ground. 

I may not have an immediate answer about the organizational form our movement should take, but I can make a definitive pronouncement: whatever works will look nothing like the old, industrial-era populism. 

One thing which has been repeated throughout the Dissident Right to the point of becoming a truism is that in order for the West to be restored, we need to rediscover our religiosity. Religion is beneficial for many reasons, chiefly its skill at moderating the excesses of human behavior, providing structure and support to the various members of the community, lending God’s strength to the average man so he can face the daily challenges of life (especially exercising control over women), and act as an organizational entity. If we want to get shit done, getting the local padre to instruct the congregation in the utility and goodness of getting the excrement in question done is second to none, especially if you’re trying to organize white people who are traditionally hostile to outright coercion.

While there is zero doubt in my mind – and hopefully in yours – that we need a religion, perusing those which are on offer leaves us sorely dissatisfied. Let’s begin with the big one: the Catholic Church. It’s a shambles. Not only is the Curia under sodomite occupation and the churches themselves are sanctuaries for pedophiles, but the guy in Rome who ought wear the big hat (but wears a tiny Jew hat instead of his big hat) is a commie who licks the feet of negroes and sand people. Worse, he preaches Leftism and ruination while condemning healthy construction of walls.

Moving on, we’re presented with the legions of Protestant sects. The state of mainline Protestant Christianity is somewhere between catastrophic and cataclysmic – whether it’s whaman bishops, negro and immigrant worship, pro-sodomy fundraisers, or general proliferation of church hen values (gossiping, nagging, moralizing, shaming, and other womanries), these entities wearing the skins of old churches are decisively enemies of civilization and the white race.

Then we have fundamentalist Protestant Christianity which is at least vigorous and sincere, generally free of sodomites, generally not obsessed with non-whites and their importation into white lands, generally proscriptive of the most extreme forms of womanry (but not entirely resistant to the phenomenon in general), and not eager to please the ruling hegemony – in fact there’s something rebellious about being a fundamentalist Protestant in that you are the declared, identified, and hated enemy of Globohomo. Letting Jesus into your heart and loving your neighbor without stretching the definition of neighbor to include all brown people the world over marks you as a bad white in America. Unfortunately, fundamentalist Christianity in America is often marred with Jew-worship and lacking a friend-enemy distinction with regard to Globohomo. The fundamentalist is patriotic and is convinced that God loves America, even though the US government is the prime enforcer of Globohomo, that unholy alliance of Jews and inadequates that wants him dead, his sons castrated and wearing dresses, and his daughters as whores and playthings of the brown invaders. God bless his heart, he’ll faithfully enlist to be a golem for Globohomo, and will enforce Globohomo’s will with all the resolve of a righteous soldier of Christ. In this category, more or less, we find most Mormons, but without the martial spirit or vibrant culture of heartland America. And let’s not forget that Mormons are ethnically predominantly Yankee, and it shows in their anti-aesthetic disposition, even though those odious long skirts and practiced, used-faith salesman smiles cannot fully conceal the beauty conferred on a woman by Anglo genetics.

Which leaves our careful shopper with Orthodox Christianity as a faith which would revitalize the West.

Now, I won’t get into the nitty-gritty of Orthodox theology, mostly because I don’t fully understand the doctrinal differences between Orthodox and Western Christians. If you want insights into that, you should probably listen to Jay Dyer. That being said, I don’t really put much stock into convoluted explanations of why God said x, and why x actually means y. As far as I’m concerned, being Orthodox is about partaking in Christmas, Easter, and other high holidays with your family and community in a general sense. But in the particular for myself, it means honoring St. Nicholas the Miracle Worker, Bishop of Myra – for whom I was named – as well as St. Demetrios of Salonika, Martyr of Christ, who is the patron saint of my family. It means gathering with your neighbors on Christmas Eve, and feasting on roast lamb come Easter. It means coming out on the day of Epiphany – the baptism of Christ – to see the young men of the town leap into a body of water to hunt for the cross thrown there by the local priest, or by the bishop or patriarch in the great cities. Orthodoxy means having icons of your venerated saints and the holy mother of God in your house, in your place of business, and in your car. It means lighting a candle in a heavily frescoed church for the living and the dead. It means having the priest sprinkling your AK-47 with holy water if need be (see above). It means standing in awe beneath painted ceilings and massive chandeliers. It means spending time in a monastery to rest from the noise of the secular world. It means walking through the great boulevards of cities when they’re cleared of vehicles on Good Saturday, on the eve of Easter, to greet the resurrection of Christ as a community. In short, Orthodoxy is very physical, and not at all cerebral, the way I know it. I first came to know it at the age of 1, in a baptistery. I don’t think about being a Christian, and I don’t even go to church outside of Easter – but it’s a very real thing.

More importantly, though, Orthodoxy and religion in general is a phenomenal way to practice politics in the Schmittean sense – to distinguish between friend and enemy. The Balkans in particular are problematic, since we’re a bunch of more or less white people hating on each other, unlike in the US, where your race is your uniform. Whether one is friend or foe is pretty much easy to deduce by looking at his car. If he’s got a cross or holy water suspended from the central rearview mirror, he’s Orthodox, and therefore a friend. If he’s got prayer beads, he’s probably Muslim, and therefore an enemy, or in one of a million case,s Catholic (which is to say, worse than a Muslim, hawk ptooey). The shape of our beards and other items of religious belonging are also useful in these distinctions. However, for the time being, it’s sufficient to signal belonging to the Church, and additional holiness doesn’t get you perks, unless you’re a bona-fide priest. This is probably because Schmittean friend-enemy distinctions are Boolean – you’re either friend or enemy. Churches and monasteries (and mosques) also serve as orientation tools. If I see a church in a village I don’t know, it’s friendly. If I see a mosque, it’s not. They’re also rallying points as cultural symbols, and a good means of measuring if equilibriums are stable or are moving towards destabilization – Balkan blood boils hot under the best of circumstances, but messing with our holy places gets you on the “genocide imminent” list.

All in all, sounds pretty good, right? So, whatcha waiting for, men of the West? As the bear said, Begome Ordodogs :DDDDDDD.

Well, I wouldn’t take the literal plunge into the baptistery just yet.

While I have quit a few orthobro friends who will maintain quite strongly that we are stronk, and the West decadent and weak, precisely because we’re Orthodox and the West is not, I can’t help but think that they have things backwards. What if the Catholic Church and Protestant churches are full of sodomites, sodomite-enablers, queef-sniffers, and queefers, because Western men have become a bunch of degenerate cucks, rather than the other way around? What if eating leavened communion bread is only incidental to ethnocentrism, and what if married and bearded priests aren’t the key to national confidence? I believe this because I see the seeds of Western-style cuckery in the Orthodox churches. Some priests have even taken to the Internet to loudly signal their allegiance to Globohomo, and thus curry favor with the progressive hegemony in Washington, or its stooges in Brussels, under the banner of Christian charity.

I guess this was to be expected. The various Orthodox churches have been the playthings of secular rulers ever since the Fall of Constantinople severed them from the temporal power of the Byzantine Emperors. In the Balkans, these people kept the Ottoman Sultan’s peace for five centuries, functioning as temporal rulers of the Ottoman millets. They were also servants of the Communist governments of Eastern Europe, and were thoroughly infiltrated by the commie secret services – the remnants of which still hold significant sway among the priesthood, as do they in other areas of life in Eastern Europe. And this is due to the fundamental problem of priesthood – the kind of man who becomes a priest, who chooses to become a priest, is in all probability a skinny-armed, feminine type, and if he isn’t, he isn’t happy in his priestly career. Most of a priest’s time will be spent in the company of old women, who are the most religious of demographic groups. Therefore, the kind of person who makes a good priest is the kind of person who can stomach, or – God forbid – enjoy the company of old women. Definitely not the kind of man with gravel in his guts and steel in his spine. Orthodox churches are therefore servile to secular governments, whatever that secular government is, and rarely condemn the leftward and westward drift of Eastern European countries – outside of Russia, where the government is, for the time being, pro-Russian.

It’s not all bad, though. This servility will ensure that once nationalists take power, they can use the Church towards nationalist ends without much fanfare. Unlike Protestants, who are prone to sectarianism and purity spirals, the Orthodox churches have national limits and frown on splitting off from the official church. Unlike Catholics, there is no uncontrollable, turbulent priest in Rome to vex upstanding kings, and one needn’t anoint a second nonce in a big hat to preside over Christendom from the holy city of . . . heh, Avignon.  No, the national limit of the Orthodox Church makes sure that the Synod is always within your grasp and sovereign will can be readily imposed upon them – dry-shaving in public optional (but strongly encouraged).

Ultimately, our future is in our hands, and the doctrines of the Church have precious little to do with it. It may be that Orthodoxy is indeed based and red-pilled, but without strong men to enforce these tenets of basedness and redpillianity, it is a hollow creed. The Church has its functions; I’ve enumerated some of them in this article, but reclaiming the West’s grandeur is a job for the Army of Christ. Yes, a blessing from the priest will give us 10+ Holy dmg and strengthen our resolve, but first we must take up the sword of truth and stand athwart the forces of evil, clothing our bodies in old-fashioned and folkish Christian courage.

Disclaimer: This article arose out of a challenge posted to me by John Morgan that I couldn’t do a write-up of the Žižek-Peterson debate without having watched it, while completely blotto. Okay, not really, but John liked a comment in which I stated my intent to do exactly that. Proceed at your own risk.

I remember a time in my youth when my grandmother dismissed a politician’s arguments completely out of hand, refusing to even consider him. When someone – my mother, I think – asked why, grandma replied, “I know his kind.” There’s something that’ll become important later on in that sentence – specifically that someone reading it in English won’t feel the revulsion and disdain it communicates in its original Macedonian: „Сортата му ја знам (Sortata mu ja znam).“ This, friends, is more or less my general opinion of Slavoj Žižek.

For years, whenever someone brought up Žižek, I’d deride said person for paying attention to such a charlatan, and link to this excellent article by Theodore Dalrymple. According to Dalrymple, Žižek is the ideal fraud, looking every bit the intellectual we imagine brings wisdom to an undeserving world. I’d reference this article and call it a day, dismissing Žižek out of hand, as well as anyone who took him seriously. Well, apparently, that’s not good enough.

Apparently, one has to listen to Žižek and his arguments, and address them. Now, I cannot do that for several reasons. First, I can only listen to Žižek for about five seconds before loudly shouting “Thuffering Thuccotatsh!” in my most ostentatious Sylvester the Cat impression, complete with projectile saliva. Secondly, I cannot listen to Žižek without suddenly getting the urge to storm out of whatever room I’m in, drink, and hit on the nearest coed. This is because those were my exact coping mechanisms against Žižekite hot air when cruel fate saw fit to dispatch me to college, where I was lectured to by many mini- and wannabe-Žižeks. And thirdly, I don’t really have to listen to Žižek because, like my grandma before me, I know his kind. I was, as I mentioned before, stuck with his kind for the five long years that were my college education.

So lemme tell you about his kind – the old Yugoslav academic Left, which was left without much direction in the wake of the collapse of the Yugoslav project. To say that they are arrogant gasbags is an insult to arrogant gasbags. Accustomed to the high status which accompanied being the official spokesman of the regime, they approach everything with characteristic high-handedness and condescension. They are far more concerned with gatekeeping – which is to say, making sure that no serious dissident thinker can enter academia – than with educating the young or pursuing the truth. In fact, even ostensible goodthinkers can’t get in; mostly, their children get in, and each is more offensively stupid than the last. These people speak in an affectation of a language which is vastly more foreign to the land they occupy than the various anglicisms of germanisms which permeate everyday speech.

This might be difficult for an English-speaking audience to grasp, but many European languages are regulated by central bodies which set the parameters of the “official” language. Now, there are good reasons for having a unified language for the purpose of government work, but one of the hallmarks of this academic sort is insisting on using this more-or-less constructed language even in everyday contexts, and certainly those contexts which include academic work. In fact, this was my first bone of contention with this academic sort, as my intransigence on the legitimacy of regional dialects in learned discourse infuriated these types’ priestly sensibilities, who crave official everything: official language, official ideology, official thought patterns, official asswiping procedures, and so on. In fact, the very idea of discourse and of opposing viewpoints offends and wounds them deeply; these are people who prefer to lecture to a captive audience who’ve had their eyes glued open and their mouths sewn shut.

In contrast to their authoritarian approach in the universities, however, they are often dithering and indecisive as public intellectuals, though generally (and then explicitly) leaning to the Left. They’ll stand strongly against Rightism of any kind out of academic and personal principle, and then fold like cheap lawn chairs to the whims of Leftism – declaring, for example, violent overthrows of the legitimately elected government’s “expressions of democratic will.” Their first salvo against the intellectual Right is always an accusation of ignorance, followed by projection of their own academic authoritarianism onto the Right, and finally a call for a ban and crackdown on such anti-intellectualism. And they’ll always nitpick about the language used, delegitimizing the use of the various dialects, claiming that those who use them “do not know their own language,” as if the essentially constructed official languages were usable in an everyday context.

This dovetails with their own brand of what Anglos will call blank slate ideology – non-essentialism (or existentialism) – the Continent’s counterpart to the original sin of Anglo philosophy. This, of course, is not quite Camus’ big-balls existentialism, nor Sartre’s milquetoast existentialism of good deeds, but a tattered and patched version of Marxist determinism which has had some Lacan, some Derrida, a little bit of this, and a little bit of that tacked on. In the end, it comes out as neoliberal social democracy – sorta, kinda. It means that we liked the old Marxist system, and it was good, but we also like the current neoliberal globalist system, which is good. Especially the European Union. NATO, not so much, because war is bad and warriors are worse, which is why NATO needs to be an investors’ club with guns attached, or nothing else. Above all, physicality is bad: being in tune with your body, its rhythms and means is bad. To have red blood, to breathe, to be a creature of flesh, to desire flesh, to seek out conflict and challenge, to disrupt the stupor of modernity, that’s bad. Better to be overweight or thin as a rail – I’ve never seen one of these types who is in good physical condition – they come in Žižekian rotund and Chomskyite insufficient. The men look weak, yet are arrogant. The women are ugly, yet slatternly, and tend to grow a second surname around age fortyish.

Which brings me to their philosophy, which is made flesh in their flesh. It is a rejection of all things martial and military – except such as they can use as eunuch slave soldiers. These are the kinds of people who consider self-defense to be an aspect of anarchy. They’ll use their poison tongues to bar anyone healthy – which is to say not physically and spiritually deformed – from intellectual discourse, thus framing that discourse in such a way that no dissident voice can be heard.

Now, from all that has been heretofore mentioned, it is quite clear that these people are the establishment – but no, no, no, a thousand times no. In fact, they are beleaguered dissidents in a sea of ignorance which threatens to drown them. The moneyed oligarchs which tremble at their feet are actually forces of capital set on crushing them. The emasculated military and police are in fact vectors of fascism set upon disappearing them in the middle of the night and gathering them in soccer stadiums in preparation for ideological extermination – the aforementioned sentence was uttered almost word for word by one particularly paranoid such intellectual. The forces of Rightism – which is of course military capitalist clero-fascist military authoritarian anti-democracy fascist neocolonialist and euroskeptical military authoritarian fascism – surround the camp of the sorta-kinda Marxist, sorta-kinda democratic liberal saints in academia. Poor them – even when they are the President of the republic or Minister of Internal Affairs, which is to say in command, respectively, of the army and the police.

If this sounds like Chomskyism, it’s because it is essentially Chomskyism. In fact, from what I can tell, Chomsky quite dislikes Žižek (and for that matter, Lacan), mostly because Žižek is flanking Chomsky from the left. Chomsky is not used to taking fire from his left. If ol’ (((Noam))) sympathizes with Al Qaeda and the Taliban, Žižek can disparage ISIS for not being extreme enough. Žižek and the other gasbags whom I was forced to endure as a young adult are essentially gentile Marxists LARPing as Jewish academics. They’re able to practice entryism due to the clannish nature of the Balkan nations, and this clannishness is even more pronounced in the priestly-professorial caste; but they also get to take advantage of naïve Westerners who cannot tell a good-faith argument from a bunch of dishonest pulp. In that sense, I have a certain admiration for Professor Žižek, for he is the Steve Jobs of selling polished turds to Western rebels without a cause for whom Chomsky makes a bit too much sense.

If postmodernism contributed anything of substance to serious thought, it’s the notion that translation is near-impossible, and that we are prisoners of language, in a certain way. The same way that “I know your kind” won’t communicate the depths of revulsion and disdain contained in the Macedonian original, nor the sense that somehow, your intelligence is insulted by the other guy’s implicit assumption that he has successfully fooled you when, in fact, you know his kind. This is the same way that “charlatan” doesn’t even begin to capture the essence of the Žižekite intellectual. Apparatchik doesn’t cover it, because these men and women really believe at least some of the garbage they spew.

If they were Jews, you’d chalk this behavior up to their Jewishness, but these are pure-blooded gentiles, and besides, there’s no clear tribal interest to rally around – that they muddy the waters is as much to their detriment as is to everyone else’s. They’re not the classic postmodern intellectuals – they’ll often retreat into classical Marxism or even neoliberalism when it suits them, and they’re more than capable of operating on the Right, feigning religiosity and reason. Their relationship with language is complex, whereas a Western academic – and especially (((academic))) – would attempt to undermine language itself. These people rally against linguistic pluralism in order to limit the diapason of expressible opinion and delegitimize anyone who doesn’t use conlangs as a shibboleth – which is to say anyone who won’t debase his speech with obvious absurdities.

I believe that this is the unique ecology of the former Yugoslavia which produced this strange species. Yugoslavia was officially a Marxist-Leninist country, which in 1948 broke with the Warsaw Pact and drifted closer to NATO, and especially the United States. Its Jewish population was mostly destroyed in the Second World War, but the few Jews who remained were part of the government and societal elite. Intellectualism was a rarity in pre-war Yugoslavia, the societies it contained being very agrarian, and those intellectuals that did arise tended to be strongly folkish in their disposition (see Tesla, Kočić, and Racin). The Yugoslav regime therefore needed a caste of repeaters of official truths to staff its universities, and lacked the Jews to do so, so it bred this caste of half-literate apparatchik-charlatan-bullshitters out of the ambitious, yet servile, lesser intelligentsia.

Three generations on, regression to the mean has done its thing, and we have some pretty stupid fucking grandchildren of deans staffing universities around here. Worse yet, whereas they once served the socialist regime in Belgrade, these intellectuals are now slaves primarily of Brussels, but a lucky few report directly to Washington. However, typical Balkan clannishness has not been bred out of them, so they still practice cronyism and entryism. The system makes it impossible to find employment without going through the gauntlet of the universities, so they have a cozy existence collecting rents and kvetching about impending tyranny while singing the praises of the EU, NATO, globohomo, and neoliberalism.

Žižek, bless his entrepreneurial little heart, has found an alternative means of sustaining his voracious appetites. Instead of forcing captive populations to purchase his blue pills, as those other guys are doing, he’s selling it to willing Westerners. Genius. And now he’s come across a different type of goyish grifter LARPing as a Jewy intellectual in the form of Jordan Peterson. The many problems with Peterson have been addressed by people with much bigger brains than mine, of whom I think the best is Vox Day. What I find interesting is that Žižek and Peterson have started cross-pollinating. These two blue pill salesmen probably have significant audience overlap. If I were part of the (((chosen))), I’d look into options of shutting “it” down. It’s worse than the goyim knowing; the goyim are – oy vey! – Jewing even harder than the hardcore Jews. One could credibly claim that this is anudda shoah.

Give me racist liberalism, or give me death!

— Patrick Henry, probably.

To be in the Dissident Right is to be part of an informal initiatic society. There are various levels of being with it — there’s always another redpill to take. Kids on the internet keep talking about the “ultimate redpill.” I won’t pretend that I know what the ultimate redpill is, but one of the bigger rites of passage is the understanding that the principal enemy, the central organizing principle and state religion of the current Western elite, is liberalism.

There is a delicious irony of a movement consisting of former liberals (libertarians) finding themselves suddenly opposing liberalism. Naturally, they cast their eyes around for illiberal ideologies to serve as their central organizational principles. Some attempt to revive traditional religion and capital T Tradition. Some gravitate towards fascism and try to rehabilitate it. Others appreciate the value of fascist ideas, but understand that it was a product of its time and try to develop a more modern, illiberal Rightist ideology. Others still will gravitate towards Marxism, or at least shed their former allergy to the stuff. These are all valid ways of looking for a possible answer.

There is a group, however, which has taken to insulting those who’ve yet to take the illiberal pill as “racist liberals,” as well as those who are perceived to be insufficiently vigorous in fighting liberalism. Through a series of sophistic epicycles, the label of “racist liberal” is also applied to nationalists, because nationalism is a tool of globalism in Dickie Spencerland.

Now, far be it from me to defend any form of liberalism, but one must concede that the idea of racist liberalism could be quite appealing to a non-insignificant section of not only the Dissident Right, but also the broader Right-wing which is yet to articulate its unease with the current order. Whether we like it or not, many people came into this thing through libertarianism, and were conceptualized as “libertarians mugged by reality,” who understood that their preferred society of secure property rights and freedom from government interference would be best achieved in a homogenous white society under some form of authoritarian government. I vividly remember reading Hans-Hermann Hoppe’s Democracy: The God That Failed, and a certain something clicking in me, a certain something that’d transform into full-blown illiberalism, authoritarianism, and racialism some years down the line.

If there’s something that corresponds to racist liberalism, it is that stretch of the political spectrum that encompasses the paleocons, paleolibertarians, and American nationalists; basically a triangle with Pat Buchanan, Paul Gottfried, and Jared Taylor as corners. But before we proceed, we must first understand where liberalism came from.

I’ve written at length as to why societies are not cars in the past. They do not break down like cars do, nor are they fixable with the same general method. When we criticize liberalism, we must understand that it wasn’t smuggled into our civilization by evil men, nor were the elite suddenly seized by madness and implemented this wrongheaded ideology. Rather, liberalism was the logical thing to do back then; for Europeans, at least. “All men are created equal” sounds far more real when we’re talking about whites. And lest we forget, we know from the work of Ricardo Duchesne that we Europeans are descended from warrior-aristocrats who did battle on the Pontic-Caspian steppe for pure prestige. We are creatures of honor; in each European, there’s a king waiting to rise.

The problem of each European being a king, or at least a king-in-waiting, is that you can’t well, rule Europeans in an Asiatic manner. Much of modern China is made possible because the normal, everyday Chinese have no sense of honor, merely “face,” which has been presented as the Chinese version of honor, but is more governed by society’s perception of one’s family than by notions of man’s place in the world.

Liberalism arose because it was a good political formula for governing white people, who are characteristically high in thumos and have a warrior spirit. It solved, at least for a while, one of the core problems of human status hierarchies — that while the difference between number one and number 100 is usually due to superior merit on the part of number one, the difference between number one and number two is usually attributable mostly to luck — randomness. This is especially salient when the status dividend differential is enormous, as in the difference between the king and his most powerful duke, or worse, the king and his kid brother. On top of everything, if number two has reason to believe that he could and should be number one, he usually has the power to press that claim.

One way to throw water on this powder keg is to have everyone share a religion and then chalk up luck and randomness to God’s will, explaining that luck is a function of God’s favor. The problem with this is twofold. First, there are only so many unanswered prayers a man can make before he starts wondering about God. Second, there are only so many lucky breaks that a wicked man can catch before the righteous start wondering about God. Most religions also have a prescriptive behavioral element, makes it tough to justify that someone who violates these prescriptions could have God’s favor. The Traditionalist is quick to condemn atheism and Gnosticism, but it is a fact of life that bad things happen to good people, good things happen to bad people, and that a bad-faith actor can win most games by defecting when the other guy cooperates. Atheism (there is no God) and Gnosticism (God is evil) keep cropping up because there are valid reasons for them to do so. Liberalism is a little bit of both, and also an attempt to mollify number two (here standing for the elite class not directly in power) and stop them from starting civilization-ending conflicts by leveling the playing field somewhat, taking into account (implicitly) that the reward in the next world might not be all it’s cracked up to be. It was a good enough solution for 2-300 years. It was the central organizing principle of Western civilization, and then it degenerated into the present horrorshow.

“But that isn’t real liberalism!” cry the classical liberals, aka libertarians, when I point out the errors of modern (and post-modern) liberalism. Indeed, they are right insofar as you define “real” as the ideology of white people back in the day, but it rings as hollow as the Trad Cath decrying what American protestants and Pope Francis are doing as “not real Christianity.” It may indeed be so; who knows? It depends on what you mean by “real.” I, for one, am of the opinion that you’re the same person in both May and December, no matter how much one protests that one “was quite a looker.”

The original sin of liberalism is the notion that all men are created equal. To put it bluntly, this meant in the end that the Jews, blacks, and Asiatics are equal to the white man. Now, this is a far taller order than all white men are created equal (which isn’t exactly true, but close enough to reality to make it work, at least for a time). Add to that the rather insipid notion that women are equal to men, and you’ve a cocktail for multiculturalism and feminism, ending in the Negrolatry and queef-sniffing characteristics of 2020. All the while, the elite which liberalism was meant to keep in check uses ethnic minorities and women as cudgels against the white middle and working class, who were promised at least nominal equality (or something resembling it).

Here’s a radical idea. How about we kept liberalism, but excised the egalitarianism? Literally, build a system of racist (and sexist) liberalism? Y’know, Hans-Herman Hoppe’s covenant community.

Article 1: No blacks. Article 2: No Jews. Article 3: Begone, thot!

Too extreme? How’s about we take up uncle Jared Taylor’s offer of reinstating that eminently liberal value of free association and dissociation (which would inevitably lead to Hoppean covenant communities as described earlier, but don’t tell the normies that)? How’s about this: Liberalism, but for whites, who are enshrined as metaphysically better and therefore worthy of the liberal society — something which is refreshingly well-grounded in the latest findings of neuroscience that whites, and in particular white men, have a certain je ne sais quoi that makes us more than just men, somehow closer to God than other races. The notion of our high cognitive fluidity seems to corroborate that. Our not-quite-yet understood link to the numinous, probably related to our ability to process alcohol, and a litany of other ideas which have arisen as the result of research and thought by Dr. Ricardo Duchesne, Dr. Kevin MacDonald, and others show that there is a qualitative difference between Europeans and others, and it would serve us well to recognize this in constructing such an ideology. We dodge the problem of despotism by proclaiming that all white men are theoretically created equal, and with a rudimentary redistributive scheme — perhaps not even governmental, just strong social incentives for the rich to share their wealth — we have a society that most, if not all, white men would be perfectly happy to inhabit.

Racist liberalism, the idea that all white men are free and equal (but others aren’t) can strongly appeal to both the normie and the Dissident Rightist. In fact, if there is a Caesarian restoration of Western civilization, it will probably take as its ideology something very much like racist liberalism. Naturally, we’re not gonna call it racist liberalism, but that’s a job for the PR department.

Now, I’m not a racist liberal, or indeed any kind of liberal. As for Caesarism, it is my belief that the West no longer has the biological preconditions necessary for a Caesarian restoration. I believe the will is lacking and that the last chance for restoration died with Huey P. Long. I further believe that even if such a restoration were possible, it would be a bad idea to do it under the auspices of racist liberalism, given that it has contradictions baked into it which would eventually lead to the unraveling of society in shorter order than normally.

All I can see is that “racist liberal” isn’t that effective even as a rhetorical trick. It doesn’t describe a particularly egregiously wrong position — in fact, it is a position that would gather at least a plurality of support by whites in the West if it were purged of loaded terms. Indeed, we see low-key racist liberals popping up here and there and having moderate political success. And it doesn’t sound all that bad, if I’m being honest. It’s not a hill I’m willing to die on, but it certainly isn’t a hill I would mind living on.

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Dalrymple: Then why am I watching it?
Costanza: Because it’s on TV!  

Let’s start with three statements that are in no way, shape or form, related to each other. 

1. Narcocorrido artists are sometimes used by Mexican cartels to launder money. Cartel allies in the media and music business will catapult artists to fame to make their success appear legitimate. Dirty cartel money is then presented as legitimate earnings from tickets and music sales. Narcocorrido artists will often play to sold-out, but empty venues as a result. 

2. Pop stars like Rita Ora and Dua Lipa are used by the Albanian mafia to launder money. Albanian mafia allies in the media and music business will catapult artists to fame to make their success appear legitimate. Dirty mafia money is then presented as legitimate earnings from tickets and music sales. Rita Ora notoriously claimed that 60,000 people attended her concert in Zadar, Croatia, while footage shows fewer than 9,000 in attendance. 

3. Mainstream pop artists’ success is 100% organic.

Well, that’s that, then! Show’s over. Move along people, nothing to see here. 

It’s just pop music, right? Sure, it’s a satanic mind virus, produced by unscrupulous hebes and — let me check my notes — dorky Swedes, but surely there’s nothing more sinister about it. It’s crap, but at least not the kind of crap that affects me. I only listen to bands you’ve never heard of. Let the blacks, Jews, and Swedes scam the NPCs out of their money, see if I care. 

Wrong. 

In the case of performers who are actually fronts for the Mexican cartels or the Albanian mafia, it’s not about the money. It’s about sending a message, whether that message is “El Chapo Guzmán is awesome” or “Albanians are autochthonous in the various areas from where they ethnically cleansed other nations.” 

But it’s not even just a message. It’s about presenting dirty money as clean by engaging in a cargo cult of actual music production. Okay, that’s criminal gangs with a greater-scope political agenda, but surely the actual music business is not like that. Those guys are capitalists, right? They’re out to make money by commodifying the degeneracy of our age — making money on the way down, as they say on Wall Street, right? 

Please, for fuck’s sake, let the music industry be a known quantity motivated by greed. 

It may have been like that in the before-times. Here’s Frank Zappa in an interview: 

One thing that did happen in the 60s, was some music of an unusual and experimental nature did get recorded, did get released. The executives of the day were cigar-chomping old guys who looked at the product and said, “I don’t know. Who knows what it is? Record it, stick it out. If it sells, alright!”

We were better off with those guys, than we are with the supposedly hip, young executives, making decisions about what people should hear. The young guys are more conservative and more dangerous to the art form than the old guys with the cigars ever were.

Well, there you have it. Those greedy cigar-chompers — whom from Zappa’s brief imitation in the interview we can surmise were probably Jewish — were genuinely motivated by profit, and were willing to use jungle beats, nepotism, and autistic Swedes to gain profits. And like most profit-oriented businesses, they were willing to brook experimentality as long as the bread and butter of the business trucked along strongly enough to cover operating expenses and then some. 

But the young guys weren’t capitalists, or not merely capitalists. They were also curators of public taste. They weren’t there, in capitalist fashion, to offer a product for the masses to consume. They were there to inform public tastes, to shape and mold them. Did they profit from this financially? Probably. Did their enterprises profit? Certainly. Were they profitable? That’s a different question. What does “profitable” mean? 

A money-laundering front is a business that profits. It may even be profitable (the best are), but the two categories are different. A front profits regardless of its profitability, which is its ability to turn a profit in an open market. Would the front be profiting if it were a legitimate business? We have no way of knowing. A business that receives constant cash infusions from the criminal requiring money-laundering services has access to capital that a comparable business wouldn’t, which means that a comparable business cannot leverage that capital into better earnings, greater efficiency, greater economies of scale, and all of the other nice things lots of capital makes available to a business. 

However, the very idea of an open market is laughable once we realize that the people who run the music industry have never operated in a market where every other actor isn’t of their ethnic and religious group. As the rise of the notorious Rick Rubin shows, it doesn’t matter how good you are, or how good your product is, but who you know. And boy, these people know everyone who is everyone. 

So, really, what is profitability in this context? Business is always more about market access than the product, and the ultimate market access is the ability to compel the consumption of your product by force. That’s called being a government enterprise. The second best is to eliminate all your competitors, which is monopolism. The third best is to get together with your buddies and make sure nobody else can enter the market which is oligarchism. 

But this is Econ 101. We’re beyond this! There’s an even better way to secure market access and market dominance. 

The cigar-chomping guys were oligarchs. There were precious few of them and they ruthlessly excluded competitors. Each one of those cigar-chompers would have loved to be a monopolist. Their equally Jewish and managerial equivalents in the Soviet Union ran government enterprises producing music for a literal captive audience. But the hip, young executives who acted as curators of public tastes? They were way beyond mere oligarchy or monopoly. By systematic exclusion and inclusion of artists in the markets, they did not service demand as much as create it by constant repetition before the unwashed masses, as if it were a great boon from above. It wasn’t that the record company was cool because it produced cool music, but the music was cool because it came from the record company. And it didn’t make one bit of difference whether the cool, hip producers colluded with each other or merely shared an idea of cool. 

So, in fact, in our opening example, George Costanza is right and the NBC executive is wrong. You don’t watch shows because they’re good. You watch them because they’re on TV. Jerry Seinfeld made millions laying bare the Jewish psyche for the entire world to see. Jews understand very well that it doesn’t matter whether your product is good or bad, but what matters is that you’re in the market, and the best way to be in the market is to be the only game in town. 

But circling back to the issue of money laundering. 

If Dua Lipa can be inflated to stardom by serving as a money-laundering front for the Albanian mafia, we have to ask ourselves just how much of the music industry is bullshit. Dua Lipa’s rise is like Al Capone’s laundries becoming a Fortune 500 company. 

Now, that’s less likely, because laundry is a business with less room for bullshit. Either stains and smells are removed from clothing or not. But in music? Who’s to account for taste, especially manufactured taste? Back in the day, the main boosters and customers of music production houses were radio stations, often owned by these producers’ friends. Certainly, in later days, the owners and operators of those radios were the hip young guys who were concerned with molding the taste of the general public to their liking. Who’s to say that the production houses and radio networks didn’t just impose demand for their product upon an unsuspecting public by the means of repetitive earworms? 

And what about music sales? Don’t they mostly go through Apple and Spotify these days? The same Apple that is nothing more than a credit-extension scheme for Braeburn Capital, a hedge fund. Using Apple’s credit to gin up investment capital, Braeburn, a wholly-owned subsidiary of Apple, makes the real money in the financial markets, where money accrues to money. Other companies, ostensibly producing computers, software, or hell, maybe even toilet paper, have similar schemes. How do we know Apple turns a profit on selling music? There’s a lot of people making money out of music, but how many are actually turning a profit on selling music? Or are we back to the good old days of patronage where the way to make money off music — or indeed, any form of art — was to become the court artist of some great aristocrat, or maybe even the king or Pope himself. 

Back in the day, the point of music was to provide aesthetic enjoyment to the composer’s patron and to confer to him a degree of prestige that came with the patronage of great music. Assuming the music industry is bullshit from an economic perspective, i.e., it is as much of a money sink as music patronage was for old-time aristocrats, what is the point of the music business? Could it all be money laundering? 

Why would the elite launder money? But what if the money is there to represent something else, something that the elite needs to forge, and if it succeeds, it can will into existence? What if the financial success of the big production houses and the sales of their albums and hits and bullshit exists to provide proof positive that their product is genuinely popular. The fact that both sides of the transaction — both buyers and sellers — have a vested interest in making it appear popular is beyond economics. It becomes necessary for the proles to buy the notion that this is popular. So, crap music is made by negroes, hebes, and Swedes, and then incessantly played by radio stations and clubs until it’s so ubiquitous that it’s declared a hit. And then something magical happens. 

Because it is declared a hit, it becomes a hit. Most people, bless their hearts, like things because they’re popular. One aspect of this is conformity. But another aspect of it is that anything that is popular in this day and age and doesn’t simultaneously invite elite scorn is something that comes “from above,” as the old commie office workers used to say, something sanctioned by power. By virtue of being the thing sanctioned by power, it is a hit. Normal people genuinely like the things their masters want them to like. Women and weak men seem to externalize their judgment process to the tribal powers, given that their survival depends on not disturbing their consensus. 

Once again, Costanza gets it. They’re not watching it because it’s good. They’re watching it because it’s on TV. The trick is that it is good because it is on TV — because for these people, the notion of what is good is indistinguishable from what is on TV. 

Why bother with the whole song and dance of having a music industry, then, if we just live in a very roundabout patronage system — or more specifically, a very roundabout system of Soviet music production? But in the real world, systems aren’t designed. They arise out of previous circumstances and their development is governed by facts on the ground. The present system grew out of those hip dudes directing the public’s taste, which itself grew out of the system of Zappa’s cigar chompers who were willing to tolerate experimentally in exchange for profit, which itself grew out of the earlier system of conservatories and state philharmonics handling high art and musical bands handling low art, which grew out of the medieval system of court composers and wandering troubadours. 

At the tail end of the history of music production, we see Miley Cyrus and Dua Lipa in duet. One is a front for an evil organization that seeks the destruction of the West, the erosion of cultural norms, the eradication of white people, and the oblivion of all that is good and proper in the world.

The other launders money for the Albanian mafia. 

When we think of Jewish subversion of white cultures, or when we think of the proverbial culture of critique, we always imagine the Jew in the form of Grima Wormtongue, whispering evil and poison into the ear of white men to make them hate and doubt themselves, believing dangerous nonsense. We think of the Jew entering the halls of power and whispering in the King’s ear. We think of the Jew bypassing the guards and parapets of our civilization’s defenses where the Mongol and Arab failed. Somehow he must have fooled them. Somehow he must have fooled the King.

We get the idea of crypsis from the notion that the Jew will pretend to be white. “My fellow white people” is a popular meme that riffs on this notion.

The idea of the Jew pretending to be white with any degree of success, however, simply fails to pass the sniff test. Jews are very visibly racial outsiders and their outward appearance marks them out as such. So, the initial reading of crypsis as mimicry is wrong and we need a more sophisticated conception of it. From my own observations, I find that crypsis is an adaptation to an already weakened European conception of the outsider as a tribal and sociobilogical category, which is itself contingent on the European propensity for forming moral rather than kin-based communities. The “my fellow whites” shtick cannot and will not work on people who have a functioning concept of the outsider, and the very notion of a Jew attempting it on such people is laughable. But a people who’ve lost their instinctive sense of friend-enemy, or outsider-insider, distinction and replaced it with a roundabout, morals-based means of determining it — insider is he who believes, outsider is he who denies — can more readily be deceived with words.

When we think of Jewish subversion of white cultures, we need to think of Franz Boas coming in with his little clique of gargoyles and spreading junk science in the field of physical anthropology. How did he do it? Why was he allowed to enter academia and then attain a position of great authority? Why did Western scientists believe him, even though his supposed findings were obvious fabrications? It’s obvious in retrospect what he was doing, but somehow I imagine that it was obvious even at the time that Boas was not arguing in good faith but rather promulgating an evil, anti-white, anti-scientific agenda for the benefit of his own ethnic group. The reason he was able to infiltrate the white institution of physical anthropology and then work from within to turn it into a junk science was because white people had already lost their ability to recognize outsiders.

In light of this and countless other subversions, we need to develop a procedure for defending white society’s institutions from these types of infiltration and attack. We won’t be able to impose this procedure on broader society until such a time that we attain political power, but for the time being we can use it to protect our own movement from infiltration and subversion.

Let’s propose a simple scenario: Someone asks you a question, a simple question, or poses a critique of a certain part of the white identitarian worldview. Being on average well-meaning, earnest, and fair-minded white people who slant toward idealism, our first instinct is to earnestly answer the question. This is noble and the right thing to do among friends, but we must remember that it’s a big world out there, full of people who are not friends. So, unless we know the person who asks the question is asking in good faith and is motivated by a desire to learn about or improve the cause, our first response should itself be a question: “Why are you asking me this?”

Let’s expand our scenario. Instead of a question, someone utters a critical comment of a part of White Nationalist ideology. Do we immediately engage in discourse with this person, or do we probe his motives for critique? I understand that the instinct of fair-minded white people, especially Northwest Europeans, is to immediately engage in discourse and let the argument stand on its own legs, but this is painfully wrong. The presumption is always that the person critiquing is doing so in good faith: out of genuine doubt in the tenet, out of concern for the integrity of the ideology or argumentation, or out of genuine lack of understanding, but more often than not, enemies and outsiders problematize aspects of White Nationalism for a very simple reason: They oppose the ideology and aim to deconstruct it as part of their own agenda.

By now we are familiar with the ostensibly “based” brown, black, Jewish, or Asian person sidling up to White Nationalists and rattling off a list of reasons why it is “ekshully” bad, Leftist, untenable, immoral, low-status, et cetera, et cetera, and we should therefore adopt this other “based” ideology, whether it’s Catholic Integralism, Neo-Bolshevik Nietzscheanism, Jewish-dominated multiracial authoritarian hypercapitalism, good old neoconservatism (but BASED!), or worse yet, no ideology at all, just a vague and ill-defined opposition to “the ruling regime” or “the Satanic pedophile elites.” I myself have been very vigorous in deconstructing these various narratives and ideologies meant to divert energy away from white identitarianism and into dead-end, multiracial fantasies, but I find that there is a much simpler and easier way to brush off these distractions: Just ask their overwhelmingly non-white proponents why are they trying to sell these ideologies to white people.

It’s very clear to me why Curtis Yarvin (Jew), Ben Shapiro (Jew), Neema Parvini (Iranian), Gonzalo Lira (mestizo), Laura Loomer (Jew), Maajid Nawaz (Pakistani), and Darren Beattie (Jew) oppose White Nationalism. If the White Nationalist program were implemented in the countries where they currently live, they’d be deported to their lands of origin, at the very least. I don’t begrudge them this position, as I understand that even “based” non-whites consider access to white people to be a human right and are trying their darnedest to retain their positions in white countries, even as they may oppose some of the latest excesses of the West’s ruling class. Whatever objections they may have to the White Nationalist project must be scrutinized in light of their obviously alien nature.

We are ethnic nationalists, which means we believe that the basis of the friend-enemy, and more precisely, the insider-outsider distinction should be based on kinship and on blood relations between people, and as such we necessarily deem as outsiders all those who are not white. It’s important to note that this is a line drawn regardless of moral rectitude or fault. When I exclude a Jewish or Japanese man from my racial in-group, I do not do it because of anything he did, but because of what he is. In this sense, I can no more admit him into our political organization than I could enter the gigantic turtles of the Galapagos in a horse race.

Since our movement will, for better or worse, form the nascent political structure of the future white world order, the decisions we make now with regard to our organizational structure and methods of governance will in the future become the governing traditions and (small c) constitution of the regime to come. We must therefore think to the future and develop a procedural means of excluding non-white subverters from the tribal discourse. The tribal discourse here refers to the internal debates that a tribe, nation, or race (in the highest degree) holds about itself, the surrounding world, its place in the world, its past, its future, and its direction. Imagine the tribe gathering around the great campfire at night, or the tribal elders and headmen holding learned discussions in the grand council hall. Imagine the priests, shamans, and professors having their philosophers’ quarrels and the poets and dramatists delivering their verse to the gathered folk while the crafters, sculptors, painters, and filmmakers amaze the quivering crowd with their miraculous visions. The sum of all that and more is the tribal discourse in toto. And it is from that discourse that the outsider must be excluded, for the good of the tribe, lest the means by which signals travel from tribe to man are subverted and then become twisted into something evil and foreign.

Thus, when a racial outsider rudely barges into this discourse, the first thing that he must face is stern questioning as to what exactly he is hoping to accomplish by entering a conceptual space which is for white people only. “Why are you asking this?” “What are you trying to achieve?” Even if such discourse is on the Internet, among anonymous people who have no way of verifying each others’ racial identity, the notion itself must be brought forward whenever someone attacks White Nationalism or advances ideologies inimical to it: Why are you asking this? Are you white? What’s your definition of white? The last one is a good way to trip up Jews and mestizos online who’ll often claim to be as white as driven snow, according to a given (invalid) definition of white. We proceed, then, by excluding said non-white person from the discourse on procedural grounds. He has no place inserting himself into white people’s tribal discourse even if his stated concerns, if voiced by a white man, would be valid. We accept this because we are racial nationalists and we believe that rights and privileges are bound to the immutable facts of biology.

We can, of course, make provisions for those non-whites who’ve proven their utility and earnest intentions towards the white identitarian cause. They are usually the ones who will remain in their homelands, or if thrown into white lands by events outside of their control, recognize that their presence in white lands is an unnatural, extraordinary occurrence and thus make plans, or at least voice intentions, to return to their ancestral lands of origin. White Nationalists’ non-white allies will more often than not themselves be identitarian nationalists who recognize that their own race and nation suffers from the commixing of the Earth’s various human phenotypes into a single, featureless, and homogeneous brown goop. We do not oppose syncreticism here; indeed, we rather enjoy it. As an added precaution, the non-white allies we accept should primarily be from races and nations that have no historic animosity towards white people, or who’ve had their animosity beaten out of them.

In short, whenever we hear someone non-white objecting to White Nationalism, question his right to do so. White Nationalism is a white matter, to be discussed by white people. What could non-whites who stand to be ejected from white countries if the policies of White Nationalism are implemented possibly add to the discourse but subversion and lies? We must stop pretending that we live in a world of earnest men engaging in honest discourse and recognize that the swarthy hordes have no such conception of academic honesty as we do, and will shamelessly argue in bad faith in order to derail discourse and dampen our spirits. Instead of allowing their poison to drip in our ears, we should instead vigorously and unequivocally exclude them from the tribal discourse on the grounds that as non-whites, they have no right to participate in it. Just think how much time and effort could be saved if we simply dismiss their various lies and rhetorical tricks out of hand by pointing to their very obviously base motives and desire to continuing acting as parasites on white host nations.

Or, to put it as succinctly as possible, White Nationalists need to be more racist.

The enemy is not merely any competitor or just any partner of a conflict in general. He is also not the private adversary whom one hates. An enemy exists only when, at least potentially, one fighting collectivity of people confronts a similar collectivity.

— Carl Schmitt, Concept of the Political.

As you may have heard, there have been some riots lately. Some fat, diabetic criminal on drugs was arrested, and in the process of his arrest, apparently he died. Since the criminal in question was a lowest-unemployment-American, blacks have seen fit to set America on fire, loot and destroy businesses, and be a force for destruction in other ways, under the banner of the organization known as Black Lives Matter. They’ve been helped by white and “fellow-white” anarchists and communists in the terror organization known as Antifa. It’s, as the kids are fond of saying, all so tiresome.

Like any good story of strife and struggle, this one has masterful comic relief. And lo and behold, the cuckservatives and alt-lite have provided the much needed, Danny DeVito-voiced slapstick which passes for political thought in Cuckland. If the clowns are to believed, those evil Antifa fascists (very clever, baduhuhu) have hijacked the peaceful and sainted BLM protests over the unlawful death of community leader George Floyd. What’s more, the boogaloo white supreeemists are behind the most serious of the violence, right?

Besides, the violence, whomever it comes from, is self-defeating. See, if the rioters and protestors really cared about black lives, they’d ask for more police and more vigorous policing because, get this, the number one killer of blacks is other blacks! And only the much-maligned racist police can save the blacks from themselves, so by protesting the police, BLM, Antifa, and the Democrats are leading to more black deaths which makes them, wait for it. . . ding ding ding! DA REAL RACISTS! Cue trumpets, parade floats, confetti. My, my, what a finish, what a rhetorical flourish, what an absolute triumph of analysis! Bells, whistles, positive noise, likes, shares, subscribes, shekels!

This is, I guess, the best of the analysis we can expect from people who think that the problems of modernity stem from incomplete application of the ideas of English liberalism, which includes vast swathes not only of the cuckservative and alt-lite spectrum, but also a non-insignificant minority of people on this side of the great divide. I can hardly blame them. Most of the important steps you need to take in order to fully reject modernity lead through the dark woods of German idealist philosophy which for the English-only speaker means reading translations which try to shoehorn the German language’s large, Jörmungandroid sentences into the frilly simplicity of demotic Anglo-Saxon. Either that or learn German, which is anathema to the Anglosphere. After all, if it weren’t for Britain and America, us ungrateful Eurotrash would be speaking German now.

Really though, those krauts are not to be trusted. Reading them too closely will convince you that black power-plays against the white regime are non-pathological and natural for the young, healthy Negro unwilling to be uncle Tom to white sensibilities and standards. And reading the literal Nazi Carl Schmitt will disabuse you of the notion that BLM, Antifa, and the Democrats are the real racists.

As you should already know, but I’ll repeat anyway, Schmitt’s friend/enemy distinction does not apply to private conflicts. Schmitt here draws our attention to the difference between hostis and inimicus, which both mean enemy, but the first is an enemy in the public sense (enemy of the collectivity or polity), whereas the other is a private foe, a rival. Plato, in his Republic, differentiates between polémios (πολέμῐος) and echthros (εχθρός). If Keeshawn wants to pop a cap in Tyrone’s ass, because Tyrone is in possession of a fine pair of sports shoes and furthermore, has made moves on Keeshawn’s bitch LaTrine whilst claiming that Keeshawn’s mama so fat, when her beeper goes off, people think she’s finna reverse, then Tyrone is the inimicus, the echthros of Keeshawn, for all their disagreements are private.

Furthermore, these disputes are the product of a shared culture wherein sports shoes and ratchet ghetto hoes signal high status, and staying chill while some punk-ass mothafucka talks shit about yo moms signals low status. However, if the po-pos catch Keeshawn in the act of smoking dat bitch-ass nigga Tyrone, and reasserting his authority over (i. e. beating) LaTrine, and attempt to put an end to his independence-affirming (brazen) quest for self-actualization (crime spree), then the po-pos fall clearly in the hostis/polémios category, for in attempting to bring Keeshawn to heel, they’re disrupting the natural power dynamics of the ghetto and are, as such, assailing the black collectivity in their function as the enforcement arm of a white collectivity — even though the cops in question might be nonwhite, as was the case in the killing of George Floyd. In fact, killing Keeshawn for disciplining his two-timing ho and deadin’ the muthafucka she stepped out with is a thousand times worse than a thousand Keeshawns killing a thousand Tyrones and beating a thousand LaTrines to death because it is a flex by white society over black society — you will follow our law, or else! It is an imposition of suzerainty of whites over blacks. Or, in other words, a declaration of war. By this declaration of war, the white collectivity places himself squarely in the position of hostis; in deep ebonics, racism.

When the blacks chant “Black Lives Matter,” they do not mean “We want fewer black deaths.” “Fewer black deaths” sounds like a white bourgeois’ ideas of what black people want, because the white bourgeois ultimately sees the black as himself in a dark mirror. See, what the Negro really wants is a comfortable, soft existence working at a gigacorp, or owning a small business, but he is prevented from taking this path in life by sinister forces. The goodwhite Left bourgeois imagines that the Negro would be just like him, if only we got rid of systemic racism and the badwhites. The cuckservative/alt-lite Right bourgeois imagines that the negro would be just like him, if only we got rid of the welfare state and those racist Antifa inciters to violence. “Fewer black deaths” is the interpretation of someone who fears death and considers a long, peaceful life to be the ultimate good.

Rather than “fewer black deaths,” Black Lives Matter means “honkeys out of the ghetto.” Especially the police, who are the enforcement arm of Honkey’s Law. Blacks are asserting their independence, as a collectivity, from the white man and his notions of society. They are doing so with a combination of direct violence, lawfare, and intrigue, in the form of collaboration with white traitors and fellow-whites. Literal Nazi Carl Schmitt has pointed out that Carl von Clausewitz did not claim that “war is the continuation of politics by other means,” but rather “war is nothing but the continuation of political intercourse with a mixture of other means.” In other words, politics do not cease when war has started, but war is a subset of politics. Open war — even low-level civil war as is currently occurring in America — is merely one front of the political intercourse between black and white, between heritage American and fellow white, between white loyalist and white traitor. In other words, the friend/enemy distinction precedes war. The enemy isn’t he who burns down your shop (inimicus), but he who seeks to deny you your homeland or deny your people suzerainty over his (hostis). This can be a buck jogger running wild, out for your goods, head, and womenfolk, or it can be a nebbish fellow white with a law degree diligently working towards your dispossession and disarmament in the halls of the Imperial bureaucracy. These riots won’t lead to race war. They are just the continuation of the ongoing racial conflict with a mixture of other means; the other means being looting, burning, murder, and rape.

I’ve made my prescription for what America should do with the blacks clear some time ago.  Kill ‘em all, ship ‘em to Africa, or capitulate. Without getting into the morality of the three choices, they are the only three solutions that will put a permanent end to the white-black conflict on the North American continent. Ship ‘em to Africa is my personal favorite, but it seems America is opting for capitulation. Someone on Twitter said that America’s failure to act decisively in this ongoing conflict will have significant geopolitical ramifications. To which I responded: break out the geopolitical marshmallows.

But no matter how much hate I bear the regime in Washington, I cannot for the life of me hate the white American against whose will the empire acts. So, I caution you to keep safe, arm yourself and your family, and organize with your neighbors for common defense. The police will probably abandon you. The state would rather you just went away already. Get out of the cities. Get away from the hostis. And, as the good book says, love thy inimicus, for that piece of shit might just save your life someday.

Keep your powder dry, Yanks, and God be with you.

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I’m sure by now you’ve heard of Q. A member of the United States government with Q-level clearance, who posts on /pol/ with a tripcode to keep anons appraised on the implementation of “The Plan,” which he reveals in vague, cryptic sentences, but bright heads have concluded to provide for the arrest of Hillary Clinton and other persons deserving of arrest, as well as draining the swamp, defeating the deep state, et cetera, a plan long in the making by so-called good guys in the government, to be implemented against a vast left-wing conspiracy to destroy the US. He doesn’t really want much of you — he just implores you to trust the plan. Sessions will be activated any day now. Of course, Q also drops false info because black hats — bad guys — are listening in. Who the hell knows. It’s very cloak and dagger.

Is the snark excessive? I think it should be evident from the above paragraph that I’m a Q skeptic. Still, I’ve never shied away from a riveting whodunit. Well, except it’s not exactly a whodunit. We already more or less know whodunit. It’s more accurately described as a howcatchem, a boilerplate plot of decidedly low-brow American television which has regretfully been replicated by many European production houses. My veddy, veddy patrician eyebrows furrow in disdain. Our reptilian overlords have turned the simulation into an episode of The X Files.

Predictably, boomers, as befits contemptible consumers of degenerate television and loyal MAGApedes have lapped it up and are now wearing QAnon shirts to Trump rallies. I guess it is comforting to them to believe that there are good guys in government who will lock the black hats up.

But on with the show. The premise is this: There existed a 16-year plan to destroy America(!), cooked up by The Cabal of globalist satanists, including but not limited to George Soros (!), John Podesta (!!!), the CIA (!!!) and the Muellers, Rosensteins, Comeys, Pages and McCabes in the FBI and DOJ. Phase 1 was Obama, who was to weaken America and subvert her good. Phase 2 was Hillary, who was to carve poor ol’ ‘murica like a turkey.

Problem is, the globalist satanists forget that ‘murica ain’t no turkey, but a beautiful bald eagle of freedom (eagle caws in the distance). Good guys in the government, chiefly very smart generals from Military Intelligence and the NSA have made A Plan which is in the process of being implemented. Step 1 was electing Trump, who is an agent of the very smart good guy generals. Step 2 is declassifying the evidence a good guy attorney general would need to drain the swamp and lock the bad guys up. Step 3 is actually doing that.

Every time you think Trump is bogged down, that the swamp is draining him, that’s just 4d chess. You see, General Flynn, who’s in on the Q-coup (Qoup?), admitted a bunch of fake crimes in order to declassify data through a process called “greymail,” which is to say, declassifying data due to its entering the public record as evidence in a criminal trial. Once enough data is declassified, the very smart generals will Activate Sessions (which has as of recently been interpreted to mean dump Sessions and appoint Whittaker), who will lock ’em up. Good guys win, bad guys lose, ‘murica (fuck yeah).

Da Plan was supposed to somehow bear fruition on 11.11.2018. There was speculation that Q’s right-wing death squads of justice would descend upon the country and purge it of the ne’er-do-wells, Clintonoids, globalists, satanists, pedophiles, and assorted bad guys. Obviously, nothing happened, but that never stopped a good doomsday cult. The Qanon knowers are out there, knowing agent Mulder-like that Good Guys have a grip on things, and that the 11.11 date was meant to throw off the Bad Guys!

Well, the jig’s up, Q. We don’t need your fantasy scenarios. And yes, we’re more stolid than we were before the beard.

As I said, I don’t believe in QAnon. I don’t know if Q is actually Neon Revolt, concocting a convoluted scheme to sell shitty hats and shirts; an elaborate psyop concocted by the feds in order to have some unhinged boomer assassinate Mueller or other anti-luminaries of the deep state (and this generation of Herostratuses in waiting is very capable of such insanity); or just some guy trolling. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter to the Dissident Right whether it’s true or not. Even if real, Q is not our guy.

Who are the good guys in the Q narrative? Who are the bad guys of the Q narrative?

It’s a story of Good Guys (Pentagon, Military Intelligence, NSA, Israel and mostly Republicans, including Trump) vs. Bad Guys (CIA, FBI, Red China, US Department of State, and mostly Democrats).

Do you notice a pattern here?

If, like me, you came to the dissident right through neoreaction, you’ll recognize the battle lines quite clearly. Q is describing the conflict between what Mencius Moldbug called the Red Empire and the Blue Empire.

Moldbug’s thesis is pretty simple. Due to the diffusion of power within the US government, it is not actually a single state actor, but two: the Red Empire, consisting of the Pentagon, the NSA, the Chamber of Commerce, M-I complex, and some of Wall Street, vs. the Blue Empire, consisting of the US State Department, the universities, media, Hollywood, Silicon Valley, most of Wall Street, and a little bit of everything else. These two forces are engaged in a cold war against one another.

They also have various overseas satrapies. The lands of Western Europe are bar none, satrapies of the Blue Empire, whereas the Red Empire has client states in Israel, Pakistan, Japan, Indonesia, Taiwan and South Korea. Red China is an interesting case of a Blue Empire satrapy which became independent, but still caucuses with the Blue Empire for old times’ sake and other interests, at least some of the time.

I think that it’s quite clear that Q, if he speaks the truth, is an agent of the Red Empire and that the past 10 years have seen a warming of the cold war between Foggy Bottom and Arlington. The Blue Empire tried to wipe out the Red with a one-two Obama/Hillary punch, overextended itself and got schlonged with a golden-haired pussy-grabber in the Oval Office.

Now, under the Trump presidency, the Red Empire is preparing to wipe out the Blue Empire, or perhaps deal it a blow so heavy that the Blues won’t be able to recover. Maybe they’ll succeed. The Blue Empire’s superstructure for the governing of the European continent, known as the EU is tearing at the seams. Maybe the Trump election bloodied the nose of the Blue Empire and its enemies in Europe can smell the blood in the water.

Do you believe in coinkidink?

I don’t.

It’s easy to fall into this trap of thinking that the enemy of your enemy is your friend. Among the merry band of wrongthinkers I communicate with, the idea often crops up that whatever ill befalls the Blue Empire is good for us. Per analogiam with South Park’s Matt Stone, we hate conservatives but we really fucking hate liberals.

But it’s easy to forget that the conservatives, the Red Empire aren’t the good guys.

We don’t support interventionism, Israel, cheap labor and low taxes for Chamber of Commerce types, or anything else the Red Empire wants. Let’s not forget that the Red Empire has no problem with white replacement. They can go play Caesar with brown soldiers just as well. In fact, they might prefer them — I doubt PFC Retardez will grumble about not signing up to guard the Euphrates rather than the Rio Grande.

Of course, the Boomers looove the Red Empire. So do the normie-cons, in fact, Red Empire ideology is the right for normie-cons. But the Dissident Rightist would be well warned not to rejoice over one faction of the ruling class triumphing over the other.

Which brings us to the question of why Q? What’s the point of this thing, if true? I suspect the Red Empire wants to use us as, as the prophetic Sargon of Akkad called us, huwhite naggers, which is to say, in the same manner in which the Blue Empire has used the naggers classic — as a battering ram against the social consensus.

If the Q narrative is true, we’ve already done a good deal of free work for them. The Blue Empire is apoplectic over the election of Trump, for religious reasons. We helped elect the brave boy, and they’re pissed. Some of the heat that’s usually saved for the Red Empire is directed towards us and our very existence makes the blues act crazy. That means mistakes and bad optics. Maybe Q is there to keep tabs on us. To poke us and observe our reactions. Maybe he’s trying to build an army out of the Dissident Right by convincing us that he and the Red Empire are on our side.

Do you believe in powerful friends?

Suppose Q and Trump and the very clever generals succeed, lock her up and root out the globalist satanist pedophile cabal (aka the Blue Empire). What do you think will happen next? Well, obviously, a Red Empire-dominated government would purge the shit out of us. Remember that these are people who base their existence on interventionism, Israel, open borders, free trade and corporatism — all tenets which the Dissident Right opposes (with a vengeance). They’ll probably purge the shit out of us. Bear in mind that these are military types. The Blue Empire deplatforms. The Red Empire runs drone sorties.

Unfortunately, the Deep State must be defeated in its entirety, both its Right and Left wing have to be broken, both empires destroyed before a sane, pro-heritage American government can be installed in the US and non-satrapic governments can emerge elsewhere. Q will not fight this battle for us.

I remain a Q skeptic. I don’t think Q is who he says he is. But if he speaks the truth, then we’re in for interesting times ahead. If the cold war between the two empires on the Potomac heats up, the entire world will be up for grabs, and whoever wins will finish us off after the conflict.

Do you believe in doomsday scenarios?

Say what you want about white nationalists, they play life on the highest difficulty.

— Some leftoid on twitter dot com

If you read Leftist and conservative treatments of why people join terrorist organizations like Al-Qaeda or ISIS, you see a lot of hand-wringing about poverty, lack of education, lack of opportunity, et cetera. If you look at what the CCP leadership say about the young Uyghur Muslims turning to radical Islam, you’ll notice the same screed about lack of opportunity, superstition, and poverty, only in Marxist rather than liberal packaging. Finally, while White Nationalism and the broader Dissident Right are not criminal or terrorist groups, you’ll notice that the authorities, conservatives, Leftists, centrists, et al assume the same about us: we believe what we believe because of poverty, lack of education, lack of opportunity. Oh sure, they give us a negative moral valence — lack of education becomes “ignorance” and poverty and lack of opportunity signify that we’re “losers,” but it’s the same thing. If only we weren’t stupid, poor, uneducated, unsuccessful with women, etc., we’d join the rest of the world in the glorious multiculti gender-nonbinary fuckpile. 

However, a review of the membership of Al-Qaeda, ISIS, Uyghur radical groups, and the Dissident Right reveal the upper and upper-middle classes of their respective societies. People who were born with every privilege, who had access to the best education, and who would have wanted for nothing, if not for their seemingly irrational foray into politics inimical to the ruling regime. The radical must be crazy to throw away an opportunity to coast his way to high positions in society, all for what? For an Ummah that is becoming as degenerate as the infidel West? For a people that won’t fight to save themselves?

What do you give the man who has everything, or at least every comfort? Why, you give him want. You give him suffering. You take his comforts away and you punch him in the face. You drag him through the street covered in shit and blood and you call him a racist. You give him what he has never tasted: struggle. 

Man, especially upper-class man, is a creature that craves struggle. Struggle is one of the few things that give life meaning. Conscientious and dutiful man has to defend his own existence before the harsh judgment of his own conscience. I think of all the food, water, heat, and clothing which have gone towards my upkeep, all the labor, all the ingenuity. What is the point of all this? Why do I live? Why not avoid the indignities of old age and put a bullet in my head before I reach the dreaded age of thirty? The answer is so simple that it stupefies most people: the cause. 

I shudder to think what I’d be like without the cause. Probably an alcoholic by now, or maybe on harder drugs, maybe dead. On the other hand, I might be more comfortable, with nothing but the feeling of absolute meaninglessness and dread haunting me during the day. When we think of existential dread, we usually associate it with rainy days or inclement weather, but there’s no feeling quite like cold alienation under the scorching Mediterranean sun, when there’s no respite even in the shade and all the foul smells of a modern city are amplified. Many people who knew me from the period of my education discuss me with the hushed tones usually reserved for a dying man. They say that I threw my life away. That is one way of looking at it. Another way would be to say that I’m the only one of my old friends genuinely living. 

The life of the White Nationalist is anything but boring, especially if you’re open about your commitment to white identitarianism. It’s certainly very fun at parties. Due to corona restrictions, I’ve not had many chances to test it out, but announcing myself as a racist YouTuber and content creator has garnered some very interesting moments. Because the government insists upon treating us like criminals, keeping your communications secure and your organizations free of infiltrators occupies a great percentage of your mental and physical resources. You’ve got to learn to read and judge people by their body language, their facial expressions, their behavior, and ultimately, their physiognomy. The sensation of being surrounded by enemies is hugely diverting from those old existential fears. So, it stands to reason that those who crave struggle would flock to our banner, right? 

Wrong. 

The West is so far removed from real struggle that a decadent Westerner can very easily deceive himself into believing that his fantasies of struggle are genuine struggle. Hence, Leftists, blacks, environmentalists, and Antifa who genuinely believe themselves to be fighting the system, all while financed by and protected by that very same system. 

But wait, there’s more! 

Say you’re not crazy enough to hallucinate imaginary white supremacists in the government. Why not take The Purple Pill™? Experience all the positive sensations of struggle from the safety of the Overton window. 

So, it’s not about struggle, is it? Our society is structured in such a way that your will to struggle can be satisfied without threat to the system or even to yourself. All you really have to do is say a few magic words and let the vast human capacity for self-deception do the rest. You’ll be fighting phantoms and apparitions in no time. You might even have a few wounds on you to prove that the struggle is real. That you inflicted those wounds on yourself in your mad struggle against phantoms is irrelevant — if your pain is real, the struggle is real. 

If it’s not about struggle, what is it about? What possesses otherwise rational, educated young men with prospects and options to join the Dissident Right? The option of the surrogate struggle is better than the real thing. What gives? 

A lot of our guys are former libertarians. Now, there are two big reasons for that. Firstly, libertarianism is about as close as you can get to the genuine Right without leaving the liberal paradigm. The second reason is the existence of transitional figures like Hans-Hermann Hoppe who have one foot in liberalism and one beyond the pale of liberal thinking. By exploring the thinking of these figures, libertarians cross over to the Dissident Right. But the deeper reason is that libertarianism is an example of a purple pill, a half-truth that gives you a semblance of struggle from the safety of the Overton window. It was also by far the best struggle surrogate on the market until the emergence of the alt-lite. There is a type of man who develops a tolerance for the purple pill after taking it for very long, one who comes to realize that struggle surrogate isn’t real struggle. As Tony Soprano would put it, if you can’t lose, what’s the point? 

This is not to imply that conservatives, libertarians, or other practitioners of surrogate struggle can’t lose. They just have a reserve option: bend the knee, or flee the battlefield, and they’ll usually survive the clash with the system. The nature of the Dissident Right means that for us, there will be no quarter given, no mercy when the steamroller of the progressive Left comes for us, even if we do beg for mercy. It’s probably got something to do with the Jew thing. 

So, the will to struggle is actually a will to death, because only the risk of death can affirm that yes, we are engaged in real struggle and only that can sate the great yearning. Problems solved, right? We are the movement that looks death in the eyes and doesn’t blink. With men like that, how can we lose? 

Wrong again. 

Imagine you’re a White Nationalist activist. You have a show on the internet where you discuss our issues. It’s going okay. You’re developing a small following. You hear from a friend that there’s a group of young guys who are your fans in another town. You’re elated and start talking to them over the internet. They seem okay, maybe a little on the rowdy side, but they’re young, it’s expected of them. You arrange an event in that town, ostensibly as part of a political maneuver, but in fact it’s because you want to meet those guys. You’re expecting a group of Ernst Jüngers to greet you. 

You find a bunch of weirdos who can’t stop talking about starting a revolution. 

One of them vibes like an actual schizophrenic. No, these guys aren’t agents, you double and triple checked them. You tell them that armed insurgency isn’t the path forward and furthermore, directly antagonizing policemen and soldiers will do damage to our cause. Their faces suddenly change — they declare you a cuck, a softie. They demand you call for a violent uprising on your show; otherwise, you’re a cuck. They feel so betrayed that they start an online campaign against you that lasts to this very day. Gradually you realize that these guys aren’t LARPers, or even stupid. These guys do not seek struggle, nor victory. They seek self-destruction. And as time goes by, you start seeing in yourself that same demonic will to self-destruction, and start wondering if your entire engagement with dissident politics isn’t just a long, dramatic, and roundabout suicide-by-cop. “No, it can’t be, I live for the struggle,” you say, and then you remember that you’re often suicidal and that you often have fantasies of dying heroically in struggle against the enemy. 

Maybe it’s the old Mishima thing Andrew Joyce observed. He focuses too much on the homosexual aspect (although anyone who has read Confessions of a Mask cannot deny that Mishima seems sexually excited at the prospect of his own destruction), but what I’m more interested in is the yearning for self-destruction exhibited by many Dissident Rightists in a non-sexual sense. For many, being hated and hounded by the system is precisely what attracts them to the Dissident Right. They want to be Nazis precisely because the current morality deems it morally justified to punch, persecute, deplatform, fire, and ultimately kill Nazis. There’s a little bit of the sociopathic urge to be notorious and feared at play, but far stronger is the will to self-destruction. This will to self-destruction exists because it is the ultimate act of independence and self-actualization in the egotistic and thanatophobic modern world where a long life is the ultimate good. But this self-destruction cannot take the form of your bog-standard suicide, because suicide is destigmatized and excused and suicides are pitied. No, the destruction of the self must come at the tail end of a grand epic of self-denial so that the self may be actualized. 

When I wrote my essay on the Jew thing, I opined that the anti- and counter-Semitism of the Dissident Right have kept us safe from Jewish infiltration and subversion, though we’ve yet to come up with a solution to the retard and psycho questions. I believe that this article can help resolve the psycho question. There’s no shame in loving the struggle, but the struggle must not be self-serving. It must not be driven by the ego. There has to be genuine self-denial, including denial of the urge to glorious and epic self-destruction that seems to fuel so much of our thing. Many claim to be ready to die. Instead, I ask you, are you ready to become an old man? Are you prepared to live for the cause? Are you prepared to foreswear your fantasy of the last stand? Are you prepared to win, even if the cost is gradual and Fabian wearing down of the enemy while denying him open combat? 

Now, I understand that the urge to die is not merely pathological, but representative of honor culture that still survives in fits and starts among Europeans, more often in the Dissident Right than in other places. But we must understand that there is a sin of excess corresponding to the virtues of honor and selflessness, which is the urge to self-destruction. So, to help us solve the psycho problem, start with yourself and purge yourself of this sin. Run through those questions. To give the right answers to the questions posed is to be a genuine warrior for good rather than a narcissist seeking glorious self-destruction. 

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One of the words that has recently seen a lot of use, but I fear is insufficiently analyzed, is “deradicalization.” On its face, it’s self-evident: It refers to the process of abandoning radical beliefs for more moderate ones and adjusting one’s political direction and activism accordingly.

When we say something is a deradicalization op, we mean that this is an operation by any group of enemies aimed at effecting deradicalization of radical white identitarians and Right-wingers, particularly on the Internet. This only scratches the surface of deradicalization as a social and political phenomenon, however. I will therefore endeavor in the following article to broaden the scope of activities we can accurately describe as deradicalization.

Note that in what follows, I will be using the term radical in the sense of someone who seeks to address the root issues in politics. In this sense, the radical is not an extremist and indeed, a dose of radicalism can be an antidote to extremism, as discussed by Josh Neal in American Extremist. A brief summary of the concept can also be found in this episode of The Writers’ Bloc.

The classic deradicalization scenario involves a young man who is already radical in his views encountering a new influence, whether online or in real life, which poses as friendly, but is in fact primarily concerned with making the young man turn away from radical politics and its associated beliefs and activism. Further, this influence will try to steer him towards politics which are more palatable to the political mainstream and easier to instrumentalize for its power brokers. It necessarily entails leading the young man away from radical politics, which is to say away from a politics which seeks to address the root causes of societal problems, and to turn him towards surface-level politics and which are therefore less effective at addressing root causes.

I want to make clear that this is not another tired rehash of the so-called optics question. In fact, a popular deradicalization tactic is to appeal to optics and presentability when one is in fact attempting to debate issues of ideology rather than of presentation. Optics is about grooming, eloquence, and dressmaking, whereas ideology is ideology, and compromise on ideology for the purpose of gathering a greater mass of people is itself “bad optics,” as the masses can easily smell weakness and lack of confidence. The man who moderates his radicalism in the name of gaining a bigger audience will do nothing but alienate those who already follow him.

Since the deradicalizer seeks to drive the young man away from the radical and into the superficial, he cannot appeal to reason or facts in order to do so. Rather, he must use emotional, often hurtful language in his manipulation. He will (correctly) point out that engaging in radical politics leads to lessened social status for the dissident, and then encourage status anxiety in people so that they may feel emotionally prepared to abandon radical politics altogether. He will alternately use insults — often those popular with the Left, such as “incel,” the indispensable “wignat,” or even some old-school ones like “scum” and “white trash” — and signal his own (often feigned) higher social status.

Deradicalizers will also attempt to gaslight people, making them believe they are political radicals because they are mentally unwell, which often dovetails nicely with the “incel” slur. Lonely young men who are unlucky in love (primarily because they are young and inexperienced with women) are especially vulnerable to this combination of gaslighting and slurs. The deradicalizer here benefits from Leftist hegemony over the culture, which dictates that the worth of a man is measured chiefly by the number of women he’s bedded, and will use the anxiety this false cultural trope engenders, especially in younger men. The deradicalizer is not above outright lies and promoting wishful thinking: in fact, it is one of the most famous deradicalization ops is the QAnon cult, which is built almost entirely on wishful thinking.

When everything else fails, the deradicalizer will fall back to questioning the viability of radical politics, pointing out (correctly) that the vast majority of people are not radicals, and therefore only moderation can reach them. This assumption, of course, puts the cart before the horse and posits a scenario where the radicals — a form of cultural and political vanguard elite — should follow the masses rather than the other way around. Indeed, the success of radical politics comes from being ahead of the curve, of the masses, mainstream thinkers, and activists slowly adopting the positions of the vanguard of some years ago. Many have pointed out that there are a significant number of GOP senatorial and congressional candidates in America whose platform is essentially the Alt Right platform from 2015-2017. Precisely because he has launched a status-anxiety type of attack on the young dissident, however, the deradicalizer blinds him to this state of affairs, because in engendering or encouraging status anxiety in the dissident the deradicalizer has made it impossible for him see himself as part of a dissident elite.

This deception ultimately rests upon an obscuring of the difference between power and status. The deradicalization operatives, especially those which intend to demoralize radicals by slandering them as low in status, will correctly point out that the dissident is the lowest status member of any given system, but will then deceive by obscuring the difference between within-system power, which is derived from within-system status, and power qua power, which derives from material, if not as easily quantified facts such as strength, charisma, wealth, intellect, numbers, influence, courage, conviction, correctness, integrity, and honor.

This is just one part of deradicalization, however. If a dissident is effectively gaslit into believing he is low-status, powerless, stupid, and that radical politics is a dead end, he will not immediately deradicalize but will rather, as the kids like to say, “black-pill” and “seethe and cope” in the dark corners of the Internet. Even in this reduced state, he is still a reservoir of radical thought and action, especially seeing as, contrary to the deradicalizers’ lies, dissidents and radicals in the West tend to be the best of people, those who, like the proverbial Roman guard at Pompeii, will die at their posts because nobody thought to relieve them. Even when black-pilled and depressed beyond belief, radical politics sustains a man because it provides meaning to his existence, and having meaning in the modern world may as well be a super power. To that end, organizations and ideologies must be set up for the demoralized radical to escape into.

I want to clarify that I’m not talking about so-called gatekeepers, i.e. people and organizations which exist to prevent moderates, mainstream thinkers, and activists from coming into radical thought-space. Gatekeepers tend to be quite obvious once you’ve gone through the gate: They’re the ones who told you not to go through. Rather, the deradicalizers are those who are on the other side and are beckoning you to go back, either with the hope of infiltrating and subverting the mainstream or by spreading false ideologies that are meant to defeat, or at least disarm, radical ideologies. The gatekeepers and deradicalizers may nevertheless share rhetoric — both will rail against wignats and question the dissident’s social status — ideological bent, and ultimately, a center which directs activities (from which flow their similarities), or as we say in Macedonia, they both fart into the same pumpkin.

An organization may serve both purposes and wear a different face for different people coming from different directions. For the earnest mainstream activist moving rightward on his quest for the root causes of societal ills, the organization will pose as the be-all, end-all of radicalism. For the disillusioned and gaslit radical, trying to return to the center, it will wear a mask of sanity and that of the cool kids’ club. These organizations will often be infested with so-called edgelords at the top — people who think they’re radical because they can get a shock out of normies when they talk about muscular civic nationalism. As always, bear in mind that such controlled opposition is likelier to be mind-controlled, while not forgetting that bought-and-paid-for opposition also exists.

To conclude our exploration of the deradicalization phenomenon, I’d like to turn your attention to the very successful deradicalization campaign which was effectuated in the Russian Federation against the skinhead, National Socialist, and ethnonationalist groups which sprung up there in the late 1990s and early 2000s. Emboldened by its victories in the Second Chechen War, its cash influx due to record oil prices, and its long sought-after international recognition during the War on Terror, the Putin regime sought to bring the unruly yet healthful instincts of the Russian youth to heel.

In part driven by Maxim Martsinkevich Tesak’s cultural activism, young Russians began organizing themselves into political organizations which were identitarian, ideologically radical Right, and with a strong emphasis on fraternity among their members. In response, the Kremlin regime, which is an authoritarian civic nationalist government, organized a youth organization called Nashi — Nashi means “ours” — which acted to crowd out the Russian ethnic nationalist movement and redirect the Russian youth’s nationalist impulses, their anti-degeneracy impulses, into support for authoritarian civic nationalism — essentially, to co-opt nationalist energies for the center-Right.

All the while, the Kremlin regime acted to hunt down, arrest, and ultimately murder Russian skinheads, National Socialists, and ethnic nationalists, just as Nashi hoovered up all the far Right’s energy. This “antifascist democratic youth movement” posed as edgy Putinists who opposed skinheads, ethnonationalists, liberals, and European-style government in equal measure. They were the Komsomol of the Good Times Russian Federation (2000-2014), linked to the ruling United Russia party, freely dispensing parties and drugs to the youth, and even more importantly, forming a patronage network for the young to enter Russian government positions. Nashi’s carrot was a counterpart of the stick embodied in Article 282 of the Russian criminal code: incitement to racial or ethnic hatred. It was very effective. Many Russian nationalists fled from this combined attack to Ukraine, where they are now fighting against the Kremlin regime as part of the Azov battalion, all while being slandered as Jewish puppets by Russia’s authoritarian multiethnic occupation government and its Western agents and useful idiots.

The ultimate deradicalization danger comes out of an organization or ideology that is similar to what the Alt Lite was, but bereft of that group’s self-destructive impulses. What could have been achieved if Gavin McInnes had had the wherewithal not to sodomize himself with a dildo live on the Internet, if Lauren Southern’s dalliances with Hope Not Hate had not come to the fore, or if Mike Cernovich weren’t a repulsive slime mold with an annoying speech impediment? What if, like Nashi in Putin’s Russia, the controlled opposition was charismatic and competent? I shudder to think. Even as we speak, the enemy organizes pied pipers and attempts to gaslight young men into abandoning dissident politics, encouraging them to lose sight of the core issues of our day: demographic replacement, rule by hostile racial aliens, and collapse of traditional culture and fertility. They’d much rather we fret over the problems’ superficial symptoms and forge a multiethnic coalition against The Latest Excess of Librulism.™ They’ll spread all kinds of lies, including the false notion that Chinese, Mexicans, Indians, and Arabs are somehow “based” because they hate blacks and gays, neglecting to mention that they also deeply resent white men and lust after white women.

Such an organization will manage to peel some people off, but if we are vigilant for such ops and inoculate radicals against their poisonous influence, we can not only mitigate the damage but also emerge stronger from the conflict with such an organization. The first step is steeling yourself against their lies and manipulations. Whenever you find yourself under such a gaslighting attack, remember the mantra: You’re not crazy, you’re not stupid, and you’re not alone.

Consider the human immune system — not from an academic or scientific standpoint, but from a very practical and goal-oriented point of view; the goal in question being the continued health of the human. The body seals itself off from the outside world with a strong wall, known as the skin, and only communicates with it through highly specialized ports — the bodily orifices. These ports are often veritable gauntlets of obstacles to any would-be intruders, to make sure that nothing but air passes through the windpipe and nothing but food goes through the esophagus. And in the event that hostile outsiders do break in, the human immune system will dispatch armed killers, known as leukocytes, or white blood cells, to isolate, destroy and completely scrub the invaders. The body will also raise its temperature in order to mobilize the leukocytes and sweat out the invaders (literally boil them alive) — in effect, declaring a state of emergency.

Now, consider that most of what makes a human happens not at the individual level, or at the level of the body, but is the result of processes in the human brain. Not even one brain, but the synergistic processes of many brains which are bound together in a coherent group, and which act together with a similar purpose. Consider that humans do not need to have a dog’s sense of smell in order to orient themselves osmotically when the need calls for it, because we have evolved brains capable of taming dogs and taking advantage of their powerful sense of smell. Much of what we need as beings is externalized to the brain, and often not to our brain, but to the brain-trust which is the group.

In this sense, I do not believe that leukocytes, antibodies, bone marrow, skin, and other organs form the entirety of the human immune system. Rather, the individual’s immune system is merely the last line of defense against pathogens, when all else fails. Before my white blood cells explode a bacterium in dramatic fashion, it has to enter my body. And before it enters my body, it has to find itself in my vicinity — which often means surmounting the walls which divide my house from the outside world, and in a healthy society, the walls which would divide my country from the outside world.

One of the many reasons humans put up walls, lock their doors, train guard dogs, hire armed men, and draw lines in the sand is to protect ourselves from foreign pathogens, especially pathogens our individual immune systems have not developed a resistance to. Societies do not completely wall themselves off from the world but communicate with it through border crossings, and each one is guarded to ensure that all passage is beneficial to society.

The extended human immune system consists of borders, border guards, walls, locked doors, controls, prohibitions, and barriers to entry. Internally, healthy human societies respond to epidemics by first dispatching specialized humans — initially, doctors to treat the ill, later, armed police and soldiers to enforce a quarantine. Societies will impose states of emergency and move to expel pathogens from their midst — regardless of whether it’s an actual pathogen of epidemic proportions, or a social pathogen, such as a criminal gang, a terrorist group, or hostile invaders.

Contrast that to an AIDS patient. This is a person who is immunocompromised, whose immune system cannot defend his body from the onslaught of hostile foreign entities. This person is at the mercy of such petty infections as the common cold. In our corporate society (which maps organizationally onto the human body) this would constitute a society where the methods of removing antisocial elements are not cracking down on gangsters, terrorists, or invaders. We call this state anarchy. Indeed, the immune system might be in fact attacking healthy tissue, as is the case with men suffering from autoimmune diseases. We call this state tyranny. The combination of both is called anarcho-tyranny. This does not happen in nature — the immunocompromised have no immune system to destroy healthy tissue with, even if they had autoimmune diseases before. Anarcho-tyranny is a special kind of evil, unique to the corporate body of a decadent society.

Carrying our metaphor forward, the bodily analog of a society with open borders is a man who has been entirely or partially flayed. Without our skin to guard against the outside world, we are very easy pickings for pathogens and the elements. The center-conservative scoffs at this state and proposes that the flayed man receive skin grafts, but that exclusion of pathogens is unfair insofar as they use the proper ports of entry (mouth, nose, eyes) to enter. “As long as they come here legally. . .” Certainly, raising the alarm of fever and mobilizing the socio-leukocytes is an affront to conservative principles.

It is rather terrible, but our instincts of self-preservation are pathologized. Foreigners often bring foreign pathogens, for which we have no resistance. Therefore, a part of our innate “racism” is the avoidance of these unknown stressors. I recall I crossed paths with an Asian man about two days ago — I could not tell from the distance from which I saw him whether he was Chinese, Japanese, or maybe Korean, although I can usually tell if I get a good look at the man. I didn’t get close enough to see. Knowing is not worth the risk of contracting the new coronavirus.

Now, I’m not a medical professional of any kind, but here’s some sound medical advice anyway. If you want to drastically reduce your chances of contracting this new illness, shut your nation’s ports of entry to travel from China and other afflicted nations. Insofar as there are infected in your country, use the societal repressive apparatus, i. e. the police, to quarantine them until such a time they can no longer spread the disease. And if you find yourself powerless to do that, avoid contact with persons who come from China, which in practical terms means giving all Asians a wide berth, since I doubt people can tell at a distance the difference between the Japanese and the Chinese.

Hopefully, you’ll not be attacked by the societal immune system for practicing these rudimentary acts of self-preservation. Be advised, however, that in many countries of the West, sequestering yourself from Asians in the manner I described is illegal. Until such a time we win this thing and restore sanity, we will have to keep our practical immunology secret.

Hopefully, our nations are not wiped out by pathogens because we were too scared of being called racist.

Much of what I’ve done here on Counter-Currents has been about discovering the psychological makeup of the various factions vying for power in the West. I’m always interested in ways to slice up the electorate and figure out how parts of it move around, in relation both to each other and to real or imagined frames of reference. I’ve looked at Jonathan Haidt’s moral compass, the Big Five personality test divides between liberals and conservatives, and even made up a few classifications of my own. Another has just appeared from someone calling himself Richard Hanania.

The linked text is long – approximately 9,000 words — but worth reading. The core argument is that liberals are “readers,” which is to say they’re guided by attachment to policy, whereas conservatives are “TV watchers,” which is to say they look at politics as a spectacle, treating it as a TV show. This is a very reductive way of putting it, so I encourage you to read the article. In it, Hanania makes numerous statements to the effect that yes, not all liberals are like that and not all conservatives are like that, and of course sometimes liberals act like TV watchers, and of course there are groups on the Right who are readers — to the point where it gets a little tedious. Yes, Mr. Hanania, I understand that statistical analyses do not refer to individuals, and yes, I understand that exceptions do not negate general trends. I resent the implication that my hand has to be held through the analysis. As someone who writes for an audience which is presumed to be familiar with Johnathan Haidt’s work, you should understand that the constant inb4 NAXALT warnings are grating after a while.

We must consider the man writing the article before discussing it, because the most fundamental question we should ask ourselves when someone tells us something is: Why are we being told this? The “who” will more often than not answer the “why.” From a single, lazy DuckDuckGo search, I discover that Hanania is a Jewish surname, and that Richard Hanania is a man with a very large nose, an annoying voice, and a preponderance of acne on his forehead. Alas, he’s not notable enough for a Wikipedia page, so I can’t check his biography. Of course, as has been pointed out to me by movement notables, he is someone who seemed to pop out of nowhere and immediately accrue a massive following. Maybe it’s just my paranoia running wild, but I can’t help but think of soyjacks pointing towards whatever excites their soy-drenched fancies. Oh, and he’s a vaccine supporter who advises conservatives to bend the knee on vaccine mandates, so make of that what you will.

Hanania produces several graphs which seem to indicate that a greater percentage of liberals read than conservatives do. While both rely on a television outlet the most, conservatives beat liberals by 7 percentage points in trusting FOX News (60%) as opposed to CNN (53%). Both networks are relied upon by 39% of US adults regardless of affiliation. In the newspaper category, The New York Times is relied upon by 31% of liberals, whereas the highest-scoring conservative newspaper is The Wall Street Journal, relied upon by 11% of conservatives (and 15% of liberals, as well as 13% of the general public). Standing out with impressive numbers as relied upon by conservatives are Sean Hannity (19%) and Rush Limbaugh (17%) on radio. Liberals, for their part, listen to NPR (30%).

From this and a few other graphs, mostly dealing with the degree to which liberals and conservatives trust news sources, Hanania develops a model of American politics based on the assumption that “liberals read and conservatives watch TV.” He clarifies that what he means by “watching TV” is something which precedes the technology of television and that most people, most of the time are TV watchers, which is likened to sitting around the campfire and talking about how the other tribe are dum-dums. Of course, in this context, readers denote persons who are literate and less physical and are more interested in theory. We are starting to see the outline of something familiar here: Julius Evola’s warriors and priests, or maybe the Italian elite school’s lions and foxes.

To distil and expand upon Hanania’s views: The TV watcher chases the latest struggle and is not so much policy driven, as he just wants to win. Win what? Only losers ask that question. Well, maybe not losers, but it’s definitely the kind of question a reader would ask. “Hold it there, soldier boy, what the hell are we fighting for here?” “Huh,” comes the confused grunt from the fighting TV watcher. “Why are you rooting for the enemy?” I’ve called the phenomenon which Hanania describes on the Right “soldier-brain.” It’s probably less offensive to think of conservatives as soldier archetypes rather than TV watchers: good, obedient, not too concerned with the big questions, enthusiastic winners; people who respond to pressure and opprobrium by redoubling their efforts. “I will work harder,” said Boxer, the TV-watching conservative horse from Animal Farm.

We mock them by throwing the line about pulling themselves up by their bootstraps back in their faces, but I doubt the conservative mind can conceive of a problem which cannot be solved by working harder, working smarter, putting your nose to the grindstone, burning the midnight oil, and doing all the right things. The very idea of an unsolvable problem, or a problem which if solved would worsen our situation, is an assault on their conception of the world. Those who are soldier-brained see the world as a video game where the right orders must be obeyed and the right buttons pushed, and then good results will come as certainly as the rising Sun. Of course, the world looks nothing like this and it’s usually a reader who points this out, and as we know well, readers can’t be trusted.

Lest the Leftists start feeling very smart, reader culture can often be just as bad. At least the soldier does what he’s told, and will usually do it well. The reader, on the other hand, unless he’s of a specific temperament and has a minimum IQ which by my estimation is in the mid-120s, is usually a midwit who imagines himself to be some form of sophisticate. He’s the kind of person who cracks open the New York Times and is blown away by the bafflegab — a most useful term — contained therein: big words, serpentine sentences, verbal wizardry, languid loquaciousness — these all combine to impress upon our friend, the reader, The Truth, which seizes him as a demon possesses an unwitting victim. So it has been written, so it shall be done. The reader looks at the soldier and holds him in disdain, because the soldier subjugates himself to men and follows orders, whereas the reader, being an independent thinker, has convictions and follows ideas. He mocks the soldier for not understanding that he jumps through hoops placed by other men, conveniently forgetting that the words he has read have also been written by men — men who aren’t necessarily honest and who may not have his best interests at heart.

Recall when I brought to your attention Hanania’s ethnicity and his physiognomy. Recall when I pointed out that when a man says something, or asks a question, he has a reason for it — one that isn’t always apparent. You’d do well to question the motivations of everyone who tells you something, of everyone who authors something for your consumption. Why am I learning about this now? Why is it being presented to me? Who is this guy, and why is he saying these things? Alas, it’s a very difficult question to ask yourself, because it requires a sort of paranoia. When something is put in print, we assume that it has gone through a vetting process, and that before it was ever presented to us, it was checked for factuality and relevance. I once had a friend — a reader — assure me that something was true because he had read it in a book and not on the internet. He’s on the older side, so you can chalk it up to inexperience with the world of lies we’re now living in, but I was amazed at the degree to which the book as a physical object held him in thrall. Even younger people find physical books more authoritative, for some reason. Personally, I’ve never pretended that my preference for physical over electronic books is anything more than aesthetic; in fact, I prefer my non-fiction to be electronic, for ease of searching.

Hanania directs our attention to the implications of this division. Conservatives tend to win more elections due to their tribal sensibilities and love for the political scrap, “winning at all costs,” but liberals will be better at implementing their policy proposals, mostly because they know what those policy proposals are and hold them to be more important than just “winning.” Republicans will “hold their nose” and vote for a humanoid stool sample like Glenn Youngkin, whereas hardcore Leftists withheld their support for Hillary Clinton and five years later are getting everything they wanted and more. The Democratic Party had to at least pander to them, whereas Trump and Kushner took conservative voters for granted. Having your priorities and goals formed by the written word means that you hold policy goals higher than “winning.” What’s the point of winning if we can’t get any of our policies implemented?

I’m reminded of the comment that the Carthaginian general, Hannibal, knew how to win a victory but not how to use it. But then readers will know about how Hannibal squandered his victories against the Romans and never won a clean victory against them, thanks to the wily Quintus Fabius Maximus — Cunctator, the delayer (from whom we get the term fabian). Recognizing that he couldn’t beat the Carthaginian, Fabius avoided conflict and instead limited his enemy’s ability to resupply, gain allies, and reinforce, and thus defeated him through attrition and demoralization. Indeed, this is very much how conservatives lose: They win an election, then lose all interest in politics until such time that the Republican party (or its equivalents abroad) are defeated again. The TV-watching conservative is just a tourist in politics-land; he just wants to grill, fer Chrissakes. The reader liberal, on the other hand, is possessed, you could say, by the magic markings on the page and just will not let it go. Even from a position of nominal opposition, he doesn’t lose interest in politics; he will keep on fighting because he knows what he’s fighting for. It’s written down, after all. What does the TV watcher fight for? Trump! America! What does that mean? David Cole has some harsh (but true) words.

Hanania points out the exceptions on the Right: the pro-life movement, the gun rights movement and the libertarians. They are cause-driven. Their agenda is written down, in the Bible (thou shalt not kill), in the American Constitution (the right to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed), and in the skin-bound, Koch-published, Talmudic tomes of Mammon-worship from where libertarians conjure their bafflegab. Even the Dissident Right gets a faint and understated mention when Hanania cites The Unz Review and Daily Stormer as examples of reader Right-wingers. We’re not mentioned anywhere else in the article, however, so I’m not sure if Hanania is trying to pretend like we don’t exist while still using our sites as data points, or if it’s because we have less influence on policy than pro-lifers, gun rights activists, and libertarians. Being of the long-nose persuasion, he might be a little allergic to us. He also claims that the economics-focused Left is more inclined toward watching TV and is therefore less ideological as opposed to the society-focused SJWs — but I’m reminded that it was the Bernie Bros who stayed home in 2016 and in turn contributed to Donald Trump’s victory. It’s also those dreaded class reductionists on the Left who actually bother to read Marx, so we can put that claim in the “unsupported and debunked” file.

Now might be a good moment to start thinking about the Dissident Right. Are we readers or are we TV watchers? We are almost by definition tribal rather than creedal, but curiously, we seem to be better read and more inclined toward reading than either the conservatives or the liberals. Part of this is because we are, like other marginal movements, disproportionately wheat. Much of the chaff was burned off as the censorship, persecution, and controlled opposition ops ramped up in 2017. The Alt Right of the mid-2010s was more evenly distributed, still with more wheat than either the mainstream Left or mainstream Right, but there was some serious chaff there. Many of the guys who “just want to do something,” soldier-brained TV watchers if there ever were any, have either retreated into nihilism or are out doing something else. Maybe they’re opposing corona measures, have become groypers and are trying to raise paleoconservatism from the dead using green magicks, or have fallen for some psyop or other and are now mestizo bodybuilders, Atomwaffen auxiliaries, or plan-trusters. What’s left are the people for whom this isn’t wrestling and who have specific goals in mind; goals that are written down and are more or less clear.

Or, I could be wrong, and the TV-watching dissidents are watching The Writers’ Bloc (Sundays at 22:00 CET, 4 PM Eastern Time, 1 PM Pacific Time on the Counter-Currents Dlive and Odysee channels — tune in for riveting repartee and Nick’s lame Heath Ledger impressions!). In fact, our culture of livestreaming, our proximity to the bloodsports phenomenon, and our uncanny ability to produce our own drama all point to a robust TV-watching culture led by people who are by any definition of the term readers. Maybe I had to lasso Greg Johnson over to Dlive, but he appears to have developed both a knack for and an enjoyment of the livestream format. Why shouldn’t he? The philosopher’s natural place is in the salon, or in the agora. Ideas are meant to be tested.

Within this framework, the Dissident Right has elements of both reader and TV culture, although the leadership is obviously composed of readers who try to cultivate a culture of reading while maintaining a place for the TV watchers. This is not by design, I suspect, but due to necessity, because the Dissident Right cannot exactly pick and choose, and also because white identitarians are more narrowly interested in providing for their people as a biological category. White people come in both reader and TV-watcher form, so we cater to both categories. However, the prevalence of readers needs to be accounted for. I believe this stems from three factors.

Firstly, I believe that readers of a conservative constitution find the American Right’s TV culture alienating, and so they find themselves herded towards the Dissident Right in running from the mainstream Right. We used to call ourselves the Alt Right for a reason: We were the deep-thinking alternative to the shallowness of Republican politics. The selection pressure attracts a certain percentage of the TV watchers back into the mainstream and herds the readers towards dissent.

Secondly, I believe that Right-wing readers often find themselves violating regime orthodoxy, usually due to their high intelligence and high personal integrity. Once they’re purged, they can either cling to any of the purple pill narratives and hope in vain that they’ll one day return to Elysium, or they can accept that they’re now seen as heretics and embrace the complete intellectual freedom that comes from this. In for a penny, in for a pound — or so I’ve been told.

Thirdly, it’s because the Dissident Right is the ultimate “principles before victory” movement in the Western political spectrum. We are the people who will suffer in obscurity for our cause. We will brave persecution, arrests, deplatforming, demonetization, and all sorts of nasties for the cause. The mainstream Right mocks us for being losers, and we respond by trying to teach them to embrace loserdom and become antifragile to defeat. TV watchers like a scrap, and they like winning. The Dissident Right has hopefully learned from the failures of the Alt Right and will not scrap for the time being. We’re now focused more on surviving than on the big, flashy tickertape parades that are what conservatives like to call winning. In short, it’s a reader’s paradise.

However, there’s a zeroth factor to this; namely, the deep reason why the American Right not only consists of TV watchers but also seems to be headed by them. This is because, since they have been Western civilization’s slave caste since the early twentieth century, conservatives are not allowed to make a serious intellectual case for their position. William F. Buckley made a career of purging conservative readers who read too closely into the theory of conservatism or who held to principles too closely. William F. Buckley, of course, was an agent of the American federal government who sought to instrumentalize conservatism into serving its bellicose foreign policy. In short, the mainstream Right has no readers because Buckley got all the readers in one place, got some to submit, and then purged the ones who wouldn’t. Thus, the readers of the Right were severed from the TV watchers of the Left.

Notice that while Hanania tries to make it a conservative-liberal divide, he nevertheless admits that liberals also have many TV watchers; in fact, the TV watchers outnumber the readers on the Left as well. The Right is almost all TV watchers; liberalism is a body with a brain. That brain is diseased and the body rotting, but conservatism has no brain. The American Right’s brains are splattered all over the internet — on Counter-Currents, on The Unz Review, on VDare – having been lobotomized by the CIA in the 1950s. Worse, unscrupulous men who seek to use this decorticated body for their own nefarious means will subvert and poison any attempt to reinsert the brains and will diligently excise any remaining neurons. Witness how Ann Coulter was run out of Conservatown when she dared speak against the so-called God-Emperor Trump when he abandoned the policies he ran on in 2016.

The battle for the future is not between readers and TV watchers. Rather, it will be fought by opposing political entities, each consisting of both readers and TV watchers, with the TV watchers doing the bulk of the fighting and the readers keeping them focused on their goals. The Left has such a coalition, though one geared towards evil. The Dissident Right has such a coalition, geared towards good, but currently lacking large numbers of TV watchers. The mainstream Right is decorticated, having very little in the way of readers, and those readers are often unscrupulous and willing to exploit the TV watchers for profit or political gain. They will not be a factor in the political struggle. The only way they can matter is by blocking the rise of the Dissident Right — something I hope we can surmount sooner rather than later.

So, you wanna fight, huh? Or maybe you’ve been given no choice – your country is overrun by hostile people with a genetic predisposition for lowbrow criminality and you have to defend your person, your loved ones, your honor, and your wallet with the weapon which God saw fit to put at the end of each man’s arm. Maybe you can smell blood in the water, that the regimes of the West are about to crumble, and that turmoil and greatness await those who will step up to the challenge. Maybe you’re slated to attend the Scandza Forum on Human Biodiversity in Oslo and your wife has just recently read that the West is so overrun with savages that law-abiding citizens can’t even go to the corner store like normal people anymore and now fears for your safety in the wild and lawless evening-lands. Maybe you’re simply a man with the heart of a lion who relishes the poetry of violence for its own sake and want to practice it without breaking the law. Well, brother, you need to learn a martial art.

Which martial art? Well, it depends. Do you want to fight for sport? Then you have many choices. However, if like me, you want to learn something which will be useful in the mean streets of the Kali Yuga, your range of choices is restricted. Unarmed combat in the streets can happen in many ways – you’ll need to be a boxer, a wrestler, and a brawler, as well as have a basic idea on how to swing an improvised weapon. You need something that you can learn fast, something which you can use without much athletic prowess, and something which emphasizes efficiency and rapid threat neutralization. Assuming no exceptional athleticism on your part, limited time to train, and a focus on efficiency and speed, you need to find a military martial art. A military martial art, especially one developed in countries which practice conscription, is designed to be easily teachable to conscripts of limited athleticism and lacking in natural fighting prowess, in a brief period of time. The two nations which have developed their own martial arts and still practice conscription in the military are Russia and Israel. Systema and Krav Maga are your best bets.

Personally, I’ve taken to practicing Krav Maga, the military art developed by the Israel Defense Forces. My reason was that this is an art developed by Israelis to teach inbred and asthmatic Woody Allen lookalikes how to kick ass in six months or less. If it can do that, it can teach me how to kick ass in a similar time. Yes, yes, I know, (((Krav Maga))). However, one round of practicing and one realizes that the art is essentially a blend of all the best European combat sports – kickboxing, boxing, and wrestling, with moves taken from aikido and wing-chun kung-fu as well – adapted to streetfighting and life-or-death combat. Imi Lichtenfeld, who developed it, created the sport in response to the inefficiency of boxing and wrestling in streetfights while defending the Bratislava ghetto from rioters. He learned from his enemy. You should, too. The central philosophy seems to be “whatever works.” Every other attack is about knees to the balls, elbows to the soft parts of the face, knee stomps, neck punches, and rear-naked chokes – oy vey! One of the reasons I’m more or less certain the Mossad didn’t off Jeffrey Epstein is that even a modestly skilled practitioner of Krav Maga would have known how to choke him without breaking any bones in the neck. At the very least, the Mossad outsourced that particular hit. Someone should have watched The Sopranos with more diligence: important hits ought to be done by in-house personnel.

It is a brutal art, designed to give the opponent no quarter. The very first combination I learned included not one, but three knee strikes to the opponent’s groin. Kneeing someone in the balls is almost an instant KO, but it’s easy to forget that a powerful knee strike to the thigh or lower belly is almost as effective. Friends, you do not know the meaning of pain if you’ve not tried to trot around a ring with a whale of a welt in the middle of your inner thigh. In another sinister example, the palm strike, taken from Wing Chun, is sometimes modified when applied to the face. Whereas the vanilla palm strike ideally catches the opponent under the chin or on the upper lip, jerking his head backwards, if one were to curl the fingers inward ever so slightly, one has the opportunity to claw at the opponent’s eyes immediately. This is all well and good, but the key is always and without exception rapid neutralization –  which is to say, disabling the enemy quickly. This is important when attacked by multiple opponents or in a situation where you need to protect a loved one. A practitioner of Brazilian Jiu-jitsu might be unstoppable against a single foe, but the mean streets rarely throw single opponents at us. Non-whites have a nasty habit of attacking in groups of five or more. To my knowledge, BJJ doesn’t include protocols for defense against attackers armed with knives, clubs, or guns, whereas Krav Maga does, and I suspect other military combat systems include such defenses as well.

Speaking of large groups of aggressors, you should convince some friends to come train with you. Firstly, you’ll find that you’ll be much closer to them once you’ve shared the rigors of training with them. The bonds forged by busting balls in the locker room, hopped up on endorphins from literally kicking each other in the nads in open sparring are difficult to break, and bridge even the biggest differences in character, temperament, and class. You’ll find fresh friends practicing your art – men who, even if not politically-minded, are natural men of the Right, whose willingness to take punches to the face grounds them in reality, and as such are quite open to persuasion to our way of thinking, rather unlike the abstract and anti-real ideology of cuckservatives, civic nationalists, and neocons. In time, the friends you make while fighting will probably become your closest, as men like these are also likely to have other manly hobbies which lend themselves to the formation of a Männerbund such as hunting, fishing, and sport-shooting. Indulge in these activities for their own sake, but remember also that they – along with cross-country hiking and survival skills – form the core of bushcraft. And you’ll need bushcraft.

“But Nick!” you say. “I don’t need martial arts. I’ll just shoot my enemies.” Well, yes, you can believe that you can do that. It won’t necessarily happen, though. Here’s a video of a heavily-armed IDF soldier getting stabbed by a Palestinian. A ready attacker can stab you several times before you can draw your weapon, even if you are Quick-Draw McGraw, and I doubt you’re Quick-Draw McGraw. Close-quarters combat is unpredictable, and at some junctures, it is wiser to punch than to go for a weapon. That’s ignoring the fact that you won’t always have access to your guns. In some countries in Europe, your wits and fists are the only weapons you can possess without breaking the law. If you want to survive in the mean streets without relying on our comically incompetent police forces, you’ll need to cultivate those weapons.

Sometimes you’ll want to use less-than-lethal violence. I remember one incident where a drunken man started accosting my mother while we were having dinner. Obnoxious and smelly though he may have been, I doubt the fellow deserved a bullet. Putting him in an armlock and roughly shoving him out into the street was the right thing to do; I didn’t have to mess up my fancy suit or explain myself to the police. That being said, I’ll grant that you won’t be able to defeat a sniper with kung fu. But it is better to possess a skill than not possess it. Martial arts training also gives you a combat mindset, where you start thinking about the strengths and weaknesses of yourself and your enemy. To think about reach, weight classes, speed, reflex time, and other parameters as they pertain to yourself and others, you’re already taking the first steps towards knowing yourself and knowing your enemy – which, according to Sun Tzu, is the key to not fearing a thousand battles. And if you have a good coach who doesn’t hesitate to develop ambitious training exercises, you’ll also receive the beginnings of tactical training, where you’re pitted against two or three opponents at the same time, or against a vastly overmatched opponent, as I was. If an urbane and dainty poet can deliver a single crippling knee to a kickboxing black belt’s abdomen who is ten years his junior, ending the bout, everything is possible. And never forget that martial skill is impressive: Being able to deliver and take a punch to the face is impressive. And since you’re reading Counter-Currents, I’ll assume you’re a highly intelligent individual. In the coming kerfuffle, you’ll in all probability not be a simple soldier, but either an NCO or an officer. You will need to impress your men, share their hardships, and prove your worth to them, and nothing does that quite like physical prowess. Men respect strength.

An unexpected benefit of martial arts training – and open sparring in particular – is the empiricism it brings to your other workout regimens, and all the other ways in which you use your body. For example, I discovered in the course of my training that I lack core strength, necessitating a renewed focus on stability exercises and leg strength, to which I responded by actually doing leg days, which I had previously discarded as fake and ghey. To my immense embarrassment as a Slav, I found out that I couldn’t squat with my heels down due to a combination of lacking core strength and inflexible hamstrings. Martial arts helped me discover these drawbacks, and I then put effort into remedying them. Another important insight had to do with my diet. While a fat- and protein-heavy diet is a boon for powerlifters, all that meat and all those eggs in your belly will make you slower, strongly retarding your ability to bob, weave, and evade with fancy footwork. You still want something to fuel you, though, so here the various cheeses come in, combined with leafy greens and nuts as pre-workout food. Fighting is the ultimate and most engaging use of the male human body, and every atom of energy will be exhausted in a life-or-death fight. Even as a former competitive swimmer and water polo player, I found that martial arts forced me to use muscles I didn’t even know I had.

I’ve never felt as alive as I have when fighting – not when swimming, not when writing, not even when making love. The only comparable activity I can think of is mountain climbing – but then, I’ve never had a head for heights. For this reason, you’ll become aware of your body when fighting as you’ve never been aware before. A feedback loop between body and soul will be established, and suddenly, pain is not a monster to be fled, but an old friend to be greeted with regard and given special attention in days of rest. Fatigue whets the desire for both food and sleep as your bed and board suddenly look like the happiest places on Earth. Life is simpler, yet richer, and even your woman can partake as she liberally applies the anti-inflammatory creams to your many bruises.

We are Europeans – which is to say, we are warriors. We are the descendants of the Indo-Aryan aristocrats who fought for prestige on the Pontic-Caspian steppe before conquering huge chunks of the Eurasian landmass. Our genes beckon to battle. Our blood simmers with violence. The blonde-eyed beast lies in wait, ready to rise up once again. Martial arts training will awaken this beast within you, and it will resurrect your warrior nature. You’ll be alive, you’ll be pulsating with life, and the better you get at it, the more your movements will be sublime chords and harmonies in the great symphony of violence.

I’m a blond bimbo girl, in a fantasy world
Dress me up, make it tight, I’m your dolly!

We live in an era of apparently rampant transsexualism. The media insist upon spotlighting various gender-benders and forcing them down the throat of a captive audience, at which point vinegar-drinking moral guardians insist that the captive audience reiterates the lies they have been very authoritatively told in order to signal their communion with the cult of woke. But despite the relentless propagandization and the positioning of transsexuals center stage in the theater of modern politics, they remain an infinitesimally small percentage of the population. 

Now, far be it from me to dismiss nonlinearities, such as the relationship between the number and sociopolitical impact of transsexuals, but they sure seem to cause a big stink for such a small group — or at least have a big stink caused on their behalf by other actors. And of course, readers of Counter-Currents are no strangers to the outsized impact a small group of people can have. However, this big stink needs to be explored more deeply (no snickering in the back), because we might unearth something useful to our cause, something that many people may have missed. 

Within the mainstream, opposition to unbridled transsexualism comes from two camps. The first, and decisively more steadfast in their opposition, are the so-called “TERFs,” trans-exclusionary radical feminists. The second are mainstream conservatives, who’ve intimated that they’ll soon buckle under the relentless pressure from the prevalent culture (not their base, never their base, that’d be homophobic and has no place in the conservative movement) and embrace transgenderism as a core conservative value. After that, we can expect the TERFs to be cast out into the darkness with the rest of us unbelievers and heretics. 

Now, believe it or not, Counter-Currents has a primer on the TERF-transsexual conflict, which I encourage you to read. But the crux of it is this: TERFs seek to exclude male-to-female transsexuals from womanhood because they see them as invaders and appropriators of womanhood, who have no right to womanhood. Returning to Simone de Beauvoir’s claim that one isn’t born, but rather becomes a woman through processes of subjugation of the female to patriarchal society, TERFs reject the male-to-female transsexual as an impostor, as someone who hasn’t been subjected to the process of becoming a woman (distinct from biological female). The classical Marxist analogy here would be working-class bricklayers rejecting the companionship of an angsty rich kid who shows up at their bar wearing flannel and a bitchy scowl. In the story of radical feminism, woman is the perpetual oppressed and man is the perpetual oppressor. Only an infiltrator or a thief of femininity — someone who seeks to fetishize or commodify it — would seek to appropriate it, much as the angsty teenage socialist seeks to appropriate working-class struggle. In the radical feminist worldview, a tranny’s fake tits are nothing but a Che shirt. 

The conservative position, such as it is, is that gender identity follows sex identity: chromosomes dictate biological sex which dictates a person’s gender. The exceptions to the rule are a tiny and insignificant proportion of the population, so much so that they’re not worth taking into consideration. To an extent, I can agree with this position. It’s certainly true that transsexualism is statistically insignificant and that a society can take this exception in stride without creating a special conceptual category for transsexuals and transgenders outside of “freaks,” or maybe “shamans.” The problem is, as usual with the conservative position, is that its first principles are so removed from reality that it’s not even wrong. 

The conservative would have you believe that traditional Western female gender role is natural to women, or somehow flows naturally from female biological reality. They’ll rattle out statistics about how the wage gap is due to female choices, how nurture comes naturally to females, yadda yadda yadda, all the while admonishing men for not measuring up to female standards. If you ask conservatives, the current dip in fertility and the sexless state of young men is purely their own fault. Women, however, are ultimately good; if it weren’t for those evil Leftists brainwashing them with their postmodern cultur-marxist identity politics, women would be happy to be nurturers and caregivers, although still independent and participating in the workforce. After all, we’ve transcended the era of housewives and we simply love conservative women with big tits in MAGA hats, brandishing guns and spouting libertarian boilerplate. 

The reality, however, is that Simone de Beauvoir is right. 

Female gender roles are manufactured by society and imposed upon females, thereby making them women, the second sex. Natural woman isn’t, as the conservative would have you believe, a mother or a loyal wife, nurturing, submissive, and meek. No, she is a rapacious and hypergamous sex demon, consumed by a narcissism rarely seen in men. Absent patriarchal society’s relentless shaping of females into the eusocial category of woman, which here means wife and mother, females become whores, jumping from cock to cock in their quest to secure ever-grander alpha male attention for themselves. A moment’s failure of the patriarchy can bring down a whole kingdom; just ask Macbeth. 

A mid-century doll recently came into my possession. Immediately I noticed that the doll, meant to be a woman in traditional Macedonian dress, was soft. Its very shape invited cuddling and gentle handling. Then it hit me. This doll had the same proportions and approximate size and weight ratio to a little girl as a baby. Little girls would hold these dolls and take care of them as if they were babies, clothing them, singing to them. A society that provides little girls dolls that look like babies is a society that trains little girls to be mothers, teaches little girls to aspire to be mothers. 

My thoughts then moved to Barbie dolls, given that that’s what little girls played with when I was little. Barbie is plastic and hard. She’s a model, a starlet, a blonde bimbo girl in a fantasy world. Barbie does not have the proportions, texture, softness, or in any way the shape, form, or feel of a baby. Barbie’s limbs do not move the way a baby’s limbs move. Nobody needs to sing Barbie to sleep; she goes to sleep after a good dicking from dickless Ken. Barbie’s hair needs to be relentlessly brushed, Barbie’s clothes have to be incessantly fixed and washed, and of course, more and more new Barbies have to be purchased, all of them plastic and sterile. 

That was Barbie. That was twenty years ago. A friend of mine who has young daughters pointed out that today’s dolls make Barbie look like a housewife. The last time I caught a commercial for toy dolls (2004), they were advertising Bratz, who looked like absolute whores. Barbie is not a baby. Bratz are not babies. They are twisted mirrors, intended to excite the little girl’s incipient narcissism, present as a potentiality in every female, and mold it into full-blown self-worship and a quest for self-actualization through whoredom and vulgar materialism. 

The conservative is not 100% wrong. There is a nurturing instinct in women, but it has to be nurtured and reinforced. The opposite instinct — the instinct to whoredom and hypergamy — must be violently discouraged (and by violently, I mean beatings). This will to motherhood is reinforced by a doll that trains the little girl for motherhood, which instills in her a love of nurture. Contrast that to the vulgarity of a modern doll, which trains the little girl to aspire to whoredom. Toys and games are methods by which society constructs gender roles. The female gender role has shifted in the past 200 years from wife and mother, to wife and partner, to strahng, independant whaman, and finally to unrepentant whore. 

The male gender role has shifted, too, from patriarch, master of the house, vested with authority over his little kingdom by almighty God, to sniveling feminist ally, fed on soy, eventually transitioning to female because there’s no room in modernity for heterosexual white men, even if they are supplicants to the gynocracy. This transgenderism, where the gender roles of Western civilization have transitioned to their modern form, is far more dangerous than the delusions of a handful of mentally ill men in sundresses. But the spotlight is on the lunatics in sundresses because if we stop for a moment and consider what has happened with the gender roles society has constructed for us and our children, we will find that nobody alive has a claim to sanity with regard to gender. 

At least the nutcase in a sundress is making the most of his insanity, whereas the Right tries desperately to cleave to biological essentialism. If we are to be better than the conservatives, we must not abdicate our responsibility to create gender roles that will benefit men and women of the white race. Yes, they have to be in accordance with biological reality, or at least not contradict it grievously. No, we don’t have to think them up from whole cloth, we can RETVRN to tradition in at least some respects. But we should nevertheless recognize that what makes a man and what makes a woman, as opposed to what makes males and females, are societal categories. Those of us who aspire to forge a new, vital culture should recognize this fact as we move forward. This should be reflected in our children’s toys, the games they play, the stories we tell them, and the songs we sing to put them to sleep. 

You are born female, but you must grow into a mother, a wife, a woman. 

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So, in fact, this is not a humiliating defeat at all, but a rare species of victory. 

— Cato the Younger, blackpiller. 

In this amazing modern world that we’ve built for ourselves, the shower is the only place we’re not surrounded by electronics, at least for now.

That’s exactly where I was when Dementia Joe was sworn in as president of America. So, I missed it. But I did not miss the fallout. Many plan-trusters, Q-believers, and Trump loyalists are now becoming, in their own words, blackpilled — they’ve surrendered to despair. They’re now descending into the depression of the defeated. I heard once in a Jordan Peterson lecture that depression is neurochemically indistinguishable from being at the bottom of the social hierarchy. That’s a pretty good descriptor of the position of American young white men, especially if they’re conservative. Whites of both genders and all ages are going to feel the sting of being the lowest. It’s okay to blackpill now. All is lost. 

You’ll hear very good arguments to the contrary. They’ll probably come from this very website, from me, from men much smarter and more experienced than me. They’ll probably be sound. They may even be correct; even true. But for the time being, let’s not kid ourselves. This is rock bottom. Let the blackpill flow through you. 

It feels like a shock because it’s the first time you’ve felt defeated in a long time. Somebody sold you a bill of goods: that you and your side are winning. I won’t tell you that you weren’t winning, only that your victories were merely symbolic and morale-boosting rather than effective. That’s okay, I get it. I like winning too. You’re used to hearing that people like me are born losers who’ve grown to love losing. I can’t speak for other chronic blackpill users, but personally, I played and still play competitive sports. I’m quite good at a few of them, so I’m no stranger to winning. It feels much better than losing. But you’ve lost now. Much like the millennial snowflakes of memetic yore, you were used to never losing. But now you lost, Bobby, you lost and now you are a loser, Bobby. But it’s ok. 

Someone sold you a bill of goods: that winners win and losers lose, that winning gives you legitimacy and that losing denies you legitimacy. It’s not even false. As we all know, Might makes Right. There’s even a book, written by someone calling himself Ragnar Redbeard. Defeat, however, is an inevitability under conditions of uncertainty. Given enough time and uncertainty, basing your legitimacy and self-respect on victory makes you fragile to defeat. Somebody made you deadly afraid of losing because to lose meant to become a loser. Every day I’d see “a much-needed whitepill” being promoted on Twitter or YouTube. You were addicted to victory, so you were popping these whitepills like crazy. But now they’ve lost their effect and there are no whitepills to be found. I hope you like them apples, Bobby, because, and I will reiterate, you are a loser now. 

I don’t blame you for being like this. I am like this too. I hate losing. Between you and me, friend, I too had a period of cautiously believing in Q, specifically between September and November of 2018. It quickly became apparent to me that this narrative was bullshit, but I allowed myself to hope for deus ex machina for about a month and a half. It was because I’d come down from a grand victory to a humiliating defeat in the space of about three weeks and got a little nutty. But hey, the shock got me to quit smoking and take up hiking, so it wasn’t all bad. You’re gonna start thinking in the direction of “no political solution” and start gearing for war. It’ll pass, though. You’ll desperately look for whitepills and even fall into some confidence tricks (or worse, counterintelligence stings) that hinge on you believing that an authority figure or a network of dissidents is organizing to strike back at the enemy. Their public destruction will demoralize you or maybe even taint you with the appearance of criminality. But that will also pass. 

You’ve been defeated in the field of political battle. This stings. You are now powerless and you know it, whereas previously you were powerless without knowing it. This stings even worse. You now cannot resist the enemy in an organized fashion. You are now at the bottom of the social hierarchy and your existence will be merely tolerated, if even that, by the powers that be. But you’re not dead and you haven’t gone insane. And that is sometimes good enough. 

Did I say you haven’t gone insane? I could be wrong. The first dose of the blackpill is pretty intense and right now, you’re mainlining all of the blackpills at once. Every dose of disappointment that I took since Trump bombed Syria all those years ago in 2017, when I stress-ate two hamburgers on my lunch break to cope with the sense of betrayal, you’re now getting all at once. Trump cucked, which means he was probably always a cuck, or dishonest, or incompetent, or poorly-advised or. . . and now you’re going back in time and remembering all the times you gave him the benefit of the doubt and called men like me depressed, Antifa, shills, feds, blackpillers and all sorts of delightful names. Hey, I gave as good as I took. You called me a shill, I called you a MAGApede. We’re even. But my offer of friendship and peace won’t make the sting of betrayal go away. If you’re lucky, you’ll stress-eat and maybe stupefy yourself with your liquor of choice. Others will give in to despair in all the wrong ways. It won’t be easy. Not only will you have to detox from the whitepills, but you’ll also have to inure yourself to the blackpills. Believe me, friend, you’ll be having nothing but blackpills for the foreseeable future. 

I usually wash them down with whiskey. 

For the past few years, you’ve walked around with your chest puffed out, convinced that you were a winner. You strutted around calling people losers. This made you fragile to losing and now you’ve lost. People will now mock you for being a loser. Not only the Left, but people like me will mock you for being a loser. While I do not condone such behavior, do try to understand it. Your ideology itself will be mocked. For years, the only valid criticism — the Trump card, if you will — the civic nationalists, conservatives, alt-lite, neoreactionaries, and allied camps could level against the racialist Right was that our thing lost, was losing, and is doomed to perpetual losing, or more crudely, that we’re losers. 

Well, now you’re on Team Loser too.

You’re probably reading this on Counter-Currents.com, but are hopefully a newcomer, freshly outraged by the inauguration of the pretender Biden. You may have heard of us as racists. This is not just a Leftist slur. Inasmuch as people can correspond to a Trotskyite propaganda term, yes, we are racists. This doesn’t mean we hate non-white people. It means we are not blind to differences between the races and not closed to decision-making influenced by knowledge of such differences. We are also anti-Semites, in the sense that we are aware of Jews as racially distinct from Europeans and uniquely hostile to European interests and not closed to decision-making influenced by such knowledge. This doesn’t mean we hate Jews. 

You’ve probably heard that only people who have no accomplishments to their names — losers — identify with their race and use it as an organizing principle in politics. First of all, this is false. The readers and contributors to this and allied organizations, to my knowledge, are highly accomplished individuals and any lack of accomplishment may be attributed to systemic opprobrium towards race-aware thinkers. But more importantly, you may notice that we’re the only camp that seems at least psychologically unperturbed (or less so) by the recent travesties. This is because race is something you can’t lose. 

Remember when I told you that you made a mistake by basing your identity on victory? Victory can be taken away from you. You base your identity on your accomplishments. That can also be taken away from you. Your career, your house, all can be taken from you. Your family? It can be very easily taken away. Perhaps you’ve already lost it. Did you hear about all the children who reported their parents and relatives who entered the Capitol building to the FBI? The education and media rackets have been brainwashing your children and relatives nonstop. Why do you assume you haven’t lost them already? You don’t want to believe it. I understand. I didn’t want to believe it either. But guess what, even your grandma will disavow you, given enough brainwashing and social pressure. Wounds like that never heal. 

Some will respond that it doesn’t have to be race and ethnicity, that the central pillar of our identity can be faith, as the enemy can never take our faith away from us, but this is a false comfort. God, alas, doesn’t control the churches. A majority of churches have fallen to the enemy. You can always, of course, try to worship God without an intermediary, but that has rarely resulted in good outcomes. Maybe it’s just my stuffy old-world Orthodox sensibilities, but a “personal relationship” with God sounds just one step removed from bog-standard “spiritual but not religious” white girl voodoo. Add to that the fact that you’re probably not Job and that an overdose of blackpills can take away even your faith, leaving you with just the undeniable facts of your biology. 

This will be tough for you to accept, but your whiteness is probably the only thing that the enemy, or indeed any enemy, even an all-powerful one, cannot take away from you. Not even white liberals and traitors can get away from their race. No matter how much he cucks to the bioleninist coalition, Joe Biden will never unwhite himself. So, there you have it. We are white people. Thence comes our right to be, our legitimacy, chiefly to ourselves. Our ancestors bequeathed this world to us. It is our patrimony. You will not replace us. It sounds very simple. Too simple to be true, in fact. Someone sold you a bill of goods that solutions to complex problems have to be complex. But I wouldn’t be a son of Alexander if I did not mention his own, stupefyingly simple complexity-elimination protocol. 

I don’t expect you to become a racialist overnight. I don’t expect you to take in the entire program at once. There’s a big ole back catalog of philosophy and analysis to racialist thought. It’s a long and hard slog to read just the Jeelvy opus on Counter-Currents. You might want to start with The White Nationalist Manifesto or White Identity Politics, both by our illustrious editor, Dr. Greg Johnson. They’re both very accessible texts. But before you make any more purchases, let’s address something I’ve repeated several times in this essay. Somebody sold you a bill of goods. And you bought it. 

I’m no stranger to the purchase of shoddy goods. If I am ever king, the punishment for the sale of shoddy goods will be some gruesome, cruel, and as-of-yet uninvented method of execution. But even so, fault for the purchase of shoddy goods can never lie exclusively with the purveyor of such goods. As always, caveat emptor. You were sold a bill of goods and you bought them. You bought them because the deal was too good to be true. I get it. But you also bought those shoddy goods because of informational asymmetry between yourself and the vendor and that was due to your shoddy interpretational framework. 

Your interpretational framework is the mental construct you use to interpret facts and integrate them into a narrative that your mind can process and position you in relation to said interpreted facts. Human beings cannot process raw facts or decontextualized things, so we filter facts through interpretational frameworks. Not a single one of them is 100% accurate for reasons as convoluted as they are simple. I’ve mentioned in a previous article that we don’t use the t-word (truth) around here. That’s not entirely true, but might as well be. Our interpretative frameworks are either functional or not. Jordan Peterson would call the functioning ones “darwinistically true.” You don’t have to be a Heideggerian scholar to understand that the functional frameworks are the ones that account for the obscured part of reality (Heidegger’s Dickung, the thick of the woods), without necessarily demanding knowledge of what lies in there. The world is the way it is, a very complex equation that also has to solve for the unknown (and unknowable) unknowns. Your old interpretational framework led you to keep purchasing shoddy goods until you were in a house full of crap you never should have purchased in hindsight. Take Parler, for example. Many Trump supporters signed up for Parler and subsequently had their data leaked when Antifa hackers pillaged Parler’s slap-dash data stores. Who escaped this fate? Antisemites who shunned Parler because of its Jewish owners. Even if not all Jews are evil (and they’re probably not), behaving as if they are and shunning Jews as allies and business partners is darwinistically true, or at least functional insofar as it protects the antisemite from Jewish malfeasance. 

You may want to read this article. But briefly, the US government is not a single entity, but broadly divided into two halves, the Blue Empire and the Red Empire. This is the classic neoreactionary view of the US government, as elucidated by Mencius Moldbug, and for what it’s worth, I think it’s true. The Red Empire is the Pentagon, the NSA, the Chamber of Commerce, the Military-Industrial complex, and some of Wall Street, vs. the Blue Empire, which is the US State Department, the CIA, the universities, media, Hollywood, Silicon Valley, most of Wall Street, and a little bit of everything else. In the linked article, I am making fun of the QAnon narrative, but the core takeaway should be that the Red Empire, which I’ve subsequently named Team Mammon to underscore their evil nature, are not the good guys. These people are not on your side, will not protect your interests, do not mind replacement immigration, dissolution of the family, or globalization. But if you’re reading this as a freshly disappointed Trump voter, new to the blackpill, you probably believed them to be the good guys. That’s ok. 

The Q narrative is easy and fun to mock, chiefly because it’s so convoluted and evocative of millenarian frenzies, but it’s far from the only one relying on the goodness of the Team Mammon. Many such narratives existed, all of them hinging on trusting Trump, the Red Empire, and some sort of plan. Semiogogue, one of the brightest people in the Dissident Right, put his trust in such a plan, and has unfortunately been forced to consume corvids for sustenance. Charlemagne, the neoreactionary YouTuber, has put his trust in some sort of plan, even though he is one of the few neoreactionary skeptics of the Red Empire. Bronze Age Pervert exhorted his followers to “defend the lion,” and kept his trust in Trump until the very last. Nick Fuentes jumped off the Trump bandwagon earlier than most, but he was a plan-truster for a long time, mostly appealing to the lack of a serious political alternative to Trump. Even Jim Donald, who may be the third-most-eminent neoreactionary thinker behind Mencius Moldbug and Nick Land, trusted some sort of plan, or at least Trump’s instincts. They all assumed that the Red Empire, Team Mammon, were not enemies of the people and enemies of Trump. They all assumed that Donald Trump had the courage and the wherewithal to effectively fight the enemy. 

The first step towards constructing a functioning interpretational framework is demolishing the old one. When I decided to become a political activist in November 2018, I entered the space of Macedonian dissident politics believing that there was already an organization that needed young men like me to be foot soldiers. What I encountered was a labyrinthine dumpster fire of grifters and counterintelligence operators. Together with a band of allies, we are still trying to clear away this web of lies and deception so we can begin to construct a functional interpretative framework. So must you begin by unlearning everything you thought you knew about the inner workings of the American government. Most of you are probably angry with the GOP and wouldn’t piss on it if it were on fire. This is a good start. Next step: OUR BEAUTIFUL MILITARY are not your friends. They’re just as much part of the hated federal bureaucracies, just as globalist, just as anti-white, just as anti-male and anti-family. You hate socialism. Good. This doesn’t mean that you should like large corporations, nor does it mean that the state exercising sovereignty over economic actors is socialism. You’ve been sold a bill of goods by snakes such as Ben Shapiro, Steven Crowder, and Dennis Prager. They purvey shoddy goods and should be punished for it, but you bought these goods. You wanted to believe that you were fighting socialists, just like Reagan, because you were reluctant to let go of the romantic figure of the Gipper. That’s okay. He was a winner. So was Trump. People like winners. But we must move past that now. 

You’re gonna have to learn how to act without the dopamine of the constant whitepills pulsing through you. You’re gonna have to learn to act while the blackpill burns through your throat and turns your arms and legs into lead. You will have to come to grips with the fact that you were lied to and that you’ve painted yourself into a corner where the only way out is through. You might have to break bread with racists and antisemites just to survive. You might have to come to terms with the overwhelming might of the enemy. For the first time in years, you will have to come to terms with just how bad things are and just how evil the United States government is. It’s not just them. The whole world is ruled by evil men. It will not be easy. You will feel like hammered shit. Getting out of bed will become a chore. There’s no going back to fantasyland. There’s no normal now. And yet, now that you’ve hit rock bottom and lost everything, now you are genuinely free. 

The last thing you have to lose is your psychological comfort. You must learn to embrace the blackpill, the suffering, the humiliation, the daily sting of defeat, the depression, the all-permeating knowledge that you’re at the bottom of the social hierarchy, hated, scorned, possibly hunted and jailed. Let go and give in to the suffering. It will be tough and it will take time, but if you can resist despair, you will come out so inured to it that you’ll one day be able to join me at the bar, washing down entire handfuls of blackpills with triple-distilled Irish whiskey. Become robust, even antifragile to defeat, and uncertainty + time (and they’re the same thing) will work for you and against the enemy. 

So, in a sense, your arrival at rock bottom is not a humiliating defeat at all, but the beginning of a rare species of victory. 

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I’m a pretty cold-hearted realist, but after such a buildup of how the Right has been losing again and again for over a century, I expected something perhaps a bit more stirring. Some call to arms, or flowering prose. Instead, you essentially offer “Who knows? Our luck may change; stranger things have happened.”

— 3g4me 

Okay, so you got me there. I don’t know how we win. I don’t know the arms I should call you to. I believe the applicable American idiom is “our goose is cooked.” Or is it? 

I chastise people for throwing around words without understanding their true meaning, but I’m guilty of it myself. I use words like “win” and “lose” without pointing out the hidden assumption in their usage — that we are engaged in a winnable (or losable) game. But small-h history is not a game. Therefore, I am not sure it can be “won.” It can, however, be lost. To die, or more specifically, to be eradicated as a people, is to lose the game. Much like a guerrilla army, you’re winning as long as you can keep on existing. So, in this sense, I don’t know how to win. But I do know how the enemy can lose. 

We are dealing with an enemy that has functionally infinite resources. A lot of people make noises about not working so our tax monies won’t go towards feeding the beast, but the fact of the matter is that the beast can just print money, magic it into being, or borrow it on infinite credit. Many people have looked to cryptocurrencies as a possible solution to this problem. Far be it from me to tell people not to invest in crypto, but I must doubt its usefulness as a political tool. Either cryptocurrency will be banned by the enemy, thus becoming useless as stores of value, or coopted by the enemy, thus becoming a weapon in the enemy’s hands. Others are looking for ways to disassociate themselves from the system hoping to starve it, but ultimately, the system can bring forth unlimited capital and material to sustain itself. We won’t starve it that way. 

What the beast genuinely lacks is personnel. If there’s a way to starve the beast, it is by starving it of people to staff its armies and institutions. Now, I’m not talking about redpilling the normies to the point where they no longer work for the system here. I’ve discussed this notion elsewhere and found it lacking. Rather, I’m discussing here the possibility of dissuading the scarcest of possible neurotypes from contributing to the system. A scheme for redpilling the natural elites, if you will. 

Every time we find ourselves in a position of needing to hire someone, we must take into account two macroparameters that will affect his job performance. The first is competence: the ability to do the job, learn from mistakes, and adapt to changing circumstances — the nice, material categories of labor value. 

The second macroparameter is loyalty: the predilection of the employee to put the interests of the employer first, above his own, ahead of his honor and pride, above that of his family, even. The second macroparameter is less visible to people in the private sector (and here I mean the mostly nonpolitical sectors of the economy, which are vanishingly few) because private sector loyalty is usually bought with money (although not always). Loyalty, however, is very important in employees who are trusted with their employer’s secrets whether in matters of both physical and cybersecurity or security of position. Loyalty is the most important parameter in gatekeepers, information processors and conveyors, controllers of finance, and personal assistants and secretaries — really, anyone whose defection would ruin their employer.

The factory boss doesn’t care if the laborer pushing buttons on an assembly line quits and seeks employment with his competitor, so the laborer will be valued chiefly for his ability to push buttons. The engineer, however, knows the ins and outs of the product. The personnel manager could uproot the whole team with him and the bossman’s secretary, who knows that he de-stresses by dressing up as a woman when no one’s looking (this one might be getting dated). These people will be valued for their loyalty — and their loyalty will be richly rewarded. 

This is one of the many reasons why meritocracy is not only impossible, but a cruel lie told to the young by the unscrupulous old. The fact of the matter is that loyalty counts for more than merit and is rewarded more than merit. Incidentally, this is why we often see nepotism — sometimes, only family is loyal enough. 

Why this long detour into the art of personnel selection and management? We need to understand the process by which our enemy hires personnel to staff its administration and armies. Globohomo has discovered a machine for generating infinite loyalty called bioleninism. Briefly, it is the art of forging a coalition with which to seize power and rule out of literal human garbage: minorities, criminals, whores, homosexuals, the mentally ill, and unmarried women in their mid-to-late 30s. Since this literal human garbage has nothing to go for it without the structure which keeps it around, it is fanatically loyal to the structure. And loyalty trumps merit, so Globohomo staffs its institutions with the ultra-loyal bioleninist human garbage, and the loss of quality due to incompetence is minor. 

However, there’s a limit to how much competence can be sacrificed before the operations of empire grind to a halt. Globohomo therefore needs a minimum number of high-IQ, mentally stable men who are nevertheless sufficiently loyal to it to work in its institutions, distributed among its many institutions. For purposes here, let’s say that the “high IQ” in the previous parameters are IQs 108 and above (the so-called smart fraction), even though there are some positions that require an even higher IQ than that. There are three sources from which globohomo can recruit: domestic talent, rival empires, and the Third World. 

The nature of globohomo’s loyalty machine has made the recruitment of native-born, high-IQ, mentally stable men who are nevertheless sufficiently loyal to it more difficult than it has to be. By turning the heterosexual white male into the Great Other, it has denied itself this highest quality of soldier and administrator at the cost of securing loyalty from its bioleninist coalition. However, there are structures and narratives out there which can still secure the white man’s labor for globohomo even as he’s repeatedly bashed over the head with the woke cudgel. I’m talking, of course, about the structures and narratives connected to conservatism and libertarianism, specifically those which glorify laboring in globohomo’s institutions even as one is hated, scorned, punished, and never given the rewards and status which should follow from such labor.

If we want to strike at the heart of globohomo, we must destroy the conservative and libertarian ideologies — especially the narratives of heroic white male martyrdom purveyed by men like Jordan Peterson or philo-Semitic evangelical churches. Conservatism and libertarianism serve as loyalty generation machines for globohomo, ensuring that white men accept being second and third-class citizens in its empire. Beyond that, nationalists can also restrict the talent supply from this end by amplifying globohomo’s antiwhite and antimale messaging and bringing awareness of their persecution to the mentally stable white men of IQ 108 and above, as well as providing alternative narratives for these white men, where heroism consists in refusing to work for the evil empire, even at the cost of one’s own prosperity and status. We’ll come back to this later. 

Globohomo can choose to (and has been) shore up its supply of high-IQ, mentally stable men by recruiting such men from rival empires, like Russia and China, two countries that seem to be somewhat independent of globohomo. 

Of course, Russia is off-limits as a location for recruiting competent men to staff globohomo’s institutions because a) Russians are too white, which causes problems for globohomo’s loyalty machine, and b) Russians seem for whatever reason to be more loyal to their own state. For this reason, globohomo mostly recruits from China. 

Now, the problem with China is twofold. Firstly, you can never be sure about the competence of the Han, a people notorious for cheating on tests. Secondly, you can never be sure about the loyalty of the Han, who are ridiculously dishonest, clannish, and low-trust. The tech world is full of stories of Han engineers absconding to Chinkystan with corporate or government secrets. Nevertheless, Chinese and more broadly Asian males represent a large pool from which high-IQ, mentally stable workers can be recruited for globohomo’s institutions. This is somehow mitigated by their relatively low status on the intersectional totem pole and their comparatively lower quality as compared to white men, but it’s a problem that persists. 

One possible path may be to offer the same heroic narrative of refusing to work for globohomo to non-Han Asian males — or, as the kids like to say, “one struggle” with them. Another way may be to encourage repatriation to their homelands, a prospect that may become ever more appealing as crime becomes increasingly legal in the West. The Han problem, however, remains the greater one. If I am right about the codependent nature of China vis a vis globohomo, then globohomo might have just found a way to import infinite numbers of Sino-bureaucrats to staff its institutions. Nevertheless, the low genetic diversity of the Chinese means limited space for specialization, and their want of creative problem-solving makes this a suboptimal solution to globohomo’s personnel problems. 

The third source of suitable men to staff globohomo’s institution is the Third World. Now, it is a large area of the world, with a vast and diverse population, but we can generally break it down into 5 regions from which personnel can be imported into the West: Latin America, sub-Saharan Africa, the Middle East, Southeast Asia, and especially the Indian subcontinent and Eastern Europe. 

Since our threshold for being accepted is a minimum IQ of 108, we can cross off sub-Saharan Africa and the Middle East off our list. I’m sure there are lots of mentally stable men with IQ 108 and higher in these regions and I’m also sure that globohomo would love to poach them (and already does), but there’s simply not enough of them. Staffing an empire, especially one as sprawling as globohomo’s, requires a lot of smart people. That leaves us with Latin America, Eastern Europe, and Southeast Asia. 

Let’s start with the obvious. There are regimes in these regions that are hostile to globohomo and see little defection of quality personnel to globohomo. Cross them off the list. We’re still left with vast populations of high-IQ, mentally stable men who can be recruited. Each region, indeed, each nation, presents unique challenges, but let’s look at them in broad terms. 

Latin American men would seem like a good choice for globohomo at first glance. They are non-white or mestizo, so they can fit into the intersectional totem pole. They have grievances against white men. Mexicans in particular have territorial pretensions towards America. So far so good, right? Now, let’s look more closely. 

The higher-IQ Latin American men are white, espomolo, or castizo. White Hispanic isn’t just a category invented to pin the death of Trayvon Martin on whites. High-admixture Hispanic men are likelier to find themselves further down the totem pole than initially thought, but those are your brightest guys, your doctor Fernandezes and colonel Lopezes. Moving further, Latin American men are small-c conservative, appreciate strong government, and tend to be Catholic. This is nothing that globohomo can’t subvert, but it’s going to give them headaches. A non-insignificant contingent of Hispanic men voted for Orange Hitler, or as they called him, el caudillo yanqui. There’s also Latin America’s problematic Spanish cultural heritage, which includes machismo, authoritarian rule, and a desire for organic states. Worst of all, these characteristics are most displayed by the white, espomolo, and castizo Latin men who are also the likeliest to have the necessary IQ to staff globohomo’s institutions. Indeed, we see one such Latin man, employed to staff the LAPD, doing the unspeakable: saying no to a black woman. 

Moving on to Southeast Asia and India in particular. Much has been said about the IQ of the Indian Brahmins. Less has been said about their ultimate loyalties, and for good reason. Indians are the most clannish people on the planet, and Indian Brahmins back up this clannishness with 3000 years of arrogance. As most tech people know, the second you get an Indian in a hiring position, your company will soon be overflowing with Indians, most of them his relatives, who are never loyal to the firm, only to their clan. Once they have reached a significant critical mass, they’ll start busting out the company (or just the department they’ve taken over). Hiring Indians is the same as spending company money on hookers and blow, only offering less in hedonic pleasure and criminal culpability. We shouldn’t interrupt globohomo as it afflicts itself with this infestation. 

This leaves us with Eastern Europe, an interesting situation. Eastern Europeans are white, but without the historical baggage of colonialism. Unlike Russians, Eastern Europeans have weaker loyalties to their ruling regimes and higher loyalties to their families. Being white, Eastern Europeans aren’t as likely to hollow out institutions as the Indians, and the legacy of communism means they’re on average less conservative than Latin Americans (although machismo is still prevalent). Eastern Europeans might not have particular love for globohomo, but the lack of an alternative regime to swear loyalty to means that they’re prepared to work with globohomo to realize their potential. The only thing preventing massive recruitment from this area is the fact that Eastern Europeans are white, but this is sadly only true for globohomo’s American and most virulently anti-white node. European globohomo outposts are already availing themselves of Eastern European smart fraction labor. 

How to solve this problem? Well, the first thing is to promote immigration restriction and in particular a clampdown on legal immigration, but that ship has long sailed, I’m afraid. As it happens, the Dissident Right hasn’t got the power and the mainstream Right hasn’t got the power or inclination to enact immigration restrictions. In fact, the mainstream Right might encourage high IQ immigration, framing it as patriotic to feed foreign brains into the open maw of globohomo. This is one of those unwinnable games, for the time being at least. Globohomo has to die before we get the immigration and demographic situation under control in the West. 

The second way is to amplify and reframe globohomo’s anti-white and anti-male messages in such a way that white Hispanic and Eastern European smart fraction men realize that globohomo is coming for them as well and that they won’t be allowed to peacefully ply their trades in the West. We must also nurture these men’s already-strong in-group preferences and encourage them to return to their homelands and build strong nations. In other words, a form of pan-nationalism. That’s fine, but what do we do with the smart fraction white men who’re still toiling away in globohomo’s salt mines? What narrative do we give them? 

If anything could be learned from the 2020 election and its aftermath, and especially the crackdown on nationalists and dissidents in the wake of the January 6 events, it’s that there’s no chance of infiltrating the system and subverting it from within. Really, the only way forward I can see is to starve the beast of smart fraction labor and then exploit the gaps in its functioning as they arise. Without smart fraction labor, and especially creative smart fraction labor (an even smaller pool of men), globohomo will become fragile to uncertainty and the passage of time. At that point, it will fall, and as we stated in the beginning, “lose.” The problem, however, is that laboring for globohomo is for many people the only way to fulfill their unique potential. “Be all you can be” is not possible unless you combine your labor with capital, and alas, globohomo has some very unique capital at its disposal — capital you won’t be able to find elsewhere, or at least not outside of empire. 

Let’s say you have the potential to be an ace pilot. Your full potential will not be unlocked unless you have a jet fighter at your disposal. Apropos, unless you’re willing to serve in any of globohomo’s air forces, or the air force of a rival empire (if you’re even eligible), your full potential will never be realized, even though you might make a life for yourself that’s not too shabby. It means foregoing “the best you can be.” It’s a lot to ask of any man, let alone the best kind of man, for whom these words are being written. 

Each time we become something, we kill what we chose not to become. When I elected to go to law school, I killed Nick Jeelvy, MD, Nick Jeelvy, architect, and Nick Jeelvy, PhD. When I chose to run for Parliament on a dissident platform, I killed the man I was for 6 years, Nick Jeelvy, attorney at law. When I turned down offers from one minor and two major political parties to enter as part of their leadership, I killed those three men. When I turned down offers to start work as an assistant public prosecutor (a kind of district attorney, though not quite) and judge, I killed those two men. Becoming is a painful process, because each step is a murder-suicide. What I’m asking of you is to kill the best you can be, but also to kill criminals. 

The men you could become with access to globohomo’s capital are fine and respectable, but they’re ultimately accessories to a crime — the crime being the erasure of our people. These men that you kill belong to that most tragic class of criminals who know not what they’re doing, led by incentives and noble intentions to do evil to themselves and their fellow man. I’m asking you to not be those men. I’m asking you, like Arminius, to deny yourself greatness. That’s a big ask. 

Please do not misinterpret this as a call to drop everything and become a NEET. Yes, I know, work stinks. Rather, I’m asking you, if you’re conducting scientific research, part of globohomo’s military or state apparatus, maintaining its core functions, or something along those lines, to quit and start a business that will not contribute to globohomo. It can be a bakery, or it can be a business in your field which will not provide skilled labor to globohomo. You can seek out employment with people you’re sure aren’t friends of globohomo, or you can go off-grid and live like Uncle Ted. Do whatever you like. Just stop feeding the beast. And here we come to the final stage of our path to victory. 

If enough high-quality people disconnect, we don’t just starve globohomo, but we also attain the ability to start building institutions of our own: parallelism. It’s not enough that globohomo loses. The vacuum might be filled by a likewise hostile faction. Rather, the vacuum must be filled by the institutions we’ve constructed separately from the enemy’s system. There and then, we will get the chance to excel and be great again. But until then, our main focus should be on attempting to get high-quality people, especially high-quality white people, to stop feeding the beast. 

Now that sounds like a winnable game. 

As you can see. . . girls, music, disease, heartbreak. . . they all go together. . .

About three months ago, I was asked to give one of those “four recommendations” type interviews for an eminent publication (an old buddy’s blog) in the old country. They asked me to recommend a book, a film, an artwork, and an album. Well, easy enough to recommend books, films, and visual art, but an album? How quaint.

I am on the youngish side, all things considered, and I’ve enjoyed music mostly song by song — and indeed, having albums is probably a relic of the time when music had to be physically printed on records, cassettes, and CDs. Why not just put the song up on the music services — in fact, this way you can have nothing but hits, none of the lame old filler songs which were needed to justify the printing costs. So, I thought long (2 minutes) and hard (had to pause my marathon session of Crusader Kings II). And lo and behold, our strange age still has room for albums. I picked Frank Zappa’s Joe’s Garage.

Thinking deeper about Joe’s Garage, and more generally about the creative opus of Frank Zappa, it dawned on me that Frank Zappa was the last Western musician we can properly call Wagnerian — and Joe’s Garage is the album which best exemplifies this Wagnerian quality of Frank Zappa.

Now, before we delve into Joe’s Garage, let’s define our terms. What do we mean by “Wagnerian”? Groundbreaking? Popular? Awe-inspiring? These are all epithets that apply to Wagner, as well as to Zappa, but to many other musicians of the 20th century as well. No, I contend that the Wagnerian is that which is a complete and self-contained art form in every aspect of its production while simultaneously fitting seamlessly into its surrounding Zeitgeist; what the master himself would call a Gesamtkunstwerk. And as Wagnerian opera captured the awe-inspiring and heroic at the core of German being, while meshing perfectly into the Zeitgeist of the Kaiser’s Reich, so did Joe’s Garage capture the paranoia and deconstructionism at America’s core, while fitting seamlessly in the post-war era of sex, rock and roll, religious cults, and technological alienation. Even the general tone, tragic and somber in Wagner, witty and irreverent in Zappa, reflect the emotional cores of their respective nations and periods.

The term Gesamtkunstwerk translates to total or complete artwork. Wagner’s initial goal was to utilize the theatre in order to effectuate such completeness through the synthesis of the dramatic, poetic, visual, and the musical as an overreaching, unifying superart, something which has been attempted in the future with film rather than theater, with varying degrees of success. Wagner, with typical German concreteness and control freakery (although we prefer the term control enthusiast) constructed his own Festspielhaus in order to have maximum control over his work. But as the 19th century ended and the 20th century began, the very idea of art began to develop in strange directions. The 20th century was the century of mass man, of modernity and machinery, of industrialized warfare. The Wagnerian Gesamtkunstwerk left the theatrical stage, brushed past the silver screen, and entered the realm of politics.

As entire nations became enervated with life-or-death questions (the political in a very Schmittean sense), art could no longer afford to be apolitical, if it ever was. One of the most common complaints from moderns is that entertainment and art have become politicized — in truth, most forms of entertainment which are apolitical serve very little purpose in the edification of the human animal. They are fodder for slaves, serfs, and NPCs — people who do not concern themselves with questions of life and death. The most vigorously energetic and inspiring art is political in the extreme, and therefore, in the 20th and increasingly the 21st century, art has to step out of the museum, the theatre, and the conservatory, and indeed, fly clean off the silver screen and square into the political as the only authentic performance.

The Nuremberg rally as captured by Leni Riefenstahl in her masterpiece known as Triumph of the Will was one such artistic-political performance, a demonstration of supreme might — politics as performance art is indeed the only form of art worth appreciating at this late and decadent juncture of our civilization. We may have soured on Donald Trump, but the 2016 election and his presidency were first monodrama and then Greek tragedy, with us in the Dissident Right in the thankless role of the chorus. The devastation of American cities for the glory of St. George Floyd is likewise an act of atavistic artistry — no less offensive to bourgeois sensibilities than Baudelaire’s Paris Spleen, no less alienating and disgust-inducing, no less necessary in the long saga of the twilight of the West. The element now missing from the performance are Right-wing death squads swooping in to crack heads, restore order, and take names. As usual, the Republicans just don’t get art and mumble about all lives mattering.

But back to Zappa. We mentioned the Bayreuth Festspielhaus, constructed by Wagner for the performance of his work. In the Wagnerian universe, which is to say, the totality of the world inhabited by the works of Richard Wagner and all their attending and allied epiphenomena, Bayreuth is the Schwerpunkt of the world, Mircea Eliade’s Cosmic Center, an Irminsul, or Yggdrasil — the world tree. In the self-contained universe of Joe’s Garage, there are locations, but no fixed center, or even geographic determinism. The entirety of the album, the rock opera, happens in America — an idea of America. Every location is Anytown, America, identifiable to whomever it may concern. When Mary, the eponymous Crew Slut, is asked where she’s from, she replies: “. . . the bus, y’know. . . leather.” This may be a more honest answer than the name of her town. All crew sluts — indeed, all vectors and manifestations of modernity — come from the bus.

Joe’s Garage is a rock opera in three acts. It is presented as a moral story warning young men to keep away from music, narrated by a figure known as The Central Scrutinizer (voiced by Zappa), who provides us the story by whispering through a plastic microphone, in a dystopian society where music has been banned in order to feed the government’s appetite for ever more criminals. In an album replete with profanity, crude humor, and vivid descriptions of lewd sexual acts, the first track narrates the surprisingly wholesome tale of how Joe and his friends form a garage band and play in his garage.

Joe is arrested, but let off with a warning and instructed to seek out church-centered social activities (“Catholic Girls”), where he finds a girlfriend who later dumps him to become a crew slut (“Crew Slut”) for a rock-and-roll band, but is set aside and must win her bus fare back home in a wet T-shirt contest (“Fembot in a Wet T-shirt”), which she wins, and then goes back home (“On The Bus”). Meanwhile, a heartbroken Joe has caught a venereal disease from a Jack in the Box waitress (“Why Does It Hurt When I Pee”), but he still has feelings for her (“Lucille Has Messed My Mind Up”). Thus concludes the first act, which is a straight rock performance with some masterful guitar and vocal work. The descent from wholesomeness to sleaze and finally, desperation and pain is quite palpable.

From here, the album takes a turn for the weird. In the second act, Joe attends a service at the Church of Applientology ministered by L. Ron Hoover, who instructs him to satisfy his sexual urges with appliances (“A Token of My Extreme”), whereupon Joe learns German, dresses as a housewife, and goes to a bar called The Closet, where he meets a Model XQJ-37 nuclear-powered pansexual roto-plooker named Sy Borg (“Stick It Out”), whom he later shorts out during a golden shower orgy (“Sy Borg”), for which he is sent to prison.

This section of Act II is synth-heavy and electronic. The second part of Act II happens in a prison for music offenders, who, according to the Central Scrutinizer, spend most of their time snorting detergent and “plooking” each other. Joe runs afoul of Bald-Headed John, a former promo man for a big record company and King of the Plookers (“Dong Work For Yuda”). Poor Joe is then on the receiving end of a major orgy (“Keep it Greasy”). However, he manages to escape the horror of his prison experience by withdrawing into his inner self and playing imaginary guitar notes which would irritate music executives until he is released from prison (“Outside Now”).

This section has a prison-blues feel, though Keep it Greasy has that funky bassline and Middle-Eastern sounding guitar solos characteristic of Zappa, whiplashing us into the melancholic and sitar-tinged “Outside Now,” with Ike Willis’ wistful vocals drifting over a musical dreamscape, interspersed with guitar improvisations.

This dreamy style carries over into Act III, as Joe tries to readjust to civilian life. Still, he dreams of guitar notes and is forced to play them within the safety of his own inner world, but is terrified that his neighbor will hear them, and even hears her voice in his head (“He Used To Cut The Grass”). Unfortunately, this leads to further disassociation from reality, as he hallucinates (or does he?) Mary, “the girl from the bus,” who delivers a lecture — what we may consider to be the album’s intellectual core:

Information is not knowledge
Knowledge is not wisdom
Wisdom is not truth
Truth is not beauty
Beauty is not love
Love is not music
Music is the best!
Wisdom is the domain of the Wis (which is extinct)
Beauty is a French phonetic corruption
Of a short cloth neck ornament
Currently in resurgence

If that sounds like a load of bollocks, you’ve either not been paying attention for the past 80 years, or you’ve been marinating in Right-wing esoterica for too long. That there is the philosophy of every smart person in America, at least before 2012: Radical skepticism saved from the jaws of nihilism by the grace of the physical manifestations of the human response to art. The notoriously tee-totaling Zappa finds in music refuge from the all-devouring nihilism of his age, which he, as a radical skeptic, ironically enables. This lecture is followed by yet another dreamy — though more upbeat — instrumental bit, and then Joe just plain crashes through the fourth wall to assure the audience that the band loves them and to invite critics to “sit on the Cosmic Utensil” (“Packard Goose”).

The album then finishes with Joe’s final imaginary guitar notes (“Watermelon in Easter Hay”), which in our reality represent some of Zappa’s finest guitar solo work. Joe then gives up on music for good, and The Central Scrutinizer discards his plastic microphone in order to sing a merry song about Joe’s job as a productive member of society, squeezing icing rosettes onto muffins, a banality symbolic of the bourgeois hellscape of a world without rock ’n’ roll.

The world of Joe’s Garage is a world frozen in time, where culture has been stamped out and replaced by Applientology, plookery, and rosettes. It’s not even cyberpunk — it’s drab, pastel, and dead inside. It’d sound like heaven to many of the Right, but it is listless and lacking in anything but the dullest diversions. Unable to integrate the chaotic factor of the artist, and all the attendant dysfunctions and degeneracies, society has ripped its heart and soul out, shambling on, ending not with a bang, but with a whimper.

Well, that was the fear.

America was born in paranoid conspiracy theorizing that’d make Alex Jones blush. American liberalism, both Left and Right, is in many ways a creed of paranoid cranks who are convinced that they are surrounded by enemies. The Democratic party spent the better part of the past 4 years looking for Russians under the bed after spending 70 years hunting for imaginary fascists. The overarching fear at the back of the American liberal’s mind is that someone might come for his precious freedoms. In reality, as disturbing the thought of the American Mittelstand imposing its pastel and mind-numbingly boring cultural hegemony on the North American continent and later the world may be, it was never a serious possibility. The Central Scrutinizer is supposed to be a parody of Bill Buckley or another dull moralizer of the era, but one of our chief complaints as Dissident Rightists is that these sorts of people are impotent in the face of hegemonic liberalism.

And here we see the Gesamtkunstwerk in all its splendor. Listening to Joe’s Garage isn’t just good tunes (although the tunes are unbelievably good). It’s great music for driving, cooking, and fucking, but that’s not the point. Listening to Joe’s Garage is a revolutionary act! By listening to this album, you are helping fight back the moralizers and muffin-eaters that seek to ban music. The act of putting a vinyl record onto a player is now a political act — through what is seemingly mere art, Zappa has made a life-or-death decision for you. You will fight to keep music legal, and rock out to “Keep It Greasy” at the same time. And this album will get you laid, believe you me, reader. You can throw your Barry White records out.

Joe’s Garage is a synthesis of modern music, and a synthesis of the dramatic, lyrical, and musical — topped off with hilariously irreverent album art, a Gesamtkunstwerk in the internal and external sense. It is the soul of postwar and Cold War America, but also of America as she was at the time of the Revolutionary War. It is music for the quintessential and eternal America, ever the thirteen-year-old boy in perpetual rebellion against the world, the end-cycle of Faustian civilization. Frank Zappa was an antenna of his race and time and one of the greatest guitar soloists on the planet. If his art is decadent, or even degenerate, it was because he was an artist in a decadent and degenerate time, and woe betide the man who tries to live outside time (we call them trad LARPers on twitter dot com). Civilizations cannot live forever; at some point they must die. Artists announce their births, artists herald their deaths, and artists bury them, but a dirge for a civilization is rarely solemn.

There is a certain homeless Austrian painter and devoted Wagnerian who famously claimed that “whoever wishes to understand National Socialism must first know Wagner.”

Well, therefore, let me make a very bold claim: Whoever wishes to understand American liberalism must first know Frank Zappa’s Joe’s Garage.

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Part 2 of 2 (Part 1 here)

The first two seasons each have two arch-villains: one from the underground, another from the government. In the first season, Tony’s position is threatened by Uncle Junior and by Jimmy Altieri, who turns informant for the federal government. In the second season, the danger escalates on the government front as the primary threat comes from the subversive and patient Salvatore “Big Pussy” Bonpensiero, whereas the best the underworld can throw at Tony is the unnecessarily brutal Richie Aprile, the brother of the previous boss, Jackie Aprile Sr., who is released from prison. In Richie Aprile, as in Uncle Junior, we see another study of how not to attain and exercise power. Whereas Uncle Junior ate alone, Richie Aprile terrified everyone with unnecessary brutality, underscoring that being feared is not necessarily the same thing as being respected. Richie plots to unseat Tony Soprano, but his excessively violent nature makes potential allies reluctant to break bread with him. His plot is exposed to Tony by Uncle Junior, who correctly surmises that Richie is not respected, and Richie is then murdered by Tony’s sister Janice after he slaps her in the face – he dies because he doesn’t know when to employ violence and when to stay his hand. History furnishes us with many examples of the necessity for wise rule rather than brutality. The ideal King is equal parts Genghis Khan and Solomon the Wise – an Augustus or Charlemagne, who will utilize violence when necessary, and wisdom when necessary. Richie Aprile, unlike Tony Soprano and his brother Jackie Aprile Sr., is a one-trick violent warhorse. Not for nothing does Tony Soprano dubs his sinister eyes “Manson lamps.”

The far larger threat in the second season is the potential betrayal by “Big Pussy” Bonpensionero, Tony’s alleged friend and confidant, who is an informant for the federal government. Pussy serves here to demonstrate the damage that a traitor and rat can wreak on any clandestine organization, and the psychological difficulty of accepting that a trusted friend could be a traitor, even if the evidence is right there in front of our eyes. Tony only comes to realize Pussy is a rat in a fever dream caused by food poisoning, in one of the series’ most iconic scenes. Pussy is executed and his body thrown into the ocean, to sleep with the fishes.

The third season’s pacing is thrown off-balance, chiefly due to the death of Nancy Marchand, who portrayed Tony’s mother, Livia. A planned arc where his mother would testify against him had to be dropped. Instead, Tony’s position is threatened by Jackie Aprile Jr., the son of the previous boss, Jackie Aprile Sr., who bucks Tony’s authority by trying to become a mobster, and Ralph Cifaretto, a sociopathic mobster who causes trouble by himself, as well as encouraging Jackie Aprile Jr. to begin a life of crime – something that Jackie’s late father absolutely forbade and whose decision Tony Soprano honors. Here we see Tony suffering because of his own surrender to ‘Murkan morality. Instead of obliging the young man’s request to be given a chance to prove himself and earn a position in the organization, he forces him to attend medical school. That Jackie Jr. is not cut out to be a doctor is plainly visible to a neutral observer, but the wrong-headed idea that everyone should go to college has penetrated the thinking even of hardened Mafiosi. Once again, we see a conflict between the ways of the old country, which is on Jackie’s side, and the ways of America, a position now held by Tony.

Tony Soprano, the consummate alpha male with as many goomahs (mistresses) as he wishes to have, chews out and physically threatens Jackie Aprile, who is now dating his daughter Meadow, for hanging out at a strip club. The implication here is that being Tony Soprano is bad, whereas being a monogamous civilian with a normie job and a college degree is good. Jackie’s instincts reject this idea as he is an aristocratic young man seeking to leave his mark upon the world, but there is no organization ready to take him and mold him into a man. Rather, he is left in the charge of the sociopathic and spiteful Ralph Cifaretto, who goads him into shooting a made man. Jackie Jr. is then murdered, as the code of the mafia clearly states that killing a made man is death. The great tragedy here is that Jackie has the potential to be exactly the man Tony wants Christopher to be. Jackie Jr. is a young man in need of mentorship, he has the necessary ruthlessness, and unlike Christopher, has the intellect to rule and is free of addictions (outside of an overactive sex drive –  a feature, not a bug, of powerful men, as seen in Tony Soprano himself). Jackie’s loyalty can be secured through the mafia’s apprenticeship and mentoring process and cemented with a marriage to Meadow, but Tony has to insist on shoehorning the young man into a position unsuited for him. The third season is thus, among other things, a tragedy of not understanding that a young man with the makings of leadership in him is a priceless jewel, not to be jammed like a square peg into the round hole of degreed professionalism. This misunderstanding comes from the wrongheaded modern cult of college, whereas following the ancient heuristics of the mafia would not have resulted in Jackie Aprile Jr.’s premature death and the resulting trauma for everyone involved.

Throughout the third season, we are gradually made aware of “New York” – which is to say, the much larger Lupertazzi crime family based in the city, which exerts its influence on Soprano’s outfit. In this sense, we see that Tony Soprano is King of a relatively small kingdom who has to play very carefully to maintain his sovereignty. The Lupertazzi crime family is represented by Johnny Sacrimoni, aka Johnny Sack, who is always on the lookout for potential defectors from Tony Soprano’s family to even further weaken their position. Of particular note is the case of Ralph Cifaretto, who is hedging his bets and quietly meeting with Johnny Sack, especially after he beats a stripper to death, earning Tony Soprano’s ire. Tony punches Ralph, in direct contradiction of mafia code: a made man must never hit another made man. Johnny Sack intervenes on Ralph’s behalf, much to Tony’s chagrin. As in real life, small nations must suffer injustices and even traitors when great nations demand it of them. New York’s presence looms large over Tony’s kingdom for the entire rest of the series. As New York’s ambassador, Johnny Sack is the specter of hegemony, reminding the New Jersey crew that their destiny is not fully their own.

The fourth season sees Tony Soprano pitted fully against Ralph Cifaretto, who is now made a captain, and becomes the biggest earner in the family. Also, the hatchet seems to be buried between Tony and Ralph, and they start working together on a HUD scam, inspired by Carmella’s civilian cousin Brian. The show dispenses a few red pills about the nature of “urban housing” in the late 1990s and early 2000s, especially the so-called “real estate black preacher.” Tony and Ralph team up with such a black preacher and a Jewish state assemblyman to create a fake urban development project and defraud the federal government, in a type of scam that helped bring about the 2008 financial crisis. It seems as if things are going swimmingly, but Ralphie makes an insensitive joke about Johnny Sack’s morbidly obese wife – specifically, that she’s having a ninety-five-pound mole taken off her ass. Johnny Sack finds out about this and wants to put out a hit on Ralph for the joke, but is reined in by his boss, Carmine Lupertazzi Sr. Johnny is furious and on the verge of carrying out an unsanctioned hit himself, while Carmine Lupertazzi Sr. implicitly urges Tony to whack Johnny. In one of the show’s closest calls, neither of the hits take place, but Johnny Sack is permanently soured on Ralph Cifaretto and the Jersey crew.

We also catch a glimpse of the hitherto pragmatic Johnny Sack defying his own boss for a point of honor, rejecting a proposal that Ralph be taxed instead of whacked. Johnny Sack, like most top wiseguys, isn’t in it for the money, he is in it for status, for power, and for the freedom that being a gangster brings – specifically, the freedom to not be insulted, in this case. It’s a glimpse of what will happen in the fifth season.

Carmine’s prioritization of money over honor will work strongly against him later on. When the Lupertazzi family enters a dispute with Soprano’s crew, Johnny Sack suggests to Tony that Carmine be whacked. The hit is cancelled at the last second, but this enmity between Johnny Sack and Carmine carries over into the fifth season, when the importance of protecting your subordinates’ honor is revealed in full. Tony strangles Ralph Cifaretto, allegedly over their co-owned horse Pie-O-My, which Ralph appears to have killed for the insurance money when his son is injured. However, there are subtle implications that the killing might be motivated more by Tony’s seething resentment. Ralph’s body is dismembered and buried, and the rest of the family speculates that Tony might have done it: “whacked a guy over a horse.” Once again, we see honor taking precedence over profitability.

Starting in the fourth season and then escalating, we see the federal government’s most dangerous attack on Tony in the entire series: the conversion of Christopher’s fiancée Adriana into an informant. First they try to manipulate her by having a young female FBI agent pretend to be her friend, but this ploy fails when Christopher hits on the supposed “friend.” The feds then arrest Adriana for covering up a drug-related murder which took place at her nightclub, the Crazy Horse. She is quickly turned and is feeding the feds what little information she has, but the real motivation is to get Chris to turn. Adriana is enticed into believing that she and Chris can “have a normal life.” Underscoring again the path of honor and freedom that mobsters take, Christopher is disgusted at the idea of “a normal life,” and this is well-portrayed in a scene where Christopher observes a middle-aged couple resembling him and Adriana: himself as a henpecked, skinny mess, and Adriana as overweight and trashy. When he learns of Adriana’s betrayal, he comes clean to his uncle Tony, and Adriana’s fate is sealed.

The fifth season’s central conflict is a succession war in New York following the death of Carmine Lupertazzi Sr., where his son Carmine Lupertazzi Jr. and Johnny Sack fight to become boss. Carmine Lupertazzi Sr. posthumously pays for his earlier failure to protect Johnny Sack’s privilege by having his family snatched from his son. Carmine Lupertazzi Jr. is universally considered to be a moron; “Brainless the Second” is his unfortunate nickname. Johnny Sack’s challenge to him is seen as meritocratic. However, it opens a giant can of worms in that it signals to everyone that the Lupertazzi family leadership is up for grabs, spiraling into ever-bloodier conflict in the sixth season. The war also increases the bad blood between the New York and New Jersey families when Tony Soprano’s cousin, Tony Blundetto, who has recently been released from prison, involves himself in the New York mob war: first as a hitman, killing a mobster named Joey Peeps for money, and then killing Billy Leotardo in a rage over the murder of his friend and mentor, Angelo Garepe. This would be dangerous under the best of circumstances, but Billy Leotardo is the brother of the feared old-school hitman Phil Leotardo. Leotardo himself, who sides with Johnny Sack in the war, has spent twenty years in the can and is seething with resentment over his missed opportunities while inside. Johnny Sack can barely restrain Phil, and Tony Soprano is forced to kill his cousin Tony B. in order to spare him from being tortured at the hands of the murderous Leotardo.

The character of Tony Blundetto is interesting, as he provides an insight into trying to “live a normal life.” When he is released from prison, he wants to make a career for himself as a massage therapist. He is initially employed by a Korean laundry service owner, who agrees to go into business with him. However, he faces a similar problem to what his cousin Tony Soprano faced some seasons earlier, when he was forced to pretend to be a legitimate businessman with an office at Barone Sanitation: civilian life is too boring, and civilians have to take shit from people. The problem with living in a society is that other people have wills of their own, and unless you can violently impose your own will on them, functioning in society requires compromise. There is no live and let live; humans are a strongly social species, and either we dominate each other or compromise with each other. A civilian also has no means of defending himself against the sovereign imposing his will. Therefore, we take shit from the government, and we take shit from people protected by the government. We take shit from our bosses and neighbors because it is detrimental to our existence not to take their shit. To be a civilian is to live life in a state of constant humiliation. Most people can make peace with this state of affairs, but a minority of us can’t. The only groups which have immunity from this life of servility are outlaws and aristocrats. Tony Blundetto is given a choice to live life in a state of servility or become an outlaw, with all the costs that implies. He chooses to return to a life of crime, because he finds this dangerous freedom preferable to the safety of a servile life. To be a mobster is to have sovereignty.

In the sixth season, Johnny Sack, having defeated Carmine Lupertazzi Jr. and secured his hold on New York, is pinched by the feds, and then breaks omerta in order to lower his sentence – but to no avail, as he contracts lung cancer and dies in federal custody. He is succeeded on the New York throne by none other than Phil Leotardo. Around this time, Vito Spatafore, a captain who succeeded Ralph Cifaretto as the DiMeo family’s top earner, is outed as a homosexual. He flees to New Hampshire and starts a sexual relationship with a fireman and short-order cook, but returns because he finds civilian life – even as a homosexual – quite boring. He returns to New Jersey and asks Tony Soprano for a position in the organization where he can still earn, but is killed by Phil Leotardo, who is his brother-in-law (Phil’s second cousin is Vito’s wife). Here we see a strong conflict between old warrior values and new values. To Phil Leotardo, there is no question about homosexuality: It is disgraceful, disgusting, and unforgivable, especially in a made man in his own family. Vito’s homosexuality is seen by Phil as a direct assault on his family, especially his cousin Marie and their children. More than that, Phil sees Vito’s continued existence as a threat to the cohesion of his organization. The ancient heuristics of warrior codes which survive to this very day as laws of the underworld are unanimous about the danger of allowing homosexuals to publicly take part in warrior clans. In contrast, Tony privately says he “doesn’t give a shit” and even entertains the idea of having Vito put in charge of a gambling or prostitution racket (as putting him back in charge of construction is inconceivable). Traditional values, however, carry the day with extreme prejudice. Vito is beaten until he no longer looks human, and a pool cue is pushed up his ass as a form of post-mortem mutilation.

Also of note in the sixth season is when a now-senile Uncle Junior shoots Tony Soprano in the stomach, believing him to be his long-deceased enemy “Little Pussy” Malanga (not to be confused with “Big Pussy” Bonpensiero). Tony barely survives, and seems to drift into a sort of purgatory in his comatose state where he is forced to reevaluate his priorities in life. He wakes up, declaring that every day is a gift. Here is where the series shies away from the true implications of power: that right and wrong are just words, and that what matters is having the liberty and sovereignty of the aristocrat or mobster. Tony’s subconscious drills the idea into him that his life as the boss is morally wrong. He is subjected to a mock trial where his actions are decried, while the actions of his disobedient wife, his deadbeat son, and his Leftist daughter are celebrated. In short, we are treated to a metaphorical spectacle of Old World pragmatic morality being raked over the coals by New World liberal morality. Tony wakes from his coma and decides to treat every day as a gift, but as he later confides to his therapist, “Every day is a gift, but does it have to be a pair of socks?” Having surrendered his spiritual sovereignty, Tony finds even his new life boring and insufferable. Suffice to say, it doesn’t last, though the show paints Tony as evil for rejecting this herbivorous lifestyle.

In the middle of the sixth season, which is split into two parts, Phil Leotardo suffers a heart attack and decides to withdraw from mafia life, leaving the reins to his protégé, Gerry Torciano. However, due to the earlier precedent of the throne of New York being up for grabs, another contender, Doc Santoro, puts out a hit on Gerry and seizes power for himself. Although Phil initially agrees to work for Doc Santoro, Santoro humiliates Phil during a dinner meeting by literally eating food off Phil’s plate. All of Phil’s seething resentment and humiliation boils over as he gives his most intense line: “My family took shit from the ‘Murkans the minute we got off the boat . . . No more of this, Butchie. No more.” He puts a hit out on Doc Santoro, seizing power in yet another bloody struggle. It’s notable that Phil’s primary motivation is the desire to no longer be humiliated – not money or anything trivial like that. A good deal of Phil’s visual symbolism is centered on his resemblance to Mohammad Reza Shah Pahlavi, the last Shah of Iran. It underscores Phil’s nature as a rival king to Tony Soprano, a worthy antagonist, compared to the nickel-and-dime opposition Tony has hitherto been facing. Another aspect of this resemblance is Phil’s status as a vector of Old World morality, of old-school action and thought, to an even greater degree than Tony, who sadly has absorbed way too much of the ‘Murkan’s culture to be an effective king. Phil declares war on Tony after Tony beats up one of Phil’s men.

And here we arrive, at long last, to the root of Tony’s depression – he cannot be a king in a way which befits a king. The government, of course, tries to suppress rival protection rackets, and it is natural that every gang of rough men whose core competency is violence will compete with other gangs of rough men whose core competency is violence. No, Tony is cut off at the knees on the familial level by placing his faith in the women surrounding him, and at the moral level by giving in to modernity, trying to serve two masters: the old god of the mafia and the new god of liberal modernity. The new god humiliates and shames him, while the old god erases him in David Chase’s now infamous unending. It is notable that Tony manages to defeat Phil Leotardo by collaborating with FBI agent Dwight Schultz, essentially betraying omerta and surrendering his sovereignty to a member of the federal government. We can therefore understand Tony’s implied murder in the final scene as a rat’s punishment.

Comparisons are often drawn between The Sopranos and subsequent television dramas, including Breaking Bad, The Shield, and The Wire. I’ve never seen The Wire (and, to be honest, it doesn’t sound appealing), but there are notable parallel motivations between the main characters in Breaking Bad and The Shield, and Tony Soprano. All of them want sovereignty, but are hampered by modern ideas of morality. Walter White is age raging against the dying of the light, looking for an excuse to paper over will-to-power; Vic Mackey struggles to keep order in a disintegrating empire, even though that empire actively hates him and cannot do what needs to be done. But Tony Soprano has that most thankless of tasks: to be king of the ash pile, secure in his power, but power meaning little as he is spiritually enslaved by modernity. This is so despite the fact that he is one of the last vectors of an older, deeper morality, a promontory of Deep Europe into America: vast in time, boundless in intensity, pragmatic, dark, violent, and patient – a creature barely kept peaceful under a thin outward veneer of civilization.

Here’s a radical notion: the conservative movement needs to be destroyed before White Nationalism or any of its allies and fellow travelers can make any political headway. The current iteration of Western conservatism which safeguards the Nuremberg moral paradigm and gatekeeps against white identitarian politics is evil, hypocritical, immoral and treasonous to white people. The people who propagate this ideology are the human equivalent of Judas goats — goats that serve to calm animals as they’re led to the slaughter. Any plan for the salvation of the white race which does not entail the dissolution of conservative parties and the shuttering of Con Inc. think thanks and media outlets is doomed to failure.

If conservatism is, as we portray it, a mechanism for diverting reactionary energies into the void, then its operations can be described as such:

There is, however, an important difference between the conservative movement and people with healthy conservative instincts engaging in reactionary behavior. But certain corners of our movement have lost sight of this, making them incapable of understanding and educating those reactionaries.

Because reactionary energy is dissipated or coopted by the conservative establishment (steps 4 and 5 above), some in our movement have mistakenly concluded that “reaction” as such is to be spurned. Therefore, instead of attacking the conservative establishment while it maneuvers to dissipate or co-opt energy in step 4, they attack people reacting to the system’s evil in step 2.

This makes it impossible for us to tutor and channel these energies in a productive way, meaning a way that actually threatens the system.

Ideally, this movement would act at two points in the process.

Firstly, we should welcome the untutored, sometimes inchoate reaction in step 2, but take steps to tutor it. Naturally, this tutoring should not take the form of lecturing, hectoring, or posturing, but rather it should explain in words to the people reacting what they already know in their hearts. This will make their position more robust by making it concrete. One of this movement’s greatest recent victories came during the anti-CRT campaign. Having already completed the difficult legwork of normalizing the term anti-white before the issue was ever taken up by parents of children subjected to critical race theory, we ensured that the reaction to the system’s imposition of CRT in school would not be untutored, or at least not as untutored as usual.

The second way in which our movement can help break the conservative cycle is to deconstruct both the specific conservative narratives deployed in step 4 as well as impeach the conservative movement itself, showing people that conservatives do not look out for their interests and are rather their enemies, something I’m proud to have contributed to in the anti-CRT instance and elsewhere.

However, we must not:

Deriding people for being reactionary is counterproductive. Everyone’s redpilling journey begins with a reaction to something: a heinous crime, a flagrant double-standard, a vicious lie. The reason we can be proactive is because we ourselves have been :

The urge to either antagonize or browbeat people who react to the system’s evil, even if their reaction may indeed be inchoate and untutored, is frankly sophomoric, but a better term may be political hipsterism. The term was coined by my good friend Hwitgeard to describe the position of people who dismissed the possibility of elite conspiracies driving our woes as White Nationalists.

Personally, I’ve never had a problem with being called a hipster. I simply do not like the mainstream, either in music, in fashion or indeed, in politics. I likewise have very little patience for mainstream fashion, music or other cultural artefacts. I find them irritating, painful to observe and be subjected to and completely unacceptable for myself. I have structured my life in such a way as to minimize my exposure to mainstream culture precisely because I find it so grating and impossible to tolerate. Naturally, I gravitated towards the hipster scene in my town, and even though I found their fashion and aesthetic sense somewhat less annoying, I found in this circle a stifling conformity which I did not enjoy at all.

But more than this stifling conformity, what annoyed me was the constant sneering at the unwashed mainstream. Even to someone who despises mainstream culture, this sneering was ugly and stank of insecurity, as if the hipsters were trying to convince themselves of their own superiority and sophistication by hating the mainstream. Little wonder that these people did not like being called hipsters – they were too cool for labels. I found this scene uninspired and uninspiring and quickly grew apart from it, finding better friends, wackier and more relaxed with whom I was more at ease.

It is precisely this desire to be better than the normie-con with the urge to impose these positions with stifling conformity that makes the political hipster. Whenever a fellow White Nationalist tries to harness the reactionary energies, court disaffected people and guide them to nationalism or even just explore the issue raised by the system’s evil acts, these people come out of the woodwork and start throwing labels like “schizo” around, while mocking and gaslighting nationalists who do not conform to their idea of what is appropriate.

Of course, they accomplish nothing politically speaking. But they do convince themselves that they’re special and smarter than all the normie-cons, which is a worthy goal for some people.

We’re sometimes too absorbed in deep analysis of momentous events to recognize that sometimes, the driver of people’s actions is something as petty as salving insecurity.

However, by indulging these insecurities, they separate themselves and by association the broader movement from the people reacting to systemic evil.

Imagine yourself when you were just beginning to understand things and just beginning to take your first steps on the nationalist path. How would you have reacted to someone calling you names because you’re “just reacting to the system”? How could you have done anything else but react? After all, you’d never had a chance to integrate a framework that’d allow you to be proactive. You were not taught. Nobody approached you as a mentor. Rather, they approached you with a sneer, mocking your ignorance — as if they themselves had been born with knowledge. It’s a wonder we get any new people in this thing at all.

Of course men want to feel special, and sometimes they really are. I’ve said many times in the past that I suspect our movement consists of the best of people, genuinely superior in our ability to resist indoctrination, propaganda, brainwashing and mind control, as well as our ability to take all of these pressures and turn them back on the system.

Unlike the conservative which harnesses reactions to dissipate or recycle them, we take reaction against the system and amplify it, but not only that, we proactively create problems for the system by systematically deconstructing its lies and engaging it on multiple fronts. However, our superior status should not blind us to the ultimate goal of this movement – securing the existence of our people and a future for white children. If, for the completion of this task, I have to be somewhat patient with a neophyte who’s only now attaining a measure of awareness, so be it. Being a mentor is hard, it requires patience, which people in our movement, being disagreeable enough to refuse indoctrination by the mainstream, tend to lack. It’s also difficult to have patience with a normie, seeing as how they look so much like us that it’s difficult to understand that they’re not the same as you and me.

However, we are White Nationalists and identitarians, and this means, among other things, that we do not shy away from tasks because they’re hard. We must learn to balance our savage deconstruction of conservatism with compassion for the people who’ve clung to it as their only recourse. We do not come with the intention of destroying conservatives, but rather with the intention of liberating them from the deceptive shackles of Con Inc. We come not to prove our superiority by being clever, but to secure the existence of our people by harnessing their great energy. We come not to stomp on them with our boots, but rather to lead them into a bright future. We have nothing but contempt for the mainstream, but we do not stop there. Rather, we intend to impose a new mainstream of our own design which will ensure the survival of our race.

I remember the early autumn of 2016, just before Donald Trump was elected President of America. I was sitting on the terrace of a very trendy bar with a very good friend, and we were on our 6th or 7th glass of rum. It was one of those blessed Mediterranean nights where the scorching heat of the day had receded and the moisture of the air was slowly cooling, and the smells of the lush vegetation and nearby river were soothing the senses even as scantily clad, shapely women milled around us. I declared, with a dose of triumphant confidence, that not only would Donald Trump be elected president, but also that nutcase in Brazil (Jair Bolsonaro), the blonde in France (Marine le Pen), and even Don Matteo in Italy would win their elections, and the anti-globohomo coalition would grow to include not only America, but also Brazil, France, and Italy. 

Now, a few glasses of rum later, my friend voiced skepticism, not of our imminent victory (which was beyond doubt), but of the possibility of converting that victory into lasting success, especially in America. I agreed with him, as we both were savvy to the idea that America is not really ruled from the Oval Office, but I offered to him the counterexample of Hungary. Hungary already had a national populist — Viktor Orbán — in power. 

Now, what made Orbán interesting to us especially was the fact that our country of Macedonia was undergoing a color revolution in the 2015-2017 period, and we noticed that the color revolutionaries were relying on the type of infrastructure that Orbán had previously eradicated in Hungary. Hence, our erstwhile prime minister found himself easy pickings for globohomo, whereas Viktor Orbán shrugged off all attempts to oust him by means of a color revolution. The recipe for success as a national populist leader was clear: if by any chance you take power, you must crack down on so-called “civil society,” NGOs, women’s advocacy groups, minority interest groups, LGBT organizations, press freedom advocates, transparency advocates, “independent” media organizations, or in other words, the infrastructure necessary for color revolution. A good rule of thumb: if they take money from Soros’ Open Society Foundation, the National Endowment for Democracy, USAID, or any of the other globohomo financing schemes, they have to go. Similar success in crackdowns was also seen in Russia, where Vladimir Putin secured his position by the same means. 

We agreed, over even more rum, that Donald Trump would probably not be able to root out the evil within America, as the American state and related organizations are the oldest and strongest nodes of globohomo, but we had high hopes for the other national populists. Specifically, I contended that in the worst-case scenario of Orbán being overthrown in Hungary that very day, it’d still take globohomo between 10 and 20 years to rebuild the infrastructure he destroyed. We imagined that national populist victories in Brazil, France, and Italy would result in similar crackdowns on globohomo infrastructure which would take out these much bigger and more important nodes of globohomo (no offense to Hungarians intended, obviously). This is important to note; the American nodes may be the oldest and strongest nodes of globohomo, but they’re not central; globohomo is very well-distributed. Even if all the shitlibs in America were to suddenly cease existing, whisked away as if by magic, or by a nuke dropping on Washington DC, there’d still be armies of EUrocrats, CCP apparatchiks, Latin American girlbosses, clannish, arrogant Brahmin, and dancing Israelis ready to staff globohomo. That’s the magic of a well-networked, distributed system. But as such, it is prone to cascading failure. 

Cascading failure occurs in interconnected systems when nodes of the system fail and then other nodes have to take over their responsibilities, thereby pushing themselves to their own limits, prompting failure, which forces other nodes to take over their responsibilities, and so on. It stands to reason that taking out the French and Italian nodes of globohomo would additionally burden the local European network, which is already taking up the slack of the failed Hungarian and embattled Polish node, leading to a cascading failure of the European network, which would put an additional burden on the global networks, especially if the Brazilian node is taken out while the American node is embattled. I estimated, somewhat optimistically, that we needn’t win in all countries — just enough countries to overtax the already overstretched globohomo. Thus, if the EUrocrats are trying to put out the Franco-Italo-Hungarian national populist blaze in Europe, they cannot come to the help of their American friends as they’re struggling against Orange Hitler, and nobody can help the poor civil society organizers of Brazil bring even more drugs and crime into the favelas as Tropical Hitler is cracking down on them. 

It was a nice dream for the day. My friend and I were also well and truly sloshed, so there was no way it could go wrong. The logic going, if two lazy, drunk, minor-league intellectuals could see the path to victory, surely Trump, Bolsonaro, Salvini, and Le Pen, or at least whatever smart people they had around them, could. Truly, a blessed time. But why am I bringing it up now? 

The reason is that I recently read an expose — or more accurately, a kvetchspose — about how Andrés Manuel López Obrador, the president of Mexico, is apparently making noises inimical to the presence of civil society organizations in Mexico, accusing them of undermining Mexican sovereignty. From the article: 

López Obrador has recently taken to railing against foreign sources of funding for civil society organizations, claiming Mexico’s sovereignty is at risk. The president’s long-running accusations that various foreign agencies are attempting to undermine his government culminated in a diplomatic note sent in May to the U.S. Embassy in Mexico. Speaking at a press conference, López Obrador blamed the U.S. government for “an act of interventionism that violates our sovereignty.”

The alleged “act of interventionism” is USAID’s provision of funds to the nonprofit organization Mexicans Against Corruption and Impunity (MCCI). In 2018, MCCI received a three-year grant of $2.3 million through the agency’s designated funds to support anti-corruption activities in Mexico. López Obrador also criticized Article 19, a nongovernmental organization that defends freedom of expression and whose work had been cited by the U.S. State Department in its annual human rights report.

I see here what Orbán did in Hungary, what Salvini and Bolsonaro should have done in Italy and Brazil, and what Trump should have at least attempted to do in America: dismantling the infrastructure necessary for color revolution. AMLO must take these steps, lest he find himself on the receiving end of one and his attempt to reassert Mexican sovereignty foiled. 

AMLO is more or less a national populist. According to the article itself, “López Obrador wants to continue reducing government spending, ramping up fossil fuel use, and expanding the role of the armed forces.” He has also apparently created difficulties for American energy companies by practicing a form of economic nationalism in the energy sector. Sounds fun. But during AMLO’s rise to power, the cuckservative media complex worked overtime to paint him as a “soshulist,” thus preventing any cooperation and cross-pollination between the American and Mexican national populist movements. For a time being, the three largest and most powerful countries on the American continents — the USA, Mexico, and Brazil — were headed by the national populists Donald Trump, Andrés Manuel López Obrador, and Jair Bolsonaro. Just think, we could have brought The Three Caballeros back at the presidential level!

We are seeing now in the AMLO regime a will to survive that we did not detect in the Trump administration, in the Salvini ministry, or even in Bolsonaro’s reign of cargo-cult neoconservatism and general incoherence. This should be a lesson for nationalists and national populists if we manage to get into power in the future: that power must be used and the enemy’s infrastructure must be destroyed, while our own infrastructure must be expanded and fortified against future attack. Unfortunately, the mental poison of bourgeois conservatism seeped into the nationalist and national populist discourse and convinced an alarming amount of influential people that power can be retained by means of argumentation. That might be helpful, but if we’re ever in a position of power, the prime method of power retention should be a rollback of enemy infrastructure and construction and fortification of our own. As it is often said, a lie can get around the world twice before the truth can put its pants on. If nationalists and national populists are to seize and retain power, we must destroy those institutions which give our enemies the power to forge and promulgate their lies. 

Or, to put it succinctly, we will not Ben Shapiro our way to victory. 

What put me on the road to White Nationalism was a sense of disgust and outrage at being compelled to lie, or at least go along with untruths. I was compelled to lie about the realities of race, of religion, and of ideology, so I walked away from it all. My experience in college was one of enduring rank hypocrisy and being tempted to join in, seduced by promises of academic success. My revulsion drove me away — into dissident thought and White Nationalism. It meant abandoning “respectability,” but it also meant not having to lie.

Far more than being lied to, I despise being compelled to lie or to engage in hypocrisy and prioritize saving face over truth. When people lie to me, I find them laughable and pathetic, but when they try to recruit me into their lie, I get angry and offended at the very notion that I’d take part in their deception.

For a long time, I conceptualized my quest as being a search for freedom, the desire to be free to speak the truth, which is probably why I spent a while calling myself a libertarian and why I still have a soft spot for so-called “racist liberalism.” Indeed, now that I’ve won for myself the freedom to be racist, I have dedicated my life to spreading this freedom to all white people. As I type these words, millions of white people the world over are forced to deny what their lying eyes see and repeat the official catechism of the woke faith. They are forced to blind themselves to the realities of race differences in intelligence, criminality, economic performance, hygiene, and general affability. They’re forced to affirm their commitment to diversity, equality, and the other gods of the woke faith. They are forced to affirm, both in word and in deed, their commitment to the erasure of the white race and its subsumption into a brown mass made up of all the nations on the planet — Madison Grant’s cloaca gentium.

The ultimate goal of this compulsion is to humiliate white people into inaction. In the words of Theodore Dalrymple:

In my study of communist societies, I came to the conclusion that the purpose of communist propaganda was not to persuade or convince, not to inform, but to humiliate; and therefore, the less it corresponded to reality the better. When people are forced to remain silent when they are being told the most obvious lies, or even worse when they are forced to repeat the lies themselves, they lose once and for all their sense of probity. To assent to obvious lies is in some small way to become evil oneself. One’s standing to resist anything is thus eroded, and even destroyed. A society of emasculated liars is easy to control.

It is especially important to the system that Right-wingers, conservatives, and others who may have objections to the system remain on the egalitarian plantation. They will spare no expense, and are even willing to concede much non-essential ground just to keep conservatives and Right-winger affirming the load-bearing lies that All Men Are Created Equal — especially all the races — and that white people are nothing special and have no right to a separate polity. In fact, they have no collective rights whatsoever.

The Right’s participation in the lie must therefore be ended, and this can best be achieved by problematizing, critiquing, and systematically deconstructing all Right-wing narratives which are not white identitarian or White Nationalist. While this may be derisively called purity-spiraling, it is impermissible for those who refuse to lie to give moral sanction to those who are, especially on the core issues of white identity and interracial compatibility. By assenting to the lie, we become part of the problem. By not condemning the liars, we exacerbate the problem. Vaclav Havel’s The Power of the Powerless contains the famous parable of the greengrocer who put up the slogan “Workers of the world, unite!” in his shop window — not because he believed in it, but as a gesture of submission and self-deprecation before the Communists. Havel then offers us a counterfactual in which the grocer has taken down the slogan:

The greengrocer has not committed a simple, individual offense, isolated in its own uniqueness, but something incomparably more serious. By breaking the rules of the game, he has disrupted the game as such. He has exposed it as a mere game. He has shattered the world of appearances, the fundamental pillar of the system. He has upset the power structure by tearing apart what holds it together. He has demonstrated that living a lie is living a lie. He has broken through the exalted facade of the system and exposed the real, base foundations of power. He has said that the emperor is naked. And because the emperor is in fact naked, something extremely dangerous has happened: by his action, the greengrocer has addressed the world. He has enabled everyone to peer behind the curtain. He has shown everyone that it is possible to live within the truth. Living within the lie can constitute the system only if it is universal. The principle must embrace and permeate everything. There are no terms whatsoever on which it can co-exist with living within the truth, and therefore everyone who steps out of line denies it in principle and threatens it in its entirety.

This paragraph is informative, but it is no substitute for reading the entire essay, which you should do immediately. Go do it now! I’ll wait.

Back in the old country, I was once asked to give a speech on how we’d get out of a certain political predicament. The details don’t really matter; suffice it to say that just like white genocide, it depended on the majority of people assenting to a blatant and humiliating lie. Having read Havel’s essay, I devised a metaphor: Each man and each institution in society is a repeater, and signals reach them from all over the place: some truthful, others false, and many merely noise. Most men have nothing to say, and a select few have a message to send, but every man has the freedom to either repeat a message which he receives or to not repeat it. His choice to repeat the message or not is his own. It may be influenced by other factors: He may be coerced, threatened, or compelled, or he may be fortified against such pressures by morality, conviction, or an agenda, but ultimately, man must choose to either pass the message on or not — i.e., stay silent.

What can the ordinary man on the street do to help us overcome our political predicament based on a blatant and humiliating lie? Quite simply, he must steadfastly refuse to repeat the lie. As we know from Havel, even a single crack in the façade — even a single man refusing to repeat the lie — is damaging to the system that is based on it. Moreover, every man who refuses to repeat the lie increases the probability that other men who observe him refusing to repeat the lie will themselves decide to do so. Since I was gave the speech to a crowd with many IT professionals, someone in the audience helpfully pointed out that I was describing a cascading failure. Being familiar with the concept, I mused that maybe I should have used that for a metaphor instead of radio repeaters.

In the cascading failure metaphor, each node of the system which refuses to transmit the foundational lie increases the burden on those nodes which persist in it, thus increasing the probability that they, too, will stop transmitting and stop living the lie. Over time, the system made possible by the lie breaks down — not only because nobody believes it, but also because nobody is repeating it anymore.

I’ve recently become fond of saying, “The elite are those who refuse to lie.” Until today, I did not fully understand what I actually meant by it. In this essay I have endeavored to begin from my own distaste for being compelled to lie to this phrase that has been haunting me. It is a story like any other, spun to bridge a gap between emotion A and concept B. Life is messy, which is why we tell each other stories and spin narratives. This is why the answer to questions such as “Why do you write”” is often a semi-fictional fabrication. Men often know in their hearts what is right and what ought to be done long before they can give an argument for it. Given enough time, they’ll work something out — perhaps logical, perhaps magical.

For my part, I know that I will never perpetuate the system’s lies, nor will I remain silent when others do it. They rule us by the lie, so we will destroy them with the truth. The elite are those who steadfastly cleave to the truth and refuse to lie at any cost to themselves. They are the first dissenters, and the first who dare assent to the truth. Most importantly, they are those who, in the face of overwhelming odds, threats, censorship, persecution, deplatforming, arrest, and the loss of livelihood — and occasionally their very lives — refuse to lie.

Well, it has finally happened. After years of saber-rattling, Armenia and Azerbaijan have gone to war over Nagorno-Karabakh, a self-governing area formally within Azerbaijan, but with an Armenian majority population. The great powers of the world as well as the regional powers are, of course, getting involved. Both Turkey and Iran border the region, as well as Russia, while you can be sure that America is somehow involved in this unpleasantness. There’s an opportunity to understand the nature of conflicts here.

On its face, this is an ethnic conflict between Armenians and Azeris, waged by the Armenian and Azerbaijani states. Smartasses might insist that it is a religious conflict between Christians and Muslims. Great Game enthusiasts will call this a proxy conflict between the American empire and its Russian counterpart. At the broadest level of analysis, the Armenian-Azerbaijani conflict is yet another theater of the age-old conflict between Indo-Aryans and Altaics. What if they’re all right?

I look at an ethnic map of the Caucasus side by side with topographical and political maps. I overlay them and I see something that strategy game enthusiasts call border gore. This is an unfortunate relic of Soviet/Romanov/Ottoman/Byzantine/Sassanid/Roman/Parthian/Seleucid/Argaead/Achaemenid rule, under which empires would mix and match ethnic groups in order to keep them squabbling among each other and facilitate control. The Caucasus looks like the Balkans before the ethnic cleansing and indeed, many places in the Balkans still have the same hodgepodge of religious and ethnic exclaves, enclaves, pockets, and cul-de-sacs as the Caucasus. If there ever was an area in need of ethnic cleansing, it’s the Caucasus.

Ethnic cleansing is an ugly word. It is an ugly word because it describes ugly acts. It can be done with minimal bloodshed, but even at its least violent, it entails uprooting at gunpoint entire families from where they’ve lived for many generations, confiscating their land with or without compensation (what’s the fair market value of grandpa’s grave?) and then escorting them to a strange land they may have never seen before, where they may be (rightfully) seen as outsiders, where it will take them generations to regain their standing and wealth. And what do you do with the old woman who categorically refuses to leave her home, even in the face of men with guns? Yes, it can be done peacefully, but an old woman shot and thrown face down in a ditch for refusing to move is within the realm of possibilities whenever we discuss ethnic cleansing. And yet it is necessary if we are to have homogenous, stable homelands.

Nagorno-Karabakh is a majority Armenian region under the nominal political control of Azerbaijan. One of these two factors must be changed in order to ensure its stability. The first option is for Azerbaijan to cede the region to Armenia. The second option is for the Azeris to ethnically cleanse the Armenians from Nagorno-Karabakh. Pride doesn’t allow the first option, whereas I doubt the regime in Baku has the stomach for ethnic cleansing. I doubt anyone in power today has the stomach for explicit ethnic cleansing. The last successful ethnic cleansing operation was Operation Storm in 1994, when the Croatian army uprooted between 150,000 and 200,000 Serbs from Krajina, a region of Croatia with a significant Serb population. The man who ordered it, the President of Croatia, Franjo Tudjman, had been in poor health since sometime in the late 70s. While I have very little evidence for this claim, I remain of the opinion that Operation Storm was the decision of a dying man to eat the sin of ethnic cleansing for the good of his nation.

Now on to the religious dimension. At its surface, it’s Christian Armenians vs. Muslim Azerbaijanis. Pretty clear, right? Well, I’m sorry to report that the conflict is more complicated than that. Supporting Azerbaijan is Muslim Turkey and ahem. . . Christian America. Supporting Armenia are Christian Russia and Muslim Iran. Wait, what? It’s even more complicated when you add on the various sectarian differences. Eastern (non-Chalcedonian) Armenia, supported by Orthodox Russia and Shia Iran vs. Shia Azerbaijan, supported by Sunni Turkey and Protestant America. What gives? This doesn’t appear to be the open and shut case the counterjihad people want me to believe it is. Who’re the Bad Guys™ and who are the Good Guys™ here? And why is America, which is the sword of counterjihad, supporting the Muslim side of the war? It’s almost as if religion matters on the ground, but not in the greater scheme of things. Yes, Armenians can gin up fighting spirit and international support among Christian (especially Orthodox) nations by framing this conflict as a crusade, and they wouldn’t be wrong, but at the higher levels, they’re breaking bread with Muslims (Iran) and countries which tolerate Muslims (Russia). Maybe the religious factor is superseded by something more permanent, something deeper.

Moving on to the geopolitical filter, things make more sense. It’s as straight an example of a Russo-American proxy conflict as you can find. American-aligned Azerbaijan, supported by American-aligned Turkey attacks Russian-aligned Armenia, which buys and sells weapons from Russo-Chinese aligned Iran, thereby causing a conflict in Russia’s Near Abroad (a Russian strategic conceptual area covering countries mostly from the former Soviet Union). The alliances are pretty clear, and the friend-enemy distinction is for once not in dispute, at least concerning the players on the ground.

These alliances also map the linguistic and racial makeup of the parties. We have Indo-Aryan Armenia, supported by Indo-Aryan Iran and Russia, while Turkic Azerbaijan gets the support of Turkic-speaking Turkey and Semite-controlled America. But who are our guys?

I won’t get into the whole thing of debating whether Armenians are white or not. In the words of Jared Taylor, they look huwite to me. Now, behaviorally speaking, there’s a bit of the Semite in them, though that may be just an effect of having been a diaspora population for so long. As Orwell put it, trust a snake before a Jew, trust a Jew before a Greek, but never trust an Armenian. In any case, I see them as white-adjacent. If, say, a son of mine wanted to marry an Armenian woman, I wouldn’t oppose it, unless we’re talking about a member of the Kardashian family. As for the Azeris, they are nonwhite both cladistically and behaviorally. But what does this mean for us?

This conflict is waged to protect the ethnic interests of Armenians and Azeris. It is also waged to promote the interests of the Russian and American empires, as well as to promulgate the religions of the respective nations and empires. The question the dissident rightist must pose to himself is, are any of those interests my interests? Are any of those interests allied to the interests of our people, our movement, and our creed? Does the protection or promotion of those interests directly or indirectly serve white wellbeing, or the program of the Dissident Right?

Unfortunately, I bear no answers. Even though we are a global movement, we must focus our efforts locally, because that’s the bulk of where the work has to be done. I know the position I’ll take, personally, I know the position my friends and allies in Macedonia ought to (and likely will) take. But I can’t answer these questions for you. Rather, I wrote this article to have you think about your position with regard to this conflict. Maybe we should support the Armenians. Maybe we should not get involved. If you’re Russian, Armenian interests are for the time being allied with Russian interests, insofar as the interests of the Russian state are aligned with the interests of ethnic Russians. The same goes if you are an American. Yes, the American state is served by an Azerbaijani victory, but are you? And what about us in Europe, what about those of us who are Orthodox Christians?

While you may reach a different conclusion, I can only repeat that old Polish proverb: Not my circus. Not my monkeys.

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MAGA was a movement of great energy and hope in 2016. It was the hope that the globalists can be defeated, that sovereignty shall return to international relations, and that the inexorable movement towards ever-closer global interconnectedness can be halted. In 2016, MAGA meant Make America Great Again. It meant concrete proposals, concrete solutions to concrete problems. It meant a wall along the US-Mexican border. It meant reconstruction of crumbling American infrastructure. It meant a revitalized American manufacturing sector. It meant realistic American foreign policy. It meant a crackdown on corruption. It was fun, sexy, and irreverent. It made fun of the stodgy, dusty Washington establishment. And in 2016, MAGA won.

By 2020, MAGA was a movement of zombie Reaganism. It was disconnected from reality and hope in equal measure. It meant vague and performative loyalty pledges to “America.” It tried to pass off an economy hopped up on cheap credit as a revitalization. It argued away the glaring lack of a wall on the border, usually by gaslighting people who wondered where it was. It meant bellyaching about “the socialists.” It bargained with the worst and most despicable aspects of the conservative establishment. It was stodgy, retrograde, and easily offended. It was the butt of jokes about negroes and Jews in MAGA hats. And in 2020, MAGA lost.

Now they claim that they won, but that the evil libturd soshulist DEMON KKK RATS stole the election — which they undoubtedly did. However, MAGA did nothing to convert its surprise 2016 victory into tangible gains, specifically in the area of preventing election fraud. For a movement that promised to crack down on corruption, it did surprisingly little of that once it secured the presidency. I remember asking at some point in 2019 why Trump made no effort to clean up the Justice Department, even a little. MAGA responded with its by then typical accusations of treason and gaslighting. The words “too short for this ride” were used.

In January of 2021, when it became apparent that Trump would be pushed out, I prepared all of my best neener-neeners, told-you-sos, and cruel jokes to unleash on all the MAGAs who called me a fed, a shill, “too short for this ride,” and other epithets. January came and went, and what I witnessed was genuine pain, despair, and suffering among the MAGA people. I was overwhelmed by sympathetic pain. I wanted to help MAGAs through this difficult time. I realized that what they were feeling at the time was all the disappointments I had with Donald Trump over a period of four years all at once. I therefore wrote “Rock Bottom Blackpills” as a hand outstretched in friendship and reconciliation to them — some took it, others ignored it.

That was nine months ago. Some MAGAs have taken the long and arduous journey to the Dissident Right. Others are trying to find other avenues of political activism, from resisting coronavirus measures and mandatory vaccinations to fighting critical race theory. Some are warming up to the idea of jettisoning Trump. Others won’t hear about it; he is their captain, for better or worse. I want to admire that kind of personal loyalty, but at the same time I’ve dated too many borderline women to forget that when someone abuses your loyalty, takes everything, and gives nothing in return, the only thing to do is walk away and warn others.

What’s left of MAGA has descended into nothing but a cynical grift. E-mails and messages have been reaching former and current Trump supporters calling them traitors, socialists, and deserters unless they donate to the GOP fundraising effort within 17 minutes. They’re dangling the hope of a Trump 2024 presidential run in front of the MAGA believers — but only if the GOP can retake the House in 2022, of course. The combinations of threats, pleading, promises, gaslighting, and lies reads like the messages and e-mails I used to get from my borderline exes after they put on one shitshow too many: I love you, I’ll kill myself, I’ll show up at your office, please don’t leave me, I hate you, I’ll let you fuck my sister, I’ll tell everyone you’re impotent, my life is meaningless without you, I’ll tell the cops you raped me, don’t go, I love you.

I’ve been told by friends in America that this is not new and that this rhetoric from the Trump people has been ongoing since 2016. Maybe MAGA was always a grift, but calling the most patriotic Americans traitors is a new low, even for the pond scum running Conservative Inc. Vox claims that Trump is also profiting from this grift, but Vox isn’t exactly trustworthy. Regardless, if this goes out under Trump’s name, it probably has his okay, which makes him complicit in the grift. This level of borderline ex-girlfriend manipulation means that MAGA is no longer a viable political entity, and merely a cash cow for a cadre of cynical grifters. The MAGA agenda has been subverted. The MAGA people have gone through a population bottleneck. Those with even a smidgen of intelligence and self-respect have either defected to the Dissident Right, disengaged or are distancing themselves from the toxic grift machine. Those that remain, the MAGApedes, are the lowest of the low — the stupid, the gullible.

Halfway through writing this article, I learned that Donald Trump has launched a new social media network known as Truth Social. In about two hours, his personal account on it was hacked and an image of a pig defecating on its own scrotum was posted to it. The site was shut down soon after. The site reportedly runs on an unmodified version of Mastodon code, a free, open-source social media software that was launched in 2016. Other attempts by Donald Trump to conquer digital space have ended in similar embarrassing failures. You’d think that with all the money he’s raised, he’d be able to hire a decent developer.

More importantly, the fact that Donald Trump and the GOP are now fundraising like mentally ill ex-girlfriends means that they are no longer confident that they can win politically, and are only looking to line their pockets with money from gullible patriots and what’s left of MAGA. This means that the national populist thrust in America is without a leader, and as such, will likely flounder, crash against the power elite, and lose ignominiously — unless, of course, Americans master the art of national populism after Trump. That’s where sites like Counter-Currents come in.

I’ve been writing for this site since December 2018. In the beginning, I wrote on impulse. Whatever popped into my mind, if it could be made into something useful for the cause, I put it down in text. Sometimes I wrote for my own pleasure and catharsis. I still do. Sometimes I wrote because nobody else could see the things I wrote about. As an outsider who nevertheless speaks the language and understands the culture, I have a fresh perspective on America. But for the longest time, I wrote without knowing what I’m doing.

Sometime in the summer of 2021, it struck me that I’m cataloguing my own successes and failures in organizing as well as writing a manual on how to build a strong metapolitical organization. Sure, you get some forays into cultural issues, ideology, and armchair philosophy, but for the most part, I’m concerned with the psychological types who become dissidents, how to overcome their shortcomings, how to prevent retards and psychos from entering, how to keep morale high, how to develop a culture which is resistant to subversion and demoralization, how to develop heuristics for rapidly distinguishing between friend and enemy under conditions of uncertainty, and how, when, and whether to use fellow travellers without getting too invested with them — indeed, how to engage with the mainstream, if at all. One of these days, I’ll gather it all in one place and have it out there. Hopefully, it’ll be implementable and replicable.

If it sounds like I’m making it up as I go along, it’s because I am. Making it up as you go along is the standard of human innovation. Nobody comes up with perfect theory and then implements it without a hitch. Rather, practice precedes theory. Men solve practical problems of survival, the commonalities of which are compiled in instructional manuals for their apprentices so that the problem-solving ability is transferred vertically through the generations. Then other, learned men extract from the heuristics and practices for the solving of those problems the theoretical commonalities and underpinnings, thus developing the theory and (hopefully) using it to refine the practical methodology. Or, as Nassim Taleb would put it, if one aims to become a philosopher-king, it is better to start as a king than as a philosopher.

However, if this project is to be completed, I’m going to need Counter-Currents — not just as a place to publish my ideas and expose them to your criticism so that they can be improved, but also as a place where other authors can post and compare ideas and engage in dialogue. It is also an archive of older ideas. I recently wrote on creating a dissident high culture, for example. This necessarily means having a culture-creating class of people and salons where they can converse and collaborate. For the time being, Counter-Currents is one of the very few such salons and the only one explicitly oriented towards art, culture, aesthetics, and philosophy. When you donate to Counter-Currents, you’re funding the foremost metapolitical salon in the world.

When you subscribe and get behind the Counter-Currents paywall, you’re purchasing a membership in a gentlemen’s club. It gives you the privilege to read the paywalled content immediately instead of waiting for 30 days. It gives you the privilege to comment without waiting to have your comments approved. In other words, you’re no longer just a spectator; now you’re a member of the salon.

I’m not going to suggest that you are a traitor or antifa if you don’t donate now. What I see of the Conservative Inc. and MAGA style of fundraising disgusts me. No, you’ll get Counter-Currents even if you don’t pay for it. Some of you may have other obligations. We’re always harping on about the need for white people to start families and build local community, after all. That costs money, and I understand if you choose to prioritize them. I also understand that the economic situation in America and elsewhere is getting to be pretty bad. If you can’t help us, don’t feel guilty; we’ll still be here for you.

I am rather inviting you to take part in the project of white survival. Your contribution will help us survive for another week, maybe another month. Staving off DDoS attacks, keeping the lights on — these things all cost money. If you value Counter-Currents, if I’ve contributed to your life, please consider donating. At the time of writing, we’ve only reached 60% of our fundraising goal, with only two months and ten days left to go. There’s an old Macedonian folk tale about a shepherd who sheared five sheep in a day, but as the Sun set, he asked his wife to light the lamp, as he intended to shear twenty sheep within the hour. It’s supposed to have a moral about procrastination or something, but nevertheless, in practice and in business, I’ve found that men become far more productive as deadlines loom closer.

I’m not promising you imminent victory. I’m promising you a long, hard slog. I’m promising you struggle and self-denial. I’m promising you the possibility of survival, at some point in the far future. You won’t get penis pills or water filters from donating here. You might get some crotchety old man’s books for free (I hear he went to prison — there must be some riveting anecdotes about that). But you’re reading this at Counter-Currents. This tells me one thing about you: You’re a courageous person, and you’re a person of healthy instinct and good character. You understand the value of nobility and intellect, and you appreciate beauty. As such, I have no doubt you know what lies ahead and what must be done for our people to survive.

When I’m trying to gauge whether a person is a friend or an enemy, I usually ask him to describe to me his victory state — which is to say, what will the world look like when he has won and no longer has to engage in politics (or at least, that of the radical revolutionary kind)? Most people I’d describe as friends have victory states which have no place for Jews in the lands of Europeans. Not even the based Jews, sorry.

The positive vision of a Europe of ethnostates is specifically a vision that excludes Jews, for reasons both racial and historical. Not only are they an alien racial presence which shouldn’t be in Europe as well as Europe’s overseas colonies, but they’re also a problematic presence which has historically undermined European states and has attempted to destroy the European people. So, no Jews in Europe. But another question, of course, poses itself almost immediately: What do we do with the Jews already in the lands of Europeans?

The most obvious solution would be to ship them all to Israel. This solution goes well with the pan-nationalist approach, which advocates granting each nation a state of their own as a matter of principle. The overseas Jews could be sent to Israel, which exists as a Jewish ethnostate securing the existence of the Jewish people and a future for their children. This is, of course, the favorite solution for any other non-white ethnicity living in European lands, and it’s not even that controversial. Already we’re seeing in Europe talk of repatriating the migrants from the 2015 migration wave by sources closer to the mainstream than I’d have expected seven years ago, when the most recent wave started. Germany for the Germans, Turkey for the Turks, Sweden for the Swedes, Morocco for the Moroccans, France for the French, Algeria for the Algerians. Sounds like a fair deal, doesn’t it? Why not Israel for the Jews?

In a recent conversation I had about the subject, I irreverently described my position vis-à-vis Israel thusly: I oppose garbage in the streets, therefore I support building and maintaining a landfill. So, if we are White Nationalists and we seek to rid our nations of Jews, we need to find a place to dump them. Of course, if Israel is destroyed as a result of pressure from the Muslim world, that would mean that there would be no place to dump Jews anymore. Sure, we could try sending them to Madagascar, or maybe Birobidzhan (the Jewish Autonomous Oblast in Russia), but both those places would be glorified shtetls. Then we’d be back to the same problem our ancestors faced before 1948: streets full of garbage and no landfill to dump it in. This is how the anti-Semitic case for Israel usually goes. Maybe if we can dump all the Jews there, it could be worth the $5 billion in aid (give or take) plus the diplomatic and security costs to continue propping up a Jewish state in the Middle East.

In theory, Israel is where the Jews are supposed to go and bother us no longer. In practice, this has not worked out so well. Indeed, since the creation of Israel, Jewish interference in European nations’ affairs has not decreased but has in fact increased, culminating in the takeover of the US foreign policy establishment by a cabal of Straussian neoconservative Jews in the early 2000s. Their Project for a New American Century was aimed at instrumentalizing America’s immense military, economic, and diplomatic power for achieving Israeli foreign policy objectives. It is precisely the influence of the Jewish state in the Middle East which has turned the region away from secular Arab nationalism, which looked towards securing the existence of the various Arabic-speaking nations of the region, and toward militant and expansionist Islamist fundamentalism, which looks outwards towards infidel Europe as the great enemy and seeks to conquer it. The Jewish diaspora’s subversive activities have intensified to the point that it’s no longer possible to find much in the way of healthy tissue in the West, as well as no cultural institution that hasn’t been taken over by them and isn’t being used to beat the white population into submission. In other words, we’re paying massive municipal dues for a supposed state-of-the-art landfill, but our streets are still full of garbage. It’s enough to make a concerned citizen consider taking action.

We’ve yet to see a white nation with a government that has strongly suggested to its Jewish population that they bugger off to Israel — or else. We therefore do not know how Jews, diaspora or Israeli, would react to such a measure. We do, however, know that when the Third Reich attempted to forge trade links with Jewish leaders in the British Mandate of Palestine, the response from world Jewry was to overwhelmingly attack the Reich. This was at a stage when the Reich was not interested in exterminating Jews (if it ever was, but that’s a story for another day), but merely sought to remove them from the German national body, and it evidently attempted doing so through diplomacy. Thus, it can be reasonably concluded that the motivation behind Jewish subversive and anti-white activity isn’t a lack of a homeland to call their own, but rather a lust for power over gentile nations in general and white nations in particular. In other words, what Jews stand to lose is the privileged position they hold in the West today, which they prioritize over the position that the erstwhile counter-Semitic Zionist plans for them as citizens of the Jewish ethnostate of Israel. The Jews can therefore be expected to fight tooth and nail against their removal from this privileged position, and ultimately against their physical removal from white societies.

There’s also the delusional belief long held by some Rightists in the West that if the Jews were given a land for their nation and cease being stateless people that they’d turn into a normal people. This is a belief that is shared with the founders of Zionism, notably Theodor Herzl and the first Prime Minister of Israel, David Ben-Gurion. This is an attitude popular among people who deny the essential immutability of national and racial belonging, and thereby conflate nationality with behavioral complexes. The torturing of the definition of “Jew” into meaning either “Woody Allen lookalike” or “Hasidim” is what allows for flights of fancy such as the legendary 4chan post where an Israeli anon claimed that “Israel is the country closest to becoming 110” — which is to say, the 110th jurisdiction in history to have expelled its Jews, reflecting the Israeli’s state tensions with its Orthodox Jewish minority population, that refuses to pay taxes, serve in the Israel Defense Forces, recognize the Tel Aviv regime as legitimate, or even speak Hebrew (they insist on speaking Yiddish), all the while hoovering up massive subsidies for their kibbutzim.

Personally, I don’t like using the term “normal,” but I believe it’s fair to say that the Jews do not live like other nations. They’re the most diasporic of the diaspora nations. Other nations live in a similar small homeland/powerful diaspora duality, notably their fellow Eastern Mediterraneans: the Greeks, the Lebanese, and the Armenians. Greek and Armenian influence may be significant in the West, but the Armenians don’t have the clout to even have their own genocide at the hands of the Ottoman Empire recognized as such, to say nothing of enshrining it as a cultural and legal cornerstone of Western Civilization.

There’s an argument to be made that the overseas Chinese and Indians have similar behavioral patterns as diaspora Jews, even as China and India themselves are vast, internationally respected, and powerful states, but it is only the Jews who have achieved hegemonic cultural and political control over a foreign civilization. Much though the Chinese and Indians may want to replicate this success in the West, the Chinese in Australia and Canada, and the Indians in America’s tech industry, consistently they find that the Jews are always one step ahead of them and that they simply do not have the knack for developing a culture of critique to suit their own needs. None of this is changing because the Jews now have their own state. Farming and soldiering will not turn Grima Wormtongue into Aragorn — or Sam Gamgee, for that matter. The Jewish behavioral complex is downstream of Jewish biology.

And so we’ve come to the stage where we switch metaphors. We have to see Israel not as a landfill where we dump our unwanted Jews, but as a pirate cove where Jewish pirates seek shelter. It’s not even a question of dual loyalty as much as the Jewish behavioral complex itself, which uses the rights and privileges of Israel as a sovereign state for the purpose of undermining and subverting other nations as well as retaining Jews’ privileged position in the world. We’re therefore back to the Jew himself as a problem — not Israel, not Zionism, not even the ill-conceived Zionist fantasies of American Evangelical Protestants, but the Jewish nation itself as a social and biological entity. We’re back to the drawing board.

What the hell do we do with these people?

For the past two and a half years, the world has been gripped by the COVID-19 pandemic response. The disease itself, which broke out in China, turned out to be a bit of a nothingburger. Not exactly “just the flu, bro,” but not quite the doomsday plague many were hoping for. The response to the outbreak, however, has been a pandemic in its own right: a pandemic of hysteria, tyrannical government and corporate control over everyday affairs, disastrous economic policies whose effects are still with us, incautious promotion of unproven genetic therapy masquerading as a vaccine, and mistrust and division arising from the government/corporate tyrannies and vaccine mandates.

Our little corner of political space has not been spared the division and mistrust, of course, with two main camps forming. One has counselled against jumping headfirst into activism opposing COVID tyranny and vaccine mandates, while the other has maintained that it is vital that this new form of tyranny be vociferously opposed by white identitarian nationalists.

Inasmuch as it is possible, I’ve tried not to take a side in this division and maintain good relations with everyone involved for the simple reason that I see and recognize both positions as valid. It is certainly true that COVID tyranny and vaccine mandates are a danger to white populations in particular, given that it is white countries and white regions that have the highest compliance rates for vaccination and white people are the likeliest to ruin their health and livelihoods by complying with lockdown measures. This author in particular gained a tremendous amount of weight and took up heavy drinking during the lockdown period; my physical fitness levels did not return to pre-lockdown levels until June 2022.

People who’d taken the vaccine are experiencing an unprecedented rate of cardiovascular disease, to the point that schools and kindergartens now need defibrillators in the United Kingdom.

However, it is likewise true that our resources are limited, and there are already people who are pushing back against vaccines and COVID tyranny. Why should white identitarian nationalists waste time, effort, money, and human resources pushing back against this position when Joe Rogan and numerous others are already fighting this battle?

My own position has been that while I recognize the danger of mRNA vaccines, COVID tyranny, and its possible use by the ruling class to reinforce their hold on power, and while I will support opposition to this, my own efforts will be primarily directed towards counteracting demographic replacement, identifying and deconstructing anti-white narratives, and tearing down the Nuremberg Moral Paradigm. I likewise won’t let anti-COVID activism get in the way of White Nationalism. I oppose mass vaccination with the dangerous mRNA genetic slurry because it will disproportionately kill white people, not because I want to protect Africans from Bill Gates’ depopulation plans.

If only it were true! I’d set 20 years of customer loyalty to Apple and Sony on fire, always purchase original Windows, and wear this absolute dork’s ugly mug on a t-shirt. Alas, no, he is not, in all probability, a secret eugenicist, and his fiendish master plan is probably not to eradicate Africans.

But I’m not writing to relitigate those old discussions, but rather to object to a particular term which has unfortunately entered the Right-wing lexicon of late. That term is “schizo.”

Now, the words schizo and schizophrenia have been with us for a long time, and the attendant phenomenon for even longer, but in the wake of the COVID pandemic response and the resulting Great Reset, it has attained new meaning. It refers to a Right-winger who is focused on fighting back against the so-called Great Reset and Fourth Industrial Revolution and its many effects: central bank digital currencies (CBDCs), smart cities, the introduction of the subscription model for everything (“you’ll own nothing”), the elimination of motor vehicles and meat consumption, the replacement of meat with insect-derived protein (“you will eat the bugs”), and a universal reduction in living space (“you will live in a pod”) — all in the name of sustainability and fighting climate change. Of course, none of these proposed policies will do anything to counteract the existing demographic replacement and Kalergi-style admixture of all nations into one homogeneous brown goop.

The so-called schizos raise the alarm about anything leading to these possible outcomes, from government prohibition of gasoline-powered vehicles to food and fuel shortages, whether natural or engineered. They point out that these seemingly unplanned events always seem to be interpreted in a way favorable to the Great Reset and the Fourth Industrial Revolution. Every heat wave is an example of climate change, every food shortage evidence of the necessity to eat bugs, and every economic crisis paves the way for smart cities and CBDCs. They warn that life is about to drastically change for the worse; that more people will be herded into these smart cities; that poor nutrition will produce weak, easily-controlled serfs; and that CBDCs will make it impossible for anyone to use resources in any way other than what the corporate governance structure deems appropriate. Forget about donating to Counter-Currents, or even purchasing a pork chop. They will warn that the ruling class is on the cusp of unprecedented levels of control over the population which will, among other things, make the pursuit of White Nationalist goals completely impossible.

Far be it from me to disavow the so-called schizos, given that I share their concerns about what our enemies might be planning and what has platformed them in the past (and I will continue to do so in the future). But I must admit that there is a kernel of truth to what the other side is saying. There is an element of throwing caution to the wind and just giving in to flights of fancy. Admittedly, I’ve never seen any nationalists who also warn about The Great Reset and COVID tyranny give in to the insanity, but it cannot be denied that there are a lot of kooks and cranks ringing the alarm bell about all sorts of insane things, such as the aforementioned narrative about Bill Gates. Another fan favorite is the notion that the Large Hadron Collider at CERN is being used to open gateways to Hell and let loose demons on the world.

Thus, allow me to explain why I think the term schizo should be retained, but used more sparingly.

Again, the bulk of people who’ve lost their minds with regard to COVID tyranny and The Great Reset and those who believe that COVID was never real, or even that viruses are not real, that the natural state of the human body is health (it’s not), that disease is a product of modernity, that Klaus Schwab has personally raped thousands of children to death, or that The Great Reset itself is demonically-inspired magic are not nationalists. These are, in fact, for the most part center-Right or maybe even center-Left people whose notion of trust in public information has been shattered, but they haven’t replaced it with an alternative framework. They are, in a sense, epistemic nihilists.

Red-pilling, believe it or not, is not as simple as taking a pill. That is because it is an operation to reverse a process that’s equally complex, if not quite as difficult. That process is mind control. Mind control isn’t simple: It starts when humans are very young, and the first step is the implantation of an interpretational framework consisting of narrative cores and postulates about the nature of the world. This framework is later fleshed out with narrative and periodically updated through the process of media-signaling, especially authoritative media-signaling.

Red-pilling is a three-step process. First, the authoritative media-signaling must be interrupted; imagine breaking an antenna off a radio. Then, the faulty postulates — the narrative cores — must be extracted. Imagine computer chips being removed from brain tissue. The narrative cores having been removed, the faulty interpretative framework must be deconstructed and replaced with a correct interpretative framework; imagine the scales falling from Adam and Eve’s eyes as they took their fateful bite of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge. It sounds long, painful, and unpleasant – because it is. The process of full red-pilling, of fully breaking the conditioning of a mind-controlled human being, is best described as a controlled nervous breakdown: We must break down what the old mind was if we are to rebuild it anew.

The phenomenon of the schizo, or the epistemic nihilist, arises from incomplete red-pilling — of stopping after the first or second step of the process. People who have their authoritative media-signaling interrupted, but do not proceed with further challenging of postulates — extraction of narrative cores — are stuck at the Alex Jones level of analysis, where the globalists are simply another form of Nazi eugenicists who want to exterminate our precious black people. People at this stage of partial red-pilling are vulnerable to subversion, because while they may have lost trust in the mainstream media, they can be hijacked by dissident media pretending to be friendly. They are mind-controlled opposition. MAGAtards, libertarians, and normie anti-COVID activists are at this stage: People who know that the media is lying to them, but are still trying to run the old narrative cores either alone, or under the guidance of “alternative” media.

Let’s say, however, that you’ve not only managed to break off the antenna, but also extract the computer chips — the narrative cores. The old framework still remains, however. You are still more or less a liberal thinker, just an inverted one. This puts you in the strange position of being a political Satanist in the sense that liberal democracy’s evil is now thine good. So, if freedom is good according to liberal democracy, then unfreedom is good, in your worldview. If popular government is good according to liberal democrats, then only absolute elite rule is good for you, preferably an absolutist monarchy (incidentally, the most modern, most degenerated, and least functional stage of monarchy’s development as a political system). If religious freedom and pluralism are good according to liberal democracy, then you can only be an explicit theocrat and support the burning of heretics.

This sounds cartoonishly contrarian, but there are people who seriously promote these positions, more or less for the reasons enumerated. Now, this is not to say that freedom, popular government, and religious pluralism are good, or that unfreedom, aristocratic rule, and theocracy are bad; this is only to indicate that people who still operate according to the old interpretative framework but with the narrative cores removed will simply propose a mirror image of today’s world, without any “good” to strive towards, except the old framework’s evils. Some examples of people stuck at this stage of development are all the post-libertarians, post-liberals, NRx, Catholic integralists, Western converso Orthobros (notably, not so much people who were born Orthodox), and Landian techno-utopians.

A third type of person exists who has managed to not only break off contact with the media-signaling and extract the narrative cores, but also to dismantle the old framework. Having not replaced it with a new interpretative framework, however, they are now true epistemic nihilists, unable to interpret the world as anything in particular. They genuinely believe in nothing and are in a sense nothing, coming to nothing but senseless violence. Fortunately for us, such people are rare, because man cannot live on bread alone and a man who has deconstructed the old framework will often seek out a new one, adopt it, and use it to interpret the world. Coming out the end of the process, the man can call himself fully red-pilled, awakened to the true nature of the world. Then the work begins in earnest. It is like learning to walk and talk anew, but when the process is complete, one’s understanding of the world is greatly sharpened.

In all of the intermediate stages, man suffers a form of nihilism given that his thought-process is incomplete and his means of interacting with the world is damaged. He is most susceptible to schizophrenic thinking in the first stage, when he learns to distrust the media, but still shares assumptions about the world with them. He usually resolves the resultant psychological tension by trying to flip the accusations coming in from the media and ruling class: “Democrats are the real racists,” “Bill Gates is a eugenicist,” “Klaus Schwab is a Nazi,” and so on. He is also vulnerable to enemies who try to instrumentalize him with false narratives. Hence, the ruling class is not motivated by hubris, neomania, and anti-white sentiment, but rather Satanism, pedophilia, and hatred of America (or Russia, depending of which empire the false narrative shills for).

In a sense, this paranoid ideation about Satanic pedophile elites summoning demons through the LHC at CERN and imposing Literal Nazi Eugenicist Communism on the poor Africans are epicycles which try to shore up a theory of the world built on wrong premises. Anti-white neomaniacs who think they can solve racism and end history by mixing all the races and fusing them with technology is just too mundane and boring, and besides, it would counteract the three very important narrative cores that white identitarianism is always bad, that the economy must keep growing, and that technological progress is always good.

This puts us in the curious position of having to wrangle these schizos. They are in the first stage of red-pilling, of becoming like us, but until they make the full transition, they are a liability. They look crazy to normal people and stupid to us. They still crave the approval of the mainstream, and while prepared to believe the media lies to them, they’re not prepared to believe that, whether knowingly or not, history books, their teachers, and their parents lied to them. They find our worldview repugnant and evil, and will often accuse us of being useful idiots for the globalist Nazi Satanists. Most of them will never clear this stage. Not helping matters is that if they graduate to the second stage, they become arrogant gasbags convinced they understand the world because they once Wikipedia’d Thomas Carlyle, and most of those never move on to the good stuff.

Even the schizos do not compare to the absolute insanity of the normie worldview, however, in which a DEADLY PANDEMIC VIRUS was unleashed by WHITE SUPREMACY to destroy COMMUNITIES OF COLOR and INJURE BLACK BODIES, but thankfully, THE EXPERTS, including Bill Gates and Anthony Fauci, TRUSTED THE SCIENCE and managed to destroy RACIST CLIMATE CHANGE and WHITE SUPREMACIST ANTIVAXX INSURRECTIONISTS.

No matter how nutty someone may look, if they have rejected that most sacred of modern truths, that All Men Are Created Equal, they are a hundred times saner than anyone who believes any variation of the mainstream narrative. We, my esteemed readers, have the dubious privilege of being sane in a world slowly going insane, which is even worse than being right when the government is wrong.

So, let’s not call each other schizos, even if some of us may indeed go a little far afield. Compared to so-called normal people, we’re the very image of mental health.

Part 3 of 3 (Part 2 here)

Social control

The core problem of Propertarianism is its phobia of naked power, a phobia shared by all variants of liberalism and something that I think makes human beings uncomfortable regardless of their ideology, unless they’re actually part of the ruling caste. And even then, only at a practical level, never at the conceptual – to think of power at the conceptual level is to stare down the gullet of Gnon – Nature or Nature’s God – and Gnon is ten times more ancient and more terrible than Cthulhu.

Strangely enough, Propertarianism started out as an attempt to explain the unique success of Western civilization, but unlike more successful attempts, it came through libertarianism and still carries a good deal of libertarian baggage, to the point that Propertarianism cannot conceive of non-material means of effecting social control. Social control is effectuated through three means: bullying, bribing, and bamboozling. Alliterative appeal aside, you can impress or intimidate a man into obeying, buy his loyalty, or convince him that doing your bidding is right. A healthy regime has a mixture of all three methods in place to convince the men living in its shadow not to revolt with pitchforks and torches in hand. Men are given the opportunity to earn through labor and wit, and even more importantly, the opportunity to marry and have children (bribery). They’re convinced that obeying the King is the right and good thing to do, even ordained by their god (bamboozling), and ultimately, in the event that they don’t obey their King, that King and his many knights, barons, and guards will be more than happy to split their heads open (bullying).

All three elements of social control are necessary, and various types of men respond to various types of social control better or worse than others. For example, a sociopathic brigand fears the noose, while paying little heed to faith or economic opportunity. A religious fanatic doesn’t fear punishment in this world, or poverty, but fears God. An erstwhile, salt-of-the-earth worker takes threats of violence as a sign of disrespect and has no time for superstitions, but will fall in line if given a chance to earn his daily bread. All of us fall on three continuums, between minimum and maximum responsively to violence, conviction, and bribery. However, Propertarianism completely disregards conviction as a mode of social control, or rather, doesn’t accept that convincing necessarily involves bamboozling and deception, even if it is in the public’s interest; i.e., that lies are tools of statecraft and social control. The church of Propertarianism will tell the truth to the best of its knowledge (testimonialism). This will usually not involve claiming that it is good and proper that our people survive, even at the expense of the survival of other people (as is often the case in the real world) because it cannot risk making that false positive, that Type 1 error.

Propertarianism’s liberal/libertarian heritage also makes it cagey about naked power, so it puts its faith in the rule of law and Curt Doolittle’s belief that he can devise a system of law which is free of error and potential for abuse, not understanding that it is not possible for the state to abdicate any portion of its powers without falling into private hands, where the lack of formal recognition of state function allows abuses unparalleled by any absolute or feudal ruler. Failure to recognize the inevitability of cartelization and the quasi-statal nature of some industries is what has led to today’s distorted marketplace – what the mid-century fascists and third-positionists were trying to rectify. It was also abundantly clear to medieval man, who devised the system of guilds and charters to formalize these inevitable relations between the government and economy, lest the government and large corporations be bound in an informal and destructive manner. Propertarianism, however, seems to rely entirely on the promise of material stability and “pursuing parasites for fun and profit” that we’ve already established will generate a culture of nosy busybodies. How will you control men when you recoil from faith and fear power?

American Nightmares

A final issue with Propertarianism is that it is what we call a “coup-complete” solution, which is to say that in order to implement Propertarianism, a group would have to fully seize power in the West. For this reason alone, because it presupposes power, it is appealing. A secure, powerful government is always better than an insecure, impotent government – such as we have right now. Thus, the Propertarian armies would have to defeat the Left in armed conflict first. I passed over some of the issues with that in the beginning, but let us look deeper into the question of armed conflict.

Firstly, the victory of the Right is not a foregone conclusion in a hypothetical war between the Left and the Right in the US. People who say that the Right has all the guns are forgetting that the Left has many state allies abroad who can furnish it with weaponry. As in the first American Civil War, foreign powers will fund, arm, and train the various factions. The Distributist, in the video linked to previously, points out that nothing stops China from sailing a ship full of AK-47s into San Francisco harbor and arming the antifa to counter the redneck militias.There is also the fact that the US harbors millions of ethnic Mexicans who would themselves represent a faction in such a war and would probably be supported by the Mexican government (and Mexico will likely retain sovereign integrity for longer than the US). Indeed, a coalition of Chinese-backed Leftists and Mexico-backed guerrillas is likely to defeat any Rightist coalition that arises, a coalition which isn’t very likely to attract support from abroad.

Of note is also the fact that white and Right-leaning Americans generally lack a friend-enemy distinction such as Leftists and Mexicans possess. As such, they cannot effectively organize beyond the local level. This may be enough in the “pocket Bosnia” scenario likely to characterize the early days of such a civil war, but it will prove impotent against concentrated action backed by state actors, especially if those state actors pool their efforts in order to defeat the Rightist coalition. Here’s a nightmare scenario: social control breaks down in the US and Canada, leading to a “pocket Bosnia” scenario – every unsettled account is settled violently, every seed of resentment blooms into murder, the cities are jungles of war of all against all, and warfare is waged primarily on the personal and familial level. Rural America survives, as do enclaves in the cities where there’s enough cohesion that fear of the police isn’t the only thing holding back the beast of primal man. These places become havens of peace and prosperity, which then become easy pickings for quasi-state actors backed by three foreign powers, namely China (in the Pacific coast, and further inland), Mexico (California, the Southwest, and Texas), and the European Union/NATO states, aided by Israel (East Coast, the Gulf Coast, and further inland). The three foreign powers and their quislings declare occupation zones and start administering the North American continent in accordance with the Leftist ideology of their choice. Those hoping for Russian assistance are hoping in vain. The Russians know their limitations and are aware that at this point in time, the best they can do is survive and keep their powder dry, and that they won’t be an imperial power capable of projecting power over vast distances for at least another fifty years. They won’t get involved in the American civil war.

Sounds scary? It’s far likelier than heroic Minutemen restoring the Republic. And even that is downright realistic compared to Propertarian Minutemen. If the Right – essentially Right-leaning white people – have a future on the North American continent, it is by acting in decentralized groups animated by a common purpose and high asabiyyah – a togetherness which gives the men cause to sacrifice for the common good. This common purpose, asabiyyah, and culture of decentralization is what allows the Taliban to run circles around the bureaucratic blundering beast which is the US military in Afghanistan. It’s true that guerrillas can disrupt weak empires, but only if they have the aforementioned unity of purpose and an ally in power (either within the empire or a foreign state), or barring such an ally, are facing a regime so weak that it cannot control its territory. Propertarianism tellingly doesn’t provide such a unity of purpose, due to the social control issues discussed above, but also due to its lack of historical context. The American empire found its common purpose in the liberal ideology, but this was only possible because liberal ideology was itself piggybacking on the Anglo genotype and Anglophone nations of the world. To be an Anglo usually meant being liberal in one way or another during the period which saw the rise of the British and American empires. Even though the British and American empires were liberal empires, however, it is important to keep in mind that liberalism had a symbiosis with Englishness which only ended in the wake of the Second World War, when it defeated fascism. It was taken from the Anglos and spread across the West, and after the fall of the Soviet Union, it was further diluted and found itself to be property of the world (how’s that for intangible commons?), with a few recalcitrant holdouts such as North Korea, Iran, and Cuba.

Propertarianism lacks liberalism’s historical lineage, even though it claims descent from liberalism. It will for that reason not glom onto any particular nation or any genetic line, and not serve as the official religion or ideology of any tribe. Contrast that with the Preußentum-style corporate state which resonates with Germans, or even Moldbuggian neoreaction – a Carlylean restorationist screed updated for the modern world – which is the alternative ideology of the Anglo world kept alive in bits and pieces throughout the Puritan-liberal night. Propertarianism has most in common with a truncated form of old-style Puritan-liberalism, but the genetic line likely to carry this ideology – the Danish-descended Anglos of Essex and Lincoln, via New England – are firstly engrossed with classical liberalism, and secondly are dying due to classical liberalism.

Maybe I’ve stumbled upon a possible niche for the Propertarian idea, though. It has its flaws, but maybe it can serve to organize Yankees into something that passes for Right-wing thought. It’s certainly a better option than liberalism for a people that has proven itself consistently unable to bear Right-wing regimes. The people highly unlikely to adopt Propertarianism, however, are the fighting-age, fit-for-battle males of America who are overwhelmingly Christian and lack faith in written constitutions, rule of law, and completions of the scientific method. Rather, what these men crave is a leader who will take their energy and channel it into greatness, a leader who will give them a chance to live like lions, conquer, and make survival possible for themselves and their families. They crave such a leader because their bodies are very much aware that history is driven by great men, not by great ideologies, and that ideologies and religions are tools in the hands of great men who seize power by means of their indomitable will. In my nightmare scenario above, such a great man, at the head of a tribe (whether synthetic or real), makes the territories of North America ungovernable to the three occupying powers through guerrilla actions, forcing them to retreat in whatever schedule and proportion, or merely lasting long enough until the fall of the American empire leads to a global reckoning as all the untenable relations held in place by the fear of American military might are dissolved and renegotiated (often in bloody conflicts). This forces the three occupying powers to retreat to their homelands. Either scenario returns the situation to a “Bosnia classic” (ethnic enclaves embroiled in low-intensity, community-level conflict), which will allow this charismatic leader’s group to conquer much of the continent due to superior asabiyyah. After all that is complete, that group will have very little use for Propertarianism, though some of its useful ideas might be utilized in its new paradigm.

Conclusions

There’s a lot to process about Propertarianism, and precious little to go on. The lack of a single text where the Propertarian idea is defined so that it may be critiqued is a big issue. In this article, I’ve taken pronouncements by Curt Doolittle to be representative of Propertarian ideology where I found such to be lacking on the Propertarian Institute’s Website. Perhaps these concerns will be addressed in the future. However, from what information we have, I conclude that Propertarianism very naïvely believes that it can sidestep human nature, eliminate Leftism (which is to say, eliminate sin), solve the problems of liberalism using h liberal methods, and come to power with relative ease. It is blind to the problems of liberalism as indicated by the NRx/Dark Enlightenment, or the Traditionalist philosophers before that. It dismisses attacks on the Enlightenment for being German or Semitic, though it is the Enlightenment and its philosophies that caused many of modernity’s problems. It dismisses moral objections as “moralizing” – for example, I’m likely to get attacked for moralizing for pointing out the severe risk busybodies would pose under Propertarian law.

Ultimately, Propertarianism isn’t even all that concerned with the problems of white survival. Sure, parasitism and deception are problems, but we can tolerate some deception and some parasitism insofar as we can survive; survival is the chief issue facing us here. This is a problem of birthrates, of territorial defense, of replacing the ruling regime with one amenable to our survival, with an awakening of the European warrior, and many other things which have little to do with the letter of the law. It’s important not to lose sight of that. Propertarianism offers no solutions for white survival outside of civil war, and even that is orthogonal to the philosophy itself. To be fair, I don’t have any non-military solutions to offer, either, but at least I’m not asking you to learn a complicated new way of thinking. Just lift weights, learn martial arts, obtain weapons training, and become embedded in your community – skills which will be useful in any case.

Yes, fellows, it’s that time of year again. Once again, the extremely online youth will foreswear masturbation for a whole month in a ritual known as No Nut November. One of the few salutary phenomena to arise out of social media culture, it will at some point in the future be heralded as an antecedent of whatever ideological/religious movement swoops into power in the wake of the decadent and falling American hegemony for the simple reason that restraint and self-denial are the makings of greatness and restraint and self-denial practiced by the many are the makings of great civilizations. But that’s a tale for another day.

Today I want to talk to you about other ways in which your instincts are abused to lead you astray, rob you of your hard-earned money, or just plain mess with you for reasons even more nefarious. Just as e-girls and porn companies abuse your sexual instinct for narcissism and profit, there’s a contingent of men on the internet who abuse even your deeper, less flashy, but more intense instincts.

The word cult is thrown around with some regularity on the internet. Many major internet personalities have been accused of fomenting a cult, and indeed, the behavior of their fandoms does suggest cultish behavior. People will tell me about their preferred guru’s intellect, insight, and (bizarrely) sexual prowess and dominance. Always with the sexual prowess and dominance. Maybe that’s the bellwether of whether you have a personality cult or not: cultists talking about the leader’s sexual conquests as if they were their own. I was skeptical of the very notion of a Trump personality cult until I witnessed MAGA people on twitter dot com vividly describe and repeat tales of Donald Trump’s sexual conquests of attractive women, as well as the many references as to how, apparently, the erstwhile Mrs. Melania Trump is a tornado in the sheets. While the ultimate test would be to witness such a narrative being given in person, complete with eyes glinting and bodies saying more than words ever could, I was immediately reminded of old ex-Yugoslavs who would relate vivid tales of how comrade Tito fucked Sophia Loren, as if it were they themselves who seduced and conquered that statuesque specimen of Mediterranean womanhood.

Vicarious sexings of Sophia Loren notwithstanding, the element present in the Tito cult, sporadically present in the Trump cult (insofar as such a cult exists in the real world), and ultimately absent in the online cults is mutual reinforcement and social proof. When old Yugoslavs get together to drink and remember the good old days, and even one of them brings up the Sophia Loren anecdote, they’ll all joyfully reinforce the tale for each other, absence of evidence be damned. When Americans attend a Donald Trump rally, they seem to enter a form of communal dream-state in which each Trump supporter reinforces the other’s experience of what can only be interpreted as a Hierophantic event.

But when a lonely, low-status man in his mid-20s shares a Jordan Peterson quote, or when a vacillating libertarian listens to a 4-hour Molyneux harangue, there are no friends to provide social proof for their newfound creed. It’s just them receiving information from their guru through a computer. But that’s not a cult. A cult is a social environment. A low-status man in his mid-20s looking at a computer screen is the precise opposite of a social environment. No, what we’re witnessing is not a cult. It’s a mentorship.

Let’s go back to the relationship between an e-girl and her simp. The e-girl attempts to avoid fostering a cult-like atmosphere because it runs the risk of reminding her simp that he does not possess her. Indeed, many other men are milling around her. One of the most repulsive sex tales I’ve ever heard came from a trucker who had lost his virginity while serving in the Yugoslav National Army. As soon as his squad got leave, they went to a hooker, and then around 20 soldiers made it with her. He went 16th. When the last soldier was done, the hooker was reported to ask for more. The hero of our story was then seized by the most intense feeling of disgust imaginable. No matter what porn would have you believe, being #16 in a train run on a woman who asks for more after dick-number-twenty-something is a repulsive and unhealthy experience. That is precisely the atmosphere that an e-girl must avoid fostering among her simps, lest they realize that they are what the acronym implies: Suckers Idolizing Mediocre Pussy.

The young man who is on the receiving end of e-mentorship isn’t a stupid cult member. No. He has the undivided attention of his mentor. Oh, sure, he talks to other students of the mentor, but they’re merely discussing the ideas of a great man who is in the process of transferring to them their own greatness. If you call them cultists or worshippers of the guru — if you call them a guru — they answer with incredulity and perplexed disbelief. How can anyone mistake this personal connection I have with my mentor for anything other than what it is?

The fact of the matter is that in young men, the desire to be taught, to be mentored, and to ultimately be inducted into the world is possibly stronger than the sexual instinct, though less flashy and visible. Think of the difference between a tractor and a Ferrari. A Ferrari is flashy and has a lot of horsepower, but a tractor has great torque and can pull a plow, generating things far more valuable than what the Ferrari can do. Sadly, digital modernity relies on exploiting your instincts for nefarious reasons. E-girls will hijack your sexual and bonding instincts to convince you that they’re your girlfriend. Political grifters will hijack your thumotic and political instincts and appeal to your will to power and justice. Mentor-grifters will callously exploit your desire to learn and to become the best man you can be. They’re perhaps the most contemptible, and most insidious, for the mentor-student relationship is how civilization replicates itself in time: an older man transfers his wisdom and experience to a younger man, and the younger man transcends his youth and inexperience by diligent application of his mentor’s teachings. To be a mentor is a noble calling. To provide a simulacrum of mentorship, mentor-porn, is the lowest of deceptions.

We live in an age when too many men lack strong fathers. Historically, your father is your first, possibly greatest mentor. Far more than a warm female body, young men yearn for a firm fatherly hand to guide them to the greatness they know they can achieve. Unscrupulous men, guided by greed, or instructed by their employers in the various intelligence services, will pose as mentors in order to rob young men of their resources or lead them down dead ends or self-destructive paths, maybe even shredding forever their faith in the possibility of mentorship. A young man betrayed by his elders is an ugly and disturbing sight. He is a black hole where all trust goes to die. He is the instrument of civilizational death. We may be approaching a time in the West when the majority of young men have felt the sting of elder-betrayal, and even those who still believe might be in for a rude awakening.

Suffice to say I’m not a mentor to you. You’re under no obligation to believe anything I say. I won’t sell you bullshit about how we’re on the cusp of victory or you personally being on the cusp of enlightenment. And if I ever start a mentorship program, it’ll be in person. In fact, you may take that as a useful heuristic. If he’s not making you wax his car, you’re probably on the receiving end of mentor porn.

You need to stop watching porn. You also need to stop simping for e-girls. But more importantly, you must abandon these false mentors. The way to do that is to seek out real mentors in the real world. Luckily, much like the human sexual instinct, the male mentorship instinct runs both ways. Just as young men have a will to be taught, so do older men have a will to teach, especially older men who have no or very few sons. Without mentorship, they have no legacy and all their work is meaningless. You’ll deliver them from this meaninglessness by a desire to learn. We are used to googling for information. When’s the last time you asked an older man for advice? While I prefer the interactions be in real life, we can avail ourselves of the internet. There are men of many ages in our movement. We need but connect to each other.

If you are an older man, make your knowledge available to the young ’uns. The rewards of mentorship are honor and respect. Who knows, maybe the young whippersnappers will even wax your car. Inside you is a great repository of experience and knowledge; knowledge that our people need if we’re to survive. The young, holding great potentiality for the future, must for their part be open to such mentorship. It’ll entail humility, which may be difficult in this age of the ego, but then again, you’re already a Dissident Rightist. You’re not in this thing because you shun difficulty and self-effacement.

Take the time to learn and to teach. Learn to reject the falsehoods that modernity throws in your path. Be a student, be a mentor. Take part in the great chain of being.

Be, in a word, a man.

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Nikolai Vasilievich Gogol’s Taras Bulba is one of the defining works of Russian literature. Indeed, it is often said that without Pushkin and Gogol, there would have been no Russian literature, only books written by Russians. Taras Bulba is a window deep into the grandeur and sorrow of the tempest which is the Russian soul, and more specifically, the soul of the men who inhabit the lands of the Rus which have been called Ukraine, or Little Russia. But far from merely being the thumotic throbbing of an alien people in a faraway land, Taras Bulba speaks to the European soul, the indomitable and ungovernable fire of Aryan man.

Western audiences might be familiar with the 1962 adaptation film starring Yul Brynner. Indeed, differences between the book and movie demonstrate how far the modern Westerner is removed from the fifteenth-century Cossack, and thus from his own savage ancestors who conquered the world. Whereas in the 1962 film, the elderly Taras is spurned to action by the restlessness of his son Andriy to avenge a previous Polish betrayal, in the novel, Taras beholds his two sons, Ostap and Andriy, in priestly frocks, as they are returning home from the Academy in Kiev. He decides to present them to the other Cossacks in the Zaporozhian Sich, but not before engaging in fisticuffs with them and dressing them in proper Cossack gear. Once among the Cossacks, Taras decides that his young sons must taste war, and so manipulates the politics of the Sich in order to elect a more warlike Koschevoi (leader). Fate then intervenes and grants the Cossacks a cassus belli to fight against the Poles, who are ostensibly humiliating the Orthodox Christians with the aid of the Jews. The Cossacks arise in fury and vent their anger first on the Jews of the Sich, and then march in force on the Polish lands.

This contrast alone is enough to warrant an entire book expounding the different levels of confidence and martial spirit which the civilization of Gogol had had, as opposed to the already decadent and fallen civilization of the year 1962. As I only half-jokingly asked one of my friends – and now ask you, dear readers – would you invade Poland to save your son from becoming a robe-wearing, Nancy-boy intellectual? The sad truth is that our distant grandfathers would have said yes, even as we timidly say no. And in fact, such a book has already been written. It is called The Uniqueness of Western Civilization, and it was written by no other than Ricardo Duchesne. Taras Bulba in this episode is very much the archetypal steppe aristocrat who will fight for pure prestige, and not even his own – for he is of an advanced age and his days of glory are already past – but for his sons’ prestige, who have yet to hear the symphony of steel and powder.

There has been much hand-wringing about the literary value of the novel, and there will continue to be in the future (in this essay, for example), but let me take a moment to say that it is a page-turner. Gogol is a master of prose and it shows, even in the somewhat mediocre translation which you can read here. Aside from the majestic and exciting battle scenes, even the way the Cossacks prepare for war is adventurous in its way. The tale speaks to something within every man; indeed, every white man – and why wouldn’t it? It is the ultimate in family outings: a father taking his two sons to taste the blood of foemen, conquering new lands and slaying enemies of the faith.

The battle scenes demonstrate the important tension at the heart of every steppe nomad – and indeed, every white man – between aristocratic individualism, which drives man to impose his will on the surrounding world, and the collectivism and obedience necessary to impose that will and ensure the existence of our people and a future for white children. The Cossacks are referred to collectively, whole kurens acting in unison while the great maneuvers and musket volley firing are in play, but once the battles descend into semi-chaotic melees, individual Cossacks come to the fore and demonstrate their bravery, with aristeias depicting their deeds in battle and personal histories in some cases in a manner reminiscent of Homer’s Iliad. To take one example, the Cossack Moisiy Shilo defeats a Polish nobleman in single combat, preceded by a narration of Shilo’s exploits in a past raid on the Turks, where he deceived them into believing he had converted to Islam and then killed and robbed a lot of them, but thereafter dishonoring himself in the Zaporozhian Sich through thievery and drunkenness. But he yet finds forgiveness in the hearts of his brothers for being a brave and great warrior. Immediately following this narrative, Shilo is shot by the Polish nobleman’s servants, and has but enough strength to call for the eternal honor of Russia.

And the Poles! While the book is a product of its time and has a good deal of anti-Polish sentiment, Gogol faithfully describes the Sarmatist aesthetic prevalent in the time of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, of the Polish nobles and knights who adorn themselves with gold and silk in the imagined manner of the Sarmatians. The great tragedy of this is that their style of dress and manner is not very different from that of a Cossack, and that war between Cossack and Pole is ultimately a brother war, even if a necessary one. We are who we are, and European history reflects that, from the times of the steppe nomads who fought each other for pure prestige. An oft-repeated call in battle on both sides is for an equal battle, someone to measure one’s strength against. Indeed, Gogol will often reflect on the bravery and skill of the Poles. It’s easy to look on Poland as a victim nation, partitioned and invaded for centuries, but history teaches us that it was at one time a strong nation with imperial ambitions and that the Rzeszpospolita was in many ways the height of Polish civilization, itself reflecting the tension between the aristocratic individual and the collectivism of the military hierarchy, even though they are the heroes of a different story.

Taras’ wish is granted. Both his sons attain prestige in battle, Ostap as a cool-headed commander who is soon made hetman of the Oumanski kuren after he avenges the death of the previous hetman Borodaty, and Andriy as a champion, a great warrior who knows no fear. However, as in many things, a woman proves to be the ruin of man. While the Cossack host besieges the city of Dubno, Andriy is spotted by a Polish Waiwode’s daughter who knew him from Kiev, and is seduced by her into joining the Poles. He then gives a treasonous speech which should chill the heart of every one of us, for it represents the sickness which is killing our world. Let the traitor, therefore, speak for himself:

Who says that the Ukraine is my country? Who gave it to me for my country? Our country is the one our soul longs for, the one which is dearest of all to us. My country is – you! That is my native land, and I bear that country in my heart. I will bear it there all my life, and I will see whether any of the Cossacks can tear it thence. And I will give everything, barter everything, I will destroy myself, for that country!

This is Andriy Bulba, rootless cosmopolitan, who will cease being a Cossack and become a Pole, renounce Orthodoxy and become a Catholic, and renounce his father, brother, friends, and land – for a woman. In our deracinated age, this doesn’t seem so dramatic. A modern-day Andriy would cut off his dick, take hormones, declare himself trans-black, and convert to Islam, while cursing his cisheteronormative toxic masculinist father and brother, who perpetuate hierarchies by being hetmans of kurens rather than joining gardening communes with fellow trans-amputee whamen of color. Oh, and he wouldn’t do it for a woman, obviously, because heterosexuality is icky.

In that one sentence – “our country is the one our soul longs for” – is contained the hubris and arrogance of the gnostic; of the man who believes, Jew-like, that he can heal the world of its pain, not considering for a second that what he believes to be pain is inherent to the world and not a bad thing at all – a man so limited in scope that he believes to know all there is to know, someone so locked up in his own skull that he cannot even conceive of the world which is vast and terrible, but majestically ordered. Traditional man is humble man, a man who kneels before God; a man who knows his strength, but also its limits; a man who understands that he is only as strong as his bond to other men, as stalwart as his faith in God. Andriy Bulba is indeed seduced by the Polish girl, but also by the lure of false freedom, the lie that he who has no roots is free. Indeed, this is the primary sin of Faustian man, for the soul that yearns for freedom, the aristocratic individual who imposes his will on the world, is always at risk of convincing himself – foolishly – that he is God, that his heart knows better than the world, and that intellect or force can overcome the grand rules of nature. That is the great sin of our race and what will destroy the West.

Treason is not tolerated by the Cossacks, and Taras Bulba executes his son by his own hand, though at the cost of the battle. When his leadership is most necessary, he is distracted by the need to punish his wayward son. His other son, Ostap, is also captured by the Poles. Taras is knocked unconscious and rescued by a friend and then returned to the Zaporozhian Sich, but broken in spirit.

He pays Yankel the Jew, whom he had previously saved from the wrath of the Cossacks to smuggle him to Warsaw, so that he may rescue Ostap. Yankel the Jew does exactly that, but Taras fails to rescue Ostap, managing to merely let the poor boy know that he is watching and is pleased as Ostap is being tortured, broken at the wheel, and finally executed. True to form as noble savages of the steppe, not one of the Cossacks lets out a single sound while being horrifically tortured. Old Bulba has now given all he has to give to his nation, and his prestige is secure. His raison d’être as an Aryan aristocrat is fulfilled. He is ready to die, and the story now only requires his death.

The rest of the novel chronicles Taras’ roaring revenge, culminating in his capture and execution, as well as his prophecy that a new Tsar will arise to unify all the Russias – indeed, all Slavs – under the banner of the faith. This part is known to have been tacked on seven years after the novel was completed at the behest of Russian government censors, and it is in many ways a concentrated dose of anti-Polish sentiment. Whereas previous segments of the novel portray the Poles as “the Other” and as enemies – and worthy enemies at that – this ending goes beyond the necessary Schmittian friend-enemy distinction, which needn’t be hateful, and portrays the Poles as deceitful oathbreakers (although not without basis in historical fact). This does not quite detract from the overall quality of the novel. As we have mentioned before, Gogol is a master of prose, and the reader will intently imbibe the story regardless of this flaw.

Of note is the novel’s portrayal of Jews. Needless to say, Gogol was red-pilled on the JQ. He was more red-pilled than most of the Dissident Right is today. In Yankel the Jew, we see the moneylender and innkeeper who poisons gentiles with debt and booze, but rather than completely reject Jews, Gogol takes the pragmatic position that they have their uses, and are suited for such labor as doesn’t fit a God-fearing Christian, but which is necessary and useful to the state. The caveat is that the Jews will face pogroms if they get too big for their stringy trousers. Also of note is that while the Cossacks speak of the Poles as the enemy and decry Polish Catholicism as heresy – mostly in the service of Schmittian friend-enemy distinction – it is from the mouths of the Jewish characters that the truly hateful descriptions of Poles are heard. Doubtless, such words are also used for Cossacks when the Polish are around.

Finally, a word on geography. The Cossack is a Ukrainian phenomenon, and the Ukraine is, as its name suggests, the borderland. Its wide-open steppes make it a nightmare to defend and difficult to define. Is it Russian, or something else? Who is to say? History has shown us that it is nigh-impossible to effectively govern it. Warsaw, Vienna, and Moscow all failed at it, and despite the best efforts of the colored revolutionaries, Brussels and Washington haven’t fared any better. The sad side effect of this is that the proximity of great nations to Ukraine has in all probability prevented the process of ethnogenesis, and the Ukrainian people are therefore still in a sense not their own, but rather odds and ends which, under sufficient pressure, will form into a nation. In Gogol’s novel, this vacuum is filled by the Orthodox faith, which provides asabiyyah and friend-enemy distinctions for the Cossacks. Of note is that the Orthodoxy of the Cossacks is a warrior faith; they do not keep fasts and do not forgive. Vengeance is a virtue among them, and violence celebrated for its own sake. The Cossacks are the army of Christ envisioned in this article, serving God but not the Church. This is what a healthy society should look like – warriors on top served by priests, rather than the other way around.

We in the civilized West live in sprawling citadels of steel and glass. We are far from the Pontic-Caspian steppe where our ancestors fought for prestige, far from the warrior-kings who conquered Europe, Iran, and India, and far from the joy of battle. Even more importantly, we are far from each other. There can be no Männerbund, no druzhina, no kuren. We do not revel, we do not fight, and we do not invade Poland just to give our sons a taste of war, and we do not pass judgement on those same sons when they desert, betray, and disappoint us. And yet within each of us lives this steppe aristocrat, this physically effervescent Aryan man who will do exactly those things if pushed, who will stand athwart unspeakable opprobrium and spitefully snarl at the enemy. There lives inside you a hetman of our people – a Taras Bulba.

It has become an important part of Right-wing lore to mock liberals for framing current events in terms of Harry Potter. Donald Trump restricts entry to persons from a number of Muslim countries? That’s just like Voldemort persecuting Muggles! A court refuses to convict a white person for defending himself against black crime? That’s just like Cornelius’ Fudge inaction in the face of Voldemort’s rise! Parents organize to stop anti-white propaganda from brainwashing their children? That’s just like Dolores Umbridge torturing Harry because he spoke the truth! A black criminal was killed in a shootout with police? That’s just like Bellatrix killing Dobby! And so on.

The usual retort — one that is devastatingly good — is “read another book,” reinforcing the idiocy of reducing everything to conflicts in a novel for young adults. It is indeed a sad testament to our predicament. We were once ruled by men who read Homer and Goethe, whereas now our ruling class prefers J. K. Rowling — or not, depending on how TERFy she feels this week.

While it may make sense to mock liberals for their reliance on Harry Potter and cite it as illustrative of their low level of culture, we should nevertheless not fall into the trap of assuming that this makes them stupid or that it lessens their danger, however. Indeed, in this essay I intend to demonstrate that this use of Harry Potter to explain situations is a very potent weapon in our enemy’s hands. As usual, we shall start with a personal anecdote.

For some time now, I’ve been trying to follow the unfolding ethnic tensions in Bosnia and Herzegovina between the Bosniaks and the Herzegovian Croats. However, for the life of me, owing to the preponderance of noise over signal coming from people talking about the subject, the high-context nature of Balkan cultures and my related distance from the context of Bosniak and Herzegovian Croat cultures, as well as Bosnia and Herzegovina’s convoluted constitutional system — as a result of its diversity — means that it is very difficult for me as an outsider, even as one who understands the language of these peoples, to follow what is going on. In a moment of joking exasperation, I asked my followers and friends on Twitter to explain the situation to me in terms of Harry Potter. It was supposed to be funny, but then someone obliged me, likely partaking in the joke, and I realized that the situation was made crystal clear to me by this explanation. Clearly, this deserved deeper exploration.

When I say deeper exploration, I usually mean searching the Counter-Currents archives. This place has been around for a while, and there is much wisdom to be found among the dusty tomes. I came across Charles Jansen’s “The Metapolitics of Harry Potter.” It’s an excellent essay in its own right, pleasant to read and informative about the saga’s deeply white nature, but it also contained the answer to my conundrum regarding Harry Potter’s explicative power. From the text, which you’d do well to read in its entirety:

Beyond the massive promotional campaigns for each new book and movie, several features may have contributed to the success of Harry Potter. . . .

Second, it shows us a rich, colorful world. A world full of humans, sorcerers, magical creatures, intrigue, quests — a world that makes a perfect supplement to the real one, “something more” for those who feel bored with the bland world of business, the dirty world of politics, and the generally impoverished world of modernity. . . .

Fourth, it is shared. Fans of Harry Potter have a strong common interest. They can spend hours discussing the aspects of a specific magic spell, a fictional character, and many other arcane topics. In a world where individualism increasingly reduces us to a state of atomization and where multiculturalism leaves us alienated, it is great to have something to share with other fans. Even better when it relates to our roots in a living European tradition.

Or briefly, it is internally wide-ranging and externally widely read. This gives Harry Potter two important properties. Firstly, because the world it depicts is rich and colorful and encompasses much of the vast panoply of human behaviors — and crucially, behavioral phenotypes — it provides a wealth of archetypes which can serve as a sort of shortcut in communication, especially at a distance. So, if we wanted to describe a leader who dithers in the face of impending danger because he’s unwilling to face the facts, is hamstrung by bureaucracy, is unwilling to rock the boat or lose political capital, and indeed persecutes the heroes for raising the alarm, we could just describe him as Cornelius Fudge, the indecisive Minister for Magic whose poor leadership is a decisive factor in Lord Voldemort’s rise. Whenever liberals want to describe a political leader as “not doing enough” to stop evil, they’ll call him a Cornelius Fudge, and as the Charles Jansen article points out, this is likewise the archetype of a white nation’s cuckservative leader who refuses to acknowledge that the demographic displacement of whites is even happening or is a problem, and indeed persecutes White Nationalists and identitarians for raising the alarm.

When a Harry Potter fan says Voldemort, Dumbledore, Umbridge, Ron, or Dobby, he doesn’t just mean these characters but the archetypes they represent: the Evil Sorcerer, the Good Mentor, the Petty Bureaucrat or Traitor, the Devoted Friend, or The Downtrodden. These are categories, archetypes, and behavioral phenotypes of people which can be found everywhere around the world, and especially in the grand moral dramas which characterize white societies. When we expand the archetypes to groups, represented by organizations and school houses in Harry Potter, we attain a key to understanding the even more crucial question of predicting and analyzing group behavior under extreme uncertainty, and of course the position we ought to take vis-à-vis these groups and their anticipated behavior. In this respect, Harry Potter serves as well as countless other works of literature and epic poetry have in the past: as a social orientation and coordination tool. When we say someone is Voldemort, we must all oppose him, lest we become the dithering Fudge — or worse, abuse our power as the deplorable Umbridge. We should instead look to brave Harry, dependable Ron, clever Hermione, loyal Hagrid, and wise Dumbledore. Otherwise, poor downtrodden Dobby and the vast masses of Muggles will be killed.

By framing a problem in terms of Harry Potter, we can transplant this map, and with minor adaptations, hew it to any territory — or at least any territory which involves an us-versus-them type of conflict, which the Godric Gryffindor of the Dissident Right tells us is the whole concept of the political. It allows people to rapidly grasp an adequate vision of a conflict they may not have a direct part in, which greatly eases the trouble of coordinating alliances and hostilities within very large groups.

Now, that’s all well and good, but what use is a book, even if it is passable and has a rich internal world, if it’s not widely read? This leads us to the second of Harry Potter’s great powers: It has wide appeal and you can speak of its internal workings to a complete stranger, confident that he’ll be able to understand it. This entire essay has been written with an audience who has read Harry Potter in mind. Indeed, I not only expect you to have read Harry Potter but also to have a basic understanding of its vast cultural impact, especially the impact it has had on the millennial generation. It is the world’s second-most popular book, following none other than the Bible, which is treated similarly in everyday speech. I expect my interlocutors at the very least to be versed in the most famous Biblical stories, but it’s important to know that Harry Potter is in the same category as the Bible when it comes to universality of knowledge.

Thus, we have a widely-known work which contains within itself a very important political heuristic that is instantly recognizable by millions around the world. By virtue of these characteristics, Harry Potter solves an important problem for our ruling class. However much we play around with the definitions, ultimately I agree with Petr Hampl that our ruling class numbers in the millions — at least five million souls, and more if you count the managerial class that is directly beneath it and shares its culture. Since they do not have much in the way of formal hierarchy, and they have to coordinate their actions somehow, they do it by appealing to their shared myths and preconceptions about the world. In the broadest sense of the term, we would call this ideology, though it includes such seemingly non-ideological cultural artefacts as Harry Potter and Star Trek, all centered on and reinforced by the Nuremberg Moral Paradigm.

Harry Potter and other cultural artefacts of our ruling class give them the ability to rapidly transfer information pertinent to the friend/enemy distinction to fellow members of their class who have never interacted with the local culture, and may be unable to quickly understand it — just as my Herzegovian Croat friend was able to instantly inform me about the state of affairs in Bosnia and Herzegovina using terms like Dumbledore and Hufflepuff. Having thus assimilated a sufficient approximation of the situation on the ground, the ruling class and their managerial cohort can rapidly deploy all their resources in service of the struggle. It is like Imperial British potentates quoting Shakespeare and Homer to each other to coordinate battles and intrigue, but cringe.

Now, of course, the question poses itself: Why Harry Potter of all things? The answer, I find, is depressingly simple. Our ruling elite, as per Petr Hampl’s sociological look into their ranks, consists mainly of parvenus who are strongly insecure about their positions and intellects. They could fall from grace at any moment, and more importantly they have to keep telling themselves that they deserve their positions because they’re better than those of the unwashed outside the compound. They do this by appropriating the trappings of intellect, such as the book, as a physical fetish. Shakespeare and Homer may offer a broader and even better diapason of archetypes than Harry Potter, but they are beyond many of these parvenus, who mainly spend their time jockeying for position and attending meetings. Reading high literature is the luxury of a man of leisure, and these people have very little leisure. Instead, they default to using Harry Potter because it is an incredibly easy read, is good enough for the job (and good enough is often better than good), and in many cases they’ve already read it as children (or they could just watch the movies).

There’s probably a second, defensive reason for why Harry Potter evolved to become the gold standard of libtard internal discourse. Since effective libtard communication should be somewhat protected from either dissidents or conservatives snooping around, Harry Potter here proves more effective than Shakespeare. Since it is a book and requires a minimum of intellectual commitment, it chases away the notoriously anti-intellectual mainstream Right, which wouldn’t be caught dead reading a book. But since it is young adult fiction and not particularly impressive from an intellectual standpoint, it also has the benefit of alienating the stuffy and cerebral Dissident Right. Indeed, I am writing this article precisely because by mocking the ruling class for using Harry Potter as a coordination mechanism, we run the risk of underestimating the tremendous advantage they have over us.

And with this, I want to pose this key question: What is our political heuristic? What is the map I can rapidly transfer to a fellow traveler who didn’t know what Macedonia is not two seconds ago, in order to immediately appraise him of the political landscape here? The answer is online meme culture. There are those who yearn for a more intellectual approach to dissident politics, and as a result believe that meme culture should take a back seat or even be eliminated completely. I disagree. Indeed, meme culture — calling someone a cuck, a civnat, poljack, libtard, zigger, boomercon, Qtard, or any of the lovely terms of affection and derision we have for each other — immediately informs an ally of the position that this person has vis-à-vis the political mainstream, our own movement, and the various branch narratives stemming from the Nuremberg Moral Paradigm. When I say someone is red-pilled, blue-pilled, purple-pilled, or black-pilled, I am describing states of initiation into our own informal hierarchy and positions with regards to activism, as opposed to retreat and passivism.

Those who seek a more intellectual approach must therefore anchor this immediately recognizable and easily transferable map to the own broader lore, which indeed describes in rich detail the political landscape and its many actors. More often than not, we find that those who came before us observed the same things as we do, and that much of the intellectual labor is already done for us. From online culture, we have this readily transferable map, this coordination heuristic. Our task is therefore to fuse the two into a workable engine which will both allow two shitposters from different corners of the white world to coordinate a raid on a libtard groupcha,t as well as accord their nerdy friend the ability to immediately translate the work of past and current greats into the political landscape of his country, region, city, or even narrowest friend and family group, thereby gaining key insights and increasing his political power — even if by just a little. It is from such tiny gains at scale that big victories are made of.

The death of His Royal Highness Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh kicked up some forgotten echoes of an older form of dissent from the orthodoxy. While the identitarian side of the Dissident Right had reserved reactions, the more conspiratorial-minded saw fit to break out in outright celebration of the old man’s death. It reminded me of the conspiracy theories that were in vogue before the rise of the identitarian Right. The number of people repeating these things showed that these ideas are still very much in vogue today and that identitarian concerns have yet to supplant them as the dominant concern. 

We all know the stories. The world is secretly controlled by the Royal Family, who are satanic pedophiles unnaturally extending their lives through evil magic, alien technology, and adrenochrome. They’re also Masonic Illuminati who’ve infiltrated the US government in order to abolish freedom and impose a New World Order. They’re also secret fascists who’ve retreated to the West after the Soviet Union defeated fascism in 1945, and what better evidence for this than Philip’s German ethnicity? Did you know his last name is Battenberg? Their sinister agenda includes globalism to eradicate the freedom-loving people of the Earth and impose literal commie fascism just like their friends, the Nazis, wanted to. They also want to keep you sick and enslaved and are withholding life-saving technology and hogging it for themselves. This is why you need to buy water filters and Super Male Vitality. 

Now, far be it from me to deny that the Royal Family has had its share of scandals and skulduggery. Prince Andrew was very good pals with Jeffrey Epstein, the death of Princess Diana was awfully convenient for the royals, and it’s no secret that Edward VIII was hounded and surveyed by British intelligence for his sympathies with the National Socialist regime in Germany. But this is to be expected of any family of rulers, royal or otherwise. Israeli intelligence assets blackmail non-royal politicians; families get rid of embarrassing in-laws in convenient accidents, and are sometimes sabotaged by the intelligence agencies they theoretically command. But the majesty of the British Monarchy enhances and mystifies everything surrounding this family. It also activates three very powerful narrative cores which exist in almost every modern person. 

Before we continue, I want to briefly define what I mean by a “narrative core.” As we have learned in the post-truth age, information is processed by narratives, and narratives are usually dictated by the media. But it’s not just the media that creates the narrative out of thin air — deceiving people is hard. Speaking to a truth that people already have deep within them is easier. The first step of narrative creation isn’t in the media, but in the education system. Here, basic narrative cores are implanted, such as white people bad, black people good, 6 gorillion were killed in the gas chambers, we fought WWII to make the world safe for democracy, among many others. These narrative cores can be activated later in life through magic words associated with the narrative core, such as racism, fascism, pedophilia. An activated narrative core then assists any incoming new narrative in penetrating the subject’s psyche and insinuating itself as the predominant interpretative framework of the subject. 

Now, the key to this is to extract the narrative cores from the subject to immunize him from hostile narrative penetration. Alex Jones would call this “breaking the conditioning.” However, purple pills, half-truths, incomplete deconditionings, whatever you wanna call them, sometimes pose as narrative core extraction, and of course, human beings cannot function without narrative. So, any attempt to extract a narrative core without replacing it with a healthy one leaves us with an incomplete process of immunization. It might, however, cause the subject to cease believing incoming narratives while still trying to run the old cores. The resulting beliefs resemble the epicycles thought up by medieval geocentric scholars to explain away the mounting evidence for the heliocentric model of the solar system in their byzantine complexity. Here we come to the position of the Royal family as a good example of these epicycles. 

The common story from American-style conspiracy theories such as Alex Jones is that the royals are globalist satanic pedophiles who hate us for our freedoms and want to enslave us and keep us sick. They hate freedom, and indeed have hated America since the American revolution. They’ve therefore made a pact with the communist Chinese to infiltrate and subvert America with liberalism and may have been helped by CIA — I mean — KGB asset Yuri Bezmenov to do it, because they really hate America. They also rape kids to drink their adrenochrome and sacrifice them to Satan. Now, while this constitutes a rejection of the mainstream narrative, you’ll notice that it’s still running the liberal narrative core: that America is the last bastion of liberty in the world, and that sinister forces, including the CCP and the British Royal Family (America’s oldest enemy), are out to destroy it because they hate freedom and want to enslave human explorers. The fact that liberalism is nothing but an excuse to let unscrupulous moneyed and intellectual power run roughshod over people and nations without the state to restrain them is irrelevant. America’s Freedumbz™ are under attack from the evil aristocratic soshulist satanic pedophile elites. 

Mirroring this story almost perfectly is the story from the Russian and Eastern European-style conspiracy theorists, where the royals are all secret fascists, and this is evident in their German descent and the indisputable — INDISPUTABLE, I SAY — fact that they practice colonialism and racism. Just ask Meghan Markle. This is on top of their indulgence in satanic pedophile rituals and adrenochrome to extend their unnaturally long lifespans. As always, the East, and Russia in particular, is left to be the bulwark against satanic pedophile fascism as represented by the British royal family and their puppets in the American government. Yet another clear rejection of the mainstream narrative, but still stubbornly running the old antifascist narrative core, where the defeat of Germany in 1945 saved the world from evil, smelly fascism in one iteration, but crypto-fascism, or worse, ur-fascism, is still rampant and never far away from seizing complete dominion over the world. 

What do these stories have in common? Well, the royals are the bad guys and they’re also satanic pedophile elites who rape children for their precious adrenochrome. They’re more akin to demonic beings than humans. Look at how long they live, look at what they look like, look at how that mean old Elizabeth sucked the youth out of poor, sensitive Diana. Of course they rape children and drink their adrenochrome and worship Satan and God knows what else! Who are they, anyway, to be royal, this family of degenerates? They must have made a deal with the devil, raping children in underground dungeons with their pedophile elite cronies. 

That’s resentment, a very deep human emotion that our system seeks to nurture and grow into nasty little monsters that dwell in each modern human. Hating your betters has never been more strongly encouraged than today. In the case of the royals, it is enhanced by primitive peasant superstition about the aristocracy, natural or otherwise. How could the Queen and Prince Phillip be anything but demonic beings when they are the incarnation of hierarchy, and as we know from our liberal education, hierarchy is evil?

But why the royals? It makes sense to accuse the Clintons, Bushes, and other crime families of all sorts of evil, of which they’re probably guilty, but the House of Windsor? I’ll go out on a limb here and say that there’s a secret narrative core that hasn’t even been implanted by the education system, but just by background culture: that he who is in a formal position of power wields actual power. Theoretically, Elizabeth II is the Head of State of the United Kingdom, as well as Canada, Australia, New Zealand, and all the other nations of the Commonwealth. In theory, she has the reserve powers of the British Crown. In practice, modern royals are puppets on the strings of secular governments, and do not rule. But it’s hard to look away from the ermine cape, the crown jewels, the majesty and grandeur surrounding a king or a queen and not think that this is the one in charge. This narrative core is good and needs no excising — there could be no song or stories without it. We merely require a dissolution of the shadow government which rules instead of the guy in the cape. 

I won’t pretend to be an expert on the royal family or Prince Philip. I appreciated his candor and his frankly hilarious remarks when he was alive. He lived to be ninety-nine years old, and so his death can be mourned without excessive sorrow. I also recognized that he, like the rest of the royal family, was no friend to the identitarian cause, without delving into his motivations. Here’s hoping that the occasion of his death is the last time we have to deal with those of half-broken conditioning. 

I’m pretty sure you’ve heard by now of No Nut November, which is a challenge for all who take it upon them not to commit the sin of Onan – i.e., masturbation – in the month of November. As it happens, most of the people taking the challenge are young men, most of them white and, if not quite on the Right, then at the very least not allergic to our ideas. Of note is also that No Nut November has been countersignaled by the smut merchants at VICE, which I consider to be a glowing endorsement.

I am glad to tell you, my friends, that I have passed this challenge. My mind is at ease, my soul feels clean and pure again, and my body is a weapon fit for the Archangel Michael. I could also offer you details concerning some of the other psychosomatic effects, but as Counter-Currents is a highbrow webzine, the traditional Slavo-Mediterranean braggadocio about sexual prowess and genital size should be used sparingly.

I’m no stranger to addictive behavior, or to the cessation of addictive behavior. In my life, I’ve been seriously addicted to three substances: risperidon, nicotine, and sugar. Two of those I’ve completely dropped, while sugar I’ve learned to consume in moderation. I’ve also had my fair share of problems with video game addiction, and let’s not forget that cigarette smoking has a behavioral aspect to it. I had the misfortune to be born with an addictive personality, or in terms of personality psychology, high extroversion and low agreeableness. For those of you who are my fellow evolutionary psychology eggheads, Dr. Kevin MacDonald has an alternative theory of personality  which posits that these are essentially the same trait. I am a thrill-seeker. And whatever else you say about porn, drugs, booze, casual sex, violence, and writing for Counter-Currents, they all fall under the category of “thrill.”

The problem with trying to quit addictive behaviors is that you’ve got nothing to replace them with, and especially nothing to replace the thrill with. Well, that’s not entirely true. Personally, I did not quit smoking as much as found religious fervor and the adrenaline of martial arts training to be superior forms of thrill. There’s always something better. However, you face two problems when you do this. Firstly, our degenerate and downright evil society incentivizes the bad thrills and discourages the good thrills. Secondly, you’re probably suffering from the worst curse of decadent modernity: loneliness.

The first problem is surprisingly the lesser one. You’re already reading Counter-Currents, and so you are already somewhat skeptical of modern society, to say the least. If you’re attempting No Nut November, there’s maybe the tiniest germ at the back of your head that no, pornography is no bueno and you should maybe take a month off. Societal pressures will mean less to you than they do to the normie and the NPC. That being said, I don’t want to understate the enormity of societal nudging in the onanist direction. Smut purveyors have made their garbage available to everyone with Internet access. Their tentacles are everywhere, protruding out of phone and computer screens. Worse yet, all of the big-headed and many-degreed experts are unanimous that beating your meat is not only good for you, but also good for society and for the environment. Humans are a social species and most find it difficult to go against the tribal signal, which in our current society comes from lab coats. Other, worse addictions are even more heavily promoted.

But the second problem is deadly serious. We are, by the standards of our ancestors, lonely people. Many of us have very few close friends to confide in, and have very little actual human contact. Ask yourself: How many of your friends can you talk to freely regarding the deep badthink? As someone who lives on the fringes of the American Empire, I have to check my privilege: Everyone who isn’t already a full-time buttkisser for the Americans is very aware of racial, ethnic, and sex differences not just in IQ (which is only controversial to egalitarian fanatics), but also in personality, civilizational capacity, attainment, and personal and public hygiene. It’s amazing to me just how much self-censorship the average American has to impose upon himself to keep from losing his friends and family. One would venture a guess that friends and family like that are not worth keeping. As described by Robert Putnam in the appropriately named Bowling Alone, modern American society lacks the necessary social cohesion even to form a local bowling league. And if you can’t manage that, there’s no way in hell you’ll be able to form a gang of young men who’ll lift and fight together. This is not to mention that without the social cohesion of the Männerbund, no man can fully resist the slings and arrows of temptation that addictive substances and behavior hurl at those in recovery. Separate, we are but weak twigs.

No Nut November was successful, however, in bringing together young men over the Internet in the cause of resisting temptation. Whereas each of the participants would probably have failed had he attempted the challenge on his own, the reassurances and support of the community, as well as the prospect of being shamed as a coomer, complete with unflattering depictions of the coomer and the coombrain, who are small-souled creatures enslaved by their desires and incapable of intimacy and passion. To be a coomer is very much analogous to being a sinner in hell. Those who took the Coomer Pledge, which made the rounds on Twitter, agreed that those No Nut November participants who failed would change their avatar to The Coomer. As November trudged on, I saw more and more coomer avatars, but curiously, they were always in the minority. While the participants obviously saw The Coomer as an odious being, a participant who had failed – a small-c coomer – was never reviled; he was a brother who had fallen to temptation, and each of us could have been him. It was very much a “hate the sin, love the sinner” type of situation. No Nut November has all the trappings of a religious fast. Attached to this ritual was the proliferation of information about the damaging effects of porn on the mind and body. I will not recount them all here, you should know all the ways porn is bad for you already, and even if you don’t, nothing so base and so favored by the obviously evil ruling elite could possibly be good for you. More and more young men are waking up and quitting porn.

No Nut November provides us with a valuable lesson. If we are to leave bad behaviors and habits behind, we must first construct a ritualized and pseudo-religious means of reinforcing good behavior, if not outright religious dictates against the bad and for the good; and secondly, assemble a group which will perpetuate the ritual and its associated memes, as well as provide encouragement and support to each of its members to avoid temptations and regression. Now, don’t take my use of the word “construct” literally. If I’m being completely frank, I don’t think that good religious or ideological systems can be consciously constructed, no more than a good language can be consciously constructed. Steer clear of those seas, mateys, for thar be Esperanto, Scientology, and Objectivism. Rather, rituals and memes that work become part of complex memeplexes which are reinforced not only by a perpetuating group, but also by their very obvious survival for a long time: tradition. For this reason, we might be better off resurrecting what worked in the past, with the caveat that it is entirely possible that it won’t work on modern people. Hey, nobody said that metapolitical cultural labor would be easy.

Above all, No Nut November has given us that will, and asabiyyah can defeat the money and ubiquity of globohomo at the personal level. The smut merchants are powerless against a determined gang of men who support each other in an effort to achieve excellence. And if we can defeat them at the personal level, we can defeat them at the familial level as we become shining beacons of manly virtue who guide our families with a firm hand towards grace and rectitude. And if we defeat globohomo at the familial level, then our families, having become beacons of virtue and propriety, will lead our communities – and there lies the path to actual political power.

Convince your neighbor, and the world will follow.

Grandpa pissed his pants again,
He don’t give a damn.
Brother Billy has both guns drawn,
He ain’t been right since Viet Nam.

I’m going down to the Dewdrop Inn
See if I can’t drink enough.
There ain’t much to country livin’
Sweat, piss, jizz, and blood.

— Warren Zevon, “Play It All Night Long”

There is by now a very predictable pattern to a certain subgenre of twitter dot com drama. Step one: Nassim Nicholas Taleb tweets something controversial. Step two: people, due to a variety of factors, misunderstand what he tweeted. Step three: drama ensues. Last week was no different.

When you see *from the outside* a quaint village with a seemingly idyllic life, consider that the locals are preoccupied with local intrigues, split into fractious alliances, and entangled into petty disputes.

Rural life lacks the oil of commerce that makes cities harmonious. https://t.co/9uEI18nNci

— Nassim Nicholas Taleb (@nntaleb) December 19, 2020

I could see the direction this would take. He used the word “harmonious.” He also used the phrase “the oil of commerce.” This is problematic enough on its face, because the word harmonious contains nuance that flies over the head of the typical midwit. This is compounded by the fact that Taleb’s meaning of these words is a little different from the dictionary definition — you have to have read at least some of his work (preferably Antifragile) to understand exactly what he means by “harmonious” and “oil of commerce.” Briefly: Harmonious things are bereft of randomness, stressors, disorder, conflict, friction, etc. Here we come to our first problem, which in order to explain, we have to take a short detour into the field of human biodiversity.

In my observations of the human animal, I’ve come to conclude that there are levels of intelligence below which all qualities and categories are collapsed into a binary “good” and “bad.” As such, all words we use to describe concepts, particularly in the societal sphere, are treated as mere restatements of the words good and bad, perhaps made up to look more intellectual-like. The threshold at which the nuance disappears is disturbingly high (somewhere between 110 and 120 IQ, I’d wager). And so a word like harmonious is understood to basically mean “good.” I mean, how can harmony be anything but good? Have you ever heard a disharmony? I had a friend in college who ran an electronic music band literally named Disphilharmonia, specializing in disharmonic electronica. I went to one of their gigs out of comity. There weren’t even good-looking girls.

But our research team here at Counter-Currents informs us that indeed, there exist such things as bad harmonies. For example, a hostile tribe acting in harmony to harm us can be a very bad thing indeed. A hostile army acting in harmony against us is a bad thing. And that’s not even getting into Taleb’s ideas on Mediocristan vs. Extremistan whence comes his specialized meaning of harmony, missed by all those angry and incredulous reply guys. A steady, featureless, harmonious society that suppresses the disorder family of events (randomness, stressors, conflict, friction) sets itself up for gigantic failures in a similar way that suppressing minor fires in a forest sets the forest up for a massive, unstoppable inferno once enough fuel builds up on the forest floor.

Indeed, we do not see a moral valence to harmony in the dictionary definition. It is a state of agreement and concord. But again, those words have a measure of “good” contained in them. Agreement? Who’d want to disagree? Or to be disagreeable? Ugh! It contains that nasty modifier “dis,” which we remember from disharmony. I am told inner-city American Negro chieftains use “dis” to proclaim private wars and vendettas against each other. Bad word, signifying bad things, bad bad bad, tfu, tfu! 

The honest thinker comes to the world assuming that the definitions of words are agreed upon and clear, but I suspect nothing could be further from the truth, because as Semiogogue would point out, the combinations of sounds that make up a word are (almost) completely arbitrary and I tend to agree. But what if meaning itself is asymmetrical, and in the heads of some people exist entire categories of meaning which other, lesser men cannot even conceive of? It would certainly account for the so-called qualitative difference of thought observed by many in the highly intelligent, something that isn’t adequately explained by mere intelligence understood as raw processing power (or literal quickness of thought, as it strongly correlates to reaction times). What if there’s either an occult quality to some men, or an emergent property of fast and efficient thought (quantity having a quality of its own) that allows them to find categories of meaning where other men can’t? And if this is so, how can the first class of men communicate with the other?

What a fun little detour. We asked a lot of questions and did not provide a single answer. We merely clarified that people indignant about Nassim Taleb calling cities harmonious don’t understand the full meaning of the word harmonious, especially as used by Nassim Taleb. But what can we learn from the actual pronouncement?

Rural life is indeed fractious and fraught with local intrigue. It is, in a sense, full of pervasive low-level disharmony. Villages tend to be Dunbar-number (150 people) compliant, which is to say that during your day, month, year, or lifetime, you needn’t interact with countless numbers of faceless strangers. Rather, you’ll find yourself interacting with the same people over and over again.

And people, bless their little hearts, remember.

They particularly remember slights, insults, rudeness, debts, tribal and clan disputes, the iniquities of land demarcation, distribution and use, the neighbor’s gaze lingering for a little too long on the old lady’s rear end. They also remember kindness, friendship, comity, unity, help in troubled times, and that one time when you gawked at a different neighbor lady’s rear end together. It’s, in other words, a rich life full of social interactions because “everybody knows everybody” — but anyone who knows anything about people will tell you that social interactions are not always pleasant. Petty disputes can be very fun, but they sometimes escalate into nastiness. For example, I often joke that the modal Macedonian murder goes something like this. Step one: man is drinking with his brother. Step two: they argue over land demarcation. Step three: man kills brother with an axe. Step four: man sobers up in the morning and turns himself in.

Ah, country living.

Contrast that to city living. I get up in the morning, go to work (hawk, ptooey), say a bland hello to my neighbor (even though I’d like to show this annoying, noisy little man what for), pop into a coffee stand to get my coffee to go, say a bland hello to the barista girl whom I know flirts with me just for the tips (even though I’d love to ravish her in the fields), say a bland hello to my colleagues at work (knowing that they want to give me shit but are too socialized to antagonize me), say a bland hello to the checkout girl at the supermarket (again with the ravishment). It’s all a big nothing, really, but it runs smoothly enough to grind my soul into dust over a period of 20-30 years. The honest Dissident Rightist takes note of the pros and cons and concludes he’d rather risk killing his brother in a drunken rage than keep on living like this.

And this is what we mean when we say “atomized individual.” When you are an atomized individual, you are not part of a tribe or clan. This has its drawbacks, but also its benefits. When you are part of a tribe, then tribal enemies are your enemies too. When man is born into a tribe, he is born with enemies. There’s (hopefully) a white baby being born this instant who instantly has enemies, just by virtue of being white. This is what it means to belong: not just friends, but enemies. The atomized individual doesn’t belong, therefore he has no friends, but he also has no enemies. All his relationships are transactional, made frictionless with Taleb’s oil of commerce. Thus, paradoxically, despite interacting with far more people than the village-dweller, the city slicker has far fewer, possibly zero relationships, either friendly or hostile. The most hostility a city slicker will encounter is mild rudeness in a checkout line. He knows nothing of the long-simmering, intergenerational vendettas such as those of the Hatfields and McCoys. Is this a good thing? Surely the price of conflict is too high.

Personally, I have something of a reputation in meatspace of being very difficult to get along with. This reputation is not unearned. I try to think of myself as living in the country and for the life of me, I can’t see myself as a villager. It’d mean getting along with all sorts of people I wouldn’t choose to associate myself with. That’s the great privilege of the city slicker, the atomized individual: not to suffer fools and to deal with men you’re born into relationships with. Living in the modern city means picking and choosing from a vast kaleidoscope of people to associate with. And now even the city is too small as we move online. People on our side will often talk about moving out to the country, but I’m not sure they understand what living in the country entails. Maybe they have the same agrarian, romantic view of the village that Nassim Taleb (a man born in the country, if currently a city slicker) criticizes.

But more to the point. The transactional harmony of city life fragilizes. It makes us unable to handle the fractious and contentious life of the village. It makes us into special snowflakes that dump people who insult us because you can always find new friends in this teeming metropolis. And failing that, there’s always the internet. To live in the village, with its conflicts, petty rivalries, and clannishness is to be a human being, warts and all.

To live in the village is to live in Nassim Taleb’s Mediocristan, where low-level internecine conflict burns away the deadwood that accumulates in the cities. In urban Extremistan, conflicts are few and far between — but always of an intensity and scale you’ll never find in a village.

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If you search for Carl Schmitt on Counter-Currents, you’ll get a veritable deluge of articles written or inspired by this most eminent of German jurists. From my own humble attempts at applying his friend-enemy distinctions to American race relations, much grander thinkers’ treatments on the deeper aspects of Schmittean thought, and his own writings, the influence of the man is undeniable. Time and the eventual success of our intellectual project will determine whether we merely stood in this giant’s shadow, or saw further than anyone else because we held the privilege of standing on his shoulders.

Schmitt confuses the liberal world order and leaves it dumbstruck. Much like the incredulous liberal of memetic yore who can but point and sputter at a Right-wing meme, the liberal world has done its darnedest to ignore Schmitt even as it grudgingly recognizes his unparalleled intellectual influence. The liberal worldview reacts to Schmitt and us in such similar ways because Schmitt is so incredibly us and we are so incredibly Schmittean. But that is a tale for another day.

Instead, I’d like to turn your attention to a biographical episode of Carl Schmitt’s life. He was at one point, believe it or not, canceled.

Oh, they did not call it canceling back in the day. It was known as “denazification.” It meant internalizing the narrative that all Germans were at fault for the actions of the German regime during the Second World War. It meant acceding to the claim that all Germans are evil; indeed, that all Germans qua Germans are uniquely evil and that any authentic expression of Germaneness can only result in evil ends. It meant developing a massive guilt and self-hatred complex at a national level, but also at a very individual level. Of particular interest were the intellectuals, the professors, the artists, the jurists, the thinkers, the philosophers, the historians — anyone who could provide a coherent counter-narrative to the one of the conquering forces. To refuse denazification meant forfeiting any position in public life, in academia, media, or anywhere of consequence. Carl Schmitt refused denazification, losing his university posts and spending the rest of his long life as a private citizen as a result. And yet here we are discussing this illustrious man.

The Left and its many creatures imagine that a man is prominent and respected because he is a professor, that the students hang on his every word because he speaks his words in a lecture hall. It does not occur to them that a man becomes a professor for the same reason he is prominent and respected: what he has to say is worth listening to, eliciting the fascinated response of the students. Indeed, it does not occur to these builders of institutions — as they sometimes like to call themselves — that the university is the unnecessary (though facilitating) party in this relation. The professor and his enthralled students may be in the woods somewhere, dressed in buckskins and sharing wisdom by the creek.

Carl Schmitt did not wear a buckskin between the years 1945 and 1985. He swapped out the lecture hall for the correspondence desk and the salon. In person and through epistles, he continued his career not only as a political thinker, but also as a teacher to both young intellectuals and established and eminent thinkers.

Much as the late Carl Schmitt, we too are made to meet in secret, communicate through epistles (though we call them e-mail and social media now), and on the occasion we try to make a grand happening, bad actors barge in and try to disrupt our symposia. Our foremost intellectuals are denied the social status and recognition they rightfully deserve. There are no Dissident Rightists in academia. There are no Dissident Rightists in media, with the possible exceptions of the venerable Ann and Tucker. And yet we’re still standing. The university goes on, if online and under the name of Counter-Currents.com.

Carl Schmitt could have bowed his head, said a few magic words, and then been reinstated. But he refused to. To do that would have meant repudiating all that he believed and stood for. To accept denazification would mean that he didn’t really mean all that is written in Concept of the Political, Legality and Legitimacy, Crisis of Parliamentary Democracy, or his many other works. He could have grabbed on to the straw of his ideological disagreements with the National Socialist regime or National Socialism as such and held that straw all the way back to social rehabilitation. The occupation forces in Germany were especially adept at perniciously exploiting the human capacity for self-effacement and self-deception in the face of overwhelming force. But Carl Schmitt persisted in remaining what he was.

He wasn’t just a great thinker. His integrity in the face of the cancel culture of his day behooves us to also call him a great man.

If you want to support our work, please send us a donation by going to our Entropy page and selecting “send paid chat.” Entropy allows you to donate any amount from $3 and up. All comments will be read and discussed in the next episode of Counter-Currents Radio, which airs every Friday.

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Stefan Molyneux has not had a good year. In fact, he says it’s been a brutal year. The world’s most popular philosophy show is in dire straits. He’s losing subscribers, he’s losing views. He’s got a bone to pick with YouTube and its bosses, and he needs more money to make more unprofitable documentaries into which he inserts his own experiences. Now, I’m not against inserting onself into reporting; indeed, I’ve been known to engage in wacky gonzo myself, but really, Molymemes, if you’re reporting on Polish nationalism, report on Polish nationalism, not your feelings qua Polish nationalism.

I’m too harsh on the guy, I guess. He’s a bit full of himself, but useful to us, though timid and not willing to engage in bold philosophy on the bleeding edge. He also resorts to moralism to browbeat any objectors to his ancapistani utopia’s feasibility. He ignores the gigantic Humean naught at the center of his philosophy – which is really at the center of all libertarian and libertarian-aligned philosophies. Yet, guys do move on from Molyneux to the good stuff. Some get stuck in the Molyneux cul-de-sac; some retain some of his wrongheaded ideas even after they move on. He’s a mixed bag in terms of utility.

Not just Molyneux, though. The entire Alt Lite seems to be on the precipice of collapse. Sure, we can blame teh ebul algorthitmz for cutting off their subscribers and kicking them off of their platforms, but there’s no shortage of foot meet bullet type incidents, from Mike Cernovich covering up for Allen Dershowitz’s involvement with Jeffrey Epstein’s underage sex slavery ring, to Theodore ”Teddy Spaghetti” Beale (you may know him as Vox Day) protecting his lisping friend rather than face the music, to the disaster dominoes surrounding Turning Point USA – really, most of us in the know have a hard time discerning between the Alt Lite and a dumpster fire. A multi-million-dollar dumpster fire. (Hey, did you hear the news? Ashley St. Clair (yes, that Ashley St. Clair) has been fired from Toilet Paper USA for appearing in a picture with TEH EBUL NADZEE! It would appear that a big Afro-Latino named Nick destroyed her career.

That’s the Alt Lite. Do we even want to look at what the rest of the cuckservative dog-and-pony show is doing? Friends, I looked so you don’t have to. Or more precisely, the Z Man of the Z blog looked so I don’t have to. It’s boomerfeed all the way down.

Oh, sure, they’re ridiculous, dishonest, money-grubbing, and, as the kids say, blue-pilled and cringe – or at least purple-pilled. But that’s not what’s killing them. It is unfortunate, but the basic human condition is that of fearful reluctance to change old habits and beliefs. The well-adjusted and functioning normie conservative will cling to the Reaganite dream to the bitter end, because to let go is to allow himself to be swept up into a new and uncertain paradigm. It is to cease being Rambo (since II, the epitome of muscular and confident America) and to start being that guy in the original Death Wish whose wife is murdered and whose daughter is raped, a starkly lesser man than Rambo who can only hope for revenge, not bullet-dodging glory or the good life. It’s pain beyond the human capacity for pain. It’s status loss. Reality is a harsh mistress. And for this reason, there will always be a market for purple and blue pills, straight up or dipped in red dye, which will dwarf the market for real red pills. The paypigs of the grifter right will never dry up. However, you gotta convince them to pay up.

How do you convince people to pay up? Well, here at Counter-Currents, we raise funds by giving you good reasons to do so, which is to say by recounting our accomplishments, by stating our ambitions, and by building the case for Counter-Currents as a part of your well-being and political future. In short, we anchor ourselves to the truth and trust our readers to honor that truth, no matter what adversity we face. Seeking the truth has consequences, though, and so we find ourselves prosecuted and censored, while the blue- and purple-pilled masses avoid us like a racis’, huwite supremist, anti-semetic plague. And yet here we are, still standing – and slowly but steadily, our influence grows.

The grifter right has to rely on numbers and the illusion of continuing victories being snatched from the jaws of defeat in order to motivate its turgid fanbase to pay up. Witness any Molyneux video where he stretches out his digital hat, and you’ll see a very hammy and overplayed performance of a man who wants us to believe that he is under siege. Really, Moly, this is disappointing. I hired all sorts of inexperienced people back when I was a penniless hipster filmmaker, and I would have booted you off my negative-budget set in a heartbeat. Further, witness Mike Cernovich’s incessant dramatic appeals to his own reportedly massive following. I’m tempted to insert some witticism about lions and donkeys, but I shall refrain out of respect for the latter which, unlike Cernovich and his doubtlessly minuscule cadre of lickspits, perform a useful function as beasts of burden and mounts of jolly, if overweight squires to knights errant.

The Alt Lite depends on ginning up this fervor of a city under siege with the slightest chance of a narrow victory. In a sense, they are somewhat antifragile to opposition, but only to a certain point. They have to deliver a victory every now and then, and they have to have a certain mass appeal – hence Cernovich’s obsession with his number of Twitter impressions. This makes them very vulnerable to censorship.

Nuking Counter-Currents’ YouTube channel was a blow, but not one that will kill us. As I’ve said before, we depend on our commitment to the truth, not mass appeal. Nuking Molyneux’s YouTube channel would leave him close to powerless. Without his numerical clout, he’s just another vacillating anarcho-capitalist (though more open-minded than the average member of that tribe). Without his Twitter account, Cernovich is just some lisping, race-mixing lawyer with unsavory connections to the swamp creature Allen Dershowitz. Censorship deals us a smaller injury – one that is liable to further prove the truth of our message. Censorship is only a crippling injury to those who’ve not anchored themselves to the truth. People will run over fifty miles of Internet thorns to read a Counter-Currents movie review. People will not deal with BitChute’s negligible inadequacies in order to watch Molyneux make a fool of himself by bobbing his bald dome enthusiastically every time an inanity from Diamond provokes a “das rite” from Silk.

Absent the Alt Lite, the only options remaining for the Right are the mainstream cuckservatives – who are busy constructing “conservative” cases for racial replacement, sodomy with children, and proskynesis before Israel – and us. And the censors will soon come for the cuckservatives, who are even more dependent on mass appeal than we are. The entire political Right will be enveloped in this gigantic cloud of censorious toxic gas. And we’re the only ones wearing masks.

What led to this pogrom by the Left against us – we, who are imagined to plot pogroms and mass shootings – was Charlottesville. Some say that it was Trump’s election – and indeed it was, to a certain extent, what with the proverbial porn star being elected proverbial pope. But it was also Charlottesville.

I could possibly be saying the stupidest thing in my entire life, but here goes nothing: Charlottesville was a long-term victory.

First, the theory. Teddy Spaghetti (you may know him as Vox Day) is not an exceptionally smart man, but he somehow managed to write a very smart book: SJWs Always Lie: Taking Down the Thought Police. One of the ways in which he suggests one could take down a troubled institution is to sic its Left wing on its center – that is to say, to stick one’s hand in the piranha tank, whirl it around really fast, and retract it with as few fingers lost as possible. What will happen next is that the piranhas will devour each other under their own steam – or in the case of an institution, the Left wing will deplatform the center and cleave the whole enterprise in half, denying it all legitimacy and, ultimately, power (since only the center-Right type of people know how to get anything done in a given organization).

In practice, that’s sort of what happened in Charlottesville. The Alt Right went in, whirled its arm in the piranha tank, and then bungled the extraction something fierce.

In the short term, the Alt Right – as it was known back then – got its ass handed to it. Not for lack of asskicking prowess on our part, but because some heroic fat woman had a heart attack or something, and some schizotypal young man was driving nearby, and thus it was clear that America had experienced a huwite supremist terr’rist attack. Also, some violent libertarian from New Hampshire got into the mix, got a face full of pepper spray, and was forced to plead guilty to some crime or other. The Rise Above Movement was furiously prosecuted by Trump’s Justice Department. The Alt Right was irreparably fractured, and the antifa decisively won the battle for the streets of America, which had been hitherto fought as a result of Trump’s presidency. Even Based Stickman (remember Based Stickman?) retreated into obscurity. It all sounded very banal from where I’m standing. Terrorism? What terrorism? To someone who saw mortar shells fall from the sky at age 10, some light vehicular mayhem doesn’t sound all that terrifying, but I always forget that men are few and far between outside the Balkan peninsula.

However, the story was in, and TEH EBUL HUWHITE SUPREMATERRISM NADZEESEMITES had to be cracked down upon. And since the Alt Right of yore was a broad, six-lane highway which allowed everyone from Chris Cantwell to Dave Rubin to drive together towards a common – if at the time undefined – goal, the Charlottesville shitstorm ended up splattering everyone with hearty helpings of the brown stuff.

The Alt Lite is fond of saying “first they came for Alex Jones” because he was the first one of them to get nuked from the Internet. But no, no, a thousand times no. First they came for Jared Taylor, and then a wave of deplatformings followed. We are now hunted and censored at every juncture. However, I noticed a trend in early 2018 – the parts of the Alt Lite that were furthest to the Right started catching flak.

I privately predicted that eventually, the Alt Lite would be completely obliterated by a wave of censorship, whereas the Dissident Right would survive, for the reasons I l gave earlier. I kept it to myself because there was no evidence to prove it at the time. But now we see that Molyneux is feeling the heat. Milo Yiannopoulos was removed early on. Alex Jones is already gone.

The tech oligarchy is determined to prevent another Trump election. To that end, they will deplatform the entire Right wing of the political spectrum which does not deal in safe and toothless ideas. Pretty soon, even Jack Posobiec and Ann Coulter will be too spicy for Twitter, and conservative commentary will be all Shapiro and D’Souza, all the time (muh based market-dominant minorities). In this barren wasteland, we’ll be the only ones left standing, since for some strange reason – and unlike the grifter right – we do not depend on the Left or the tech oligarchy’s mercy to keep on trucking. Maybe it’s that anchor to the truth. Maybe it’s the fact that we attract a better kind of man – a friend to truth and beauty rather than a bandwagon jumper. Maybe the wages of honesty and integrity are victory and eminence, whereas the wages of dishonesty and cuckery are failure and irrelevance.

I don’t think you can blame your mama for this one, Molymemes.

There are several boomer-tier jokes going around the internet, and most of them predate it, about voter turnout at different times of day in the US. Something about Democrats getting an early lead but then losing it when Republicans get off from work and vote. It’s supposed to be a dig at Democrats for being unemployed, welfare leeches, or working for the government. It’s a clever dig if you value working, which I suppose a part of the population should. But here at Counter-Currents, we value honesty and truth, no matter how ugly, and we take a massive sledgehammer to pretty lies, no matter how useful.

The fact of the matter is that work stinks. It’s boring and not something that brings pride or joy to a great man. The boomer jokes in question are supposed to mock the Democrats for working, but they actually signal that being Republican is low class, because, as the bankrupt and displaced Comte d’ Frou-Frou said to the Prince Regent’s butler “I want other people to [earn money] and give it to me, just like in France, in the good old days.”

Understand here that I’m not knocking work as “any activity which involves labor” but rather the sale of one’s labor for money. And no, you don’t get a pass for being an entrepreneur – that’s even more labor on your part for less certain gains. Traditionally, a tripartite division of castes involves those who rule and fight (Kshatriya, aristocrats), those who pray (Brahmin, priests), and those who work (Vaishya, merchants). Some classifications draw distinctions between merchants, tradesmen, and physical workers, but personally, I think that those distinctions are bourgeois bullshit invented by merchants or more likely their overeducated children, in order to put on airs before yon humble street sweeper.  What we are about to decry as low-class in this article are the activities of the Vaishya.

First things first – we need to admit that everyone needs resources to survive. Warriors and priests need to eat too – in fact, the protein-guzzling muscles of warriors and sugar-guzzling brains of priests probably necessitate more food for these two castes than the lowly merchant/worker. How are they to attain these resources without demeaning themselves? The right not to work – the right to have other people work in order to pay for your keep is one of the basic privileges of any aristocracy. Warriors usually take whatever the hell they want – they raid the people on the other side of the hill and live off the booty. Or they run protection rackets on their own people, which sounds bad to you because you’ve been marinating in liberal mental toxins for far too long. Taxation is the price we pay for not getting our skulls bashed in by tough dudes in fancy armor.

Sometimes they go out adventuring in foreign lands and enrich themselves by running semi-permanent protection rackets on the foreigners, at a cost to the mother country. This is colonialism, aka Empire-building and generally bad, with exceptions. Really, if we’re going to have a foreign adventure, it’s best that we go in, kick their asses, take their shit, and get the fuck out of Dodge. No good adventure story ends with “and then Qoorton the Conqueror settled to spread democracy among the savage Pisdinay tribe.”

Moving on, priests have a deal with warriors. They use their weird psyop powers (what Owen Benjamin calls wizardry) to (a) provide cohesion to the tribe, especially the warrior elite and (b) provide mechanisms of control over the population, especially the young elite. This is due to the simple fact that the greatest threat to the power elite is always from young elite males who’d like to get on top while they can still handle banging 10 women a day. Otherwise, they have to go through the boring cursus honorum and attain real power at about age 40-ish, when most men can’t physically keep up with 10 women at the same time. For those of you versed in Roman history, this was the tragic lot of Emperor Tiberius who got to be Emperor at the fresh age of 55.

The point of priestly wizardry is to convince aristocratic whippersnappers that it’s good and proper to be Tiberius and bad and improper to be Commodus, although, if I’m being perfectly honest, Commodus’s lifestyle sounds a thousand times more fun. Furthermore, warrior aristocrats are tough guys who don’t take shit from no-one. They’d rather rule in hell than serve in heaven, and this makes them prone to waging constant war of all against all. In order to have them accept a hierarchy and stop plotting against the king, priestly wizardry will be employed. For these services in providing the stability of the ruling class hierarchy, the priests are either given the right to collect their own taxes (tithes) or are let in on the warriors’ protection rackets and booty raids.

Both priests and warriors have a vested interest in keeping the merchants and workers working so that they may skim off of their labor, so the priests produce work-positive memes, and both LARP as workers in order to lead by example. So, when a young aristocrat is given the right to share in the protection racket dividend, he’s not issued a document to that effect as in a joint stock corporation, but rather, given a position in the administration of the state – usually one of the lower rungs of the cursus honorum.

Aside from giving him some rudimentary training as a ruler, this job is usually a sinecure – or what the Mafia would call a no-work job. It makes the young aristocrat look busy to proles looking in from the outside, and even allows him and the rest of the ruling class to genuinely believe the pro-work memes doled out to the proles. The less cognitive dissonance necessary to believe the necessary lies, the better.

The sinecures also serve as an additional mechanism of social control of the aristocratic class over its troublesome young. Misbehavior by intrepid young bloods can be curbed by threat of loss of sinecure. This is why, I suspect, the rulers of tomorrow are often given real jobs early in life, before they get sinecures. The prospect of really working is enough to put the fear of God in anyone’s bones, and so you take your lumps no matter how much you’d like to overthrow the old farts and be king while your dick still works.

That’s the picture of a functional society. And now let’s move on to what we have going on here.

For starters, the privilege of not working, or working in no-work or minimum-work sinecures does not lie with the ruling class, or exclusively with the ruling class. It lies with the Lumpenproletariat, the underclass, the immigrants, the racial minorities, the sexual perverts and other assorted blights on society. You as a white, heterosexual man are expected to work your fingers to the bone to feed them, clothe them, and finance their caprices. The inversion of privilege, with the underclass being privileged was already documented and explained by Mencius Moldbug in this sprawling post from 6 years ago, as pertains in that case, the right of lese majeste, the right not to be offended. Apply those same lessons from that article to the right to eat without toil and you have the same situation there. Now, what do our enemies do with all their spare time?

They have a high-low thing going on. High-performing minorities (Jews, Asians, etc.) and white progressives usually engage in priestly wizardries, aimed at keeping the cohesion of the anti-white coalition (as per Sailer) and undermining the cohesion of whites, especially the cohesion of white, heterosexual males. Any attempts to get a Männerbund going will be met with snickers of “lol, fags.” Funny how similar gangs formed by blacks and other troglodytes will never get accused of fomenting homosexualism, innit? They will also deploy memetic toxins against white warriors and priests to either neutralize them or put them in service to the progressive hegemony. A minority of these high-performers will exercise command and control functions over the low-performers, as well as enforce the tyrannical aspect of the modern anarcho-tyrannical state over the white proles. The low-performers themselves are usually engaged in raids and protection rackets, benefiting from the anarchic aspect of the modern anarcho-tyrannical state. These men are not very intelligent, but they’re organized and are accustomed to violence. When the shit hits the fan, they’ll have real-life experience with violence – you won’t.

What’s a man to do? In sane reality, the working prole has no recourse. If he stops working, he starves and nobody cares. However, we live in clownworld. You’re probably not going to get a ruling class sinecure unless you signal adherence to the insane cult of modern liberalism, and even if you try to deceive them, they have ways of weeding out false signalers. You’ll probably have to cut your dick off or something.

No, far easier to just skim from the bottom and go on welfare. Or do the barest minimum of work without actually contributing all that much and learn to live with little. Do everything in your power to stop feeding the machine, to stop feeding Globohomo and winning free time for yourself.

If you can, make sure that the resources pour in without labor, or at least without much labor, and devote your time and efforts instead to developing your martial or priestly abilities – depending on your natural proclivity.

Even if you’re fundamentally vaishya, stop working for the system. Stop thinking of work as a noble and good thing to do – it’s base and déclassé under the wisest of kings, and when it serves to feed an evil regime as it does today, it’s also evil.

Stop saying “I work for a living” like it’s a good thing. All you’re doing is signaling your low status in society and inviting abuse you’re ill-equipped to fend off.

Stop taking pride in your work, and start taking pride in your deadlift and incisive analysis.

Purge yourself of shame and learn to mooch and steal from the system that hates you.

If you’re a warrior, train for the inevitable clash.

If you’re a priest, create narratives for the warriors.

Above all, stop being Globohomo’s willing and proud serf.

Folks, I have a tale to tell you. It’s one of those slice-of-life things, but one from which w