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.

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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 we can learn as a movement and as individuals. Last weekend, while taking a walk by the riverside, I came across a two-month-old stray puppy. Overwhelmed by concern for his well-being, I took him with me, fed him, cared for him, played with him, took him on walks, named him, and kept him until I could find a permanent home in the countryside for him two days later. It was the first time I had done anything like that. It was the first time in my life that I had a dog of my own, if even for a little while, and it was an experience which I find has profoundly transformed me.

My little furry friend required round-the-clock attention. He was too young to be toilet trained, so he might have bolted at any second to a corner to relieve himself (both number one and two were on the table). He had been on the streets for some time and so had worms, which made cleaning up his messes imperative. Probably because he was so young, he followed me everywhere and insisted on sitting with me in my armchair and sleeping with me in my bed. I did not sleep well, as he had a habit of snuggling up right next to my head on the pillow even though he was not allowed on the bed. He was also fond of peeing and pooing in the middle of the night, so I had to be on guard for his every move, lest he dropped his smelly payload in the middle of my apartment.

My little friend was stubborn and very clever. I tried walking him on a leash, but he would often refuse to move. More experienced dog owners advised me to be stricter and not afraid to tug at the leash in order to demonstrate my dominance, but others advised me not to walk this little puppy too much. Now, I take long walks — very long walks –, so whenever the puppy would get tired, I’d just carry him in my arms. When it was clear to me that he was merely disobedient, however, I would tug at his leash and inform him in no uncertain terms that it was my will that was to be obeyed. He’d often maneuver in such a way to trip me up with the leash or get me otherwise tangled up.

Now, this is probably old news to experienced dog owners, especially those who’ve kept small puppies, but for me it was an ordeal which was joy and stress at the same moment. On one hand, I cherished my very first dog. Every time he’d snuggle up next to me or fall asleep in my lap, my heart would be set aflutter. On the other, the constant scooping up of dog poop, worms included, from my fine carpets was not a pleasant experience. I confess to feeling a bit relieved when I finally found a home for my puppy. Oh, sure, it is best for him; I live in an apartment, my building has no yard to speak of, and my terraces aren’t that big. A dog needs open space and green meadows to run in. But there was a measure of relief. I’d sleep that night without the fear that poop would materialize in my bedroom.

Why did the puppy have to sleep in my bedroom? Well, it was simple. He would whine and yap whenever I was not in the room. By picking him up on the quay, I’d become, whether I realized it or not, his primary caregiver, the alpha of his pack. I’m used to being friendly with dogs — petting them, feeding them, and playing with them — but this was the first time I had found myself in the position of being a dog’s master. I had to be strict and employ discipline. Consequently, the little creature bonded with me strongly.

I’m relating all of this because I want to prepare you for a contrasting image of myself. See, when people who know me well met me after I took in the dog, they commented that I had changed somehow. It was only after I gave him away that I realized that they were right and that the change was profound, almost magical. Mrs. Jeelvy commented that whereas I usually walk with my chest puffed out, my nose pointed upwards, and taking large steps that would make Plautus’ boastful soldier proud, after two days with the puppy, I was apparently walking small and was described as “a recently divorced Czech,” which is apparently also a riff on my penchant for wearing long coats in earthen colors (this is apparently a Czech trait).

Part of the change was probably due to fatigue and sleep deprivation, but the more important one was that which I noticed in myself — again, only after I’d given the puppy away. Normally, I’m a lazy, finicky, neurotic, and selfish person. I’m not proud of these traits, but it is who I am and have been for my 30 years. While I was caring for my four-legged friend, however, I worked tirelessly to keep him warm, entertained, fed, and clean. I picked up dog shit full of worms and scrubbed pee-stains out of carpets. I calmly and coolly disciplined him when he was misbehaving, never once losing my temper, no matter how many times he growled at me or tried to bite me. I sacrificed money, time, and my precious beauty sleep so that he’d be taken care of. And the funny thing was, there was no process of overcoming, no period of adjustment. I picked the puppy up by the riverside, and from that moment on, I was no longer a lazy, finicky, neurotic, and selfish person, but a hard-working, calm, and selfless caregiver for an animal in need. The change was so seamless I didn’t even notice it until after I’d given the puppy away to a better home. It just . . . happened.

I was reminded of a time when the electricity went out in my whole city. It was still daytime when it happened, so I picked up a book to keep myself entertained while waiting for the power to come back on. Normally, I have trouble concentrating on books, because I’m distracted by the Internet. With that temptation removed, I achieved the kind of immersion I used to have back before ubiquitous Internet access. Of course, when the power came back on, I was back to staring at screens — but all it took was that brief interruption.

We like to complain about the effects of modernity, and we’re right to do so, because they are evil, but let me advance a bold opinion: Modernity’s behavioral modification pressures are weaker than our ancient instincts. I noticed that when I was caring for my puppy, I didn’t even think about looking at my phone. It was like that damned infernal device wasn’t even there, even as it rudely vibrated in order to catch my attention.

Furthermore, I didn’t go through a long period of preparation so that I’d be “ready for a dog.” I just picked one up off the street and transformed into a person “ready for a dog” in that very instant. I imagine something very similar would happen if I were to suddenly become a father. It wouldn’t be a question of whether I’m “ready,” but my parental instincts would be activated the second it happened. Fatherhood is not something you learn from a book, but a position informed by our ancient genetics.

That’s the moral I will leave you with. When the time comes, you will be ready, because the key to these things is already within you. If I have it in me to pick up poop and be strict with a two-month year old puppy (just look at him), you have it in you to be a dad or a mom. It’s not a test you can cram for, but a transformation which must be undergone; a kind of initiation.

You’re ready for it. Take the leap.

Czech version here

Recently, I was speaking to a friend about the Russo-Ukrainian War and specifically, the effect it has had on Western nationalists. Many people calling themselves anti-imperialists have enthusiastically embraced the imperial project to annex Ukraine and erase Ukrainian nationhood, absorbing this people into the broader Russian imperial body. More people who until recently called for “no more brother wars” are now enthusiastically cheering as Russian and Ukrainian soldiers kill each other in a bloody brother war.

If we plot these people on a map, however, we see a general tendency of people who live in America and Western Europe to cheer on the Russian imperial efforts, whereas people from Eastern Europe tend to be either more ambivalent or outright pro-Ukrainian. Or, as my friend put it, “the further away you are from the bear, the cuter it looks.”

This isn’t just the case among dissidents and nationalists. National governments in the West have varied wildly in their support of Ukraine in the conflict against Russia. The governments of the Baltic states, Poland, the Czech Republic, and the Scandinavian countries have been the most supportive, often to the detriment of their own national security, whereas France and Germany have been the great ditherers. The outlier, of course, is Hungary, but as I was once told on a visit to Budapest, “Hungarians hate all foreigners, they always have and that is the way it should be.”

Of course, Anglophone countries have also been strongly supportive, but they have an imperial geopolitical interest of their own to pursue in opposition to the Russian imperial interest, so their motivations and behaviors aren’t those of nation-states. I will therefore focus here on the difference between the Eastern European (chiefly Poland and the Baltics) and Western European (chiefly France and Germany) responses to this war and a possible historical root of such responses.

I first want to clarify that I’m not going to put France and Germany on the spot or assign particular blame to them for their lackluster response, because I believe in the right of nation-states to set their own foreign policy, choose their allies and competitors, and set their own course in the world. I will also recognize that France and Germany cannot give their all in aid to Ukraine as Poland and the Baltic states have done for another reason related to geopolitical reality: While Russia represents the primary security threat to the Eastern countries and defense against it encompasses almost their entire military and security operational framework, Western Europe has different security and military priorities. France in particular has not given up on being a world power, and so finds it very important to retain independent power projection capabilities. Thus its military is geared towards that end, as opposed to the militaries of the East, which are built around the idea of defending against Russian attack. If Poland empties its warehouses of materiel with which Ukrainian soldiers neutralize the Russian threat, Poland has not strayed from its long-term strategic objectives, but if France does the same thing, then it risks its own ability to project power in Africa, the Maghreb, and its various overseas departments.

What I will comment on is that there is a certain ingratitude on the part of the West for the sacrifices the East (and to a lesser degree, the South) of Europe has historically made and still makes, of which the West is a beneficiary.

The European continent is bounded by the Eurasian steppe and Ural Mountains to the east, by Asia Minor and the Levant to the southeast, in the south by the Mediterranean Sea and beyond it, North Africa. The continent’s western and northern borders are bounded by the vast, historically impassable Atlantic and Arctic oceans. But to the east and south, danger brewed and enemies of Europe came from there to attack the continent and its white inhabitants.

First came the Huns from the steppe, displacing the Germanic tribes of the east and driving them into the already fragile Roman Empire, causing the collapse of its Western half. Barely had the Germanic kingdoms in the West established some semblance of order when the Arabs and Moors came rushing in from the south, taking all of Iberia except Asturias and only just being beaten back by the knights of France. Italy was never safe from the Arabs until the Crusades broke the back of the Caliphate, and just like Spain, its southern half, including the island of Sicily, was conquered by the Arabs and kept enslaved until the de Hauteville Norman aristocratic family managed to almost single-handedly drive the menace out (although with Papal support). Then came incessant waves of steppe peoples in the Middle Ages — Bulgars, Tatars, Cumans, Magyars, Pechenegs, and finally the Mongols — whose reign of terror across the Eurasian landmass was halted by the combined efforts of Poland and Hungary, but not before much suffering, devastation, and the subjugation of the Rus, which would continue for another two centuries.

In the meantime, the collapse of the Byzantine Empire meant the entry of the Ottoman Turks into Europe from the southeast and the permanent loss of Anatolia to European civilization. Over the course of the next 300 years, the Ottomans fought bloody battles with the Balkan principalities, finally conquering and subjugating them all before moving on to Hungary and Austria, where they were beaten back by an Austrian-Polish alliance and forced to retreat. Tellingly, France allied with the Ottomans in what has been called a sacrilegious union, and French assistance was instrumental in the Ottoman defeat and occupation of Hungary. The Ottomans were beaten at the gates of Vienna and relinquished Hungary and Croatia only after 150 years, in the wake of the Great Turkish War, but the Balkans would remain in the Turks’ grip for much longer.

In the twentieth century came one final threat from the East, the Bolshevik horde. The first attack was beaten back by resurgent Poland in 1921 during the Polish-Soviet War, naturally with Baltic assistance, but the second attack in 1941 was unfortunately successful, and in 1945 Eastern Europe, including the eastern part of Germany, fell under Soviet occupation. The succeeding 45-year period of Soviet occupation resulted in a breakdown of traditional and high culture in the East, as well as dysgenic fertility caused by this cultural breakdown, as well as the perverse incentives set up by the Bolshevik states. Of course, the wars themselves and Communist massacres such Katyn and Bleiburg destroyed some of the best men the East had to offer before they could father children, while the Bolsheviks’ heightened social status and their useful idiots has led to a proliferation of the Communist criminal chromosomes characteristic of the commissars in the East. The genetic damage is probably immeasurable. The East has harbored a mistrust of the West ever since.

In “Dysgenics of a Communist Killing Field,” the linked article referring to the Bleiburg massacre, Dr. Tomislav Sunić speculates that the Balkan nations’ lower average IQs may be a result of Communism’s dysgenic effects, both in the negative sense of massacres such as Bleiburg and Katyn and in the positive sense of the Communist practice of promoting criminals, sociopaths, and ethnic minorities to positions of privilege which accorded them greater reproductive success then they’d have otherwise had.

I fully agree with his assessment, but I’ll also add that the comparatively higher average IQ of the Central and Eastern European nations who also went through the Communist IQ shredder indicates that it is probably our experience with the Ottoman Turks in the Balkans which has thrown our average IQs into the low 90s. A friend of mine is fond of pointing out that two-thirds of the Balkans’ aristocratic class died fighting the Ottomans, and the third that survived converted to Islam and now live on in Istanbul and Ankara as Turkey’s lily-white ruling class. Not just the aristocrats but also the haute bourgeoisie would regularly convert to Islam, as well as any peasant who figured out that conversion would raise him up from the status of dhimmi; thus, in every generation a bit of the higher-IQ populations of the Christian Balkan nations would be lopped off and transferred to Turkey.

IQ, of course, is not the be-all and end-all of nations, but it is a parameter we can measure. What other immeasurable parameters have been made worse in the East and Southeast by the Ottoman and Communist occupations? What had to be destroyed so that Homo sovieticus could be born? What low knavery had to be dressed up as mastery so that the aberrant psychology of the sovok boomer and his comrade-in-cringe, the yugoboomer, may emerge? Sorrowful is the fate of conquered people.

To the West, the East has been a cordon sanitaire protecting it against invasions from the south and southeast. Spain and Italy have also served as absorbing barriers for Muslim might in the past (and still do). In the meantime, Northwestern Europe has mostly been spared these blights, even though it had its own problems, divisions, and difficulties.

I don’t want to make it appear as if the East selflessly defended the thankless West, of course. The situation was closer to the East defending itself with the security of the West as a positive externality, and with intermittent Western assistance, with notable and often decisive exceptions such as the French-Ottoman and Anglo-Ottoman alliances or the support of America’s Jewish financial and industrial elites in building up the Soviet Union, culminating in the Roosevelt administration’s unconditional logistical, diplomatic, and military support for the Soviet cause, which allowed it to conquer Eastern Europe and part of Germany herself.

It would be foolish to believe that the East’s struggle is the only reason the West managed to develop and become the world-spanning civilization it is. We have a control group for that: In Asia it was China that bore the brunt of steppe savages’ invasions, but this has not led to the development of a civilization of note in Indochina, even as it allowed Japan to rise as a world power. The potential for greatness has to be there for the absence of savages to matter. Japan had some; Northwestern Europe had it in spades. Nevertheless, the East’s blood, shed over untold generations, contributed to that rise.

When my friend first suggested I write about this dynamic, initially I refused because I didn’t believe I could write this article without coming across as resentful of the West. I certainly do not appreciate comments about Mediterraneans, Balkanoids, and Slavs not being white on account of our lower average IQs, higher propensity towards criminality, or our women’s shameless materialism. Those traits are the heavy burdens of having been Europe’s shield to its south, east, and southeast. The best of us died so that the best of you could explore, discover, invent, and create. I am not sorry, because we do get to partake in the civilizational dividend. But take note of the sacrifices that were made — the long-term damage to our genetic quality — and make decisions accordingly.

Next time, the East, whether because it has bled too much or feels betrayed, may not stand its battered body between the West and the swarthy hordes beyond Europe’s borders yet again.

Czech version here

Kyle Rittenhouse was found not guilty on all charges after the highly-publicized trial regarding the shooting of three antifa terrorists in Kenosha, Wisconsin during last year’s riot season. Here’s a good place to get the facts. And if you’re a seasoned dissident, you’ve probably also heard of the Jogger trial in Georgia and the Charlottesville trial, but for the sake of the newcomer, let’s briefly recap what we know about those two proceedings.

In a magical time known as February 2020, a black criminal by the name of Armed Robbery (sometimes erroneously spelled Ahmaud Arbery) went into a construction site in Brunswick, Georgia with the intent to steal. He was wearing work boots at the time, but the media has claimed he was merely out jogging. This was Armed Robbery’s go-to cover story while he was stealing from other construction sites or casing them, and thus he was known to the locals as “The Jogger.” He was spotted by Travis and Gregory McMichael, a father and son crime-stopping duo who attempted to apprehend him. Gregory McMichael, a retired policeman, recognized Armed Robbery as a habitual criminal from back in the day. Armed Robbery, being gifted with the intelligence and impulse control typical of American blacks, attempted to grab a shotgun out of Travis McMichael’s arms. In the ensuing struggle, the weapon was discharged three times into Armed Robbery’s body, thus putting a premature stop to his budding criminal career. The two men are now on trial for murder. At the time of writing, the proceedings are nearly finished.

As for the Charlottesville trial, the case is surrounded by so much fake news and media propaganda that if you’re a newcomer to it, you might have to read some of the articles we have on that unfortunate event here on Counter-Currents just so you’ll be able to follow my argumentation. In short, some of the people who are considered to have been the organizers of the rally are now facing a civil suit, and you can hears the details of those proceedings here. In short, Roberta Kaplan, the she-Jew lawyer leading the charge against them, gave the game away when she claimed that the point of the civil case is not to redress grievances or to win compensation for the injured plaintiffs, but to “prevent the defendants from ever organizing again” — apparently because they are racist, which translates to stripping these people of their right to speak, protest, peaceably assemble, and petition for a redress of grievances. In short, it targets the first amendment rights of Jason Kessler and others in particular, and white identitarians in general.

The three cases — the Rittenhouse trial in Wisconsin, the McMichaels’ trial in Georgia, and the Sines v. Kessler trial in Virginia will determine the future of white people in America, especially the right of white people to defend themselves, the right of white people to protect their communities, and the right of white people to organize politically to proactively defend their rights, their heritage, their existence, and their future. All three represent rights without which life for white people in America will become intolerable, and the loss of any of these rights will turn them into cattle to be slaughtered — all at once or piecemeal.

The not guilty verdict in the Rittenhouse trial means that if the slaughter is to come, it can now only come piecemeal. But first, let’s take a detour into the realm of battle tactics – specifically, the Mongol tactic of encirclement and opening. Surrounding an enemy is often a harbinger of victory in battle. Because he now has to contend with threats from every side, he is far more vulnerable and the attacker can strike at his back and sides. However, a surrounded enemy knows he has no hope of escape outside of punching a hole through the encircling army. Therefore, surrounded men tend to fight like lions and will often inflict gruesome casualties on their encirclers. To this end, whenever the Mongols surrounded an enemy and deemed him desperate enough, they’d create an opening in their ranks, and the surrounded enemy, desperate to escape, would dart for that opening and were then slaughtered as they ran. Without that crucial opening, Mongol victories would have been hard-won. The Mongols aren’t the only ones who mastered this art of encirclement and opening; it is a popular means of disposing of enemies. The Mongols learned it from herding animals on the steppes. And what is true for physical space is sometimes true for conceptual and political space.

Today, white people in America are surrounded. Their ranks are closing. Decades of anti-white hatred have come to a head, and pretty soon, anti-white hatred will boil over into systemic anti-white oppression, culminating with the legalization of murder insofar as the victim is white. Already, the state of Oregon is working on making the rape of white women by blacks legal. The enemy armies now surround white America, and white America reaches deep within itself to find the will necessary to carve a bloody path out of the maneuver.

I’ve often seen it claimed that “the entire system” wanted to convict Kyle Rittenhouse. This is false. Kyle Rittenhouse was supported by the pond scum calling themselves conservatives, the controlled opposition whose role is to drive panicked American whites into the gap where they are to be slaughtered. Witness here how a humanoid slime mold calling himself Stephen L. Miller (no relation to Trump’s guy) defends Kyle Rittenhouse by claiming that the media ignores “apparent and actual white supremacy and racial profiling in the Arbery case.” The slime mold writes for National Review and FOX News, which are known controlled opposition outfits, so we can reasonably say his is the view held by the conservative establishment. And if those people want you to go there, you definitely don’t want to go there.

A victory for globohomo in the Sines v. Kessler trial would mean that anyone organizing rallies of protests would be found liable for any damages whatsoever that occurred during said rallies. This is already being practiced by local authorities when they demand that organizers of such events have insurance (and conveniently, insurance companies do not sell to “white supremacists”). It would mean the end of public demonstrations not only for identitarians, but also for other conservative causes as well for as long as antifa or the counterintelligence State could provoke or instigate violence at these rallies. It would mean the end of the right to protest, to peacefully assemble, and to speak out for white people in America. A victory for globohomo in the McMichael trial in Georgia would mean an end of white people’s right to defend their communities from black crime, effectively legalizing black crime even in the suburbs.

The two flanks are cut off, but there’s hope. If one is a white — or white-presenting — man, and the people assaulting you are not black, and if there’s copious video evidence that you were acting in self-defense, and if Conservative Inc. takes your side, and provided that you have absolutely no racism whatsoever in your past (racism as defined by the woke Left, by the way), then you get to walk away with only the media shitshow rather than a media shitshow and a criminal conviction. Hope springs eternal, and so white America celebrates. If we’re not racist, and if it’s all caught on camera from multiple angles, then we get to live — maybe as slaves, and maybe not safe from black predation, but we get to live, and we get to post based memes about based Kyle.

If the courts find for the defendants in Sines v. Kessler and in the McMichael trial, the encirclement maneuver will have failed, as the gap left would be too large to commence a slaughter. With self-defense, defense of community, and right to peaceably assemble and protest affirmed by judicial precedent, the fight is not lost in America and we gain valuable time to keep organizing. But if the courts find for globohomo in those two cases while finding Kyle Rittenhouse not guilty, then what will happen is a rout among white Americans as they rush for the exit indicated safe by the enemy – an anti-racist, part-Hispanic normie conservatarian posting snake memes and claiming it’s not about race and supporting BLM. Yes, Kyle cucked. We should have seen it coming. All the controlled opposition toadies are trying to drive white Americans towards the gap in the enemy ranks, the one place where opposition to globohomo is tolerated. Race-blind, individualist cuckservatism is more concerned with “owning the libs” than with defeating the enemy. And thus the great energy and will which American whites mustered for their defense and survival will be spent electing stool samples like Glenn Youngkin.

I’m not insisting that this must be planned. It doesn’t have to be. The way the American political system is set up, with its controlled opposition institutions (many of which do not know they are controlled opposition), all the mainstream Right has to do to fulfill this role is to follow their political instincts, which means co-opting Right-wing energies, pumping them out of the system, and then implement the agenda their donors want, spinning this as “owning the libs.” And unfortunately, this works. The Mongols weren’t fools. America’s rulers are fools, but they’re ruling over a population which can probably be fooled many times before it has enough.

Not all is lost, however. The encirclement and opening maneuver requires discipline and patience to pull off. Fortunately for us, the enemy’s armies include psychotic black Soundcloud-rapping sex offenders hopped up on anti-white hate. On November 21, child pimp Darrell Brooks plowed his SUV into a Christmas parade in Waukesha, Wisconsin. Though the press will doubtless deny it, it was an anti-white terrorist attack, likely motivated by the Rittenhouse verdict. Five people were killed and 40 injured in the attack.

Horrible though it may be (and it is, just look at this video), it serves as a wake-up call to any white people who may have thought the gap opened in the enemy ranks by the Rittenhouse acquittal offered hope for survival under the existing system. The lack of discipline in the enemy’s ranks is an opportunity for us. The controlled opposition — which now sadly includes Kyle Rittenhouse — would like us to believe this is not a racial conflict.

The message must be clear and reiterated: The Waukesha attack was an anti-white attack. The prosecution of Travis and Gregory McMichael is an anti-white attack on white communities. The lawfare against the Charlottesville organizers is an anti-white attack on white political organizing and activity. The prosecution of Kyle Rittenhouse was an anti-white attack on white people’s right to defend themselves. It also happened within the broader context of the 2020 race riots, which were an anti-white campaign of burning, looting, and murder by the anti-white terror groups known as BLM and antifa. All attempts at kindling false hope among white Americans that they can escape their destruction by pretending to be race-blind must be intercepted and ruthlessly deconstructed. The survival of white America depends on it.

All that mattered in these pieces was to link a well-known name with a subject of current topical interest. The reader may consult Ziegenhalss for some truly startling examples; he gives hundreds.

— Hermann Hesse, The Glass Bead Game

I was recently asked if Hermann Hesse is a man of the Right. My answer, such as it was, was a qualified yes. By the Kerry Bolton standard, Hermann Hesse is indeed a man of the Right. Given that this standard allows men like Aleister Crowley to make the cut, I’d advise you to exercise your own judgment. At first glance, Hesse wasn’t a picture-perfect Right-winger. His third (!) wife was Jewish, he was critical of the National Socialist regime — accusing it of sacrificing the individual at the altar of the state — and he made some very strong anti-war noises during the great war, tellingly while helping wounded soldiers, as he was deemed unfit for military service. He was no Ernst Jünger. And have you seen the people who swear by Hesse? They smell of weed and patchouli and introduce themselves as Mooncalf Satyagrahamcracker.

However, the esteemed señor Miguel Serrano assures me in two brief pieces that modernity has attempted to falsify and absorb Hesse, to make him palatable to Mx. Satyagraham, who tries to shoehorn false Buddhism in her mind using Siddhartha as rhetorical cover, to make Steppenwolf into social proof for angsty teenagers who imagine themselves uniquely tortured by circumstance. Maybe the key to understanding whether Hermann Hesse is on our side is in re-reading Hesse; specifically, his most imposing work, the one you’ll never hear about from the hippies and angsty teens. Here I’m talking about The Glass Bead Game, or Magister Ludi.

I won’t presume to talk about the entire work, merely the introductory part, where Hesse talks about events and ideas leading to the society established in his good future. What is relevant to our analysis here is what he terms the Age of the Feuilleton. You can read most of the text describing this age, which is our age, here, even though The Glass Bead Game was written in the 1930s.

The first image to spring to my mind when contemplating the feuilleton-reader is the Reddit user, the archetypal bugman who yearns to be seen as an intellectual, who “loves reading,” or in our modern era, “loves science.” I am also unpleasantly reminded of my musical education textbooks which included blurbs about funny occurrences in the lives of great composers, the most egregious of which includes Gioachino Rossini preparing a pasta sauce out of his friend’s lost glove. How is my appreciation of music enhanced by knowing this tale? Is the aria of Figaro more or less pleasant to the ear, is the libretto more or less edifying? Not in the slightest. In fact, once I did muster myself to see the opera itself, I found myself playing mental whack-a-mole as this annoying factoid bobbed and weaved around my persistent attempts to enjoy the show. But it’s a great story to tell at parties and a good intermezzo chat-up line if you’re the kind of shameless rake who goes stag to the opera.

The consumer of feuilleton is the kind of person who revels in perfunctory and superficial knowledge, or more correctly, facts, factoids, trivia, and curios. There’s no point to these, outside of self-adornment and self-aggrandizement as an intellectual. These people wear their snippets of knowledge like women wear jewelry. They serve to signal. . . something. But any woman can put on a diamond necklace, and any old grey, pitiful mediocrity can put on the airs of the great thinker.

The difference is, of course, that no diamond of any size can wash out the liver spots from a wrinkly cleavage. But a scruffy beard and a gaze which is two parts resentment, two parts arrogance, and one part dejection (trademark of Žižek Philosophies Ltd.), indeed, philosophum facit, or at least confers the status of a philosopher upon the wearer.

Adopting ideas, ideologies, thought systems, or really, anything based on fashion is a deeply feminine trait, as well as a trait of the bourgeois (who are feminine as a social group). Indeed, just as women have evolved to be creedally fluid, since that gives them a free option to sleep with the enemy in the event that the tribe is conquered and the men slaughtered, so is the bourgeoisie creedally fluid and accepting of new creeds and fashions. Why? They just want to grill, fer chrissakes, and grilling can indeed be achieved under most systems. The bourgeoisie has a free option — they can quite fashionably accept an imposed new creed, repeat back to the conqueror his new catechism with sufficient accuracy that he spares them, and then go to work as a tax base.

Or so they hope.

In our newest iteration of interracial conquest, the white middle class of Europe and America is likelier to be grilled than left in peace to grill. As an aside, all of you single dissidents looking for a redpilled woman are on a wild goose chase. What’s far likelier is that you’ll find your garden variety woman and redpill her through a process similar to homesteading, or in Locke’s words, through mixture of man’s labor with untamed nature.

As per Hesse, the feuilleton reader attempts to smother his dread in the face of a world shorn of meaning with useless and superficial facts. Is there a better description of our intellectual life, here at the tail end of modernity? Hesse also has incredulous words, from the viewpoint of the Biographer (The Glass Bead Game is a fictional biography) for the existence of the crossword puzzle, which apparently serves as an affirmation to the feuilleton reader that yes, his vast heap of accumulated facts is meaningful. Here we can conceptualize the braced feuilleton and crossword puzzle as the mirror image of the lecture and test. Successful memorization of the lecture leads to success on the test. It’s a good enough simulacrum of knowledge that mediocre minds can point to it as evidence of their intellectual adequacy.

The constantly shifting nature of feuilletons lends itself well to a world of no tomorrow and to people with no conception of the future. Here we find a rift between the old bourgeoisie, who built for the ages, and the urban professional of Hesse’s tame who morphed into the bugman of today. Hesse lived in the world with a new feuilleton every day. We live in the world a new Tweet every second. Hesse lived in the world of men without chests pretending to be profound. We live in a world of spiritual eunuchs pretending to be world-changing philosophers.

Hesse construed the pedagogic province of Castallia as an answer to the Age of the Feuilleton, which exists for the pursuit of knowledge and the refinement of the spirit. Much like Johnathan Swift before him, Hesse places music and mathematics at the apex of intellectual achievement and interest. He sees the resultant society as bright and positive through his deeply German (Schwabian) eyes, where the deeply practical Anglo-Irish Swift saw uselessness and pretentiousness. Hesse’s Castallia, though not without its problems, is one answer to the problems of the age of the feuilleton. Its chief method is the separation of the highest intellectual achievement from the rest of society, making it a costly activity (Castallians must not take wives or have children), thus weeding out those who won’t make a serious commitment to such a life. It is, of course, an imperfect solution, but at the essence of what it means to be Right-wing is the acceptance of society’s imperfection, even as we strive for personal perfection.

Modernity is in many ways the age of the bugman, and modernity itself may be a symptom of the proliferation of the bugman neurotype. (I have my own theory as to how this happens, related to my conception of mental illness, but this is a story for another time.) The feuilleton did not create the bugman. Rather, it arose as a response to the proliferation of the bugman neurotype. Let’s say Donald Trump follows through on his promise to ban TikTok. Let’s say he ups the ante and bans Reddit and Twitter. We will still have the problem of Redditors and Twitterers. Even we, who are creators, can be caught in the maelstrom of feuilletons and neo-feuilletons. There hasn’t been a Jeelvy article on Counter-Currents for almost two weeks, but I’ve made three “big brain threads” on Twitter dot com. Thinkers and creators are, after all, men, and men want to be recognized, adored, and respected. Suppliers go where the demand is. Twitter could go tits up tomorrow, but the neurotype that craves it will persist. It is still the predominant one in our societies. The Dissident Right is mostly of the type that can under no circumstances live as bugmen — those that violently (though for the time being non-criminally) resist bugmannery.

If you’re reading Counter-Currents, you’re reading the anti-feuilleton. Suppose you share some of the stories you’ve read here at a party (not the Rossini one). Suppose you tried to chat up a girl at the opera with tales of Victorian enchantment? Oh, there’s a great deal of facts here, some of them somewhat haphazardly presented, but they all serve a purpose, they fit into a coherent framework, and they follow a telos.

Another thing you’ll notice about the bugman neurotype: they are highly organized men with disorganized thoughts. Contrast that to Dissident Rightists, who tend to have highly structured minds and orderly thought processes, even when they’re wrong. I’d wager a guess that many of you are intellectual mess types with cluttered desks that look disorderly to the uninitiated, but actually follow a certain subjectively defined order. Personally, I live in a house where every horizontal surface has a thick layer of books on it and a plastic bag left in the middle of the dining room is not to be touched under any circumstances (I have my reasons). But nobody has ever accused me of having a disorganized mind. Counter-Currents has a mission. It isn’t so much a webzine as a university, the university of the Dissident Right.

Hermann Hesse was spiritually of old Europe. His anti-war message called for the recognition of European common heritage. His opposition to National Socialism was opposition to its imperfections, a characteristically German idealism coupled with an aristocratic individualism we see explored in Demian and Steppenwolf. In Siddhartha, we see a fascination with old India and eastern mysticism characteristic of the old European soul. In The Glass Bead Game, we see a vision of a society devoted to the mind, but shorn of the invigorating frictions of life, born of reaction to pretense and soullessness.

So, to answer my erstwhile interlocutor from the beginning of the article: yes, Hermann Hesse is a man of the Right.

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I don’t believe anyone reading this needs a recapitulation of all of the nasty things going on in the West today. However, what we will be discussing requires us to keep these many ingresses against white people in mind, so let us briefly repeat: White people are facing demographic displacement in their own countries. The main factors of this demographic displacement are: the importation of foreign, high-fertility, hostile racial and ethnic groups into white people’s ancestral homelands; the subsidization of their proliferation by means of wealth transfers from the white population. Additionally, it is being perpetrated by cultural support for such displacement and breeding by the government, as well as cultural suppression of white fertility and flourishing through a combination of brainwashing, demoralization, guilt, and deconstruction of pro-natalist, pro-fertility cultural norms and technologies among white people. At the same time, non-white replacers are encouraged to engage in crimes and attacks on white people, motivated by racial grievance, envy, and plain hatred of whites. The end result of these policies is the replacement of white populations in the West by non-whites and the destruction of white civilization, with planet-spanning consequences.

With all of this in mind — the horrible aesthetics of the West looming over it all, the alienation and lack of meaning in modern life, the consistent drop in living standards, and increasingly totalitarian rule — the Western dissident, the man within the maelstrom, looks for a way out — any way out. Anything outside the maelstrom seems attractive, by dint of freedom from the storm and gales. Of course, he understands why the vast black, brown, and yellow hordes of teeming biomass are clamoring the enter the West: To them, it’s a horn of plenty in welfare checks, preferential employment, and legalized rape of white women. But here and there among the new arrivals’ dirt-colored faces are the pale visages of Eastern Europeans struggling to enter the West as skilled workers: Polish plumbers, Estonian programmers, Croatian MMA fighters, even the elusive Macedonian esoteric racist writing for Counter-Currents. Why are these people trying to move West, or at least integrate themselves into the West’s economic system? What could possibly possess them to want to board this sinking ship? Can’t they see the maelstrom?

Short answer: no. However, that “no” must be qualified; even the most delusional Easterner can see the problems in the West. What we lack sometimes are the eyes to see with, or what I like to call the ideological framework for perceiving the world. At other times, it’s a matter of perspective. When your own situation is dire, sometimes even a sinking ship can look attractive.

Imagine that you are a bright young man from Eastern Europe. Your origins could have been humble or somewhat loftier; your father could have either been (or more precisely, have at some time been) a factory worker or a commercial agent for the same factory. You grew up in the 1990s and know what it means to lack the basic necessities of life. Your family scrimped and saved, though, and made it through. You went to school and were a bright kid; one of the best, even. You were told that good school performance was essential, but somehow it always makes your life harder. At some point you noticed that your underqualified and undertrained teachers resented you for your intellect. You had good friends — or good enough, at least. As you entered adolescence, you started to notice that even though every adult you met has nothing but praise for you and won’t shut up about how smart you are, all of society seems geared to somehow subtly reject you in some strange way.

You were awkward with women, but then again, who isn’t? But this was the first concrete evidence you had that the world did not function as your mother and teachers told you it would: the girls did not like you; they preferred the violent, uncultured thugs who squatted around the playground smoking, drinking plastic jug vodka, and wearing shiny tracksuits. It didn’t sit well with you. You also noticed that it wasn’t just the girls who preferred these guys’ company. Your male friends, even the ones you grew up playing football with, thought they were cool and wanted to be like them. Lacking the anti-social instinct, all they managed to do was embarrass themselves after getting drunk on plastic jug vodka, but you got the message: You were lame and those guys were cool, and nothing the adults would say would make any difference. It was almost as if this society was deliberately setting you up to fail.

Since this was the ‘90s, computers were just starting to pop up here and there. Your father had a weird friend, whom you call “uncle,” because this is Eastern Europe and all of your father’s friends are your uncles. He was either a rail-thin chainsmoker drinking 15 coffees a day or a 250-pound chain smoker eating ten pizzas a day. He’s a strange person who worships a strange deity known as the Commodore 64. In any case, on one of your birthdays he assembled a computer for you and a brave new world was opened. And things were very different in this world. It was a world where guys like you were respected. I’m not talking about the Internet; I’m talking about the West. The computer, the television, and other media became a window into this strange world where men like you looked down on the shiny tracksuit guys as low-class thugs. Slowly, you began to dream about someday living there.

School soon ended. Now, your father the factory worker was adamant that you must not spend your life breaking your back so that “commie cocksuckers” or “pigdog oligarchs” would keep getting richer and richer, so he worked hard to send you to college in the big city. Since this is Eastern Europe, there were no quaint little college towns, and the most prestigious universities are all in the nation’s capital. Even though it’s a sorry little Podunk place in global terms, the inhumanly grey Communist architecture sprawling for kilometers around is still more impressive than what you’re used to. The people are of significantly higher quality as well. While you were “the smart guy” back home, here you find that there are other “smart people.” Some share your interests. There is even a place or two for you in the big city. For the first time in a long time, you are not alone. You have friends, and there are even girls who like you. For whatever reason, they don’t find the guys squatting around in shiny tracksuits all that attractive, but prefer the company of someone like you. There’s one in particular who you think you can spend the rest of your life with, maybe even raise a family. For the time being, though, you focus on your studies.

You start noticing something strange about the big city: Even though people here are better off than people in your blighted hometown, they’re still destitute — maybe not barely scraping by, but not exactly living well, either. And while they may look down on the guys with the shiny tracksuits, you can’t help but notice that the guys in the shiny tracksuits drive the best cars and have oodles of young women wrapped around their fingers. What’s more, you notice more and more that even at your university, people get good grades, internships, and academic positions not because they’re qualified, but because they’re part of this or that patronage network, usually connected to one or another political party. One or two of your professors are inspirational educators and have admirable minds, but the rest appear strangely underwhelming despite their intellect (when they have it), as if there’s something off about them. Gradually you learn that the ostensible meritocracy of university life is another sham, and that the je ne sais quoi which made you suspect your professors is moral cowardice or imbecility. They’re little more than fig-leaf intellectuals for the government or some influence group, or sometimes an outright mafia organization headed by one of the “pigdog oligarchs” your father was fond of cussing out.

One day, a friend approached you with an offer. It could have been a job after graduation, or better grades next semester, or entry to a program that will fast-track you to an academic position – it doesn’t really matter. He offered you this in exchange for coming with him to a meeting of a political party’s local chapter and joining it. You remembered that your old man called this party’s bosses “commie cocksuckers” if they were Left-wing, and “pigdog oligarchs” if they were on the Right. You politely decline. Your friend asked you to reconsider, and there’s something strange in his tone. You declined once again. Your friend dropped the subject. Nothing happened — or at least nothing immediately detectable. However, you noticed that the system treated you with an increased degree of coldness, as if you were some foreign tissue it had to eject. All administrative tasks became harder, participating in academic life became difficult, trying to find employment grew ever harder. Meanwhile, your peers who accepted that and similar offers were on track to become professors, or were landing lucrative government and big company jobs right out of college. You graduated and were unable to find a job, and thus found yourself returning to your hometown, where your job prospects were even lower.

After some time job hunting, however, you found employment in a small private company and returned to the capital. Your boss was an amiable fellow, a dedicated professional and fair-minded man. He had spent some time working in Germany, or Sweden, or maybe the United States when he was younger. He ran a tight ship, but you were re a hard worker and a quick study, so he was impressed and soon you found yourself promoted. It was almost unbelievable. For the first time in your life, there was an older man in a position of authority who finally accorded you a measure of respect for your efforts. Feeling somewhat confident in your ability to support a family, you hit up your old flame from college. Good news: She was still single and still into you. You married her. You had a baby. You took out a massive homeowner’s loan at 15% interest to purchase a shoebox apartment — but who cares? This is the way God intended it to be: man, woman, child.

One day, your boss came to work in a foul mood. The company had been doing well, expanding its accounts and employing new people. You were doing well, too: You had become a department head and had four people under you, most of whom were bright young lads like you. You treat them sternly, but fairly. The young lads were gossiping about some woman around the coffee machine one day when your boss suddenly called you to his office. He’d been relying on your input and advice for some time. Before you could even open your mouth to ask what’s up, he launched into an angry tirade about “commie cocksuckers” and “pigdog oligarchs.” He was three brandies and a pair of overalls short of turning into your father. Once he got the initial rage out of his system, you started to piece together what happened. The company had apparently gotten so successful that it caught the attention of the pigdog oligarchs and commie cocksuckers (who were the same people all this time). Your boss was given an ultimatum: Either sell to the pigdog oligarchs and let the company be ruined as they fill it to the brim with their own cronies, or refuse and have it ruined by their commie cocksucker friends in government — who’ll also make sure that he and the entire management team is sent to prison and personally ruined.

Your boss was not a compliant man and didn’t respond well to threats. He goes on a lengthy speech about how his time in the West taught him not to be afraid of bullies and that quality will always win in the end. He vowed to “set the fucking place on fire” before selling. You wanted to disagree, but found that you couldn’t. By God, you had built the company right alongside him; no fucking way were you selling or folding.

Your boss finally found his blood pressure medication and you girded your loins for war. It was a laughable notion. Within a week, the company was bogged down in inspections, lawsuits, compliance issues, zoning disputes — every legal and administrative headache imaginable is hurled at it. The bank wouldn’t return your boss’ calls when he desperately asked them for new lines of credit. Your suppliers mysteriously missed deadlines. Your clients started withdrawing from decade-long business relationships. Your boss finally ended up selling the company for pennies on the dollar to the pigdog oligarchs he railed against. You were fired to make way for one guy you could swear you saw squatting and drinking vodka from a plastic jug on the street not five years before. About two months later, your boss’ wife invited you to his funeral: He was killed by three men in shiny tracksuits, presumably in a mugging gone wrong — or so the police would have her believe. She didn’t, of course, but knew better than to make waves. She had children, you know, and so did you.

You were then jobless and that massive loan wouldn’t pay itself, nor could your children feed and clothe themselves. You thought you had been building your life on a firm foundation, but it was always water and sand. But you remembered what you learned from TV and online. You remembered what your boss said. In the West, quality will always win in the end. You tried to be humble about it, but slowly you realized that your sense of unease and alienation from society had been precisely that: Quality being suppressed to make way for trash.

You visited your parents, and when your father started ranting about the commie cocksuckers and pigdog oligarchs, for the first time in your life you actually listened to him. The old Communists were okay, but at some point in the ‘80s, the current commie cocksuckers took over and joined forces with state security and organized crime. From this unholy trinity came the privatization of state companies in the ‘90s, which allowed a handful of men — the pigdog oligarchs — to become very rich while impoverishing the country. This coalition of criminals, state security, and apparatchiks kept the population teetering on the edge of starvation to maintain political control, parasiting upon it. Anyone who possessed any positive quality must be either coopted or destroyed. The oligarchs controlled all economic assets, the apparatchiks controlled the government, and the state security kept it all together. All cultural life had to be put into the service of this kleptocracy, and of course glorify its members’ crass, mafia tastes. Hence, domestic cultural production was dominated by plastic gypsy women with fake tits and low-IQ thugs whose greatest ambition in life was to drive a fast car, take lots of drugs, and fuck many plastic gypsy women with fake tits. If you looked under the hood of the pop-cultural institutions, they were all, directly or indirectly, controlled by state security and the oligarchs.

You were surrounded by shit and living in shit because anything less was a threat to the power of these post-Communist bottom feeders. More and more, you realized that to keep on living in your country meant being a slave to these disgusting people. You would have killed them a thousand times over, but you couldn’t, and besides, you had your children to think of. You mentioned moving to the West. Your mother protested — taking her grandchildren away from her was cruel, but your father was silent. He took another swing of brandy and managed to grunt out something about “there being law out West.” He probably didn’t like the idea of being far from his grandchildren, either, but unlike your mother, he didn’t have the luxury of thinking with his heart. You took a swig of brandy yourself — the old man brews the best damn brandy in the world, and you’ll punch anyone who claims otherwise — but you had to think of your children as well. They must not grow up, like you did, in this open-air prison.

And so you moved to the West. You found that you were once again a respected professional, but here, there was nobody coming to destroy the company. You could build your life on a solid foundation. You were free from the commies and oligarchs. Not that they minded. Your country was suffering because all the talented men and women were emigrating, but to them, every person with an IQ over 120 and even a shred of moral integrity was a threat. Yes, things would continue deteriorating, but firstly, these people weren’t that bright, and secondly, being rich in a poor country was even better than in a rich country (at least by some metrics). As long as you and the other limp-wristed intellectuals like you were abroad and not still there, demanding a measure of civilization, they were right as rain.

In the West, you sometimes come across some people screeching about globalization. You chuckle to yourself. These pampered children don’t know the first thing about hardship, about living in an open-air slave labor camp, about anything more sophisticated than a simple extractive business being destroyed by short-sighted thugs, and that this “globalization” they decry is the only reason some people — the best of the East — can escape this servitude for a better life in the West. If you even think about politics, you find yourself siding with the globalists, especially after seeing parts of the Right wax poetic about how your sad homeland, still under the yoke of the commie cocksuckers and pigdog oligarchs, is a “bastion of traditional values,” especially after the commies figured out how to gin up popular support through performative porno-nationalism. Apparently, your Western liberal friends were right when they said that conservatives are morons.

You’re under no illusions that the West has no problems. But even with all of its problems, it’s still better than going back home. Sometimes you read about people from back home complaining about the gays and loss of family values in the West. You chuckle to yourself, knowing full well these people are best described as “degenerates,” cheating on their wives with all sorts of garbage and the neighbor lady while their wives are themselves cheating on them with their bosses. Monogamy is a dirty word to them — but hey, as long as it’s heterosexual, none of it really matters. Gays or not, you live in a society where you are respected and your labor is rewarded. If there are oligarchs, they’re not morons eating the seed corn. If there is state security, it doesn’t crudely put its thumb on the scales or smother the information space with crass garbage that offends the senses. Even the commies are more whimsical than disgusting here (although still annoying). Life for you is going well.

The story I have spun for you is by no means unusual or atypical. When a talented young man from the East looks to the West, he doesn’t see the maelstrom because he’s in an even worse disaster: the gradual and slow decay of a post-Communist country, which had been completely acculturated and stripped of its high-quality human capital in the Communist period, then left to the predations and vagaries of state security and criminals afterwards. It’s no country for young men, especially if they’re men of quality. Intelligence, talent, hard work, low time preference, patience, politeness and legality are not rewarded in the East. Quite the contrary.

Naturally, this is changing in many places, mostly by those who have attempted to institute nationalist policies and purge the Communist and post-Communist ruling class. It is a long process which may not end in our lifetimes. In other places, no such attempt has been made and these places remain open-air slave camps from which the only possible escape is the globalized world. When Western liberalism comes into these countries, their natural aristocracy does not see it as globohomo trying to race-mix them out of existence, but as a great liberator from the post-Communist oligarchy. They do not see the European Union as an instrument for destroying European nationhood, but as a means to grind away the oligarchs’ wealth by exposing them to both the EU’s regulatory bodies and competition from the common market. And a lot of people in the East see the Western culture pouring into their countries not as a poison that will destroy them, but as a breath of fresh air — something that provides far greater enjoyment and edification than the crass and brutish domestic productions tailored to appear to criminal thugs and whores. In the East, Harry Potter doesn’t compete against Dostoyevsky, but against Turbo-Folk, and there’s no question as to which one is less offensive to the senses.

This is something that is and will continue to be a problem for the East. Unless it can retain its talent, it will languish and gradually lose its economic, cultural, and state capabilities. Economics is often cited as a reason for emigration, but in reality it’s far more about respect. The post-Communist societies are fundamentally sick societies which empower scum and thugs. There’s not even honor among thieves, because all the admired and successful criminals are owned by state security. I used the term kleptocracy, but it’s not even rule by thieves; it’s rule by rats, by thieves who collaborate with state security in order to rob the people and aggrandize themselves. The hierarchies are inverted: the worst rule while the best cower in the shadows and are destroyed if they manage to build a life for themselves. Andrzej Lobaczewsky called such a society a pathocracy: rule by psychopaths.

When Western dissidents look at Eastern Europe and see someone waving an EU flag or repeating progressive bullshit, they imagine that this person is either a paid shill or has been brainwashed, but more often than not, it is a person with an IQ of 120 or higher and some semblance of morality who is tired of living as a slave in an insane society. He may be hoping in vain that the EU, or America, or Harry Potter will help him attain a measure of freedom.

Why do we have such things as white Sharia?

I mean, it’s a funny meme, and sharing images of Ramzan “Ginger Sharia” Kadyrov to trigger jihad-watching BoomerCons is highly entertaining, but hardly anything is done just for the lulz. Now, whether there are people out there who sincerely support white Sharia is of no consequence. People support all sorts of stupid ideas, as the success of Scientology will attest. But to me, white Sharia was always something to bash people over the head with – a big ole club which arises in my mind’s eye whenever someone says shibboleth or shillelagh or whatever nasty implement burly potato Slavs use to kill each other.

Why do we have such things as the MemriTV screengrabs?

MemriTV appears to have been begun as a project by Israeli intelligence to translate Arabic- and other kebab-language media into English, as a way to “shine a spotlight on hate speech wherever it appears.” Translated into sensible speech, it means trying to turn Western eyes on the ways in which Muslims express themselves in their media – contrasting Islam against liberal values and implicitly decrying Muslims as savage, for not living up to said liberal values.

In the early days of the meme, some guy in a Facebook group decried it as a “psyop by an Israeli general.” Which I suspect it honestly began as. The way I sees it, if it’s true that it’s an Israeli psyop, it shows us how the Jewish ability for memetic warfare atrophies when they’re not surrounded by gentiles, either that, or they assumed the sale too far. Memri TV backfired horribly. The internet cheers on the “hate preachers.”

The failure of MemriTV as a propaganda effort I suspect comes from the fact that in showing us how those bad Muslims are horribly illiberal, sexist, racist, anti-Western, anti-media and antisemitic to the point of hating every Jew except Jerry Seinfeld, it shows us ways in which Muslims are free and we were not.

Muslims can quite freely name the Jew – in fact, naming the Jew is required if you want to have some status among Muslims. Muslims can frankly discuss racial and gender differences, as well as proudly proclaim their religion. Muslims can freely declare themselves superior to other faiths. Muslims can freely demand that women submit to them. Muslims can freely condemn homosexualism, atheism, and other forms of anti-natural behavior. Most importantly, though, Muslims are free to be unapologetically masculine.

Whether you’re a student of history, in tune with your natural instincts, or fond of lending an ear when Grandpa’s halved the whisky, you’ll remember that we, the emasculated, proscribed and hated white men of the West, used to be like that. We were free, we were frank, we were candid, we were unapologetic, we were dominant, and we were masculine.

I won’t get into what happened. Bigger brains than mine have tackled that question. What concerns me is this instinct of the white man to feed his dormant masculinity with imagery and memetic from foreign climes, where it’s no longer illegal to be a man’s man. I’ll invoke the wisdom of my fellow bearer of the superior Balkan genotype, one Mike Enoch, who in a recent appearance on Jean-Francois Gariépy, claimed that today’s dissident rightists were rap-loving whiggers in the olden days. According to his reasoning, it’s because rap was the last refuge of masculinity, before my pick for president come 2024 waltzed into the scene with his skinny jeans, college degree, and submission to an a posteriori form of Kardashianism.

Nihilistic and materialistic, rap was nonetheless atavistically masculine. In our fragilizing, sanitized, contemptibly safe world, any shred of adventure, even if it boils down to popping a cap in yonder nigga’s ass cos he said yo mama suck broke ass muhfugga dick, or some other bix nood reason is like broccoli to a starving man. He’ll demean himself and offend his taste buds in order not to starve.

When Greg Johnson rightfully decried white Sharia as a dead-end meme, I nonetheless felt a need to play devil’s advocate for the cause of white Sharia, even though there’d been no cogent defenses for white Sharia from the white Sharia types. This is my way of dealing with the fallacy fallacy, which is the fallacy of assuming an argued position is false because it’s fallaciously argued. In defeating the steelman (opposite of strawman) of a position, we can learn quite a lot, even if the steelman itself is wrong. Specifically, if someone is sane and acting in good faith, they bring you important information even when making a bad argument or arguing for a wrong position.

When people who should know better agitate for white Sharia, when your edgy friends on Facebook give thots a taste of their shoes, we are witnessing a primal scream – white men yearning to be masculine and yearning for meaning. We need to feel confident in ourselves and we need to link our souls to the transcendental. The two seem to be linked in some strange way. YouTuber Nick Fuentes is a milquetoast in many ways, but a steel-spined lion when thots need patrolling. Witness here on Jean-Francois Gariépy’s show how he mercilessly patrols a pornstar thot who tries to virgin-shame him. Sincerely held belief can turn a man into a conquering cunt destroyer while his willie is still by woman unspoiled. I can’t prove the connection, but I’ve seen religiosity go hand in hand with contempt for feminine wiles enough times to recognize that there’s an Empedocles’ dog type situation there. Maybe religion provides heuristics which allows otherwise timid men to act with courage against female narcissism. Maybe anchoring oneself to the infinite transfers its resolve to he who is anchored to it. Who knows?

I presume that the readership is bright enough to understand that white sharia and whiggerdom are very bad ideas.  What we need is an authentically white and western expression of masculinity, one that hopefully is linked to the transcendent in a way only white people can be – nonwhites are disappointingly shallow in the spiritual realm. Nowhere is the presence and absence of the Faustian spirit more evident than in the realm of faith. Sadly, I don’t think we can have a bespoke Männerbund dedicated to powerlifting and prayer – such things are only forged in the crucible of history, when a white man pushed to his physical limits exerts outward an indomitable will and when crushed on all sides by the ugliness of the world, reaches into himself, into a reserve of infinite space to create a universe of meaning. God knows how many brave boys were crushed into the mud before this thing that modernity took down was built. Remember that nobody gifted Spongebob Squarepants his pineapple house. He acquired it through jihad.

What I predict will happen is a sort of retreat-with-an-attitude from the world. The sexual utopia is distracting the alphas, but the average beta Joes, the guys who thought they could be moderately masculine good providers and access women in this manner, they’re getting pretty bitter. You don’t want bitter betas. Bitter betas turn nasty pretty fast. Oh sure, you can threaten them with job loss and maybe even prison, but you know what’s even worse than that? Genetic death – dying without issue. Wives and children are what society throws at the feet of betas in hope they don’t burn it the fuck down. A beta denied this bare minimum has no incentive not to burn society to the fucking ground. Better, as the man said, to burn out than fade away. Better to die in a prison riot with a slain foeman at your feet and a defiant snarl on your face than waste away playing Sony Nintendoes and pocket pool at age 58. It’s a bit dramatic and some guys will go down this route, and others still may yet, to quote a recalcitrant Jewess, shrug and stop carrying the world on their shoulders. Busy bees that they are, the labor of betas built this world. And they’ll take it down by merely going away.

When the world goes away, a new one will be forged to replace it. Whoever does that will have the sort of thing that we like about Memri memes, white Sharia, whiggerdom and other forms of masculinity. There will be a strong faith behind this someone, an anchor to the transcendental. And, it will be an authentically white expression of faith and machismo – ever reaching into the infinite, ever projecting its will, ever patrolling inshallah, the thots.

 

Recently, a friend who has rubbed elbows with the highest echelons of haute cuisine recommended that I see Babette’s Feast, a 1988 Danish film about a French lady chef coming to a quiet Danish village. This film has apparently been a cult classic among chefs ever since it came out. Being something of a gourmet, I was intrigued by the idea of a film about food, and of course much of my work within the Dissident Right has focused on observing the contrasts and tensions between the Northwestern, Eastern, and Mediterranean poles of European civilization.

The idea of a cultured French lady trying to get along and serve food to simple Danish peasant fishermen sounded like it had rich potential for both comedy and reflection about our different natures. Quietly, I was expecting something a little like Chocolat, a modern morality tale about letting it all hang out and teaching those frumpy Nordies how to live a little. There are elements of that; Babette’s Feast is a very different film, however.

Let’s start at the beginning: We are introduced to a couple of aged spinsters, the sisters Martine and Filippa, whose father was a preacher who founded his own ascetic sect. They live in a tiny, dreary fishing village on the windswept coast of the Jutland peninsula, spending their days ministering to their now deceased father’s ageing and dwindling congregation.

Both sisters had a chance to marry but chose to remain with their father and assist him in his duties as a preacher. Martine had the chance to marry the young lieutenant Lorens, who briefly joined her father’s congregation, while Filippa’s singing voice was noticed and nurtured by the French opera singer Achille Papin, who was visiting their village for its quiet and isolation. Years pass and the sisters remain aged and unmarried when one day a woman arrives at their doorstep, bearing a letter by M. Papin in her hand. She is Babette and her husband and son have been shot in the repressions following the crackdown on the Paris Commune. On the recommendation of M. Papin, she seeks refuge with the two sisters in their tiny village and agrees to serve as their housekeeper in exchange for their hospitality, even though they have no money to pay her.

Babette makes a home for herself in the small village and stays there for 14 years. All that she has linking her to France is her lottery ticket. She learns the language and adapts to the local culture and cuisine, and even though she initially turns her nose up at bread-and-ale stew, she soon finds local herbs that improve its taste. Her maintenance of the sisters’ household frees them to do charitable work with the poor, for which the entire village is grateful.

After 14 years Babette’s nephew, a sailor on a commercial ship which often visits Fredrickshavn, brings her important news: She has won the lottery and a 10,000 francs cash prize. Martine and Filippa are saddened because they believe that Babette will use the prize money to return to France and leave them. Babette asks them for permission to prepare a “real French dinner” for them and their congregation on the occasion of their preacher father’s 100th birthday. Reluctantly, the puritanical sisters accept. The congregation, wary of the temptations to sin that such delectable food may elicit, make a vow to not comment on the food or drink, however, and consume it as they would the humblest of repasts.

Babette brings in ingredients all the way from France to prepare her feast. On the auspicious evening itself, the local lady of the manor, herself a devotee of the sisters’ father’s teachings, arrives and brings her ageing nephew, now General Lorens, in tow. General Lorens is none other than Lieutenant Lorens, who at one time romanced Martine but ended up devoting himself to his career instead. Even though he was influenced by the pastor’s teachings, the General is the only one who hasn’t taken a vow not to comment on the food. The feast commences and the General soon reveals that he has enjoyed very similar food in Paris. The exquisite seven-course meal has to be seen to be believed, but it made me understand why the film is a cult favorite among chefs and also made me regret seeing it on an empty stomach.

It is at the feast’s conclusion that we understand the true meaning of the film. The diners are so overwhelmed by the food’s artistry that they bury all their long-simmering grudges, forgive each other their sins, and are driven to spontaneous adulations of God, the deceased pastor, and the ever-nearing stars. Frightened though they may have been of a “witches’ sabbath” unleashed by Babette’s feast, they are instead treated to a night of spiritual joy. It dawned on me at that point that I was watching a “mysterious stranger” type of story. How many times do we see this in folklore? The poor man sees an old beggar at his door and takes him in, even though he himself has precious little. His generosity is repaid many times over when the beggar turns out to be a magical being in disguise, more often than not Odin himself in the Scandinavian context.

Indeed, Babette’s magic is not Odinic or in any way supernatural. Her magic is the magic of immense creative talent. She used to be the chef of one of Paris’ finest cafes, where General Lorens once dined. The sisters thank her joyfully for the greatest feast they have ever had, or ever will have, and Babette reveals that she has spent all her lottery winnings on the feast, and that she will never return to France and never intended to do so. All she wanted was to have her feast — or, in her own words, or more accurately Achille Papin’s words as quoted by her, “Through all the world there goes one long cry from the heart of the artist: Give me leave to do my utmost.” I can certainly relate to it. Filippa then responds, again quoting M. Papin that “This is not the end. In Paradise, you will be the great artist God meant you to be. Ah, how will you enchant the angels.”

That sounds rapturous and happy and there is great comfort in those words, if they are true. Earlier, the General reflects on his choices in life and how he forswore family life with Martine in order to pursue his career, but Babette’s meal leads him to conclude that through faith, he will nevertheless be granted a life with Martine in Paradise, one more perfect than the physical one they might have had on Earth. This echoes M. Papin’s letter, where he admits that while he regrets never bringing the talented singer Filippa to the Grand Opera in Paris, he knows that the grave is not the end and that he’ll hear her voice again in Paradise: “Ah, how will you enchant the angels.”

The story the film is based upon is set in a village in Norway’s far north, and traces of it remain in the dialogue, such as when the parishioners reminisce about the preacher walking over to the village across the fjord when it froze over. Director Gabriel Axel moved the film’s setting to Jutland’s flat and sandy coast because he found the villages of the Norwegian north “too scenic.” Lorens’ friends from the military academy seem to agree: There’s precious little to excite a young cavalry officer in sandy northern Jutland. This is ultimately a human drama which is reinforced by the village’s dreariness, but I think that this is important for the film’s ultimate significance as a Christian morality piece. Babette’s feast is, among other things, a story of two brilliant artists, Babette and Filippa, languishing in what our American friends would surely call, with the droll poetry of their vernacular, “the ass end of nowhere.”

In this sense Babette offers a theodicy for the problem posed to the talented man who cannot access the capital necessary to ply his art, a problem I have encouraged talented young men to bedevil themselves with in several essays for this august publication. Our enemy can be defeated if we starve him of the talent he needs to run his empire, but this also means giving up all hope that our gifts will ever be used to the maximum, especially those of us whose gifts depend on utilizing the capital which the empire has at its disposal. The film’s two women — Babette due to circumstance and Filippa due to piety — are forced, as I suggest to young men, to languish in the ass end of nowhere, not practicing their art and without leave to do their utmost. The film’s conclusion gives them the comfort that their gifts will finally be allowed to flourish in Paradise.

This comfort can only be enjoyed by the pious, by those who truly believe in Paradise and the certainty of salvation. There’s no such thing as free faith; it requires commitment and sacrifice. As I argued in my previous article, skepticism is the natural impulse, whereas faith requires effort. It requires taking that leap of believing that in the end, talented man will not remain an unanswered question and an unfired gun, but that there is a place where we can do our utmost.

Ah, how we will delight the angels!

Few things are as amusing to European nationalists as reading American wignat takes on European politics and government. The results are often doubly amusing when the wignat takes concern Eastern European politics and government. While there are resemblances between Western Europe and North America—one grew out of the other, after all—Eastern Europe is a world apart.

Wignats, or wigger nationalists, are characterized by their low IQ, binary thinking, lack of nuance, and advocacy of solutions that have already been proven insufficient or ineffective to the predicaments facing whites. These people are often uninformed, misinformed, and ill-informed; they are quite susceptible to deception and manipulation; and they’ll often fall for fedposts.

In their binary, unnuanced worldview, there are good guys and bad guys. Wignats struggle to comprehend the model of many overlapping, complementary, and contrasting conspiracies that better defines our world. They tend to believe that the camps of good and bad guys are monolithic and acting in concert, guided from some sort of higher authority. The view of men and nations as a mixture of good and bad, of purity and sin, confuses these boys, bless their hearts.

One of the silliest ideas to come out of this mindset is that Vladimir Putin is based and red-pilled, that he is /ourguy/, and that this automatically means that everyone who opposes Putin and Putin’s Russia is an enemy of white people and the Dissident Right. The binary wignat mindset automatically declares opposition to and hostility towards Russia as neoconservatism. Therefore, it follows that countries like Poland, Georgia, the Baltics, post-Maidan Ukraine, and to a limited extent Finland practice “neocon nationalism.” Yes, friends, I am as amazed as you are. Additionally, Polish hostility towards the ideas and imagery of National Socialism is interpreted by these types as evidence that Poles aren’t as based and red-pilled as we’d initially thought. This is based on ignorance about the meaning of the swastika, Iron Cross, and assorted National Socialist imagery in Poland. Whereas anti-Nazism in the US and Western Europe is a symptom of Leftist hysteria and LARPing, anti-Nazism in Poland and other countries is a sign of patriotism and nationalism. The wignat will repeat the slogan of “no more brother wars” but not understand that brother wars and betrayals did occur in the past and that the marks they left were deep.

Many in the West hope that the Slavs and other Eastern Europeans will help them in their battle over demographic destiny. People like me will help. A significant number, however, are still bitter about the Second World War and our subsequent abandonment to Communism. Many others are disgusted with Western degeneracy and effeminacy and want nothing to do with the West. The wignat in this context is no better than the Boomer who shares the image of the crossed-out swastika and hammer and sickle, believing that the Poles carrying that banner support his brand of color-blind Boomer conservatism. Not only are the Poles not color-blind, but they’d exclude the vast majority of white people from their in-group. Not even fellow Slavs are welcome. In fact, speaking Russian in the streets of Warsaw is a good way to get your ass kicked.

The wignat argues that these peoples support “neocon nationalism” because he knows that the Poles, the Baltic peoples, and others near Russia are apprehensive of or even hostile toward Russia, are generally pro-NATO, and are at least tentatively pro-EU, or at least supportive of the continuing existence of the European Union as a customs union, but opposing its attempts to usurp the sovereignty of nations or force migrants and LGBT issues upon them. Pre-2015, this position towards the European Union was known as soft Euroskepticism, and entailed a desire for a European Union different from what was being offered in Brussels (as opposed to hard Euroskepticism, which opposes the existence of the European Union altogether). In this day and age, however, public opinion has turned hard against the EU, and now the soft Euroskeptics of yore find themselves described as pro-EU. Then there is the whole “You forgot Poland” business, where George W. Bush accurately (!!!) responded to John Kerry in a presidential debate by pointing out that the vanguard of the Iraq invasion included not only the US, UK, and Australia, but also Poland. Poland cannot into space, but it can into Iraq.

Polish support of the EU as a concept (though not in its current form) is understandable. It wants access to the EU labor market so that Poles may go to Western Europe, find work, and send Euros back to Poland, providing foreign currency to the government and helping relieve the pressure on Poland’s lackluster domestic labor markets. NATO participation can be very easily explained by hostility towards and apprehension of Russia and Russian ambitions. Like I said, speaking Russian in Warsaw is a very good way to get yourself dragged into an alley and beaten to within an inch of your life. This manifests in the country’s foreign policy.

The wignat will then respond that Polish hatred and fear of Russia and Russians is unfounded and unjustified because Russia is not hostile or expansionist. The wignat forgets that international relations do not merely exist in the moment, or indeed, the decade. Rather, history is the greatest teacher of grand strategy known to man, and a peaceful Russia at this time does not necessarily mean a peaceful Russia tomorrow, especially in light of an aggressive and expansionist Russia yesterday. There’s also the fact that Russia is a nation of 146 million people, and Poland is a nation of 38 million, and the Baltics, Georgia, Ukraine, and Finland are even smaller. Waking up in a country bordering Russia is what I imagine my short and skinny neighbor feels like when he passes me. Sure, the large man next door whose hobbies include weightlifting, bare-knuckle combat, and target shooting is friendly and polite, but what if . . . what if . . .

There’s also the fact that Putin and indeed any ruler of Russia is very much constrained by her geography. In this excellent and refreshingly lucid article, a geographer explains that Russian foreign policy goals are easy to understand if Western governments would only look at a map. The article has the benefit of having been written prior to the Russia hacking hysteria, and so the author is free to think of Putin as a human being and Russia as a normal nation, rather than as Sauron Sauronovich commanding his Ru’us orcs to march forth from Mordorussia. It’d do you an immense amount of good to read the article, but in brief, Putin desires control over eastern Ukraine, and at some future date Poland, because these are the places where the Eastern European plain is the narrowest and most defensible,which is where a Western attack on Russian soil would be most likely to originate, as has been carried out by innumerable armies in the past. Likewise, Russia needs the Crimea to maintain its naval presence in the Black Sea. It needs to exert influence over the Baltics and Finland in order to maintain its naval presence in the Baltic Sea. And it needs to prop up Assad, because without him, it will lose its only Mediterranean port. It also needs to control Georgia, because it serves as a bastion against the Muslim Middle East and a promontory from which it can exert influence over it.

With all this in mind, it stands to reason that Poland would do anything in order to check Russian power and build up its own defensive capabilities if it is to defend its sovereignty. And sovereignty is important to the Poles. They’ve lived under foreign occupation for long enough to know. They, and all the other countries bordering Russia who would defy her will, value their sovereignty so much that they would break bread with the devil if necessary to remain masters of their own fates.

Even joining the Iraq invasion had a dark logic to it. By sending men into this low-risk conflict, they give their soldiers valuable battlefield experience. The open flatlands of Iraq also helped to prepare them for an eventual confrontation on the European plain. Additionally, NATO membership means access to Western military technology and know-how, as well as Western intelligence—technology, know-how, and intelligence which can be used to fight Russia.

What Poland wants is not very different from what Israel wants—for American military might to be directed against her enemies. The difference is in how the two nations go about securing this objective. The Semitic Israelis do it through subversion and lobbying; the white Poles do it through cooperation and reciprocity. The Poles are forthright; the Israelis are underhanded. The Polish method, as we will later see, has an unexpected benefit. But we already knew this, or at least should have.

So, who’s the bad guy and who’s the good guy? Too naïve? Let me restate that: Who is /ourguuy/ and who isn’t? Difficult to answer. Possibly both, possibly neither. We have to first ask ourselves who we are. And then we have to think of Polish and Russian ambitions and goals in terms of our own ambitions and goals (insofar as we know what those are) and whether we can work together; and also whether we shall work past each other or find ourselves at loggerheads.

I believe we live in a period of history when American global hegemony and the American empire is facing imminent collapse. The players on the world stage either consciously or unconsciously understand that while the American empire is still the primary threat and is powerful enough to be dangerous, its collapse is inevitable, and in its wake, victory will belong to he who is able to fill the vacuum. This presents a problem in which although everyone theoretically wants to defeat the American empire, nobody wants to be the rock against which the empire breaks, for fear of being weakened by the conflict and later falling victim to other rivals. Some nations aren’t in the running to fill the vacuum and take over as empires, but still have an interest in growing stronger and remaining strong, because this gives them bargaining power against any ascendant new hegemony.

Poland has allied itself to the American empire, but it has not shackled itself to it. Unlike Israel, whose infiltration and lobbying operation has joined it at the hip to the American empire (the same can be said of Saudi Arabia), Poland will not necessarily share the fate of the American Empire because it can defend itself independently, even from a resurgent Russia. It can even form a regional alliance with the Baltic States, Finland, Ukraine, and its historical ally Hungary to counter Russian power. This is the “Intermarium” imagined by Poland’s inter-war geopolitical strategist Marshall Pilsudski. When the time comes, Poland has the option of decoupling itself from the West.

A final note on Ukraine. As I have waxed poetic in an earlier review of a piece of romantic literature, history has proven that Ukraine cannot be governed effectively from Warsaw, Vienna, or Moscow, and indeed, Washington and Brussels have proven themselves equally unable to do so in recent years. It’s a piece of land which is difficult to defend and rich in natural resources. It will therefore always see warfare. The current Ukrainian government is corrupt to the core, and indeed this is a feature, rather than a bug, of the Euromaidan phenomenon.

However, this struggle for independence from Russia, though financed by Soros and the State Department, has created something new in the Ukraine, something vigorous. Hard to believe, isn’t it, that someone can take money from Jews and liberals and build something great with it. Welcome to Eastern Europe, friends, a very low-trust society, where deceptions are many, overlapping, and make a mockery of the truth. International Jewry has had a ball with deceiving naïve, high-trust Westerners. Here in the East, we’re not only naturally suspicious of outsiders and especially Westerners, Jews, and Western Jews, we’re Jewier than the Jews in our business dealings. Expect to get overcharged for a service you’re never gonna get. And then get sued.

I’m exaggerating, of course, and the East is full of Soros’ creatures who are very apt at spreading poison, particularly among our elites. Yet there is a resistance, there is institutional backing for such resistance in many countries, and a hope for the future. The Ukrainian people are in all likelihood nearing the conclusion of ethnogenesis, the process by which nations come into being. They’ve lived in the shadow of Poland, Russia, Austria, and the Tatars for so long that they’ve had no chance to bloom. Maybe the Euromaidan has backfired horribly on globohomo and brought forth a new European nation. Maybe.

Brother wars are tragic. Yet in a sense, they are inevitable. The non-whites of the world are only a credible threat to whites in this day and age due to the decadence of the West and our unwillingness to fight back against their predations. However, in the fullness of time, there will be a civilizational resurgence, and that resurgent civilization will beat back the non-white menace with relative ease and turn its attention to worthier foes—other white people, at which point the cycle of degeneration will start again. Perhaps it is our fate to do this forever.

In any case, we have to abandon sophomoric moralism and ideas about people halfway across the world being /ourguys/. We are descendants of the Indo-European aristocrats who fought each other to the death for pure prestige. It is in our nature to be warriors, and warriors seek out worthy foes. In the wake of our decadent age, victory and prestige await in combat. There’s never a dull moment on the steppes.

 

 

I’m gonna rise up,
I’m gonna kick a little ass,
Gonna kick some ass in the USA,
Gonna climb a mountain,
Gonna sew a flag,
Gonna fly on an eagle
I’m gonna kick some butt,
I’m gonna drive a big truck,
I’m gonna rule this world,
Gonna kick some ass
Gonna rise up,
Kick a little ass,
ROCK, FLAG AND EAGLE!

— Charlie Kelly, American patriot.

I’ve never set foot on the American continent. I’ve lived in Europe my whole life. I hadn’t even left the Mediterranean basin until I was already a man. As I told one of my American friends who had come to visit, I’ve never had to go forth and see the world because the world always saw fit to come to me. For someone who’s loath to travel, I have an impressive history of drinking Finnish metalheads under the floor, throwing chairs at Polish football hooligans, seducing Russian and Romanian airheads, picking apples in my grandfather’s orchard with the CEO of an Italian automobile producer, collapsing in a drunken heap on top of a heap of drunken Irishmen, falling face-down in the mud of a wetland because an Iraqi challenged me to jump over a creek, helping an Austrian playwright put on a show, kissing a French girl in the shadow of the church of my baptism, carrying a drunk Croat twice my height on my back, regaling drunk working-class Englishmen with tales of throwing chairs at Polish football hooligans, and trussing up a refreshingly sober American writer for Counter-Currents on my back, wrapping him in Macedonia’s ancient flag and carrying him up a flight of stairs.

But I’ve never been to America. It is a strange land, as far as I’m concerned. Her size alone fills me with a sort of dread, that she can never be fully known, like a willful woman who can be briefly had but never possessed. Wistfully, at a distance, I think of that vast continent, spinning fantasy upon fantasy about the great land beyond the ocean. Mother Europe is a small place, where I can hop in my car and be in a different country within the hour, whereas my Texan friends think nothing of commuting for 3-5 hours. Just how big is America? I can look at the figures and maps, but I do not think that I’m mentally prepared for the vastness in space. As I’m fond of saying, the beauty (and monstrosity) of Europe come from vastness in time — men lived here, as I live, many thousands of years ago. But the beauty (and monstrosity) of America come from vastness in space, of land as far as the eye can see and beyond.

That’s to say nothing of America bucking the rule of European man. The teeming Amerindian and mestizo multitude has already beaten down the old Iberian aristocrats who once ruled the continent south of the Rio Grande. Now, this great human, alien mass is streaming into the heart of the USA, securing allies in all of the non-Europeans who’ve been foolishly brought or invited into this garden forged by European man. There is a sense of something dark and inhuman moving under the surface of complacent American suburbia. Something plumed, something serpentine, something which hungers for sacrifice.

For this reason, much though it would improve the sovereignty of European peoples, I cannot fully rejoice at the fall of the American empire. While it would free Europe from Washington’s yoke, it would unleash the monsters of old, pre-Columbian America onto white Americans. I have no ill will for this noble nation, even though they themselves do not explicitly understand that they are a nation, whose fate needn’t be tied to that of the American empire. This is the America not of Jefferson, Lincoln, the Roosevelts, the Kennedys, the Clintons, the Bushes, the Rockefellers, and other criminal clans, but of Andrew Jackson, Robert E. Lee, Madison Grant, Ezra Pound, Robert E. Howard, Huey Long, Pat Buchanan, Richard Marcinko, and Ross Perot — the nation that made the empire possible and was ultimately betrayed by the swamp creatures in Washington. This nation is also yet to be fully formed and differentiated, but it nevertheless is there, waiting to rise up, kick a little ass, sew a flag, drive a big truck, etc.

My great hope in the year 2016 was that Donald Trump would scale back the American empire and retreat the American armed forces back to the homeland, or in the words of Ann Coulter, remove them from the Euphrates and post them on the Rio Grande. This would have been the best-case scenario. It would have freed the nations of Europe to choose sovereignty and nationalism while allowing the American nation to peacefully arise as the empire dissolves its presence abroad. This is still an option, incidentally. If not Donald Trump, then a future president who understands the futility and cost of empire can issue such an order and implement such a policy. However, time is rapidly running out and the US deep state swamp has proven itself remarkably drain-proof. It has even absorbed Donald Trump and integrated him into the mammonist wing of the Molochite-Mammonist duopoly at the helm of the empire.

In my last two articles, I called for a military and diplomatic alliance between the nations of Europe, which would proactively defend Europe’s borders and ensure the survival of European peoples. Such an alliance would necessarily be racial, for it is not our intent to host the nonwhite multitudes of the world within Europe’s borders. However, this still leaves out a sizeable chunk of whites, specifically the European diaspora, or the inhabitants of the so-called European settlements, in the Americas, in South Africa, in Australia, in New Zealand, and elsewhere.

The reality of the situation is that if their countries fall, Americans, Canadians, Australians, New Zealanders, and South Africans would be faced with the choice of either being massacred and/or enslaved by the conquering nonwhites or fleeing, ultimately to Europe. Now, remember what I said about Europe being tiny? The sheer numbers of the white diaspora make the proposal of letting them in a tough one. While I have a soft spot in my heart for America, I shudder at the thought of 200-odd million white Americans pouring into our tiny continent, and that’s not even counting the teeming masses of Canucks, Aussies and Kiwis and their logic-defying accents and cultural practices. One solution, which I’ve heard given before, is that Americans who can trace their ancestry back to particular European nations should return to that nation. In practice, this would mean inflicting the Real Housewives of New Jersey on the Italian Mezzogiorno — a region which I believe has suffered enough, to say nothing of the fact that there are approximately 10 times as many Irish-Americans as there are inhabitants of the Emerald Isle.

Well, why not just turn them away? Leaving aside the obvious moral odiousness of leaving 200 million people to be devoured by the nonwhite hordes, it’d undermine the cohesion and solidarity of a European racially-based alliance. If we can turn away these white people and leave them to their own devices, why couldn’t we leave this one specific European nation out in the cold for whatever reason? If we follow this logic, our grand alliance would soon be in tatters.

Europe should look after her children, uncultured and ungrateful though they may be, lest our nations are inundated with people who munch hamburgers two at the time, think football is played by throwing an egg around a rugby pitch, and well. . . you know the stereotypes. This means providing military assistance for the European diaspora in the event that their lands are threatened. The American, Canadian, Quebecois, Australian, Novozealandian, Argentinian, Brazilian, Afrikaner, and other white nations or nations-in-waiting will have to be supported, and Europe might even find herself forced to construct ethnostates for them, lest they be either massacred or found knocking on the door of the old continent. And make no mistake, every European settlement is under threat. Even distant Australia and New Zealand risk falling prey to Chinese legal replacement migration. In some nations, the support will be less dramatic; merely a promise from Europe to dispatch Euromarines in the defense of these lands. In others, it will consist of perhaps rebuilding troubled settler states from scratch. Something of the latter sort is liable to happen in the North American continent, where the USA and Canada seem not to be the most stable of entities. Entirely new solutions will have to be reached for Latin America, whether creating ethnically homogenous exclaves for that region’s white populations (with each allowed to set its own castizo tolerance levels and policy), or evacuating them to defensible locations, probably in S. America’s southern cone where the majority of Latin America’s whites live.

In these ventures, Europe mustn’t act as a conqueror or nation-builder. Knocking out the Washington hegemony is meaningless if we replace it with another one straddling the Mediterranean. Rather, the European diaspora of these nations will build their own nations, and avail themselves of European military and diplomatic might if and when the need arises, under conditions of reciprocity. The guiding goal should be maximum independence and sovereignty for both the nations of Europe and the various European overseas settlements and mutual assistance for the attainment of these goals. If one neighbor helps another, the other one is in his debt, but does not become his slave.

One of our writers here for Counter-Currents came to visit me recently. As I mentioned before, I don’t have to go out and see the world: the world comes to see me. He’s an American, but he assured me that he has no loyalty to America, and that he’d rather live in Europe, in the land of his ancestors. I was taken aback. Say what you will about the current American regime, but America is a grand and beautiful land. White people, English, Spanish, French, Scotch-Irish, German, and God knows how many others fought and died for it. To abandon it to the barbarian hordes is to betray these countless warriors, both known and unsung. From my ivory tower in the Balkans, I’ve read about the heroism of Christopher Columbus, Ferdinand Magellan, Francisco Pizarro, Hernan Cortes, Abel Tasman, Jean-François La Perouse, and James T. Cook, of the courage of the pioneers, the Voortrekkers and the many generations of white people who discovered, conquered and built these great states, who founded these nations, as well as seen with my own eyes the true grit of Davey Crocket, Wyatt Earp, and Mick “Crocodile” Dundee, real, imagined, or merely embellished. These are our places. We paid for them with our blood, sweat, and tears. And blood, sweat, and tears have to be invested if they are to remain ours.

The future of white Europeans seems, to me, inextricably linked to a form of international racial solidarity which nevertheless recognizes ethnic differences between European nations and respects the sovereignty of those nations. I do not believe that the various European overseas diaspora nations are exempt from this form of solidarity.

Above all, the great warrior ancestors of European man must lend him their strength and courage yet again. We are a race under siege, in every place where we live — most of all, in our heads; where the lies and propaganda of globohomo seek to defeat us without firing a single shot, by breaking our spirit and manipulating us into consenting to our replacement. They’d have the descendants of Alexander and Caesar, of Charlemagne and Ragnar Lothbrok, of Napoleon and Nelson, of Bismarck, of Pilsudski, of Wrangel and Mannerheim, of Patton, Rommel and the million others whose might shattered the world to go gently into the good night. This is something we cannot allow. The darkness must be defeated. The various snakes and dragons, plumed or gold-hoarding, must be defeated and defeated everywhere they dare threaten our people and our lands.

In all our tongues and faiths, prayers must be said for the soul of Europe, that her sons do not lose hope, that their strength wavers not, that their swords are sharpened and wielded with grace, that we live to see her people bask in the golden sunlight of joy.

 

We’re raising funds here at Counter-Currents. That’s why they call it a fundraiser, or so I’ve been told. — Some daft podcaster

This year, Counter-Currents aims to raise $300,000. So far, we have raised $107,246.59 or 36% of our total. Thank you to all our supporters. And if you are not a supporter yet, make this the day you start. Full details on donations are below. — Greg Johnson

As regular listeners of The Writers’ Bloc will know, I jokingly refer to our fundraising efforts here on Counter-Currents as “crass financial concerns.” The reality of the podcast/livestream format is that while it can be used to educate, edify, and, crucially, to compare and contrast ideas, its primary product will always be entertainment. This is not a bad thing; people need to be entertained, and it is better that they’re entertained by friends who will not poison their minds. It’s also important that we include as much education, awareness-raising, networking, and academic achievement in our shows as possible.

My vision of The Writers’ Bloc is of a show where we reconstitute salon culture. Civilized man seeks out good and intelligent company so that through learned discourse he may rise above the savage and draw closer to God. I deliberately structure the shows less formally than Counter-Currents Radio, as I’m aware that the Bloc’s undercard nature gives us a creative freedom not enjoyed by some of the bigger fish. Also, I’m a naturally lazy person, so I look for ways to get the job done with minimum effort; this usually means finding interesting people to interact with, and then relying on my charm to try and bring out the best in them. Since not all writers are talkers, this is more easily said than done. So far, there haven’t been too many duds.

When I say “crass financial concerns,” it is for easy laughs: It is both a Seinfeld reference (the episode with the pigman) and an irreverent dismissal of a vital part of the show’s efforts, combined with a sudden voice change to a gravely croak, made even worse by my low-quality microphone, and followed ironically by a 4-5 minute long list of ways to donate and live consumption of Alaska Chaga tea, our dauntless sponsor’s flagship product.  It’s supposed to be an ironic appropriation of the grifter archetype and a simultaneous mockery of it. Specifically, it is an example of verbal irony, where I wear the superficial traits of the grifter like a set of clothes even though I am raising money for a good cause.

Since I assume that the audience understands this, they too can participate in the postmodern theater which is the livestream, mostly through the chat and the Entropy superchats, but also through our shared culture as early twenty-first century netizens. The stuffed shirts in literature and Classics departments yearn for the times of Greek theater, but something quite like it and yet entirely new is played out weekly at 10 PM CET on the Counter-Currents DLive and Odysee channels.

But at the core of why the financial concerns are crass is the inherent guilt and shame that we feel when asking for money. I know that it stings me pretty badly. When our illustrious editor Greg Johnson asked me to put The Writers’ Bloc under the auspices of Counter-Currents, part of me was doubtful if I’d be useful from a fundraising perspective. I considered myself too proud to ask for money, especially from relative strangers over the Internet. It seemed so . . . well, crass at the time.

It shouldn’t feel crass. All jokes aside, the money raised by Counter-Currents doesn’t end up in my liquor cabinet. Instead, it goes towards such glamorous projects as The Jonathan Bowden Archive, Counter-Currents events and gatherings, as well as the increasing number of people in the small but sturdy “back office,” those nigh-magical men and women who’ve learned the secret elven crafts of “Xeroxing,” “web development,” and “scheduling.”

I keep telling everyone who’ll listen that we are facing the most momentous and grand task in the history of the white race, and that our cause demands nothing but the complete rebirth of the spirit of white men and a reassertion of white mastery over our ancestral homelands. My basic selling point to young men is that to fight for our cause is the adventure of a lifetime and that nothing the modern world offers could compare to what one gains by taking on this fight, the meaning given to one’s life and actions, and the recentering of the world on the Axis Mundi of white identitarian nationalism, which we interface with the common man through the nationalism of his specific white nation. And yet, I do consider it crass, even if jokingly, even if just a little, to ask for money in order to pursue this grand and noble cause. Why?

We live in a degenerate age, by which I don’t just meant that people are degenerates (although they are), but rather that our society is subject to degenerative effects — the effects of ageing and decay. One of the things that has suffered is public trust. It used to be that when someone asked for money for a noble cause, you could reasonably trust that they’d put it towards that cause. However, admitting racial aliens, especially those who thrive on swindles involving our public trust, has made us cagey about men asking for money, and even cagier about men asking for money in order to pursue some Grand Cause. So often has the Grand Cause been used as a moral shield for an insincere grift that now the very hint of a Grand Cause arouses suspicions, like a tuning fork exciting the salivation response in Pavlov’s dog. We therefore either devote ourselves and our energies to minor causes or we raise funds for Grand Causes by self-effacing and hiding behind the shield of irony, because sincerity, or at least the projected image of sincerity, paradoxically appears insincere in the age of grift.

This would be enough of a problem if we were raising money to help lost puppies and sad kitties, but we’re not in the business of rescuing unfortunate animals here at Counter-Currents. No, we are part of the Right-wing political ecosystem of the West, and as such suffer the added difficulties and indignities of this contentious conceptual space. Aside from the usual mistrust and grift, we are also operating in an environment where trust is even further eroded by enemy infiltration, subversion, and plain old fraud. We are trying to raise money in an environment where fundraising scandals like Ezra Levant’s incessant petitioneering, Alex Jones’ Super Male Vitality™, and Milo Yiannopoulos putting half a million up his nose yearly have occurred.  Different though we may be from these people in all areas which matter, first and foremost ethnicity, their trail of destruction includes a lingering miasma of distrust, especially when it comes to people parting with their precious dollars and cents for the benefit of causes.

In the wake of the Russo-Ukrainian War, I’ve made it my business to study the Russian art of propaganda, which has been described as “postmodern hell.” Its aim, essentially, is not to convince or persuade the consumer of propaganda, but to make him doubt the very possibility of truth, or at least sincerity. Due to the unquestionable influence that Russian foreign intelligence has had on the burgeoning Dissident Right in the West, this ethos of bringing the very idea of truth of sincerity into doubt has also leaked into this idea-space. This is not to let the Western regimes off the hook, as they’ve been very much attacking the idea of correctness and truth for their own part. The very notion of postmodernism is that there is no truth, only power relations.

So, when I ask you to donate to our worthy cause, I am asking you to take a leap of faith. Yes, Counter-Currents has proven itself over the years. No, this doesn’t mean that I’m dropping the “crass financial concerns” routine. But I’m asking you to believe in sincerity and the possibility of a Grand Cause again. I am asking you to make the momentous step of breaking through the prevailing epistemic paradigm of our age, which is being blared with deafening intensity from the imperial centers in Moscow and Washington. I am asking you to once again believe in the possibility of a sincere struggle for the existence of our people and a future for white children.

There are many ways you can help Counter-Currents:

1. E-Checks

The easiest way to send money to Counter-Currents is by e-check. It is as secure, fast, and convenient as a credit card. All you need is your checkbook.

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E-checks don’t work outside the US, but we now have a new way to send recurring or one-time donations from outside the US for very low cost. For details, email cyan@counter-currents.com.

2. Credit Cards

In 2019, Counter-Currents was de-platformed from five credit card processors. We applied to a couple of other processors but were turned down. In the process of applying, we discovered that Counter-Currents has been put on the so-called MATCH list, a credit card industry blacklist reserved for vendors with high rates of chargebacks and fraudulent transactions. This is completely inapplicable to Counter-Currents. Thus our placement on this list is simply a lie — a financially damaging lie — that is obviously political in motivation.

Currently, there are only two ways we can take credit card donations:

1. CashApp as $CounterCurrents! CashApp allows you to make an instant credit card donation without a high processing fee. Plus, it gives us an encouraging mobile alert when you donate! Boost the Counter-Currents staff morale instantly! Donate via CashApp!
2. Entropy, a site that takes donations and comments for livestreams. Visit our Entropy page and select “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 weekend.

3. Bank Transfers

It is also possible to support Counter-Currents with bank transfers. Please contact us at orders@counter-currents.com.

4. 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 send gift cards as donations electronically, by-email, through the snail mail. If you can find a place that sells gift cards for cash, they are as anonymous as sending cash and much safer.

5. Cash, 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
Editor@Counter-Currents.com

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.

6. 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.

7. Crypto-Currencies

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

• Click here to go to our crypto donation page.
• Click here for a basic primer on how to get started using crypto. Do not, however, use COINBASE. COINBASE will not allow you to send money to Counter-Currents. (Yes, it is that bad.)

For those brand new to cryptocurrency, you can even use your credit card to buy cryptocurrency via Moon Pay here. Then you can send your cryptocurrency to our crypto addresses.

8. 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 me at editor@counter-currents.com. You can send donations by mail to:

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

9. 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.

Donald Trump is winning! He’s scoring wins against the Do-Nothing Democrats, Shifty Schiff, Nasty Nancy and Schmuck Chumer! And not just him, but supporters of our beautiful Second Amendment are winning in Virginia — even the venerable Robert Hampton of Counter-Currents agrees that the Virginia gun rally is a clear win for the Second Amendment crowd. So much winning, that you’ll be tired of it! Ignore the naysayers and losers who say we’re not winning; they’d prefer we lose! They’re losers!

If you think the above paragraph is the typical flippant opening to an otherwise tongue-in-cheek and gloomy Jeelvyan philippic — well, you’d be wrong. Everything written there is 100% factually true, even if the tone is a bit too jejune for my taste. Donald Trump is really winning. He’s really scoring wins against the Democrats. And the gun owners of Virginia are really winning by showing their massive numbers in Richmond. These are undeniable victories.

The thing about winning, though, is that it is sometimes meaningless.

I’m lousy at predicting elections, so I have decided to keep mum on the subject of the outcome of the 2020 US Presidential election. Lots of people have made predictions one way or the other — some are predicting a “Trumpslide” (a form of winning), others are predicting a narrow Trump victory, which is more of a “no” to the weak Democratic candidates, and others yet are predicting a Trump loss due to the demographic winter in the US. I am retaining a measure of skepticism for all three possibilities. There’s lots of evidence for each of the three, and I’m doubtful any of the three outcomes is 100% certain. This makes me a loser in the eyes of fanatical Trump supporters. Can’t I see that Trump is winning?! Have I been brainwashed by Soros and the Deep State into being a loser and spreading defeatism?

Usually, when I see the words win or winning emphasized, I clasp my wallet and back away – a narrative of victory is necessary for someone to hook you into a movement built on mendacity, such as the Alt-Lite. That collection of clowns needs to keep their adherents in a constant daze of pre and post-victory exhilaration in order to keep its racket going. The moment they encounter resistance, they’re revealed to be untruthful edgelords afraid to venture into the really saucy stuff. Where the Dissident Right distinguishes between truth and falsehood, or at the very least between “Good for our people” and “Bad for our people,” the Alt-Lite distinguishes between popular and unpopular, between winners and losers. In short, these people are not truth-seekers, but status-seekers. Their agenda is to climb the greasy pole of the political status pyramid and then pull up the ladder behind them. That being said, it’s difficult to believe that their followings consist entirely of mendacious status seekers. Rather, I advance, most people like winning.

That’s a truism if there ever was one. Who the hell would want to be a loser!? Certainly not me. I grew up playing sports – I’ve seen my share of winning, and I’ve seen my share of losing! Let me tell you about winning. It feels great; it’s like somebody lights a fire in your skull and all of your body feels right. Winning gets you paid, laid, and respected. Contrast that to losing, which makes you feel like hammered shit, and then you go to bed, and you wake up in the morning and the physical pain is gone, but your limbs still feel like they’re made of super-dense putty. Losing is for losers!

Given the obvious advantage of winning and obvious disadvantage of losing, people will try to the best of their ability to win rather than lose. Now, on the sports pitch, this usually means training harder and more often, coordinating, and giving your 120% when the actual game comes. But to take a lesson from sport and apply it to real life unexamined is to commit the ludic fallacy. In real life, the most common and effective way to win is to pick winnable battles. And as a corollary to this, the way to defeat a winner is to maneuver him into a position where all the winnable battles have nonexistent or meaningless payoffs.

In case you’re wondering, the above paragraph just described the method by which the loser left, full of nerds and defectives, has been running circles around the winner right, which is full of chad, muscle-bound jocks. Have those highly driven alpha males chase after meaningless victories and let their dopaminergic processes doom them. Frame control beats winning.

One of my favorite bloggers is one Aidan MacLear. All of you should read his work (and of course, add your own salt). He recently described Doom (the classic) as the best and highest-brow video game because, and I quote: “The aristea of righteous carnage against evil is … a sublime value that transcends midwit ‘philosophy’ and ‘plot.’”

https://twitter.com/AidanMaclear/status/1219707459780202498

This is certainly appealing. One of the great sins of our decadent age is its neuroticism: The constant questioning, the constant lack of clarity, the lack of clear differentiation between friend and enemy, or between right and wrong, or indeed – true and false. The Doom guy, in contrast, kills literal and obvious demons for no particular reason. He lives and dies by the symphony of violence and its sublime beauty. Doom belongs to the same family of escapist works as J. R. R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, where evil is clear and definite and it is right and proper to kill it, and kill it good. You won’t find that kind of moral clarity, underscored by aesthetic clarity, outside of professional wrestling. Warlike, sportsmanlike men like clear and unambiguous fields of battle, good guys at their back, bad guys in front of them, death, destruction, mayhem, rock flag and eagle!

So yes, Donald Trump is winning, and the Virginia gun rights activists are winning, but what we have to ask them is whether they are fighting (and winning) the right battles. The problem is, nobody likes the guy who shows up at the victory party asking whether the clear and unambiguous win was meaningful and useful, or whether it was a clever misdirection by a shadowy enemy who is yet to reveal himself. The last thing that any alpha jock hopped up on dopamine and endorphins will tolerate is some noodle-armed “truth-seeker” asking uncomfortable questions while he’s busy choosing which busty cheerleader to boink first. Questioning obvious wins is the hallmark of a loser. In the locker you go, nerd. Our enemies have turned our natural instincts against us.

Fortunately, we in the dissident right are insured against status-based attacks. Because we have anchored ourselves to the truth, we cannot be effectively stuck in the locker. We’re mostly cooler than the guys out there winning, by virtue of being the irreverent bad boys of my ever-more convoluted high school party metaphor.

My suggestion for voicing skepticism is not to say that Trump isn’t winning, but rather to question the value of those victories. Be prepared, of course, to defend yourself against charges of defeatism, control and brainwashing by Soros, and being a Deep State, FBI or Do-Nothing-Democrat shill. Shaking people hopped up on endorphin out of the haze is never easy, but if you thought this thing would be easy, well, you wouldn’t be here. Otherwise, we run the risk of something quite insidious. Our esteemed editor Greg Johnson is fond of pointing out that accelerationists want to “win by losing.” The ever-victorious MAGApedes and Trumpists run the risk of doing the exact opposite: Losing by winning!

 

Some time ago, I resolved not to fall into old habits and immerse myself in Russian absurdist literature while the world burned. I’m sad to report that as usual, I’ve failed in my resolution and spent the past weeks immersed in Russian absurdist literature. It’s an interesting period of Russian literature, one inextricably linked from the context of its time. One can hardly imagine that anything like OBERIU existing anywhere outside of the early Soviet Union, outside of Russia. Of course, the absurdity that inspired their work eventually deemed them literary hooligans. Most of those involved with the Society for Real Art ended their lives in gulags and psychiatric hospitals. They were the last Russian avant-garde literary society. Everything after them was Socialist Realism and poems about the strength of Soviet industry, the valor of Soviet soldiers, and the wisdom of comrade Stalin. But from the standpoint of the erstwhile traditionalist, yeah, these guys could be called degenerate.

It may be strange to a newcomer to the Dissident Right, but one of the most basic redpills one takes when entering any variation of this thing of ours was “Stalin was a good guy” — for a given definition of good, that is. Now, apart from being very handsome in his youth, the number one thing ol’ Koba has going for him is that he’s not Trotsky, and furthermore, that a Soviet Union under Trotsky would have been many times worse than what it turned out to be under Stalin. While we always strive towards heroic ideals, we grade real men, historical or otherwise, on a curve. And Stalin, being if not a good guy, then at least better than Trotsky, reconstituted much of the old social structure that was dissolved in the early Bolshevik period. This restoration led to the marginalization, exclusion, imprisonment, and eventual execution of avant-garde artists, including my own personal favorite, Daniil Kharms, who starved to death in a psychiatric hospital in 1942.

So, do I now repudiate my old literary hero? At one point, I described myself as having been created when my old self read a radioactive copy of Kharms’ Incidences. My literary friends of the time considered Kharms a happy diversion, a hat they could wear when pretending to be more avant-garde than they really were, or when they pretended to be fighting a Stalinist Nazi regime while suspiciously absent from a gulag, or at least a psychiatric hospital, but not me. I couldn’t just play with Kharms. I had to read, and re-read him, and read the English and German translations, and finally get around to reading the original Russian, and try my own translations of it — even though, in keeping with the motif of the absurd, my Russian is risible to nonexistent. I, who decry learning by rote and any form of discipline, rigorously drilled and crammed into my head the works of this obscure Russian writer and started imitating his terse style in my own prose, his literary hooliganism in my poetry, which was always written with the intent to be spoken, not read. Predictably, I became very sexy among the literary scene, but only on occasion, when my literary friends needed someone outrageously arrogant and irreverent of established forms to decorate their social portfolio with.

Conversely, as Kharms before me, I was adept at annoying the established type of literatus whom I held and still hold in unmitigated contempt. I am referring, of course, to the type of author who holds a distinguished professorship, a membership in an official writers’ organization, and who knows all the right magic words, speaks with the proper inauthenticity, and has all the correct chronic diseases of the digestive system. As is usual in communist and post-communist nations, these people were products of the Academy of Arts and Sciences system where the arts were tightly controlled by a cabal of insiders so that they may not accidentally produce anything which might threaten the system. Any parallels to the Western model of decentralized Academy of Arts and Sciences are accurate, as both the centralized communist model and the distributed Western model are predicated on the arts (and sciences) as regime maintenance: artists and scientists functioning as storytellers who provide a fig leaf for the ruling regime’s naked illegitimacy. The word “stuffy” is applicable here, but these people hold vast power — the power to censor, the power to deem relevant and irrelevant, the power of the spotlight to be shined on and off, the purse strings of grants and awards. Kharms was excluded from the Soviet literary scene and persecuted by the forerunners of the stuffed shirts that frustrated my own literary ambitions. Now, obviously, I’ve never seen the inside of a gulag, so why am I complaining? And did we forget? There’s no room for degenerate art, no room for assault on the old forms, no room for the righteous aristeia of a young man bereft of all struggle finding meaning in the struggle against boredom with the help of a pun-spouting Zen master who hankers for green Zen beer.

Judged by the standards of its time and place, Stalinism is a conservative movement. The conservative has no patience for degenerate art and its assaults on the old forms. Indeed, he seeks to conserve, to maintain, so that he may pass on to the next generation. The avant-garde artist is someone who seeks out new forms, by necessity running from the old forms, sometimes holding them in such disdain that he applies the kerosene-and-bulldozers treatment to the old structure. We see gifted men, men who should, having been blessed with the aesthete’s discerning eye, know better, dissolve what was old and beautiful, hurling themselves as artistic suicide bombers against the supports of the cultural structure which gave birth to them.

But what if the old forms are just that – forms?

Now, this is not one of those hippy-dippy “truth is outside of all patterns” kinds of anti-formalism. I recognize that forms are not bad. Forms are protocols, which when implemented, create results. Forms are liberating. Form is the best weapon against the tyranny of the blank page. I’ve always found it easier to write haiku or dactylic couplets than free verse because the definite form gives the artist focus, directing all energies into the essence of what is said. Forms come from the deep voice of a culture, from when it first burst upon the scene of world history, likely from a great founding figure who articulated that culture’s essence in a grand act of creation, thereby setting the example of the form in which that culture ought to be expressed. It is a protocol that can be used by subsequent artists to perpetuate that culture-voice without necessity of great artistic genius. I can pick up a pen and paper, or better yet, start speaking (poetry is always for the ears, not the eyes), and by relying on the poetic figures as tools, on rhythm, verse, metaphor, antithesis, et cetera, create technically flawless poetry that will speak with the ancient culture-voice of my people. 

But what if there is nothing left to say, or at least nothing worth hearing?

The foundational sin of conservative ideology is that it will fight to preserve the form long after the essence of what created the form has died away, that is, when not facilitating the murder of the essence in exchange for preserving the form. Thus, the violation of the form, necessarily done in public and with great pomp (how else should we do art?) gravely wounds the conservative’s sensibilities and conscience. It is nothing short of artistic hooliganism, or more accurately, rape. 

Tellingly, conservatism is a phenomenon in cultures that have, as per Emil Cioran, forgotten how to rape. The avant-garde is the metaphorical rediscovery of rape and its application to the old forms. The perverse satisfaction of defiling straight-laced form-driven culture is related to the perverse satisfaction of defiling a chaste and honest woman (or so I’ve been told). Old culture has lost its vitality and locked the maiden body of art under countless layers of Victorian clothing, sealing away its sweet nectar. As Kharms the philosopher would say, it is improper for beer to remain in a stationary state and it is improper for a voluptuous young woman to be kept away from the traffic of life. It is therefore up to the pirates and brigands of the avant-garde to roughly rip through the bodice of the old forms and ravish the forgotten essence of culture, allowing for new life to be born.

If we’re looking for examples outside of art where the conservative fights to preserve the empty form while ignoring or destroying the essence, look no further than modern marriage. Marriage, having once meant the subjugation of untamed female nature by male authority to create children (essentially Lockean original appropriation of females) is now nothing but a means of draining men of resources and stripping them of dignity, retaining only its form of man, woman, and children. Whereas previously, man was king, vested with authority over women and children by almighty God, now we have trembling husband cautiously and frightfully leaving tribute at the feet of Her Majesty, Whaman. 

God, like the great patriarchs of the past, is nowhere to be seen, having been supplanted by the managerial state that rudely involves itself in marital matters, subverting the sovereignty of man-king under his own roof, humiliating him before his woman and children in ways the old European lords and monarchs never dared. But the conservative will wag his finger at young men who eschew this state of abject subjugation to women, and worse yet, will scream and yell and cry “degenerate” whenever any young man attempts to subjugate women to his desires through the methodology of game and pick-up artistry. But the PUA following the base instinct to get his dick wet is more traditional than the conservative who defends the form of marriage while believing himself to defend traditional marriage. The PUA uses trickery to subjugate a woman and hew her will to his own, which is far closer to the essence of traditional marriage: subjugation of a woman and instilling in her obedience to a man’s will. The only thing separating the PUA from the old patriarch is his intent — to fuck women for pleasure rather than for making children. But then, the human hedonic treadmill being what it is, he will eventually feel a yearning for fatherhood which all men possess, and start using women for their God-ordained purpose. As the later Heartiste archives reveal, a “degenerate” PUA, having already mastered the art of subjugating female will, is better equipped to become a trad dad than many trad dads who idolize the female and the form of marriage. If you want to be really trad, instead of putting a ring on her finger in the middle of a wheat field, put a baby in her belly and make her mend your socks.

The Stalinist regime was conservative, and so it couldn’t understand the necessity for the avant-garde. Much of the avant-garde was wankery, but much of any genuinely creative endeavor is wankery. The trick is to find the artistic genius lurking among the wankers. The West is now at a stage where all worth conserving has been lost and the old forms are now monstrous because they’ve lost their essence and become lies. The Dissident Right is, for the time being, the political avant-garde, plying our disruptive trade against the old forms. When the establishment conservatives deign to notice us, their attacks usually consist of pointing out that we’re working on dissolving the old forms. 

This is true and we should own this charge. 

We are the degenerate artists, we are the literary hooligans pouring acid into the works. We should not, however, become those conservatives by mindlessly venerating the forms of the past. Trad LARPer is an effective insult because trad LARPing is such a mindless veneration of the old form. If we are going to, as the meme says, RETVRN to tradition, we ought to RETVRN to the essence of tradition, such as the aforementioned PUA subjugating a woman. In the political sense, I am often accused of being a tribalist, i. e. considering good what is good for my tribe, process and order be damned. I admit to being such a tribalist. I owe no allegiance to any particular ideology or method, merely to my people. If the methods of deconstruction and avant-garde help my people, so be it.

As a final, personal note, I will add that I’ve not created any art in a long time. For reasons known to Him, God has chosen to take my voice away. Perhaps I was indulging my wankery too much, perhaps He thought my talents would be put to better use as a political writer and activist. I’ve certainly approached my own political career as I would performance art, the kind of outrageously pompous and innovative show I used to put on for people who may or may not have wanted to see it. While you may have different opinions about the nature of art, I see all artists, myself included, as instruments of God, the ultimate creator. When God dispatches his instruments to deconstruct the old forms, it tells us something about His plan for that culture. And here the conservative once again fancies himself tragic, but is ultimately pathetic. 

Standing athwart history and yelling “Stop!” turns out to be a stubborn, yet thoroughly despicable, act of defiance against God.

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In my writing for Counter-Currents, I’ve called for the formation of a dissident high culture. At the time of writing, there is only a smattering of cultural institutions which are explicitly Dissident Right, which means that the future of dissident high culture is whatever we make it. The future is a vast empty space which we have been tasked with filling.

But the past of dissident high culture is not so empty. No, it is rather crowded over at the Restaurant de la Tour Eiffel. Indeed, you could say that the avant-garde of the past was decisively reactionary. This is what we learn in Reactionary Modernism, a collection of Jonathan Bowden’s writings and transcribed speeches on the subject of the Right-wing modernists, many of whom are pictured having lunch and reading BLAST magazine in that famous William Roberts painting.

The collection leads us on an intellectual journey through what modernism was in its own time, contrasting it with what it is shown as and matured into in our own time. It begins with the inception of the creative movement away from representationalism, the birth of photography, which was as momentous in the visual art as Nietzsche’s observed death of God was momentous in philosophy. Bowden is our Virgil on this journey through the past, presented through profiles of four — in places called The Big Four — reactionary modernists: Wyndham Lewis, Ezra Pound, T. S. Eliot, and W. B. Yeats. Arno Breker, the Third Reich’s official “opposite of degenerate” sculptor and architect, and Stewart Home, an eccentric and radically dissolutive British artist whom Bowden considers the epitome of nihilism in the arts, but with whom the reactionary Big Four have deep parallels, are also profiled.

The reader is told a tale in the now-classic Bowden style, twisting and turning through the transcribed speeches, sometimes with large, delicious digressions building the canvas on which the portrait of the artist is to be discussed. Obviously we cannot appreciate the artist or his work without understanding the historical context in which he lived, and not just artistically. No, Lewis, Pound, Eliot, and Yeats were all men who lived in their time, who were of their time, and influenced the affairs of their time, being influenced by it all the while. In the lecture on Yeats, for example, we are told that Yeats became a Senator of the Irish Free State, which is then followed by a history of Irish politics, and a book on reactionary modernism suddenly traffics in names like Eoin O’Duffy, Michael Collins, and Eamon De Valera. What becomes clear is that when speaking about Yeats, we are also speaking about the Irish nation and the Irish race, wherever it lives, since Yeats the artist positions himself as an antenna of that race, as Ezra Pound would put it.

Of course, the question will arise as to what use the reactionary has for modernism. Isn’t he against it, revolting against the modern world, as we’re wont to describe ourselves? The reactionary, the Rightist comes in many guises. He is sometimes a small-c conservative and its allied term, a conservationist, working to conserve that which came before him, both in the realm of the physical and the societal, understanding fundamentally that the two cannot be meaningfully separated. He is sometimes a big-brained theorist, developing a parallel political formula for a state and society as it should be, or at least as men could live with. Sometimes he is an old man on a porch, remembering stories from the time when his grandfather was a boy, at other times a wanderer who comes to strange lands so that he finds his own familiar, yet unknown nature reflected in their strangeness. But the role of the Rightist to which Bowden draws our attention in Reactionary Modernism is that of the wrecker, the dissolver, the sledgehammer, the stick of dynamite in the load-bearing pillar of a rotten edifice, and the cold, cruel winter that must precede regenerative spring.

Before the battle of our day can be won, we must clear away the lies, the debris of the past, and the soft, sterile age of comfort and popular appeal. Reactionary modernism is the realm of energy, dynamism, vitality, and danger. Wyndham Lewis doesn’t walk; he stomps around, taking large steps. He argues, he gets in your face, he makes enemies, he “infights,” he BLASTS, but even when he’s of a friendly disposition, he doesn’t merely affirm or meekly smile; he BLESSES. There’s an intensity to Lewis which we see throughout the phenomenon of reactionary modernism. Pound is more reserved and scholarly, but his intensity is one of more depth and less pomp. With . . . usura, hath no man a house of good stone. With . . . usura: there is an eternity between “with” and “usura,” a plough plunging deep into the earth to overturn it. Hath no man a struggle, that initial step of man and beast. A house of good stone, momentum gathering, earth rolling. With. Usura.

Reactionary modernism is the aristocratic answer to the mass age, a refusal to comply with the need to appeal to a broad audience. It erects walls around itself, laughing in the face of accessibility. It seeks to alienate the casual observer and carve out a space for itself free from the accursed gaze of bourgeois man who sees art as a distraction rather than as a calling. The political Left, those great levelers and, paradoxically, great elitists would love nothing better than to sweep modernism’s reactionary origins under the rug of history, relegate the truth about modernism as an art form to footnotes about Lewis’ and Pound’s “fascist sympathies,” promulgating instead the notion that modernism is a Leftist phenomenon. The bourgeois, liberal Right, those Leftists of yesteryear, would love it if the Left succeeded in claiming modernism for itself. Reactionary modernism’s pesky dynamism and energetic rancor upsets the tender sensibilities of the liberal Right, which does not like to make waves and would prefer civility in discourse.

In the way of these two ignoble hosts stands Jonathan Bowden’s spirit: chest puffed out, guns akimbo, and behind him is the vast treasure trove of the Right’s modernist heritage. He shall not let them pass and despoil that which is rightfully ours. With the publication of Reactionary Modernism, at last our patrimony is secure.

Imagine that you’re William the Conqueror while he was still known as William the Bastard. You and your men are languishing in Normandy because lack of favorable wind is preventing your invasion fleet from setting sail for England. Imagine that, unlike the historical William, you hear that the Norwegian King, Harald Hardrada, has battered the English forces at Fulford. Would that make you cheer? Would that mean that Hardrada is now your friend?

Let’s step out of the realm of historical fantasy for a second and imagine that you are one of the Supreme Racist Command, but back when we were still known as the Dissident Right. You’ve just heard that our principal enemy, the globohomo empire, has taken a battering from the Taliban and has been forced to retreat from Afghanistan. Would that make you cheer? Would that mean the Taliban are now your friends?

There is not a direct correspondence between us and William, between globohomo and the Kingdom of England, or between the Taliban and Harald Hardrada, of course, but I chose the conflict of 1066 because it’s the most popularly-known historical example of a multilateral war — where a side which fought two enemies lost to the second one because it exhausted itself fighting the first. We are in a similar situation, in a multilateral conflict which is still sub-kinetic, still waged at the political and economic level, but waged nevertheless between multiple sides, each with its own agenda of which we are but one.

A more comparable example would be the period between the Auspicious Incident in 1826, in which the janissary corps was forcibly dissolved, and the dissolution of the Ottoman Empire in 1922. During this period, it became evident to all of its subjects that the Ottoman Empire was not long for this world. However, as Adam Smith put it, there’s a lot of ruin in a nation, and there were 90 years’ worth of ruin in the old Empire before Atatürk put it out of its misery. During those 90 years, however, anyone opposing the Ottoman Empire from within found himself in a peculiar position.

While his principal — and probably most powerful — enemy was still the Ottoman Empire, and the Empire still had the power to do him serious injury, if not outright crush him (in the cases of the independence movements and local strongmen), the fact of the matter was that the Ottoman Empire’s days were numbered, even if this number was not yet known. Thus, the logic of war became slightly different. Whereas before the goal would have been to do injury to the Empire itself, the goal now became to outlast the Empire and do injury to one’s various rival factions which likewise opposed it, because on the day of the Empire’s collapse, no other entity would take its place, and all of the rival groups would become aware of each other as competitors for the same, or similar, goals.

In some cases, these goals might not be mutually exclusive (at least at first glance), but others definitely were. For example, the Balkan nations’ various irredentist ambitions were (and are) mutually exclusive, and while they were all theoretically opposed to the Ottoman Empire, in practice, as the end grew nearer, they were increasingly opposed to each other.

This was also true of  the various rival empires which were alternately trying to prop up the Ottomans (mostly Britain and France) or diminish their influence (mostly Russia and the Habsburgs). While Russia and Austria both theoretically opposed the Ottomans, they also opposed each other, which led to jockeying for influence in the Balkans, mostly waged on behalf of the various Balkan nations in order to conceal the imperial ambitions behind it. Even the Ottomans’ French and British friends had plans on the back burner to carve it up, because they could also see the writing on the wall.

Of course, there’s no direct correspondence between the late Ottoman situation and the situation of the global American empire right now. For one, I don’t think that globohomo has suffered a blow as mortal as the Auspicious Incident. No, the Afghanistan withdrawal is not such a blow. Far closer would be the “fortification” of the 2020 elections, but in Ottoman terms, it just demonstrated the power of the janissaries (the permanent bureaucracy) over the Empire rather than its official rulers: in the Ottomans’ case, the Sultan and Sublime Porte; in the American case, the President and, to a lesser degree, Congress.

A lot of Westerners are accustomed to thinking of the Janissaries as the Ottoman equivalent of the Praetorian guard, i.e. as the Sultan’s bodyguards, but in practice, they were the military and civilian administrators of the Empire, and by the seventeenth century were its de facto rulers. Sultan Osman II angrily declared that he was a mere subject of his own slaves, leading to a Janissary mutiny and his murder.

Similarly, the 1974 palace coup against President Nixon, or his previous defeat in 1960 through election shenanigans, would be events in recent history where America’s janissaries mutinied against America’s legitimate ruler. But it is important to understand that however corrupt and stupidly resistant to reform America’s janissaries may be, just like the Ottoman janissaries, their dissolution and replacement by a more pliant military and civil administration will be the mortal wound that starts the American empire’s long bleed. This is because the administrative apparatus is so burrowed into the imperial body politic that there’s hardly any healthy tissue left. The Ottoman Empire’s long dissolution tended towards the current rump state, the Republic of Turkey, which for all its faults is at least a stable country whose international influence is nothing to scoff at.

That’s all well and good, and will probably transpire in the future. In the meantime, we have to look to our own fortunes, our own position, and our own long list of enemies potential friends. Who are we? Who are they?

We are the Dissident Right. It means that we, for whatever reason, inhabit the right side of the political spectrum dissent from the mainstream Right, the latter of which functions as a sort of loyal and/or controlled opposition for the empire’s rulers. In practice, this means that we’re opposed to the empire’s current rulers as well, since our primary charge against the mainstream Right is that they do not truly oppose them. Thus, we’re already engaged in a trilateral war between ourselves, the mainstream Right, and the empire.

Travis LeBlanc has done a great job of looking into the dissident Left (though I hear they prefer to call themselves dirtbags). While they’re not our friends, they’re not exactly friends of the empire or the mainstream Right, either. This means that they are a side in this war whose movements we should at least follow with some interest, even if the red-brown alliance hasn’t got a snowball’s chance in hell of manifesting. Recognizing that they’d still throw me in the gulag and shoot me for being sexy if they were to ultimately come to power, I still find myself cheering for some of these Bernie Bros as they give the empire headaches.

We are White Nationalists, which means that we seek to secure the existence of our people and a future for white children. This makes us explicit enemies of the empire, which is now openly anti-white. The Deep State, which is the place from which the empire is truly governed, has three factions fighting for control of the empire. We can colloquially call them the Obama people, the Clinton people, and the Bush people, after their most recent political figureheads. As it happens, the Obama people are now battling a Clinton-Bush coalition over the recent pullout from Afghanistan.

None of these three factions is on our side, and they’re all explicitly anti-white. All three have catspaws in mainstream politics, and all three try to influence dissident politics. So-called Breadtube, which tries to pass itself off as dissident Leftist, consists mostly of the catspaws of the Obama or Hillary people. Many people pretending to be dissidents are actually catspaws of the Bush people — the identifying marker being a reluctance to openly condemn the empire and especially its anti-white policies; failure to recognize and condemn the Bush wing of the deep state; and attempts to salvage its reputation and shanghai Dissident Right thinkers into somehow believing it can be turned to good. They also try to channel dissident energy into supporting the mainstream Right — which is, I will reiterate, the Dissident Right’s principal enemy. (As always, bear in mind that such controlled opposition might be mind-controlled and not the classic paid shill.)

These are the forces arrayed within the empire — or at least around the imperial center. Other forces battling the empire and each other are rival empires, in this case meaning Moscow and Peking, which have their own imperial conflicts; nations trying to liberate themselves from imperial control, with or without help from Moscow, Peking, or either of the central imperial factions; nations under imperial control that are trying to influence affairs in the imperial center (i.e., Poland, Hungary, or Israel). Israel, for example, has the empire take care of its defensive needs, with or without help from either of the central Deep State factions, or maybe even with outside assistance from Moscow, Peking, and imperial institutions with their own agenda — which form the bulk of America’s janissaries.

When I mention nations under the imperial yoke, it’s natural to think of Afghanistan and Iraq, or for the initiated, Germany and France, but here I’ll also include the historic American nation (or nations), which were the first to suffer the empire’s trespasses.

That’s quite a varied and rich tapestry of factions with complementary and conflicting goals. The earnest Right-winger, ever the eager soldier, now asks, “Who are /ourguys/ and who’s the enemy?” If only we had a simple answer to that. The Rightist wants to divide the world into us and them because that simplifies the conflict we’re embroiled in. The truth is that even though there may be a single “us,” there is not a single “them” — and even “us” is subject to redefinition as alliances are forged, broken, reforged, and various factions opposing the empire — or at least one of its own internal factions — regroup within the dissident camp.

Then there’s the ever-present danger of an elite faction or an outside empire instrumentalizing a section of the Dissident Right, perhaps even our narrower group of white identitarians, for its own nefarious purposes. This isn’t as simple as bribing the leaders (although that happens, too), but may be more insidious. Again, I will mention that most controlled opposition is mind-controlled. For an example of such instrumentalization, look at how Duginism took over sections of the old Alt Right and now seems to be hewing them to Moscow’s imperial will. The recent promotion of certain flavors of dissident by the (Straussian) Claremont Institute and slime molds like Michael Malice seem to indicate a similar attempt by the Bush wing of the Deep State to instrumentalize elements of dissident thought. And who’s to say — maybe even the brave mujahedeen of Afghanistan are somebody’s catspaw?

Just because someone is fighting a group that is opposed to us doesn’t make this someone our friend. Just because someone’s done damage to our principal enemy doesn’t make that person our friend. Just because we both oppose the empire doesn’t mean that the Taliban wouldn’t decapitate me given half a chance. Just because we are both skeptical of American military encroachment in Eastern Europe doesn’t mean that Moscow wouldn’t consider me a problematic and dangerous fascist (their preferred term for identitarians). Just because we’re both reluctant to embrace hare-brained green energy schemes doesn’t mean the Bush people don’t want my people subjugated to the American empire and me thrown in Gitmo as an anti-Semitic agitator. And of course, just because any of these factions suddenly seem sympathetic and even willing to support our cause doesn’t mean that we’re best friends for life, or even that this support is in any way, shape, or form friendly.

I’ll leave you with that thought. We have more enemies than we can account for; many of them pose as friends and will point to a common struggle to demonstrate that we are indeed friends. Do not be taken in. Remember who we are, what we want, and what we stand for. Our goals are not their goals, and at some point in the future, these opposing goals will come to a head. Your guiding principle in these matters should be, “Is it good for our cause? Is it good for white people?” Likewise, don’t flip your lid if our guys celebrate a clear defeat for the principal enemy, even if it comes from a rival faction.

My friend and host of White Rabbit Radio, Tim Murdock, is fond of saying that Russia has built its army up as an empire-killer — specifically, that its weapons, equipment, and general doctrine is geared more towards countering American air and sea supremacy, with a special focus on anti-aircraft and anti-ship missiles, as well as weapons which can threaten the coastal areas where the Anglo-American elite lives from long distances.

I recently watched a video on Russia’s military budgeting, and it appears that Mr. Murdock is right: The Russian military is indeed optimized for beating back an American attack, hence its poor performance in Ukraine, where the Ukrainian army and territorial defense are fighting a very different war. But the video got me thinking. What if the Russians aren’t the only ones who have an empire-killer?

First, allow me to define my terms here. We use the term empire and it means many things to many people, but to me, it’s an organized group of people that uses a state or a state-type entity to project its will outwards and impose it upon the world. Many people use the term empire in opposition to the term nation, but I disagree. Nations can be empires; they can form the core of empires and act imperialistically. Of course, not all nations do that, and not at all times. I’ve discussed before how nations which have behaved imperialistically in the past can scale back their empires in order to preserve themselves by examining the career of Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, who managed to scale the Ottoman Empire back and save the Turkish nation at its core from dissolution. The core difference between the two is something I call the central organizing principle.

The central organizing principle is the idea by which nations and empires are held together and command and control are maintained in the hierarchy. Each group of people, and especially one that is associated with a state or state-type entity, must answer some fundamental questions: who are we, who is our friend, who is our enemy, who is our leader, how do we select him, who are his immediate subordinates, who advises him, how is his command exercised and to what end, and what are our laws? The central organizing principle informs the methodology of answering these questions and the way in which they are answered. The central organizational principles of nations are always some form of kinship, usually common descent from a legendary or heroic figure in the past, although in modern days this is frowned upon and some despicably deceptive proxy like language — or worse, “values” — has to be used. The central organizational principle of empire, however, is usually more complex.

Without beating around the bush, empires are built on a delusion shared by their ruling class. Maybe that’s a little harsh. Let’s say that empire is built on a dream woven by the empire’s ruling class for themselves, or sometimes woven for them by someone else who is their true master — or was, at any rate; dreaming a dead man’s dream is an unfortunate yet common disease of empires nearing their death. This dream is the empire’s vision of the future, and also its spiritual map, delineating the border between the sacred and the profane, in both space and time, identifying the axis mundi, the center of the world, from which flows its temporal mission, whatever it may be. It’s not always clear — dreams rarely are –, but it is there, it is to be obeyed, and it has a life of its own: No one man or even group of men can control it fully.

These delusions are obviously not true, but when an empire grows powerful enough and believes in them strongly enough, it can try to will them into being, reality be damned. We are seeing such a mad attempt to bully reality into complying as the Western Empire, headed by its ruling class concentrated in Washington, Los Angeles, New York, London, Brussels, and San Francisco, is trying to realize its own sacred dream of universal equality, no matter how many people die and how many nations are ground down into brown goop to make it happen. Ideas animate men who build power, which is then used to bring ideas into being, which serves as evidence for the truth of those ideas, animating men even more strongly, and so on until the empire’s strength is sapped and reality snaps back against it, devouring it and shattering its dream. Thus it has always been, thus will it be always. But what if reality can be helped along the way?

The worm of doubt is always with us, which is why faith is a virtue. Doubt is the natural state of man which must be overcome with the effort of faith, just as lust is the natural state to be overcome with the effort of chastity. Skeptics and doubters indulge the human animal’s natural predilection for disbelief, its natural conservatism, and its tendency to consider that things are as they have always been and will remain so always. When I say disbelief I don’t mean atheism or irreligion, but rather the absence of a mobilizing, missionary, and world-oriented idea, as opposed to the pacifying, animistic, and parochial spirituality of tribal and nationalist societies.

Ancestor worship is conservative and skeptical because ancestors are a material fact, and a legendary or heroic ancestor is either material fact or easily extrapolated from the material fact of his descendants. Ancestor worship has no time for grand, world-spanning visions. Its concerns are home and hearth, their security, and the propagation of the family, all being natural outgrowths of the biological imperative for reproduction.

The world-oriented, messianic idea requires a massive, willful effort to suppress these conservative tendencies and to disbelieve or transcend the data input of our lying eyes and ears. To reject this sense data is heroic, or at the very least the duty of every God-fearing man. When man rejects sense data in favor of the imperial idea, he is initiated into the power cult. From there on, he is not only his father’s son and his brother’s brother but also a believer in the idea, and sooner or later this divided loyalty will be tested. Some men will be able to remain loyal to the idea, others will choose biological reality. The former advance in the cult and become more committed, more motivated, and make the cult stronger.

Membership in the imperial cult of any entity which is either an empire or aspires to be an empire is a gruelling experience if you’re the kind of person who is skeptical, temperamentally conservative, and unable, for whatever reason, to believe your mullah over your lying ears. I imagine it’s also a gruelling experience for those who’ve never felt any particular affinity for sense data and have spent their lives looking for a fiction to inhabit. The catechisms must be repeated every day, every evening the demons of doubt must be cast out, every hour is a struggle against your lying eyes. It’s a wretched, neurotic existence, I imagine, but its reward is power beyond the wildest imagination of the conservative. Empire, put bluntly, gets shit done because it attracts and cultivates the kind of person who can get shit done, reality be damned.

All the while, however, it rests on the ability of the imperial cult to keep its members believing and to stave off man’s natural skepticism. Here’s where we get to the real empire-killer. The Western powers have developed a dangerous and potent weapon for taking out rival empires. Initially, it was used domestically, to take the fight to the natural skepticism of man concerning the imperial cult. That weapon is critique. The Western imperial cult is the first to turn the tables on this eternal enemy of empire, framing it as faith and as a sort of irrationality and denial of empirical data, whereas it frames itself as the rational, fact-driven, and logical worldview. When the skeptical, fact-driven, and conservative Romans faced Christianity, at least they knew they were going up against a messianic vision which had no time for reality, and the early Christians were not shy about admitting this. They stood no chance against this because the human soul always cries for something more than just mere existence — but at least they knew what the enemy was.

Now, we can go ask the French or the Jews about critique, and they’ll tell us it is this or that, but we can skip that step and conclude that it is a process by which myths, dreams, and beliefs are subjected to analysis and deconstruction. The ultimate end needn’t be malicious, as the child who takes apart the remote control is rarely malicious and merely curious, but the result is often the same: The belief system doesn’t survive this radical critique. It is not an attempt to refute, as refutation would only strengthen the faith of the believers. Nor is it an attempt to roll back, but rather the turning of its logic on itself and feeding the worm of doubt which lives in every man’s mind. A chaste society is undermined by promoting lust, and an empire is undermined by spreading doubt about its central organizing principle: the shared delusion of the imperial elite.

The critique employed as a weapon by the Western Empire is very subtle because it arose as a means of eroding away the conservative, evidence-based spirituality and cultural institutions of white people in the West. It engenders doubt about the very possibility of knowing (and being), a sort of empirical-existential nihilism. This doubt causes existential dread, which is salved with the redoubling of moral efforts. I’ve described the West’s sunset culture as a strange unbalanced one: metaphysical nihilism combined with moral absolutism. It is a binary star system where one is a black hole and the other, a supernova. Now that domestic opposition has been well and truly neutered with this method of critique, it can be exported to foreign lands and used to critique foreign national identities into irrelevance and then treating their national elites’ resultant existential dread by offering them admission to the imperial cult.

Of course, the most interesting way in which critique can be employed is by disrupting shared delusions of rival empires. Indeed, this may be its most potent use, and one which has ensured the place of the Western Empire as the foremost in the world. Let’s hear what Frank Zappa has to say on the subject of truth and beauty:

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

This sermon is delivered in the album Joe’s Garage by Mary (from the bus), who appears to Joe in a vision. What does it mean? Nothing, really, but it is a powerful bomb going off in the middle of an empire-narrative. It detonates, shattering both the conservative, tribalistic approach to life and the rival imperial narratives to the Western one. It may sound silly, but Zappa probably did more damage to the Soviet Union and the Warsaw Pact than all the militaries of the West combined. Václav Havel even appointed him the Czech Republic’s Special Ambassador to the West on Trade, Culture, and Tourism after the fall of the Iron Curtain. Central and Eastern European dissident culture was very strongly influenced by Frank Zappa’s music and message, winning these countries’ natural aristocrats for the West. To this day, even as Hungary and Poland have taken a more nationalist turn, the Czech Republic remains liberal/libertarian, in no small part due to Zappa’s influence.

Long-time readers will know I grew up playing Red Alert 2, as well as its expansion, Yuri’s Revenge. The Yuri faction of that venerated real-time strategy game is considered notoriously overpowered for a very simple reason: Yuri can mind-control enemy units. From lowly conscripts to super-heavy tanks, the might of the enemy can be very easily turned against him. The West, of course, is better at mind control than even Yuri. So, what good are Mr. Putin’s missiles, anti-aircraft artillery, and ship-killers? When you read Russian “geopolitical” thinkers, you realize that they are preparing for war against a classic thalassocracy focused on controlling the air, sea, and at some point in the future the Earth’s low orbital space, but they are in fact locked in an information war with a cult armed with the ultimate empire-killer: the power to unweave the communal dream which makes empire possible.

We have witnessed some attempts by Russia to fight an information war, but so far we’ve only seen crude, Soviet-era disinformation campaigns which blindsided those of us in the Dissident Right who were willing to give Russia the benefit of the doubt. The Western Empire was not deceived, the Ukrainian government was not deceived, and anyone who claimed there’d be no war is now a spent asset. The information war is, for the time being, completely one-sided. We have seen no massive outpouring of support for the Russian cause in the West, but rather we have seen a unification and a renewed sense of purpose for the Western Empire. Furthermore, we are witnessing an exodus of many of the most competent and intelligent Russians to countries which will have them. Russia’s professional upper middle class is seeking refuge and driving up the local rents from Istanbul to Yerevan to Tashkent. Once again, the West has managed to hollow out its rival empire and rob it of its cognitive elite without firing a single shot.

This is incidentally why the enemy is so afraid of us on the Dissident Right and why it is so interested in suppressing us, subverting us with infiltration and cooption, and otherwise hampering our activities. By identifying its methodology of critique, and even more importantly reversing it on itself, we plant the worm of doubt in the heads of the imperial cultists. Our own radical critique of modernity is causing them to doubt their own. Some will be neutralized, others will defect, others still will banish their doubts with renewed fervor — but in any case, we are making waves at the heart of the empire cult. Every time we name them as a cult, we take away part of their immunity to critique. Every time we subject their cult to critique, we induce doubt. Every time we offer an alternative, we nourish that little worm of doubt to grow into an Arrakian sandworm. The imperial cults in Moscow and Peking are interested in us for the same reason: They’d like us to critique the West, but prefer to have a measure of control over this space so that they won’t find themselves subjected to nationalist critique just as they’re trying to pass themselves off as nationalists (they’re not).

Critique is a dangerous weapon, but a very effective one. It is by far the greatest empire-killer on this planet, and its elegance is a wonder in itself. Just as the seducer appeals to the naïve young woman’s lust, just as the candy manufacturer appeals to the child’s gluttony, and just as the conman appeals to his mark’s greed, so does the West appeal to doubt — those very same things that would otherwise destroy its own imperial cult, but by wearing the garb of objectivity and appealing to common sense, it manages to stay safe for now. Even epistemic nihilism, which is the bane of any empire that it can’t hit because it revels in post-truth . . . Only its moralistic tendencies are a weak spot, but those are very well-shielded by the Nuremberg Moral Paradigm.

Any movement towards deconstructing this imperial cult have to begin with the rejection of this moral paradigm and the introduction of a nationalist alternative in its place.

Imagine that your house catches fire. You run out, family and pets in tow, to try your darndest to put out the fire. Imagine your neighbor looking on, saying “well, it’s not my house.” What’s wrong with that situation? Well, fire has a tendency to spread. Pretty soon, if your house is on fire, your neighbors’ houses will likewise catch fire. Therefore, not only does your neighbor have a duty based on good neighborly practice to help you put out the fire which has engulfed your house, but it is also in his interest to extinguish the flames before they spread to his own home. And so we’ve fixed the image and replaced it with the heroic common struggle of men defending their home against fire.

After the fire’s been put out, you and your neighbor rebuild your houses into a single entity. Now you share a bathroom, and he is a notorious bathroom hog who brazenly claims that he can only do his innermost, deep thinking while on the can because of something something self as a conscious act-object something. Oh, and you also sleep in the same bedroom and he’s cranky in the morning because apparently, you snore. Pretty soon, you and your neighbor start hating each other, even though at one blessed moment in the past, you put out the great fire which imperiled both your houses. Naturally, you start hating your neighbor so much that you take up arms, start shooting at him, rape his womenfolk, steal his stuff and vow to see him and his fell ilk eradicated from God’s good Earth! Anything less would be treason to you and yours, for your neighbor left you without toilet paper in the middle of the Great Diarrhea of 1986. How can such good friends, as close as brothers, be brought to hate each other?

Well, who said you gotta live in the same house as your neighbor?

In case you’re wondering, my metaphor of the two neighbors represents here the two extremes present in the Dissident Right with regard to European unity in the face of the many pressures and difficulties our peoples are faced with. The neighbor who ignores the fire next door, thus allowing it to spread to his own domicile, is the so-called petty nationalist. The petty nationalist does not realize that multiculturalism, globalism, immigration, and all of the well-known conflagrations of today will eventually spread to his house. The neighbors who, having put out the fire, start living together and intruding on each others’ most intimate moments are the so-called racial imperialists, who’d weld together the various disparate nations of Europe and forcefully integrate them into one homogenous racial blob. People don’t generally like either of these options.

The position of the petty nationalist is very much indefensible. The various nations of Europe cannot individually defend themselves against gigantic global enemies, be they the full force of the Islamic ummah, rootless cosmopolitan subversives, transnational corporations, or the gold-hoarding, industry-stealing, disease-exporting dragon in the Far East. Not counting Russia, Germany is Europe’s most populous and wealthiest nation, and France has the greatest military power. Not one of these countries can reasonably stand up to either China, the Islamic world, or even Russia and the USA, to say nothing of Europe’s smaller nations. I’ve written on this subject before, about Eastern Europe’s justifiable anxieties about Russia. When you’re small and your neighbor is big, when he can very easily show up at your doorstep with an army as large as your population, no number of assurances will convince you that he won’t eventually change his mind and decide that might makes right. Naturally, the nations of Europe form alliances to ward off external threats.

At the same time, these alliances must remain alliances. Just as the neighbors of our metaphor started hating each other when they were forced to share bedrooms and toilets, so the nations of Europe become enthralled to mutual resentment and contempt when forcibly integrated with each other. The vitriol dripping from the tongues of English nationalists when talking about Polish plumbers is astounding and would discourage many from attempting to create a continent- and race-wide common consciousness.

The NATO pact is one such example of a wrongheaded alliance. NATO policy against “duplication of capabilities” shoehorns every European nation’s military into specializing for one role, while the US military is exempt from this requirement. In practice, this means that no one European nation can use its military independently from the US. France is the only exception, only due to its long absence from the alliance, thanks to the wisdom of its president Charles de Gaulle who — for all his faults and treasons, well documented on this site and elsewhere — still managed to keep France somewhat sovereign in the latter half of the 20th century, or at least somewhat independent from the Anglo-Soviet duopoly. This is to say nothing of the fact that NATO is a way for US politicians to extort money from European member states and transfer it to the American military-industrial complex. In short, this is not an alliance, but a tool for imposing American (globohomo) suzerainty on the nations of Europe. The inclusion of non-European countries such as Turkey is likewise an incalculable mistake that could very easily drag the whole of Europe into wars that are not in its interest and give Turkish military personnel access to European military secrets and assessments of European military capabilities.

If you thought that was bad, let me tell you about The Bruxelles Horror, The Thing From Strasbourg, The Union from the Black Latrine, which you may know as the EU. This bureaucratic nightmare of regulations and directives is the biggest threat to the sovereignty of European nations since the Turkish invasions of the 16th and 17th centuries. Its now-notorious method of decision-making by committee makes it the wet dream of leftoids, apparatchiks and other generally undesirable neurotypes. It is a colossal attempt to homogenize European nations into unworkable middles, resulting in labor laws which are too stringent for Italians, but too relaxed for Germans, in levels of centralization too high for Englishmen, but too low for Frenchmen.

When the 2010 sovereign debt crisis rolled around, it was forced to abandon this approach of unworkable middles and was taken over by Angela Merkel, who uniformly imposed the German way of doing things on the entire continent, resulting in much misery and intra-European hatred. People who would have been friendly before started hating each other, because they were forced to live together — and more importantly, live like each other. Deny an Italian his riposa, his three-hour lunch break, and the many redundancies and inefficiencies of Italian communal life, and he’ll resent you with all the deep darkness contained in the word vendetta. The reason why the European Union broke at its British and Italian seams is simple. It forced the Italians to work like Germans, and it dictated to the British as if they were French. Pretty soon, it will have to either force the French to build a cult of labor and economic gains like the Germans, or shoehorn decentralized and pacific Germany into the semi-militarized dirigisme of the Fifth Republic, with the impoverished and nationalist Ossies dragged kicking and screaming behind. European history is very clear as to what happens when France and Germany get locked in a cycle of mutual hatred.

I already have a good idea of what happens when you force Europeans to share living space because I’ve spent my entire life in the shadow of the Yugoslav wars. In a series of conflicts spanning from 1991 to 2001, the various nations of Yugoslavia settled their accounts with blood and iron. Men who were neighbors, coworkers, best men at each others’ weddings, friends, who named each other brother, who participated as comrades in peacekeeping missions as part of the Yugoslav National Army, were suddenly shooting at each other, burning each others’ houses and raping each others’ wives and daughters. It was a brother war if there ever was one, but mention to a Serb that a Croat is his brother will likely get you punched in the face, even 20 something years on.

My question to those who would force European nations to live together — who’d keep the European Union but try to make it based and redpilled — is this: if Yugoslavia couldn’t keep its six nations together, even with its 1974 constitution which transformed this federal state into a confederacy of states, how the hell are you going to gather Europe’s many nations together in a continent-wide federal entity without the end result including death camps, snipers shooting civilians in the streets, and wholesale expulsions of entire populations by armed forces?

People resent each other when forced to live together. Nations do as well. Ask a Croatian nationalist about Yugoslavia, and he’ll claim that Croats were the perpetual victims of that state and that Croatian labor built Yugoslavia. Ask a Serbian nationalist about Yugoslavia, and he’ll claim that Yugoslavia was an anti-Serbian entity that served to undermine and destroy Serbian nationhood at the expense of elevating every other nationality. Ask a Macedonian nationalist about Yugoslavia, and you’ll get a spirited rant about how the Yugoslav authorities suppressed and gaslit Macedonian nationalism and used our country as a dumping ground for toxic waste. What’s interesting is that all of these stories are partially true. Yugoslavia was indeed an anti-Croat, anti-Serb, and anti-Macedonian entity, and it was also anti-Slovene, anti-Montenegrin, and anti-Bosniak. It was pro-Yugoslav, but Yugoslavs do not really exist outside the sick fantasy of former regime apparatchiks and extremely confused children of mixed marriages.

That’s perhaps going too far. Yugoslav means southern Slavs. There definitely exists such a group of people and it includes all the nations of the former Yugoslavia, as well as the Bulgarians. In this sense, southern Slav is an ethnic designation. It is an element of identity, a level between nation and race. One can have various levels of identity, beginning with familial, scaling up to local, regional, national, ethnic, sub-racial and finally racial. And so, I am a Macedonian, but also a southern Slav, a Slav, and white. All levels of identity can be vectors of identity politics. Not all levels brook the establishment of a common state. History teaches us that the national level is the highest at which stable state-type entities can be established. But there’s nothing stopping us from forming alliances at the higher levels and ultimately, at the highest, racial level.

What if there’s a middle ground between letting your neighbor’s house burn to the ground and moving in with him, making life intolerable for the both of you?

When large and organized enemies attack Europe, Europe has reacted by forming alliances against such enemies. After many centuries of raids and invasions, the Pope called on Christian Europe to proactively defend itself against the strength of Islam. After many years of hard fighting, the Crusades finally broke the back of the Muslim caliphate and introduced confusion and disunity among the followers of Muhammad. European men of various nations standing side-by-side turned back the tide of Turks at the gates of Vienna. The loss of authority for the Pope and the Catholic church spelled the end of European unity, and what followed were many centuries of brother wars until the imperfect solution provided by the Peace of Westphalia.

The nations of Europe are facing many threats, and we have to face these many threats together if we are to live. However, we must face these threats as equals coming together for a common goal, which is the survival of each nation. Already, we are seeing the beginnings of such alliances in entities like the Visegrád group, which do not seek to subordinate European nations, nor do they seek to forcefully integrate them with each other. Rather, the nations of Europe will work together for their common defense against external threats, both from hostile immigrants and great powers seeking to impose their suzerainty on us. Anything less means defeat. Anything more will lead to devastating brother wars.

The best way to prevent a brother war is to let each brother have his own house.

 

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. — some daft scribbler

When we talk about modernity, what often gets talked about is the alienating effect of modern technology. It’s become incredibly easy to produce content by merely pointing out that a certain technological innovation, particularly in the area of information technology, serves to distance people from the older way of doing things. Various activists, writers and video producers have made names for themselves out of pointing out all the ways in which online interaction is unnatural, encourages or even creates bad behavior in people, or pales in comparison with the way things used to be in the old world. If I’m being forthright, I’ve done quite a lot of this myself. Sometimes the deadline looms and the temptation is just too great.

But very often when the pronouncement is made that the technological stimulus is dangerous and alienating from authentic experience, what follows is not a path towards a solution but rather a case of the writer or speaker throwing his hands up in frustration, lamenting the loss of older forms of authenticity. Recently, I made the distinction between writing and typing in a livestream. My show is called The Writers’ Bloc, but I’m not really a writer; I’m a typer, and the distinction is not easily apparent until you find that you cannot use non-standard signs or letters in your writing. Having found the need to use the Turkish “i,” because it doesn’t have a dot on top, and hence could be used in a meme of Joe Biden eating ice cream (it makes sense in context), I found myself frustrated because my keyboard doesn’t have this letter and I couldn’t use it, regardless of the fact that I know how to write it. Had I been making the meme by hand, there’d have been no problem. I could always download a Turkish keyboard layout, but it’s a pain in the ass and it would be beside the point. maybe I need to draw a pictograph of an ice cream cone instead of the letter i in Biden—but I can’t do that on any keyboard.

So, there’s a problem. It’s not that big, but then again, considering how much time we spent in school learning to write using a pencil or a pen, it’s gigantic. An entire universe of acts has been whisked away. When I was practicing law, I’d write more often, but still, the bulk of written language production I engaged in was typed. Nowadays I only write down grocery lists. But I never really thought about it until I needed the Turkish i. I’m one of the lucky few who had terrible handwriting even before the advent of ubiquitous computerization. My mom and grandma said that it’s because I’m highly intelligent and likely fated to become a doctor. For my part, I believe that it’s due to the poor fine motor skills of persons with mild to moderate autism.

Imagine my amazement when a day or two ago I sat down with a piece of paper and wrote the day’s grocery list in beautiful cursive — or as good as it’s going to get, all things considered. I guess my soul was yearning for the friction of pen against paper. Of course, I wasn’t rushing, which was always the problem I had with writing by hand. My brain forms sentences much faster than I can write them down, and if I can’t write them down, there’s always a risk of the sentence being forgotten. This is not a problem while typing, however. I can type at a speed that doesn’t pose a danger of my forgetting the sentence before it is completed. And nobody can call your handwriting “the most abominable chicken scratch that makes Kurt Cobain’s suicide note look legible by comparison” if, every time you produce text, you type it out on a computer.

But here’s the thing: I’m a writer. Some time ago, I was also a lawyer. Both professions involve a good deal of writing. I gravitated toward them in large part because of my love for writing and because I have a way with words, which is a function of high verbal intelligence. But had I been born before the invention of the computer or typewriter, I probably would have had no chance to succeed in either profession. Either I would have written at the pace required for legibility, and thus found myself unable to follow my own trains of thought due to sheer frustration (think of trains smashing into each other because of hold-ups at the switching yard), or writing illegibly at my preferred pace, and summarily being driven out of any institution for higher — or indeed, any — learning. And while it’s hard to believe, it seems that more than one person reading this fine publication would be miffed were I not around to give my weekly missives.

While writing this piece, I noticed that my esteemed colleague Veiko Hessler had also decided to offer his two cents on this very same question: White Nationalist attitudes toward technology. My first reaction was “Darn, now I have to scrap all that I’ve written and think of something else to do.” But then I read his article more closely and found that he has a perilous blind spot. He makes sport of “[t]he traditionalist gurus who advocated total disengagement and a retreat to the land [and who] largely just ended up tweeting their nostrums with slower Internet connections.” This sentence drew a chuckle out of me, but the phenomenon needs to be thought about more carefully. The trad gurus do indeed get it very wrong, but then again, is there a way to get it right?

Let’s start with the very obvious: Firewater bad for braves. And indeed, the modern Internet is bad for us. It is controlled by the worst people, who made it so that it will modify our thought patterns and behavior to correspond to their own designs. Billions of dollars, both corporate and governmental, are invested in psy-ops, which mostly take place on social media, for the express purpose of mind-controlling and mind-fucking you into compliance or nonchalance. Our minds probably aren’t equipped for the hyperstimuli of social media, just as the American Indians were unequipped to handle alcohol. I’ve had some success in breaking the spell by performing regular reality checks and trying to detect the cold hand of social media manipulation when it reaches into my head. Whenever I feel it (and I’ve gotten good at it), I look up from the screen and loudly proclaim “This is a glowsite.” Sometimes I even tweet it out so that others will feel it, too. “Glowsite” here refers to the popular meme about federal agents glowing in the dark.

But to carry forward the metaphor of the embattled Indian, if firewater bad for braves, then guns and horses certainly are not. Indeed, it is with the guns and horses that braves can take the fight to the white man rather than just passively accept his westward expansion. Indeed, foreswearing firewater — or better yet, learning the heuristics necessary to process it (because our firewater is of the mental kind) — would give us an important edge, as one method of control would be powerless against us. Rather, social media can be turned into a recruiting platform for our cause. Indeed, we turned out to be so good at it that crude, ham-fisted censorship had to be employed to keep us away from the impressionable minds.

The white identitarian cause languished in obscurity before the Internet because the enemy’s control of social institutions made it impossible for our message to get out anywhere. We are here in the year 2022, as strong as we are because we’re technological pioneers! American Renaissance and VDARE have been on the Internet since the 1990s. Counter-Currents can exist as a publisher because of the magic of online books. Social media may have given a new dimension to nationalist messaging. Our growth is possible because there are redoubts like the aforementioned where one can get lost in reading the wisdom of sages both ancient and contemporary. When a dissatisfied bright young man looks for answers, we are here to provide them. Without the Internet, there’d be no way to do it.

The technophobic trad gurus would throw this away, but more importantly, because they refuse to even consider engaging with technology, they prevent the development of methodologies for overcoming the mind control it entails. Every prescription they make is “turn off the computer.” Indeed, turning off the computer every now and then is a very good idea, but eventually, you’ll go back and find yourself on social media again, being preyed upon by would be psy-oppers and mindfuckers. Because the trad guru can recommend nothing but “turn off the computer,” you are now defenseless against these manipulations. More importantly, the trad guru might neglect the fact that mind control might not come from the social media interactions alone, but a lifelong immersion in a specific narrative and moral framework — the Nuremberg Moral Paradigm — which is being activated by the social media manipulation.

Yes, turning off the computer will terminate the connection with the center trying to activate the narrative core for a time, but there’s nothing stopping the enemy from activating that core through television, newspapers, music, the background culture, or even the narrative core’s firmware running on its own. Indeed, the only way we can realistically extract narrative cores from people’s heads is to ruthlessly deconstruct them, replace them with white identitarian narrative cores, and framework and then continually reinforce and activate them through our own media institutions. This entire process is usually done over the Internet, although there is of course nothing wrong with meeting with like-minded people to reinforce conviction and morale. Our enemy invests a lot of energy in making us believe that we are stupid, crazy, and alone. Other people like us are the ultimate proof to the contrary.

In my observation of the trad gurus, I find that they are romantic souls, often people of great physicality (athletes, workmen, etc.), who probably dismissed computers and the Internet as “nerd crap” in the ‘90s (when it was, indeed, nerd crap; let’s not kid ourselves here). They tend to be older and their views of technology are often tinged with nostalgia. While I myself am often nostalgic for the times when “surfing the Web” was only done once a week, this was the period of my early childhood (I got my first computer in 1996, at age 5). For many of these trad gurus, the last technology-free era was the period of their young adulthood, their teens and twenties, when a man is in full bloom, his body is unstoppable, and his future is full of possibility. Hey, I miss the time when I could put away more liquor than a regiment of Cossacks as well. I chased girls on early Facebook and took them to events that I’d have never learned about (and that would never have been put on, in all probability) without social media. It was a good time to be online — before the normies surged onto the Internet, something that our esteemed Mr. Hessler also touches upon. There was a time when online discourse was for a relatively small elite. The advent of the smartphone brought the Internet to the masses, and its discourse suffered for it.

At some point in the future — or maybe it’s already in the past — those who cannot adapt and resist the new form of mind control will become the slaves of those who control the means of mind control. Those of us who can resist it have a chance to fight back against the regime, but we’ll never put an end to mind control for a very simple reason: Around 80% of the population cannot live without it. They are natural slaves. A smaller percentage, somewhere around 16%, has a measure of independent thought, but cannot even conceive of things happening outside of the prescribed framework. These are the natural middle class — the overseers and professionals. An even smaller cohort of about 4% can see the matrix, which is to say they can understand the outline of the prescribed moral and epistemic framework, and maybe think outside of it, compare and contrast it to other frameworks, travel between them as need be, and put them on and off like lesser men change hats. I suspect there’s an ever tinier elite, probably consisting of only 200 men in the whole of recorded history, who can create frameworks and paradigms for lesser men to inhabit. We call them philosophers and great kings.

When the time of reckoning comes and we usurp our enemies, replacing them as the West’s ruling class, we must remember that technology itself — the means by which the masses are controlled — is value-neutral and that it can just as easily be turned toward healthy ends, and toward preserving the existence of our people and a future for white children. Nostalgia-tinged pronouncements that Uncle Ted was right will not, however, ensure such a takeover. Recognizing that firewater is indeed bad for braves, we nevertheless avail ourselves of the paleface’s other technologies in order to defend our lands and people. The way forward is, believe it or not, ahead of us.

There’s no love lost between me and Jordan Peterson. I have contempt for him and his kind that I don’t really feel for outright enemies of the Dissident Right. He is a deceiver and a speaker of half-truths who doesn’t even have the decency or chutzpah to craft a lurid lie. He’ll dip his toe in the good stuff, then run in fear of establishment heat coming down on him in earnest. He’ll equivocate between Leftist evil and Rightist responses to evil, claiming that he seeks an equilibrium between chaos and order without explaining how chaos can possibly be good. He’ll have you be a Churchian as opposed to Christian, and emphasize the liberal version of the message of Christ – the one where loving your neighbor actually means loving someone you’ve never met, living halfway across the world, and loving means inviting him into your home, giving him everything you own, and serving up your daughter to be his concubine. Indeed, dear readers, if you and I were sojourning in a beer hall at the cool of day, then I would forcefully slam my half-full tankard to the table and, with the certitude of the inebriated, laconically proclaim, “Fuck ‘im!”

And yet, so many young men follow this snake with an amphibian’s voice. We have to ask ourselves why anyone – and especially those young men who would usually caucus with the Dissident Right – followed this man during 2016 and 2017. His support base has thankfully been purged of earnest Rightists who are now, if not with us, then at least not actively working against us. If he managed to gather a large following of otherwise reasonable men, then there could possibly a molecule of truth in his snake oil, a molecule which should be isolated, studied, and if possible reintroduced to the market in a Dissident Right product. Remember: “If it exists, it is reasonable,” as Hegel put it, which means that there’s a reason to and for it. What are all those boys looking for?

First, let’s have a look at who those boys are. By Peterson’s own words in the Introduction to 12 Rules for Life, they are “the low status lobster.” We can call them – with the bluntness characteristic of the radical Right – simply losers. That’s a loaded term if there ever was one, so it bears recapitulating what “loser” really means, what it meant historically, and what it means today.

A loser, I’d wager, is not someone who tries and loses (fails), but who shows a consistent pattern of not winning, be it from constant loss or a lack of trying with no sign of improvement; i.e., no antifragility to defeat. Personally, I’ve a long litany of failures and unvictories behind me, but each loss makes me tougher, meaner, and hurts less than the previous one. A guy who gets beaten down time and time again only to get up bigger and badder is not a loser, even if he consistently loses. A loser, rather, would seem to be someone who gets weaker with every defeat – who loses heart, courage, vim, and vigor every time the blows land upon him. And God be praised, the blows do land, each more terrible than the last. I guess the difference between a loser and a not-loser is how one leaves the arena in defeat: whimpering like a whipped cur or with spiteful defiance, vowing vengeance between gritted and broken teeth.

These whipped curs of history have crawled out of the arena and have retreated to their unclean rooms to play video games and jack off to porn. They’ve essentially cut themselves off from life and are no longer in the running to win, or even trying to play. However, the desire to play and win cannot be fully whipped out of them; deep in the heart of the overweight neckbeard covered in cheetos and his own semen lies a risen ape, Man the Killer, Man the Destroyer. A loser is permanently locked out by societal forces, away from the human reproductive cycle. Even if it only comes out as a base lust, this yearning for continuation of the genetic line is an overpowering impulse, and a realization, conscious or otherwise, that one will in all likelihood not be allowed to reproduce leads to a dangerous reaction. Stewing in resentment and loneliness, our bottom lobster might resort to that old favorite of the downtrodden with nothing to lose: violence. Careful with that van, Alek.

Violence – glorious, murderous violence – is the incel’s Hail Mary pass. I’d be willing to wager good money that there’s a long line of nubile women outside of Alek Minassian’s cell. While this is not a call for violent behavior in any sense, my friendship with the truth behooves me to say that women find violence sexy, and acting like you’re capable of violence around women will get you laid.

Now, a word to the wise: Whereas societies of the past would have had fewer losers, losers exist in every age. They’ve been multiplying in recent times because our societies are increasingly zero sum, and Pareto optimization is shifting to the individual level, but losers have been around for a long time, and the longer your timescale, the more people fall into this general category of people who lose. We are all, without exception, descendants of the aristocracy. The proles of yore have left very little in the way of descendants, even though they had children. Their children had sickly offspring who died before having children of their own. Millions of genetic lines of descent were cut short, and these people had no possible way of knowing. In a sense, their lives were in vain, and their place in life was taken by the son of an aristocrat. For reasons of biological reality, there is really no way to change this, outside of our present period of dysgenic fertility, when the least noble and least intelligent people have lots of children while society’s elite languishes childless. Ironically, many of today’s incels would probably have been much closer to the elite in a more patriarchal society. Spencer J. Quinn’s nebbish is a good example of someone who is high status in a patriarchal society, but who probably would have been incel in our rapidly africanizing sexual market.

I got in a wee bit of hot water with my friends who are well-versed in Russian literature when I suggested that Dostoevsky is the Jordan Peterson of the nineteenth century, because the message contained in Crime and Punishment is “take your lumps,” even if it means your sister has to be more or less sold to an odious man for money; even if it means that you, a clever young man, have to live in a dingy apartment; and even if it means that the best woman you can access is the alcoholic’s daughter who moonlights as a prostitute. Put your faith in God, says Dostoevsky, and bow your head before the cruel and pernicious world that wants you to marry Sonya Marmeladova, a used-up whore, and that protects moneylenders and parasites. The very idea fills me with visceral disgust not at all dampened by the novel’s immoderate length and Dostoevsky’s constipated style. A striving young man should be an Aryan aristocrat: He fights when wronged, he fights for his birthright, he fights for prestige. If we listen to Dylan Thomas, who said that an old man should “rage, rage against the dying of the light,” a young man denied children should rage ten times as much, and burn the world to the ground out of spite and vengeance if necessary.

Let’s call that Option A for now. Whenever possible, young men seek a way out which doesn’t involve burning the world to the ground, simply because in order to burn the world down, a young man must embrace his true self as a vector of naked power, a creature capable of violence which offends the better angels of our nature. He will take any way out; anything to avoid staring down the blood-stained gullet of Gnon. Clean your room, Logos is Rising, WWG1WGA, we have completed the Enlightenment . . . all to escape from this most terrifying realization that there are no such things as rights, only Will that is to be imposed, violently, upon the world and its population, and that the best we can do is contain this monstrous force at the top of society and turn it outwards.

Jordan B. Peterson is addressing this need in young men, to give them a reason not to burn society to the ground, to sell them a story that will make them satisfied with their shit job, their crappy apartments, and the fact that they’ll never do better than some used up Sonya Marmeladova. And as societies get wickeder, so will the Raskolnikovs increase in stature and relative worth. In the middle of the nineteenth century, they were angsty and punchable laws students with delusions of Nietzschean grandeur. Today, their sweat and finance keep various e-girls well-heeled and bathing in money. Thus, greater and greater heaps of bullshit will have to be shoveled inside these young minds. Peterson sells them a bill of good about order and chaos, about not becoming a tyrant and being satisfied with mediocrity. If we could just excise the cuckery and gnosticism from Peterson’s philosophy, it’d actually make a good screed for that segment of the population whose upper reaches of potential achievement barely scrape the mediocre. Your proverbial low status lobster.

The absence of the calls for striving in Peterson’s philosophy has been pounced upon by Vox Day, who is Peterson’s greatest critic, and who’ll tell you to reach for the stars. The problem is that Vox himself will tell the low status males (whom he calls gammas for reasons best left unaddressed) that the first step toward improving their lot in life is to accept that they’ll never, ever be alpha males.

Why is this relevant? Here’s the thing, friends: The Dissident Right is in many ways a rowdy and unruly coalition of the malcontented. The three major pillars are ethnonationalists standing athwart the erasure of their nations, masculinists standing athwart the erosion of their masculinity, and Human Biodiversity (HBD) researchers standing athwart the official dogma of our age, with nothing but their bell curve charts in hand. Heartiste had to be nuked from orbit because he was all three, though he began as a pick-up artist. Furthermore, Heartiste had a deep understanding of Game based on human psychology. Contrast that to Roosh V, whom I suspect merely figured out a few heuristics for getting laid and seems to have recoiled in terror from his own (and women’s) true nature. No, Heartiste was a truth-seeker. After he found an answer to “twf no gf,” a deep answer to “twf no gf,” he found himself on a path to answer “twf no friends” and “twf no nation.” He took that fateful step.

Since we are the coalition of the malcontents, we will inevitably attract low status followers. A commenter on one of my earlier posts which dealt with the disutility of labor accused me of spreading “vulgar Marxism.” To be fair, that article is loaded with all the smarminess I could muster specifically in order to offend bourgeois sensibilities, such as would be held by someone who seriously uses the word “vulgar” – but then, I have to admit that to a low-IQ, thuggish man, my diatribe against working would seem like an invitation to lounge, drink, and screw, when it is in fact an invitation for the aristocratic young man to read, work out, debate, practice martial arts and weapons training, hunt, fish, hike, engage in learned discourse with good and intelligent company so that he may rise above the savage and closer to God, and after all that is done, lounge, drink, and screw. It would therefore follow that an alternative version of that article should be written for those without the wit and wherewithal to understand that “work stinks” does not mean “do nothing.”

For that purpose, I suggest constructing an ethical system which will have multiple modes, multiple archetypes of perfection to aspire towards, and multiple ways of living – something similar to what was proposed by Plato in his Republic, but adapted to our modern age. First, we must take into account our unique historical position, as dissidents from the orthodoxy of a dying empire, and secondly, we must have a vision for the world that is yet to come – the nations which will come after, when we win. This multi-modal ethical system will have to encompass us all, turn out the bad eggs, include the good ones, parse between the useful and useless, absorb the useful, and eject the useless. It must put a man to the test and see if he is to have a function: subject competing philosophical systems to scrutiny and absorb from them what is useful, as well as their adherents, if they can be used. Above all, it should avoid situations where members of the various modal groups find themselves fighting each other, and should therefore have a mediating universal value. Personally, I’d prefer if this universal value were survival, but if I’m being completely honest, I do not think that the vastness of human experience will allow me or any one man much control over such a system. Rather, I think that each of the multiple modes of ethics will be developed independently, and that their adherents will find themselves forging a universal out of necessity, when the coalition forms in earnest.

Until that day, I shall keep on contributing in whatever way I can to an ethics for my own tiny niche, but with a new task: Do not interfere in the creation and developments of allied modes of ethics. For example, ethnonationalists should not begrudge the HBD crowd their absence of teleology, nor should they get all autistically trad while the pick-up artists are busy plying their trade. Likewise, if you see someone exhorting men of average IQ to curb their ambition, do not wail and gnash your teeth about him being a contemptible prophet of mediocrity, as I unwisely painted Dostoevsky and as Vox hypocritically described Peterson. Rather, understand that dogs cannot be expected to have the ethics of a lion. Whereas the god of lions will reward dominance, victory in battle, and proclaiming that work stinks while your many wives bring you food, the god of dogs will reward fetching sticks, holding in your poop until you’re outside, and barking at outsiders. Both gods, however, are subordinate to Gnon, the impossibly ancient principle of survival. In the abyssal cosmological-level analysis, yes, we all ultimately pray to him. But here in Middle Earth, the world is full of lions, dogs, and many other animals, and each has his god to serve and a role to play.

Come, you spirits
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,
And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full
Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood;
Stop up the access and passage to remorse,
That no compunctious visitings of nature
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between
The effect and it! Come to my woman’s breasts,
And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers,
Wherever in your sightless substances
You wait on nature’s mischief!

Who says that high culture has to be boring and hoighty-toighty? My own favorite Shakespeare play is his shortest and most violent. Yes, I am talking about the infamous Scottish play, whose name must not be said aloud, lest we have to go through a painful ritual to ward off the bad juju it brings. If you’ve not seen or read Macbeth (Aaaah! Hot Potato, off his drawers, pluck will make amends), stop here and go read it. This article will assume you know what goes on in the play and that you’ve got a basic high-school understanding of the normie interpretations. Just don’t, under any circumstances, watch the Roman Polanski movie adaptation. Polanski, aside from being a rapist pedophile, is also guilty of transforming the most entertaining Shakespeare work into a vulgar snoozefest.

Sadly, unlike Dirty Bill Shakespeare’s other work, Macbeth (Aaaah! Hot Potato, off his drawers, pluck will make amends) is thoroughly lacking in that second source of great entertainment and driver of human passion: sex. Yet every second of Macbeth (Aaaah! Hot Potato, off his drawers, pluck will make amends) drips with sexual tension, and we have found no way to portray Lady Macbeth in a way which is not titillating. Indeed, she is by convention a ginger, and women of that phenotype are (not without merit) believed to be more sexual than their carotene-free counterparts. Every portrayal of Lady Macbeth is (or at least should be) sex on legs — but the only mention of the venerable murderess’ sex is in the negative, an invitation extended to dark spirits to “unsex” her.

The unsexing of Lady Macbeth is usually taken to refer to mean unwomaning; Lady Macbeth exhorts the spirits that tend on mortal thoughts to make her more into a man, ruthless and remorseless. She asks of them to transform the milk in her breasts into gall, so that she may better commit her murder. Many such interpretations have been thrown about throughout the years, with the most annoying and most prevalent one being the trite feminist bullshit about Lady Macbeth having internalized the narrative of female weakness and believing in the necessity of unwomaning herself in order to commit murder, whereas if she’d been born in our enlightened time, she’d know that one isn’t born, but rather becomes a woman. By the way, a woman is just as capable of murder and treason as a man. I wish we had a superstitious chant to wash that bullshit away, but I don’t think hot potato off his drawers is gonna work here.

But allow me a bold assertion here. The feminists are right in one aspect: one doesn’t need to be a man in order to commit murder and treason. In fact, for a given definition of treason which also includes treasons against friends and family, you could claim that women are likelier to commit treason, and they’re certainly no strangers to murder, whether by manipulating men into murdering on their behalf or drowning their babies in the bathtub. And Simone de Beauvoir is right in one respect: there is a certain becoming to the Ausbildung of a woman. Now, dear old Simone would have you believe that denaturated woman is a blank slate, and that woman is a social category created by the evil patriarchy, indeed, one that all girl-children are shoehorned into when they’d rather be doctors, lawyers, accountants, and lady philosophers. To that, I can only respond that the patriarchy-induced transformation isn’t from genderless tabula rasa to meek and submissive woman, but rather from rapacious, id-driven hypergamous demon to meek and submissive woman.

If you haven’t read F. Roger Devlin’s Sexual Utopia in Power, stop and go read it now. But here’s a crash course anyway: The male sexual utopia consists of owning an infinite harem of nubile young women. The female sexual utopia is belonging to an infinitely powerful man. In nature, men fight and kill each other for status and the right to monopolize female attention, whereas women jockey for the attention of the highest status man in the group. Now, while female sexual attractiveness lodes on genetic fitness and fertility and is therefore completely visible, male sexual attractiveness lodes on societal status (genetically determined, but don’t tell anyone, especially not yourself), which can be faked. The “fake it till you make it” attitude of the manosphere works, because the question “where do you get your balls” doesn’t need a truthful answer.

However, women have evolved a powerful mechanism that defends against fake status: the shit test.

In the words of the pimp, bitches give you shit to see if you’re the shit. They’ll start drama to gauge your reactions and thereby determine your position in the status hierarchy in order to know whether to stick with you or to look for someone higher in status. PUA and manosphere lore would have you believe that shit tests are something that you have to pass to make it with a woman — and this is true — but few will tell you that women will keep on shit testing you for as long as they can trade up, or believe that they can trade up. That’s how happy marriages go down the tubes: husbands failing shit tests.

In case anyone is wondering, “you are not a man if you don’t betray and kill your king” is a shit test. It is, indeed, the second-toughest shit test on the planet, for the king is the supreme alpha of the land. The only tougher shit test would probably entail betrayal and murder of God, the supreme alpha of the universe. The only proper response to this I can think of is “shut your mouth, woman,” followed by an activity that is illegal in most developed countries. More technically, the woman should be disabused of her hypergamous ambitions by being reminded that her man may not be the supreme alpha of the land, but he is the supreme alpha of the house, and as such, to be obeyed in all circumstances. Naturally, in a healthy patriarchal society, the king, the law, and general codes of honor actually stand behind man’s dominion over women. The applicable rule in this “go kill your king” context would be some variation of “bros before hoes.”

Now we get to why Lady Macbeth is dripping with sex all over. Her husband fails a shit test, which means she’s fair game — res derelictae, in legalistic jargon — property up for grabs. It tells you, humble audience member and specifically your polygamous male hindbrain, that she’s DTF. That’s why Macbeth is sizzling with sexual tension, even though nothing explicitly sexual happens; something implicitly sexual happens, a power struggle at the highest levels of society, and you just know that some smoking hot babes are gonna change hands when everything’s said and done. The primal ape can smell blood in the water. Oh, Bill Shakespeare, you clever, dirty boy.

“But doesn’t he kill the king and become king himself, thereby becoming supreme alpha?” you ask. Well, sure he did, but in doing so, he violated the honor code that governs all gangs of men, regardless of size and formality. In doing so, he removed himself from the gang and became an outsider — and a man with no gang is always, without exception, lower in status than a man with a gang. Even if all you do is get the phone and buy the other guys cigarettes, revenge against those who wrong you is bound to their sacred honor. Tough guys who fancy themselves lone wolves often learn the hard way about strength in numbers, flanking, and surround maneuvers. And indeed, this is what happens to Macbeth. All of Scotland unites against him, the trees start moving, no man of woman born, and then he gets his head cut off.

But back to Lady Macbeth. What does “unsex me” mean? I posit that it doesn’t mean “strip my fragile and merciful femininity away,” but that it means “strip my patriarchal conditioning away.” Kill Mary and reveal Lilith, the dark, Dionysian, hypergamous, child-murderous demon underneath. Tellingly, she invokes spirits, dark forces which wait on nature’s mischief, wispy and lunar entities kept at bay by Apollonian patriarchy. The Weird Sisters aren’t the only witches of the Scottish play. Lady Macbeth seeks to cease being the Second Sex, made into a woman and subjugated to male authority, but to be what she primordially is, a status-maximizer and ruthless self-eugenicist. Consider the woman who demands the three sixes: six-figure income, six feet minimum height, and a six-pack in a potential mate (and that’s the bare minimum). And what about the “out, damned spot” thing? Well, I posit that it’s no more than the medieval Scottish version of “I done goofed.” Lady Macbeth fought the patriarchy and the patriarchy won. If only she’d kept her hypergamy in store for the 21st century, where we have full-blown gynocracy.

We are under assault not only as whites, but also as men. One of the greatest victories of the enemy has been the successful disarming of the patriarchy as an apparatus of turning Liliths into Marys, or at least Eves. Whatever structures carry on our people’s fight into the future must look to the lessons in male-female relations, woman-wrangling, and the imposition of patriarchal sexual morality we have gleaned from our struggle. An important part of it is the deconstruction of anti-patriarchal interpretations of old European art and literature, such as the work of William Shakespeare. We cannot win if we cannot reproduce, and we cannot reproduce until we once again take mastery of our womenfolk.

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I gathered from the conversation that the owner of the name had once been a regular contributor to much more widely read conservative publications, the kind that have salaried congressional correspondents and full-service LexisNexis accounts, but that he was welcome at those august portals no longer. In all innocence, I asked why this was so. “Oh,” explained one of my companions, “he got the Jew thing.”

— John Derbyshire

Take a look around you. Do you see degeneracy? Do you see white dispossession? Do you see decline in institutions and trust in them? Do you see endless wars in the Middle East? Chances are, it’s the Jews. The early lifers have their fingers in a lot of shit pies — probably all of them. Jewish subversion of white societies is probably not news for you if you are a Counter-Currents regular. But if you’re a newcomer, I warmly invite you to peruse the wealth of literature on the subject on this very site, as well as similar material published by other, allied publications. And you should, of course, read Kevin MacDonald’s Culture of Critique.

“Okay,” you say to me, “I get it. It’s the Jews. But do we have to say it? Can’t we merely rail against cultural Marxists, against liberals, against progressives? Why can’t we oppose white dispossession, degeneracy, and the decline of institutions on less unsavory grounds? Have you seen the kind of people who name the Jew? Do I really have to shave my head and start smoking meth? I think I’ll be far more comfortable pretending like the issue doesn’t exist. Yes, I know it’s true, but we’ll invite so much opprobrium, so much censorship. Why do we have to name the Jew?”

That’s a very good question. Certainly, there are benefits to not naming the Jew. Our long-nosed friends’ control of the commanding heights of society means that everyone who names the Jew gets cast into the outer darkness, with the weird people who shave their heads and smoke meth. From a tactical point of view, it seems obvious that even though it is true, we should refrain from naming the Jew, at least in public. Oh, sure, we can be secretly based and redpilled on the JQ, but not in public — never in public. It would invite no end of enmity and trouble.

Look at what the alt-lite offers: a tepid defense of white civilization without naming its principal enemy — or indeed, even whites themselves. You can tell they’re doing quite well. Not in the sense that they’ve accomplished anything. But these people blow through Counter-Currents’ annual budget in a week, mostly spending it on champagne, limousines, hookers, and blow.

Now, personally, I realize that it’s naught but vanity and no reward at all, but only for about five minutes before I have a reality check and realize I’m kidding myself. No, quite to the contrary. I’d love to be smothered in hookers, champagne, and blow while riding in an expensive limousine. It’s a little late for me now, but there was a time when I was invited to become a part of several grift machines which would have allowed me such a lifestyle. I did not take those offers and caught Mr. Derbyshire’s Jew thing instead. What could possibly possess an otherwise rational, clever young man to do so?

Let’s leave that aside for a second, and look at some hidden benefits of naming the Jew.

For starters, we’re not the first nationalist, populist or national-populist movement in the world. There have been others before us, others that have obviously failed because we see almost no governments in the West that are nationalist, populist, or both.

There are many reasons such movements fail. One of the most common causes is an unclear friend-enemy distinction. Failed movements surrender the art of defining themselves and the enemy to outsiders because they surrender culture and morality to people who may intend to subvert the movement and its ends and goals. People with long noses and small hats. I invite you to read this lengthy expose on the history of American populism and its subversion, mostly by early lifers. The archetypal example would be the John Birch Society, which was misled, manipulated, and subverted through poisonous alliances with Red Sea pedestrians pretending to be its friends. From within my lifetime, I can remember the rise of the Tea Party as an implicitly white reaction to Barack Obama’s election and then its decline into increasingly cringeworthy GDP- and Israel-worshipping conservatism. We saw the cooption of the MAGA movement from 2016, its transformation from a national populist uprising against the uniparty establishment to its integration into the GOP and transformation into increasingly cringeworthy GDP- and Israel-worshipping conservatism.

I am beginning to notice a pattern here.

While I can’t speak about the John Birch Society, I note that both the Tea Party and MAGA focused on rallies as a primary means of organizing and acting. Now, I’ve been to a few rallies in my time. The sensation is intoxicating. To see yourself as part of an enormous crowd is a sensation of pure power. One feels unstoppable. It speaks to the ancient part of the brain, especially the Right-wing, soldier-like brain. We, our side, our lads are many. They, the other side, the bad guys, they are few. That can only be understood as “we are strong and they are weak,” even though (and especially if) you understand at some other level that quite the opposite is true. Rally-going is a wholesome, family-friendly drug for conservatives who want to convince themselves that enormity of number and unity of purpose is power. But what use is power if you, to paraphrase Sun Tzu, know neither your enemy nor yourself?

In this sense, overt anti-Semitism (or at least counter-Semitism) is a vaccine. It is a sort of shibboleth, if you’d pardon my Hebrew. To weed out Judaic and philo-Semitic entryists — people historically proven to derail nationalist and populist movements through infiltration, manipulation, and subversion — all incoming members are required to name the Jew, to prove their commitment to their people and the cause through this act of radical, almost self-destructive honesty.

And if someone refuses to name the Jew, refuses to raise doubts about Jewish involvement in degeneracy and white dispossession, refuses to identify the culprits in the decline of the West? Well, that person is himself suspect. What is your motivation here, bub? What’s your game? Can we get a nose check in chat? Even people who may have had something interesting to say will be forced on the back foot and eventually become one-dimensional caricatures. Much like Seamus the Sheep Shagger of lore, who fathered seven sons, built seventy homes, and traveled the breadth and length of Ireland, but fucked just one sheep, someone who refuses to name the Jew will be consumed by an identity that will devour anything else they may have stood for: the identity of a JQ-denier. This is tragic, but certainly better than allowing a Jew or philo-Semite to infiltrate and subvert the movement. Note that it’s only necessary to deter entryists. Jews and philo-Semites who’ve proven themselves to be on our side get grandfathered in, even though we don’t quite give them the reins of power.

Did I say “self-destructive”? It certainly is. Remember the champagne, limousines, hookers, and blow? That door is permanently closed for me. Neither globohomo nor their tame and gelded conservative accomplices like people who walk away, and they’re certainly not going to let a known racist, fascist, sexist, and anti-Semite with 73 articles on counter-currents.com into the garden of earthly delights. All my friends who were warning me that “you’ll ruin your life” would seem to have been right.

Well, that’s one way of looking at it.

Another is that I won’t cut and run when the going gets tough. Hernan Cortes put his ships to the torch when he landed in Mexico and not a single one of his men deserted. A movement culture that demands its members publicly name the Jew has a means of enforcing skin in the game and preventing defections. It reinforces the idea of no way out but through.

As a final note, publicly naming the Jew breaks that most powerful of Jewish methods of subversion: crypsis, the notorious “fellow white” play. As a certain philologist with an interest in film and public communication is reputed to have said: “The Jew is immunized against all dangers. One may call him a scoundrel, a parasite, a swindler, a profiteer, it all runs off him like water off a raincoat. But call him a Jew and you will be astonished at how he recoils, how injured he is, how he suddenly shrinks back: ‘I’ve been found out!’”

We’ve seen from our own practice that using terms like Communists, cultural Marxists, globalists, progressives, or liberals opens us to infiltration and subversion by bad faith actors with long noses and small hats. Due to the Jew’s use of crypsis, any form of nationalism, identitarianism, or populism can be taken and instrumentalized towards the subversion of its original aims if

Overt anti-Semitism, jokes about ovens, casting doubt on certain official numbers with or without the use of cookies and Cookie Monster as conceptual aids, drawing attention to cultural (small hats, early lives, Christ-killing) or physical (long noses, Khazar milkers, Woody Allen physique) specificities of Jews that set them apart from white societies, underscoring their alien and hostile natures — this is all part and parcel of the necessary systematic problematization of Jewishness in the context of nationalist, populist, and national-populist politics.

We can smoke them out with the strategic placement of a few Jew jokes and Phil Eiger Newman cartoons. By their oy veys shall you know them.

The old alt-right had a lot of problems, but its anti-Semitism kept it safe from Jewish entryism and this is what made it dangerous to the establishment. Unfortunately, it had no barriers against retard and psychopath entryism. What’s left of it can be reformed into a movement that can be safely safeguarded against all three, but whatever successful form a future movement will take, it will be at the very least aware of the JQ and willing to publicly discuss it.

JQ denialism, on the other hand, is essentially a red carpet rolled out for our long-nosed friends. It informs them that this club has no safeguards against infiltration and welcomes subversion.

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Soon after the fall of Kabul, I witnessed an online exchange between a conservative and libertarian. The conservative commented that America had been weakened by her liberal stance towards degeneracy, whereas the Taliban were hardy, traditional men whose strength emanated precisely from their traditional approach to social matters. The libertarian then flippantly asked the conservative, “When will you be moving to the traditionalist utopia?”

The conservative in question was of the European sort, not steeped in the asinine self-deceptions of Anglo-American conservatism about “values,” and treated the question as patently ridiculous. The libertarian took this treatment of the question to mean that his interlocutor’s revealed preferences did not match his stated ideology and declared victory, because he “owned” his hypocritical opponent, as one owns a lib.

The conservative’s reaction, which the libertarian took to be hypocrisy and the conservative took as so obvious as to not need explanation, is that Afghan traditions aren’t the same as Western traditions, and that tradition isn’t an ideology like liberalism and Communism, which can be practiced by any people or in any country. Whereas Communism should theoretically look the same in Russia as it does in Cuba, or liberalism look the same in America as Japan (the reality is quite different, of course), traditional societies cannot even theoretically look the same. A traditional America would look nothing like traditional Afghanistan, and of course, when America was a traditional society, it looked nothing like Afghanistan – either then, or today.

What I suspect the libertarian was trying to do was run the old, “If you’re so Communist, why don’t you move to North Korea?” argument. A Communist who doesn’t go to live in a Communist country theoretically reveals a preference for living in a non-Communist nation. Likewise, the old retort to anarchists of any kind — but especially libertarians — was that if they hate the government so much, they should move to Somalia, which doesn’t have a functioning government. This is not actually true of Somalia, however, because it only lacks a functioning government by Western standards. When judged by the standards of Afro-Semitic, IQ-60 shitholes, the warlords and pirates of Somalia do actually provide a functioning and more or less stable government.

But it is a devastating counter-argument to any libertarian because it forces them to admit that they wouldn’t want to live in a non-white country. Indeed, many non-white countries are significantly freer of government these days than white ones, mostly because centralized and powerful government requires a concentration of high-IQ bureaucrats to staff its institutions, something which is sorely lacking in these countries. Of course, the people in such countries aren’t actually freer, merely enslaved (sometimes quite brutally) by private actors, militias, warlords, terrorists, or multinational corporations.

Now, if you’re the James Lindsey type of mouth-breathing lolbert who’s trying to gatekeep against spicier forms of Right-wing thought, “If you’re so trad, why don’t you move to Afghanistan?” should theoretically be a devastating own, especially if you’ve been drinking the Kool-Aid and actually believe that the nationalist Right is “socialist” because we want “big government” and don’t believe in economic and moral anarchy. If you’re coming from the position of Anglo-American-style conservatism or libertarianism and refuse to believe in the immutability and innate nature of human characteristics, of their differences across peoples and nations and in the need for rootedness and belonging to a community, then yes, the adherents of this strange ideology called “traditionalism” are hypocrites if they do not move to traditional countries such as Afghanistan.

If, however, you understand that people are not equal across the world, that man is not a blank slate, that human nature is inborn and immutable once a man is born, that a fulfilled life requires that one is rooted in a specific time and place and bound to specific people, then you see the reasons why someone who wants a more traditional government and society would — unless they were Afghan — not want to move to Afghanistan. It would be clear to you that only Afghans could be happy and fulfilled living in a traditional Afghan society, whereas Americans would require a traditional American society in order to be happy and fulfilled. The conservative from the exchange I observed felt that there was no need to state this, obviously believing that man always prefers to be with his own and that this tendency is so strong that it often overrides ideological considerations. Being Macedonian, I am happiest in Macedonia and within the context of my own culture, the State’s official ideology be damned. We see this revealed preference in Communists who don’t want to live in Cuba or North Korea, or in libertarians who refuse to live in Somalia.

In this sense, tradition is not an ideology but rather a state of being, or a mode of living for a type of people. What our grandfathers did, we will do; their ways will be our ways. That is tradition. There is no Traditionalist Manifesto, we don’t have a Marx, and a traditionalist state doesn’t have an ideology — it is merely the organic outgrowth of a way in which a people has ordered its affairs historically and today.

But even the Dissident Right makes this mistake. A lot of the cheering for the Taliban was simply delight in globohomo’s defeat, but at least a part of it was rooted in the notion that since our ideology is tradition, we — or fellow traditionalists, at any rate — who won in Kabul. There are two sources of this thinking on the Dissident Right. The first is capital-T Traditionalism, as proposed by René Guénon and Julius Evola, while the second is the idea of GNON, as proposed by Nick Land and propagated by neoreactionaries and the HBD crowd.

I cannot criticize the Traditionalists better than our very own Collin Cleary, who in his essay on Heidegger and the Traditionalists wrote that

[t]hough Guénon contrasts the position of the modern freethinker to the Traditionalist, Heidegger would doubtless argue that there is a fundamental identity between them. The freethinker imagines that he has freed himself from any cultural-religious context and become a kind of intellectual or spiritual cosmopolitan. Yet the Traditionalist thinks the exact same thing. The only difference is that the freethinker believes he has cast off religion or “spirituality” itself, whereas the Traditionalist imagines that he adheres to a decontextualized, ahistorical, and universal spiritual construct called “Tradition.” This standpoint too is fundamentally modern.

One might object, however, that Guénon’s decision to convert to Islam and “go native” in Cairo, where he spent the last twenty years of his life, indicates that he was aware that tradition could not be a free-floating abstraction, and that to be a true Traditionalist one had to choose a living tradition and immerse oneself in it. This is true, as a statement of Guénon’s views. But the very idea that one can choose a tradition buys into the modern conception of the autonomous self who may, from a standpoint of detachment from any cultural or historical context, survey the different traditions and select one. It is no use here to point out that all Muslims must, in a sense, “choose” Islam, as it is not an ethnic religion but a creedal one, whose faith all adherents must profess, and to which anyone may convert. This is a valid point, but a superficial one. Islam emerged from a cultural and historical context quite alien to the West, and which no Westerner may ever truly enter.

Some time ago, I saw a meme which critiques the hippy-dippy view that “all religions are the same,” which is rightfully rejected by an earnest Right-winger using a caricature of Evolian thought, stating that “all religions are the same, but racist,” and indicating that this is based. I would reproduce it for you here if not for the fleeting nature of online culture.

As for GNON, it is a backronym of Nature, or Nature’s God, which is an autistic atheist’s way of saying “God in his role as judge of nations.” The idea of Gnon was developed to account for why some polities are successful and others are not. The idea is that through a process of natural selection, the best political system is selected for and the selector — the ultimate judge — was poetically described as Nature, or Nature’s God. Since human beings aren’t good at seeing reality as it is, they usually interface with Gnon through proxies, such as the Christian God or the Chinese Tao, but a polity has to follow Gnon’s commandment and avoid his judgement if it is to prosper.

Given that the neoreactionaries are all former libertarians (except Land, who is a former Marxist), in the early days this merely referred to political systems and did not account for the inherent biological differences between peoples. Somehow, however, this notion was folded into the human biodiversity (HBD) sphere, and now you see people like Emil Kierkegaard, Edward Dutton, and Michael Woodley of Menie repeating it, usually in terms of rearranging societal structures to select for optimal IQ and personalities. It’s more or less the same thing: the idea of a god judging for the purpose of developing the best society.

The problem with this view of the world (or indeed, God) is that it doesn’t take into account the dynamic between population and government. The HBD crowd is especially prone to this idea because it seems so simple: the feudal lords implemented manorialism, leading to high IQs among the northwest European population. Of course, this reduces the panoply of human experience to IQ, and maybe the “high factor of personality,” because it’s “the best predictor we have” and “measurable” — completely ignoring the category of the unknown and unknowable, since otherwise the equations and five-year plans don’t work.

In the realm of scientific research, it’s fine to focus merely on the known and knowable, but in the realm of policy and governance, we must also somehow account for the unknown and the unknowable. This has traditionally been done through the exercise of judgement by decision-makers and their subsequent ownership of the consequences of their judgement. It leads to some errors, but not to such a degree that the system can’t absorb them. In practice, what we see historically are systems of governance arising from and being created by men because of those men’s unique biological and psychological traits.

Western traditions arose out of the immutable nature of Western man. Islam likewise arose from the immutable nature of Arab man, and wherever it has found purchase among other peoples, they’ve transformed it into a tradition fitting their own. Just look at the way Shi’ism is practiced in Iran. Persian biology trumps the Islamic memeplex and hews it to its own contours. For this, and similar reasons, I find laughable the notion that Christians practice a Jewish faith or worship a Jewish God. Man, the being of flesh and blood, shapes a belief, not the other way around, otherwise Christianity would not have been germanized in the early Middle Ages, nor would Iranians still worship Ahura Mazda (but call him Allah).

In Heideggerian terms, what the HBD and neoreactionary crowd do is lose sight of the dickung: the thickness of the wood where the unclear, unknown, and unknowable is, for the same reasons that the Western metaphysical tradition forgets the thickness: It cannot conceive of a thing unknown and unrepresentable by man, and yet such things hold great sway over the realm of human affairs. Beneath the surface level of parameters such as intelligence, represented by the intelligence quotient, lies the deep, hidden nature of man, which is nevertheless intuitable if not representable, and reproducible for others to read about. One has to meet an Afghan, or better yet go to Afghanistan and spend time with the locals in order to intuit these hidden things about them which aren’t representable on a spreadsheet or intelligence report. But even without venturing into Heideggerian thought, we can quote Joseph de Maistre:

Now, there is no such thing as “man” in this world. In my life I have seen Frenchmen, Italians, Russians, and so on. I even know, thanks to Montesquieu, that one can be Persian. But as for man, I declare I’ve never encountered him.

It’s these unknowable things which make the difference between Afghans and Americans, and accordingly between Afghan and American tradition. However, when a one-size-fits-all ideology is applied to both, each people will accuse the other of practicing it incorrectly. Historically, the way in which socialism was practiced in Yugoslavia was criticized as wrong, misguided, and corrupt by socialists in Russia. Perhaps it was, but nevertheless, the people living in Yugoslavia lived and prospered under this wrongheaded version of socialism.

Similarly, contemporary American liberals may sneer at the way liberalism is practiced in Europe, with its generous welfare states, the gun restrictions, and open state-corporate cooperation, but Europeans live and prosper (or would, if not for “diversity”) under this wrongheaded liberalism. Traditional Europeans, however, cannot tell Afghans that they’re practicing their traditions incorrectly; we wouldn’t know what is right or wrong about it. We can be reasonably sure, provided we’ve exercised judgement, about European tradition, and that’s quite enough for me. And even if a traditional European state were to subjugate another traditional non-European state, it would be unwise to attempt to upend the traditions of the subject state. This would only inflame tensions with the locals and lead to more rebellion. Indeed, in the early stages of colonialism, the traditions of the colonized people were at least left intact.

It is hubris to believe that there is a single political system which is best for all peoples of all times, and this causes many of the problems of the modern West. In the past, we invaded and conquered lands because we wanted their resources or to neutralize threats. We had to own the consequences of those conquests, including the moral ones, if we treated the conquered too harshly. Today we invade lands and try to convince their inhabitants to abandon their traditions in favor of liberalism, and are then shocked when they rebel and reject liberalism. Since we invade them for their own good, to bring them the single political system that is best for all peoples, all of the time, we are justified in doing whatever it takes, and we can’t be judged for it. Indeed, judging what is the best political system is to be an evil nazi-racist-fascist, which is to say to be at the absolute bottom of its moral hierarchy.

In an obvious case of projection, liberalism, convinced as it is that it is facing a mirror image of itself in traditionalism, just as it faced Communism in the twentieth century, will attempt to fight traditionalism as it did Communism. Even at the level of the mouth-breathing libertarian who believes activism consists of owning the libs with clever rhetorical tricks and exposing hypocrisy, liberalism holds that the whole of the Dissident Right is just an ideology rather than a primal and somewhat poorly-articulated yearning for rootedness, homeland, and belonging.

Fate has decreed that my task is the articulation of this yearning, but that yearning exists even when unarticulated and unrepresented, and has to be taken into account. It is not a human universal, not even a Western one, but it is there, and it finds some commonalities in a similar yearning which has just actualized itself in Afghanistan.

A man can learn a lot while visiting Sicily. He can learn that old Rome and Byzantium still live in some corners of the Mediterranean; he can learn that the strange, winding streets of a medieval town can feel more like home than the post-communist, Eastern European shithole he calls home; he can learn that he is powerless before authentic, ricotta-filled canolli and also that he sleeps on average four hours less than his wife, going to bed two hours after her and waking up two hours before her.

These hours require something to occupy the mind with which produces no noise. Given both the setting and the strange hours, your dear author elected to read the writings of the Baron Evola.

It’s never quite cold in Sicily, even when it rains. And yet, an unnatural chill can grip the heart when it understands that no matter how dark and unhappy the world is, it can get worse still.

First things first: The Baron accepted that the world is divided into three castes – those who rule (the warrior aristocrats, paladins, kshatriya), those who pray (priests, squishy wizards, Brahmin), and those who work (merchants, workers and peasants, the productive, those who in a fantasy setting would be running the item store, vayshya).

As with all triads, trios, and trinities, there’s a hidden fourth, that being the dalit caste. Dalits, of course, are difficult to figure out, but here’s a useful heuristic: if someone is part of what Marx termed the “lumpenproletariat” (thieves, whores, alcoholics, drug fiends, starving artists etc.), odds are that he is a dalit.

In our diversified west, we can also dump the vast majority of darker nonwhites into this group (bearing in mind that Not All Browns Are Like That, as will become important later). Whereas these people might be vayshya or brahmin among their own, they’ll register as dalit compared to white people. I’d also like the reader to keep in mind the following: most homosexuals and single mothers will also fall into this grouping of dalit, regardless of wealth.

The castes aren’t economic, social and aren’t even clearly related to biological parameters such as intelligence or beauty – but are rather spiritual. This will also become important later on. Generally speaking, if it “lives in the moment,” if it is driven by satisfaction of its physical urges, if it is hedonistic without being epicurean, if the sum total of its ambition can be summed up as “dick and gut satisfaction,” it’s a dalit.

An audience familiar with the writings of the good Baron will already know that primacy in the world has been taken from the warrior aristocrats, first by the priestly class, and then by the mercantile vayshya. After that, we expect the vayshyas to run the whole thing into the ground, which I suspect they can’t realistically do. No, vayshyas’ productive instincts are too strong — they cannot abide destruction, which is one of the reasons they have no stomach for war. Personally, I think that the most realistic picture of a vayshya endgame, a sort of merchant apocalypse, has been painted by the enigmatic Zero H.P. Lovecraft in his not-so-short short story “The Gig Economy.” You’ll never look at Elon Musk’s punchable mug the same way after reading it. But no, that’s not our fate, for the cycle is not complete until the vayshya themselves are overthrown by the dalit.

I suppose that’s for the best. Perpetual rule by vayshya sounds like a fate worse than death to me, as would the constant prayer and endless, talmudic arguments over arguments that’d characterize perpetual brahmin rule, as can be seen among the Jewish people whose brahmin caste ruled over them with an iron fist until the 19th century, whereupon these brutalized Jews with a grudge against all religiosity were unleashed on an unsuspecting West.

But there can be no perpetual rule by dalit for one simple reason — dalits have no conception of the future and eat through societies like termites. A dalit takeover of a civilization results in that civilization’s collapse, almost immediately, as the entire heretofore accumulated social might is disintegrated in an orgy of consumption (and not just in the material sense). Imagine a gang of gypsies taking over a once profitable business, or a female preacher taking over a church. Yep. You can shudder now.

It was late August when I realized this. I was smoking on the balcony, and the sun had just risen. I looked to the east and started thinking about Aleister Crowley, who had for three years lived in the same town where I was staying. I turned my gaze north and tried to spot the Aeolian islands — you can see them on clear days. And then it hit me. The moment when the tiger grows tired is the moment of a spiritual dalit takeover.

Quick reminder: Riding the tiger refers to surviving modernity in the parlance of the Baron Evola. It consists in not allowing modernity to overwhelm one’s soul, while at the same time not fighting it directly, as it would tiger-like, maul the traditionalist. Only when the tiger is tired can action be taken, only then does a traditionalist stand a chance of victory. Until then, we ride the tiger.

Rule by dalit, I suspect, will be nasty, brutish, and short — a sort of South Africa writ large, though considerably more violent and global in scale. Bear in mind that rule by dalit signifies a change in the age of the world, from Dvapara Yuga to Kali Yuga, where the beggar steals the big stick of power from the merchant. The world’s various shitholes are themselves still in the third age, ruled by merchants. Their level of dysfunction and violence will likewise increase with the spiritual shift.

What will this shift look like?

Here we come to the idea that the ruling class is more or less already dalit, either directly, or through dalitization of sons of merchants. To start with, our meritocratic society has been systematically selecting for increasingly low-quality men to run the state. Although meritocracy allows for greater ability in the first generation, those first generation meritocrats find jobs in the establishment for their less bright children — and their children are less bright due to regression to the mean.

When we do away with aristocracy, we do away with bloodlines which have over the ages proven themselves consistently able to produce quality men. Even though an individual baron might be less bright than an individual commoner, that baron’s family consistently produces such men as can effectively govern, whereas genetic drift and regression to the mean prevent the commoners from consistently producing such men.

Add to this the resentment factor, in which highly intelligent people resent geniuses for being close enough to sniff what comes with genius, but unable to do it. Geniuses are systematically sabotaged whenever they are judged by their peers (however, an aristocratic system promotes genius — after all, the baron isn’t threatened and his rule is actually helped by the brilliant commoner, unlike the common provost of a university)”.

From a mathematical standpoint, imagine a bell curve graph of a trait called “ability to govern” moving through time. Due to resentment, its rightward drift is checked, and the graph has a strong leftward drift due to regression to the mean. The left tails, anything left of the bell curve’s tip, really, faces no punishment — nepotism persists, for what man would leave his children jobless, even if they really are entitled brats with the ability of half-peeled potatoes? Gradually, the curve moves so far to the left (towards low ability) that the brightest of the 4th generation are comparable to the average of the 1st. Henry Kissinger looks sane by comparison to contemporary globalists.

This, I believe, is borne out by our reality. The second and third echelon of government, the nefarious Deep State, what Mencius Moldbug called the Cathedral, the great corporations, Hollywood, the media, the universities . . . they’re run by dumbfucks. James Comey’s soyboy antics come to mind. This guy was Director of the FBI. You’d expect someone with gravel, rather than granola in his guts to hold that position.

And still the Kali Yuga is not upon us, still vayshyas run the show, at least spiritually speaking. And here we get into the ooga booga portion of this essay as we delve into what is both symbolic and determinant of the world spirit.

Spiritual power is in many ways, a function of actual power. Actual power is . . . well, the ability to make men who are alive no longer alive. While I don’t usually encourage people to watch stupid television shows, there’s a good scene in Game of Thrones where Queen Cersei (an aristocrat) cuts Lord Baelish (an upjumped merchant) down to size, with a practical demonstration that “power is power.”

Who commands the most actual, power-is-power in our world? The commander of the world’s most powerful military, of course. This brave guy:

As a friend of mine pointed out, this guy is a vayshya from his golden hair to his (probably) golden silk socks, if all the gold and other trappings of immense mercantile power didn’t tip you off. He is, however, the last hurrah of the vayshyas (and of America, which is a vayshya nation through and through), a merchant prince presiding over a government of paupers. Whoever follows will be a dyed in the wool dalit.

When I was workshopping this idea with my friends, they pointed out that Barack Obama could be considered a candidate for my President Dalit and that the Kali Yuga is already on. However, remember when I pointed out that not all browns are like that? Well, Barry O. ain’t like that. He is very middle-class, half white (though the son of a single mom with a dude’s name), and it’s telling that his father wasn’t an African-American, but rather a part of the Kenyan ruling class. Whatever he was (and my guess is vayshya), he wasn’t a dalit.

Michelle Obama behaved like a dalit in many ways, but after taking a closer look at her background, I think I can safely claim that she’s vayshya, and the weird behaviors were the result of entering middle age with a husband who in all probability did not satisfy her . . . needs. Nevertheless, Barry had strong dalit tendencies. Maybe he could be considered a liminal being, a transitional phase between vayshya and dalit.

No, I think that President Dalit is yet to come, and I think that he, or she, will be elected in the year 2024.

For a while, I believed that President Dalit was going to be a Democrat, in all likelihood, Alexandria di Occasio-Cortez or some other brown thot “democratic socialist,” and then . . . this happened:

This episode, and several subsequent comments from Kanye, made me think of a dreadful possibility. The Man Who Makes Us Call Him Ye, clad in MAGA hat, enters the GOP primaries, sweeps every state, and wins the presidency, riding a coalition white conservatives dying to prove their anti-racism and tribal blacks looking to boot invasive Hispangieros from black spaces. It’s like Jared Taylor’s idea of a black-white coalition to combat Hispanic invasion . . . in fact it’s exactly like that, gone horribly right.

Assuming the marriage lasts, America will have a first lady with a sex tape, notable for having attempted to “break the internet” with her ass, the adopted daughter of a stunning and brave tranny.

And let’s not get into the metaphysics of Kanye himself. As Scott Adams would put it, he’s a “wizard,”  insofar as he’s a master of self-promotion in the Trumpian mold. Problem is, Trump has actually built things. Kanye’s accomplishments are . . . eh . . . crap music. If Yeezie deigns to put on a suit, he’d be an empty suit.

It’d be a merry Dalit presidency, and all the “I’m not racist” crowd will hail it as a victory for conservatism, indeed for MAGA, to have this confused ghetto rat elected to the Presidency.

I suspect things will go to shit shortly after that.

What can we expect from this development?

Well, I guess the US will be over as a global hegemon — the implications of which I’ve covered elsewhere. This will lead to the liquidation of some things propped up by US military might which ought not exist. The US itself will likely fragment along ethnic lines and descend into low-level civil war, or possibly high-voltage civil war. Who knows? Kanye’s ego might not take kindly to a California in open rebellion, declaring Reconquista. The nukes might fly towards L.A.

Ultimately, it will be chaos, which is why I hesitate to predict too far into the future. Luckily, this will be the time to attempt to defeat the now tired tiger. This is the good Baron’s “completion” to which we are to ride. For those of us who belong to nations dispossessed and disenfranchised by US military and diplomatic bullying, it will probably mean reassertion of our peoples’ independence, dignity, and national will, as well as a purge of domestic traitors and hostile minorities.

For those nations hardest-hit by the chaos, we might see a resurgence of a warrior elite which restores order… either that, or China moves in and imposes their order — which I strongly suspect. China is a vayshya nation, lacking a warrior aristocracy. I’ve never really feared the possibility of Han overlords for this reason. They’re not warriors and never will  be. We’re likelier to get occupied by Zulus. Whoever restores order, it will be a warrior aristocracy, however. Hopefully (and probably) a white warrior aristocracy.

Whatever ultimately happens, this world is due for a change. Things have to get drastically worse before they get notably better. And the better of tomorrow will not be the better of yesterday. International travel and commerce will probably collapse, as will the many comforts of today. That being said, if I am right, and I’ve no reason to believe otherwise, I’d like to present the universe this humble request: to place my feet where once the Baron’s noble ancestors trod, that I am allowed to once again see a Sicilian sunrise before I die.

When the story of the late 2020s is written, it will have to address the phenomenon of National Populism. Due to a combination of several long-term and deep-seated factors, the people of the West started gravitating towards charismatic leaders cultivating popular and populist movements aimed at restoring the societies of the West to their former greatness. From the communal dream-state of a Trump rally, to the chaotic battleground of a Yellow Vest protest, the old-stock populations of Western states arose to challenge the corrupt and uncaring elite.

For what it’s worth, I think that the first chapter of this story has been already written and documented — read all about it here. In his review of Eatwell and Goodwin’s surprisingly sober-minded work, our esteemed editor at Counter-Currents, Greg Johnson, counsels nationalists to put themselves out in front of the National Populist wave.

Now this is all well and good, and this National Populism thing looks like a winning combination (and we love winning, don’t we, folks?), and yet even in his counseling, Dr. Johnson anticipates a big obstacle in the way of our support of National Populism: namely, the elitism inherent in Dissident Right politics. Why should an avowed elitist, steeped in the tradition of Evola, Nietzsche, De Maistre, and Carlyle cavort with the unwashed masses, whose popular uprisings have been the bane of Western civilization, from the storming of the Bastille by a drunken mob to the blockading of central London by the Hermeneutic Order of the Broccoli Brain? Populism? Harrumph! I furrow my patrician brows with disdain and flare my chiseled nostrils as my luxuriant mustache is sent aflutter.

It’d do us good to check our premises.

First of all, what the storming of the Bastille, the blockading of central London by the Green nutter gang, the American Revolution, the rise of Labour in the UK, the October Revolution in Russia, the New Deal, Occupy Wall Street, and any other violent uprising in the dog’s breakfast of Leftist revolutions are bourgeois uprisings against the traditional order, or what’s left of it. Indeed, the common folk were often victims of these revolutions, as the monstrosities of the Jacobins in the Vendée attested. The common folk wanted throne and altar. The educated classes wanted their blood, even as they cried crocodile tears about the supposed iniquities the ancien régime had inflicted upon them. The common folk revered the Russian Tsar as the Little Father, an earthly representative of the Great Father in heaven, while the Bolsheviks disdained them as boorish, stupid, drunk, and smelly. And Lord knows what horrific slurs are bound to let loose from the pierced lips of the Extinction Rebellion lettuce-eaters about the rural bumpkins of the West Country, or those flatcap-wearing urban toughs oop norf. The revolutionary hates the peasant almost as much as he hates the King.

Secondly, if we take a closer look at the demands of the National Populists, we can see that they are not engaged in Leftism. Indeed, National Populism is a decidedly Rightist movement and can only be considered Leftist by cringeworthy cuckservatives who’ll have you believe that, uuuhhh, ekshully, Hitler was, like, literally a socialist.

We see a call for cleaning up corruption in the elites, where a Leftist mob would demand the abolition of elites as a phenomenon.

We see National Populists demand that measures be taken to secure an economic future for themselves and their posterity, whereas a Leftist mob would demand seizure of assets.

We see National Populists demanding that their voice be heard by the ruling elites, whereas a Leftist mob usually demands that power be given to them, under some clever euphemism like “democratic oversight.”

Crucially, we see National Populists demanding an end to replacement migration, whereas Leftist mobs are likely to act as accomplices of the elites effectuating this criminal policy (and indeed, this is what we see with the antifa phenomenon). Their admonitions against the elites are not the depredations of an upstart class seeking to install itself in power, nor a fantastical attempt to abolish the human pecking order.

The National Populists here are akin to the son demanding that his father renounce his alcoholism. He does not seek to upend the traditional power of the patriarch, but rather remind that patriarch of his rightful position, his responsibilities, and the family that depends on him. Even the much-maligned “socialism” of the National Populists is a call for a form of paternalism.

In a sense, these are common folk who recognize that they are common and are therefore crying out for their elite to treat them as commoners, which is to say, with paternal sentiment and noblesse oblige. In short, we do not see a movement of people who seek to seize power for their own designs, but a movement of people who seek to restore their country to good governance — the old-stock European people who wear red hats in America and yellow vests in France demand a reset, rather than a revolution.

Thirdly, notice that the National Populists gravitate around charismatic, alpha male leaders. In fact, the success of National Populism seems linked to the presence of just such a leader. The National Populists of the US, Brazil, Italy, and Hungary have coalesced around the personages of Donald Trump, Jair Bolsonaro, Matteo Salvini, and Viktor Orbán, whereas the National Populist movements of France and Germany, lacking such alpha male leaders, have not been able to push forward.

An interesting situation is visible in the UK, where National Populist energies and fortunes seem tied to the pin-striped person of Nigel Farage, who, while definitely charismatic and eloquent, seems to lack the will to be a leader. Hence, the UK has not elected a National Populist government and is instead saddled with bog-standard Tory cuckery, courtesy of Theresa the Traitor and Boris the Buffoon.

That the National Populists leaders are constrained by a hostile government (and non-government) apparatus known as the Deep State has led the National Populists to hope for more authoritarian government, so that their agenda may be pushed through. Because they are normal, everyday people with no designs on political power, they would welcome a dictator, or better yet, an absolute monarch. Hence the many fantasies of God-Emperor Trump.

The blind devotion to Trump exhibited by some Americans, particularly older conservatives, has earned them the monicker MAGApedes, and indeed, were I not accustomed to the astounding lack of will demonstrated by the average person, I would have found myself severely creeped out by these people’s complete submission to Trump. Such veneration exists for “Santo Matteo” as well and doubtless for other National Populist leaders.

An image arises of a movement not out for the blood of elites, but for their own well-being, and for sanity in government. We see a people raising their voices and calling for leadership. What can we — the elitist, illiberal Right — do about that?

Why, answer the call, of course.

I suspect that if you’re milling around Counter-Currents, you’re probably part of your nation’s cognitive elite. This gives you bragging rights, but also responsibilities. You’ve been gifted with a big brain, maybe even organizational capability, maybe even innate charisma. In any case, you probably have more will than the average person, certainly more courage — it takes balls to read crimethink in this age of thought control. Are you wasting these gifts on dead-end careers? Are you wasting them on video games? Or are you pouring your energies into the reclamation of your future? Our nations cry out for our guidance.

Seek out your local National Populist organization, make every effort to join them, and help their advance. Do not compromise your positions, which I hope are nationalist and illiberal, but rather gradually introduce them to your new friends. Do not be hostile, but rather be a leader. Calmly and clearly articulate what is necessary.

The National Populist movement is fertile ground for our ideas. You’re not there to barge in and violently take over the movement, but rather to rise to its top on the basis of your merits.

Since you’re reading this, you are a Dissident Rightist, and therefore one of your narrowest specialities is exposing the mainstream Right for the ineffective cucks they are. This is a uniquely useful skill for a National Populist movement, since such movements grow by plundering votes and influence from the mainstream Right, as discussed here.

Or maybe there’s another way to be useful. I’m sure you can meme with the best of them. Why not apply those skills to leaflet design?

Have you any specialized training? Put yourself in the service of the movement, and the rewards of dedicated labor will follow.

Above all, remember that if you want to lead, your life is not quite your own anymore, but rather, it belongs to your mission, which is to say to God. Among the common folk, you’ll know what it means to be a true aristocrat, a prince grounded in the blood and soil of his nation, his fate intertwined with his people who cry out for his guidance in both the physical and the spiritual realm. I suppose that sounds scary, and I think the dangers are indeed great, but then again, I can hear my nation calling.

In a noble heart, the shame of inaction stings more than the fear of battle.

Imagine this. It’s 3 in the afternoon. You’re lying in bed with your wife. You’re watching a Christmas movie. Suddenly you understand at the same time the purpose of family, the absurdity of reward without punishment and the naivety of European man who thought he could live as a goofy creature of materialism while shutting out from himself the darkness of existence. You think back to some boomer or tradcon or whatever bellyaching about how muh leftists are trying to take the Christ out of Christmas and make it ‘just some holiday about snow.’ You think about the Division Azul on the shores of Lake Ladoga. You think about what that’d feel like, for a hot-blooded son of the sun-kissed Mediterranean to suffer winter in the far north. You think about the bone-deep sadness of the Division Azul song. You think about flowers, about cold, about that one time when you lost your shoe in the mountains. You think about reading Lovecraft and the claustrophobia that cold can induce. You think about your old hare-brained idea that the whole Spenglerian infinite space thing began as cold-induced escapism in the dead of winter. And then you realize, there’s a real good goddamn reason why Christmas is a holiday about snow.

Well, that’s how I spent my New Year’s Eve.

The movie in question was Michael Dougherty’s 2015 comedy horror Krampus. In a cinematographic rendering of the old German folk tale of Krampus, we are faced with something quite riveting, didactic, eerily and comically human, a sort of contrast of old and new, the world that is and the world that was, and the memory of our tribe. We are faced with our history, in a sense.

By we, I mean white people in general and Germanic people in particular. The movie is refreshingly devoid of nonwhite faces. I don’t know how the hell they pulled it off, but it’s there. Not even the delivery guy is black. God be praised, the teenage daughter’s stoner boyfriend isn’t black. And no, the invading mythical creatures are not black. I think. They behave like savage tribesmen, but they’re supposed to be elves or Fair Folk, so I doubt they wuz kangz.

I’m getting ahead of myself. The plot’s well-crafted. Note to the traveler, here be spoilers. A young preteen boy, Max, is desperately trying to hold on to the spirit of Christmas. His workaholic dad Tom is at loggerheads with his bitchy mom, Sarah, due to frequent business trips. His sister is a bratty teenage bowl of cynicism more interested in doing God knows what with her stoner boyfriend (thankfully, not black). His only ally is his Omi, his grandma, who speaks most of her lines in German and is played by the dignified and graceful Krista Stadler. She, in her words, believes in St. Nicholas, equating him to the spirit of giving and sacrifice. This stands in stark contrast with the film’s opening scene which shows what I hope is a highly overwrought scene of Black Friday violent shopping. On the one hand, I cannot possibly believe that human beings could behave like that. On the other, the baron Evola had some choice words about Americans which I’m not going to repeat here.

Max’s parents are apprehensive about the arrival of Aunt Linda, the mom’s sister and her husband, Uncle Howard. The Mother speaks of them in dismissive tones. When the relatives arrive, they’re . . . well, they’re not exactly Obama voters. They have four children, first and foremost. The very butch Jordan and Stevie (who are female, believe it or not), the overweight and mute Howie Jr. and baby Chrissy. Uncle Howard is an inspiring physical presence who believes in man’s man things like protecting his family (with firearms), and he drives a hummer named Lucinda. Aunt Linda is the very image of a still-young matronly woman who’s given birth to four children. This causes no little amounts of tension between the folksy relatives and Max’s upmarket family. Aunt Linda and Uncle Howard tote with one Aunt Dorothy, who is a rather unpleasant fat spinster, the kind who is best friends with alcohol and hasn’t got a kind word for anyone, not even at Christmas. Unfortunately, you know her kind. Every family has one.

Jordan and Stevie steal Max’s letter to Santa and read it out during family dinner, airing out his concerns about the family’s lack of Christmas spirit. Max is, of course, so mortified by shame that he runs upstairs and hides in his room. His dad tries to comfort him, but Max pointedly asks what’s the point of having a family who’s bent on doing you ill. The father has no answer. When the father leaves, Max tears up his letter to Santa, and invokes a much darker spirit — the spirit of Krampus. Unlike his mythical counterpart, who puts misbehaving children in black sacks and beats them with reeds, this movie’s Krampus drags the entire town to the underworld to punish a single family for their lack of Christmas spirit.

Now, while much of the plot in set in motion by Max, and the action is centered around the adults, the way I saw the film, Grandma sits square in the center of the whole thing and what makes it a film about the way whites, especially Germans and Nordics go about Christmas, and why we have a holiday about snow, even though it’s not just about the snow. I see no point in counter-signaling Christianity. The globohomo hates Christianity, so I’m not going to join in their gayndeer games.

The choice of actress is very interesting. You can call Krista Stadler an old woman and old she indeed is. But she is also a woman who is clearly beautiful. There’s a beauty, unmarred, but rather enhanced by age. Her face has many lines and each tells a story, of a girl, of a maiden, of a wife, a mother and finally grandmother. Omi is complete, dignified and brings joy to Max as he gladdens her weary heart. Her clothing is modest and elegant. She is in many ways European. In the film, this is achieved by Stadler’s slender frame and understated acting, but there’s a sense that a woman so complete and dignified would not be less beautiful if heavier or more jovial. Contrast that to the blubbery and unpleasant Aunt Dorothy, who as I mentioned before, has no kind word for anyone. In times of hardship, when the electricity goes out, Omi makes hot chocolate over the fire and shares it with everyone, whereas Aunt Dorothy lets the children drink peppermint schnapps when entrusted with their care.

Omi knows how to deal with Krampus. Omi knows how to speak to children. Omi is very aware of the danger that is out there. Omi warns the family, repeatedly, not to mess with the creature on its own turf, but huddle near the fire and keep it going. Omi, in a sense, is a treasure trove of wisdom and knowledge. Indeed, in pre-literate societies, the aged were walking libraries who carried within them the tribe’s memories. And cheerful, friendly Omi carries some dark memories indeed. Of cold and pain and the punishment of those who renounce St. Nicholas, the spirit of giving and sacrifice, and participate instead in greed and selfishness, or worse yet, as the family does at meal-time, in pettiness and mutual sabotage. Omi remembers the fate of those who forget that families cannot be taken for granted, that actions have consequences, that insults cut deep when spoken by blood. Above all, Omi can recall that horrible thing under the very thin veneer of civilization that will devour us should we forget what built this great house of ours.

No people but a people under constant siege, and nothing can siege quite as constantly as the winter cold, would have developed our mythology. Christianity papered over it, barely. Tall and bearded St. Nicholas, who historically was the generous and wise bishop of Myra, is in the mind of white, and particularly German man yet another avatar of Odin. Not for nothing is St. Nicholas, even when transmogrified by modern advertising into a Coca-Cola salesman, heavily associated with magic. Folk tales abound of him engaging in miraculous, magical acts. The Orthodox Church calls him St. Nicholas the Miracle Worker. Magic, as we know, is Odin’s preferred way of doing things. In the darkest night, we summon our all-father, under a new name, to warm us in his magical glow, bringing us the spirit of giving and sacrifice — gods above, sacrifice! — so that we may live through the cold, through the darkness, through the hunger, so that we may see the end of the ice giants. Jolly old St. Nick brings joy to good children, but totes with him Krampus to punish the bad. The wages of sin is death, sometimes literally. What our elders used to call sinful behavior wasn’t just normatively bad, as the left would have you believe, because of something something patriarchy. No — sinning meant death. Adultery meant death — pissing off your family is never a good idea when each winter you need them to survive. Pride, envy and wrath mean death for the same reasons. Gluttony, sloth, and greed mean death, for if you can’t control your flesh, you’ll starve or freeze or both.

And this is essentially the whole point of family. Like most modern people, I see little to like in my extended family. Even close to home, eh . . . but nobody else will hold my hand while I’m going through the various agonies of food poisoning. You need your family for tail events, for when you’re sick, for when you’re broke, for when shit hits the fan, and everything is wind except blood.

What I particularly like about the film is that the ending is ambiguous, and I interpret it as bad. It’s in many ways a film about the white and German experience of winter, but a bad ending reinforces the old Sicilian saying: “You fuck up once, you lose two teeth.” There’s no restarts and save-scumming in real life. If you turn your back on Odin, you give yourself to the ice giants. If you turn your back on God, you give yourself to the other guy.

Krampus is a film that tells that story in an action-packed and humorous, yet frightening package. It does so without poz, with good-looking actors, with a well-written script, good visuals and without an over-reliance on special effects. It somehow manages to be a good film while still hailing from the year 2015. Thank our old friend St. Nicholas under any of his names for this Christmas miracle.

A Trumpeter, prisoner made,
Hoped his life would be spared when he said
He’d no part in the fight,
But they answered him “Right,
But what of the music you made?

On August 20, 2022, Darya Dugina, journalist and daughter of Aleksandr Dugin, was assassinated by means of a car bomb near Moscow. She was 29 years old at the time. I won’t pretend to know who did it, or why. The FSB has put out an obviously bullshit claim that the attack was carried out by Ukrainian state security with the help of an Azov Regiment member. A nebulous “National Republican Army” of dissident Russians has claimed responsibility, but there’s little evidence that they did this, or even exist as a coherent force, so I’m not convinced.

I have my own speculations, but I have no evidence for them, so I will not voice them here. As for the motives, there is still confusion about whether she or her father was the target of assassination. To a Westerner who speaks no Russian and does not monitor the Russian Federation’s internal media scene, Alexander is by far the greater of the Dugins and obviously the intended target, but few know that Darya Aleksandrovna herself was a commentator on television, online, and in print media and was a public figure of rising eminence, sometimes even eclipsing her ageing father. It is therefore conceivable that Darya herself may have been targeted, rather than Alexander.

Having stated my reluctance to play internet sleuth and given you the skinny on what is known and as of yet unknown, let me get to the crux of the matter: Regardless of who assassinated her and for whatever reason, we can be reasonably certain firstly that neither Darya nor Alexander had killed anyone themselves, and secondly that they were targeted for their activities as philosophers and/or journalists. This has made people in the West, and particularly dissident commentators, visibly uncomfortable, as they too are primarily men of the word and pen rather than of the sword, and as such expect some immunity from the sword. This may be a good time to disabuse people of that illusion.

But first, a personal anecdote. In November of 2021, I was arrested on suspicion of hate speech. I didn’t publicize this fact at the time because I saw no need. Specifically, I was arrested for quoting Carl Schmitt on the difference between a private (inimicus) and a public (hostis) enemy and the concept of the political; the friend-enemy distinction. Agents of the state, specifically chosen from among ethnic minority cops, came to my home and put me in handcuffs, then dragged me to the police station because I had at some point in my life publicly uttered the same words as an old German jurist and theorist of state.

I was never charged, but I won’t pretend it was a pleasant experience. Owing perhaps to the discipline of mind I try to cultivate in myself, I said nothing to the cops and never lost my composure or even good humor while in custody, at one point helpfully pointing out to the arresting officer that his fly was undone. When it was all done, my family was obviously upset, but I wasn’t. They asked me how I could remain calm. That got me thinking.

It’s not natural to be calm under pressure. It is a learned behavior. Soldiers and athletes are trained to retain discipline under stress. Spies and special ops forces are trained not to break under interrogation. Even attorneys receive some training in how not to respond to provocation (and the arresting officers certainly did their fair share of provocation). How was I able to remain calm while being put in cuffs by ethnic outsiders and perp-walked through my neighborhood into the police van? Part of it is definitely my learned tolerance for adrenaline: Having acted on stage, argued in court, given political and educational speeches, and fought both in the ring and in the streets has left me with a very high tolerance for stress hormones. But another element was that I had expected to be arrested for a very long time. At some point, probably in late 2018, I realized that being arrested, attacked, or even killed for my public speech and activism is definitely in the cards. I was calm because I had mentally prepared for this, as a soldier mentally prepares for the possibility of being captured by the enemy.

But how can that be? What have I done except write articles, run Internet shows, and fundraise? I’m not and have never been a soldier. I’ve never killed a man. I’ve never engaged in illegal violence: strictly sport and defensive fighting. But that’s all irrelevant. We’re at war. I may not be a soldier, but I am a trumpeter.

In Aesop’s fable, the trumpeter is taken prisoner by the opposing army who intend to put him to death. He protests, claiming that he has never taken up a weapon or killed anyone. But the opposing soldiers retort that with his trumpeting, he enticed and encouraged the enemy soldiers to kill them, and for that, he is as guilty as they are. And so the trumpeter was put to death.

The good and liberal-minded people of the West will often repeat that ideas are more powerful than guns and the pen is mightier than the sword, but then act surprised when states and groups around the world move to disarm their opponents of ideas as well as guns and swords. They proclaim the great power of the philosopher, the poet, the journalist, and the dreamweaver, and then act surprised when these genuinely powerful men are targeted for assassination, intimidation, bribery, attack, and deception. Good and liberal-minded people, not necessarily liberals, are aghast at the thought of killing someone for the words he said, no matter how much actual death those words have caused, facilitated, or attempted to justify after the fact.

All wars are wars of ideas, and ideas are invented, discovered, promulgated, implemented, and carried by men. The Russo-Ukrainian War is fought between opposing states, opposing armies, and soldiers, but it is also fought by opposing ideas. It is a war not only between Zelensky and Putin, but also between Ivan Sirko and Bohdan Khmelnytsky on one side, and Peter I and Joseph Stalin on the other. It is a battle between Taras Shevchenko and Aleksandr Pushkin. A battle between wild Cossacks and prim Imperial guardsmen. And it is a battle between the living intellectuals, artists, and statesmen of the opposing forces.

When Russia proclaims Ukraine a “fake nation,” it declares its intention to destroy the ideas and culture which concretize the Ukrainian ethnicity in nationhood. They do not merely intend to throw out Taras Shevchenko’s “farts” and replace it with the verses of Pushkin, as the Jewish Russian poet Joseph Brodsky trumpets in his poem mocking the Ukrainians for wanting independence, nor will they content themselves with changing Ukraine’s flags, iconography, language, and festivals. The much-vaunted “denazification” would entail the wholesale murder of the Ukrainian nation’s culture-bearing stratum — anyone who can remember Shevchenko and proclaim him as “ours,” especially more “ours” than Pushkin. The Kremlin regime, which cannot abide the very idea of a Ukrainian nation distinct from Russia, will target these trumpeters for execution — for “denazification,” as they like to call it — because it is these trumpeters in particular which offend them.

In the 2017-2020 period, even the illiberal and authoritarian Dissident Right found itself shocked and appalled at the censorship and prosecution that the West’s states and large corporations brought against them after Donald Trump’s election and the Charlottesville Unite the Right rally. These trumpeters of an army which had not yet been mustered were shocked that the opposing force hounded and arrested them, or at the very least took away their social media trumpets before they could sound the call to muster. They stood with mouths agape when the regime they decried as foolish and decadent took action to defend itself from their attacks. They pointed and sputtered at the illiberal acts that this supposedly weak and ineffectual liberal regime performed to rid itself of challengers. As our friend James J. O’Meara has pointed out when discussing Justin Trudeau’s response to the trucker protest:

Now Trudeau has shown us what real sovereignty is. He is the most dynamic leader in the world, beyond Putin or Orbán. Where other “leaders” talk, Trudeau takes action. He’s not afraid to send in the Cossacks, even if some citizens get trampled.

The greatest trick liberal ideology played on man was to convince him that something as powerful as an idea, especially expressed in words and broadcast to a wide audience, can be unserious. Speech is “just speech.” There is no such thing as “fighting words.” It is immoral and irrational to kill a man because he insulted your honor, or your wife’s honor. When Darya Dugina calls Ukrainians subhumans who ought to be exterminated on television, those are just ideas, and they do not justify retributive action. When her Kabbalah-reading anti-white father calls for Russian subjugation of Eastern Europe, or declares all Anglo-Saxons to be the scourge of the world for their racism, colonialism, and (ironically) imperialism, it’s wrong for either Eastern Europeans or Anglo-Saxons to strike back. When Nicholas R. Jeelvy calls for the dismantlement of the current Western order and its replacement with a European order of mutually-respecting nation-states, he should expect this declaration of ideological war to go unanswered by the Western order.

Alas, all of us — even nice, liberal-minded people — have to live in the real world. And in the real world, ideas are trumpet calls. They call an army to muster, and they relay orders to group, regroup, charge, and defend. When I was a gym-rat, I’d often play patriotic music on my headphones while working out because listening to it literally made me stronger, while the modern R&B which the gyms usually blare makes me weaker. When I play chess and attain deep concentration, I often catch myself (or rather my unattended subconscious mind) singing inspirational music, with patriotic songs being the ones likeliest to manifest themselves. When I develop and deepen the ideas of White Nationalism, I am crafting a political formula — an order of battle for an army yet to be formed. When I deconstruct enemy ideas, I am destroying enemy weapons. When I identify enemy discourse and enemy attempts to subvert our own discourse, I am performing counterintelligence for a state that has yet to be founded.

Should I be surprised that the opposing forces target me? If I had it my way, they’d at the very least lose power and the non-whites among them would be deported back to the countries where they came from. But I’m not just some fantasist on the Internet. I bear no weapon — or at least not one that can kill. But men with guns read these words and are inspired by these ideas. Better to snuff the fight out at the fount than to battle each of them.

Whoever killed Darya Dugina lives in this real world and not the fantasy world where words are “just words.” The police captain who ordered my arrest lives in the real world. The censors of Twitter, Facebook, YouTube, and Google live in this selfsame real world. They correctly recognize that rebellions, wars, and great, world-changing events begin as words and ideas. With that in mind, we must not be surprised when states, groups, and corporations defend themselves against words and ideas, sometimes by taking the trumpets away and sometimes by killing the trumpeters.

Every white identitarian nationalist thinker, writer, vlogger, and other type of content creator is familiar with the phenomenon of the Internet Man of Action,™ a comment-section alpha male who looks down on those who do “nothing but complain” on the Internet instead of “taking action” in the streets, in the political arena, or associated areas of Real Life.

Indeed, while these Internet Men of Action™ do not boast any achievements of their own, whether in the much-vaunted arena of Real Life or not, they’re the first to criticize and appeal to Rightists to “do something.” More often than not, something is better than nothing for these people. I must say, dripping with arrogance and condescension as what I have just written about them is, this is a valid criticism. We will not write or podcast our way to victory (or at least not all of the time), so I feel compelled to defend my position as a writer and showrunner in the ecosystem of white identitarian thought.

My objection to the Internet Men of Action™ isn’t that they want to take action; I’d like to take action myself. My objection is to the actions they propose. If there were actions open to us, I would have gladly taken them years ago. Indeed, all effective action that can be taken has already been taken. But more often than not, the Internet Men of Action™ are not satisfied with what action has been taken and are looking for something more spectacular, though woefully ineffective. Thus, the three categories of action that Internet Men of Action™ will most often call for are protesting, political action, and crime.

Let’s deal with crime first, because it’s the easiest charge to defeat. Calling on white identitarians to commit crimes in furtherance of the cause is all sorts of wrong. On the most basic level, it exposes our very limited pool of manpower to arrest or death. Taken one step further, any crime by a white identitarian or White Nationalist, even if unrelated to his ideology, exposes the entire ideological network to state and corporate repression, persecution, censorship, deplatforming, and ultimately, the arrest of our leaders and shuttering of our existing institutions.

At the crucial moral level, white identitarian crime alienates white people, the very people whose racial awareness we’re trying to arouse. White people are not blacks and will not always side with whites regardless of their behavior. We organize our societies on the basis of moral belonging and exclude the immoral and criminal. White criminals are punished by white communities, and this will be so even if we establish a white ethnostate. A white identitarian who commits a crime thus damages the movement by, first, removing himself from the movement’s available pool of resources; second, by bringing the state and its cronies down on the movement; and third, undermining the movement’s moral legitimacy in the eyes of other white people, or sometimes even white identitarian nationalists themselves.

The only exception to this rule would come from violating laws which are egregiously immoral, such as for example hate speech laws, and only then insofar as the violation does not consist of a crude use of slurs but rather the pointing out of the realities of human racial differences and incompatibility. Forcing the state to enforce an immoral law upon an individual who isn’t easy to demonize or morally impeach makes white people uncomfortable, even white liberals. White people fundamentally believe in honesty and freedom of expression, and forcing states to act contrary to this value is a sort of judo move which serves to shake these regimes’ legitimacy.

The second option which Internet Men of Action™ propose is protesting. Protest marching is always popular for a very simple reason: It feels good. Protest marching is in a sense ersatz military service, and young men in particular feel great when they’re marching as part of a large crowd. At the primitive level of analysis, it tells the man that he is part of a large tribe which shares a unity of purpose and confidence in the cause — i.e., that he is part of an army that is about to claim victory. Also, because the act itself floods the participants’ bloodstreams with feel-good hormones, it’s very easy to claim it as successful even if it achieves nothing whatsoever, least of all in the desired direction.

Above all, because the protest organizer has granted the participants this tiny slice of ersatz military glory, he has in a sense earned their loyalty in the same way that a victorious general earns the loyalty of his troops. But protests rest on the assumption that the powers-that-be can be influenced or intimidated by men marching on the streets. This is a false assumption in the former case, and a dangerous act in the latter. Elites intimidated by protest marching react like they did after January 6, 2021: by arresting people and throwing them in deep, dark dungeons.

Aside from the danger of direct regime repression of protests, our age also provides the danger of the regime’s hired thugs: antifa and other allied organizations attacking the marchers. Whether antifa prevails and manages to kill or injure the marchers or gets their asses handed to them, it opens the marchers to prosecution by the crooked courts. Thus, such an engagement can only realistically go one way: a defeat for the Right-wing protesters, the squandering of valuable resources, and the arrest, injury, or death of the young men involved. Large-scale disasters like Charlottesville can send massive shockwaves throughout the political space and make our task even harder. Even so-called successes, which is to say marches which have not ended in disaster, can be counterproductive by galvanizing the enemy.

Because protest marching solidifies loyalty to the organizer, it’s not likely to go away, as much as I caution against them. Organizations, whether White Nationalist or otherwise, will seek to organize marches to increase their own power within the movement, even if it weakens the broader movement and the cause it fights for. Any opposition to marching will be met by calls for unity, which are in fact calls for submission to the event organizer, accusations of infighting, and disloyalty to the cause.

This leaves political action as the means by which the White Nationalist cause can purportedly be advanced. Now, here I am going to agree that it would be nice if we had a pro-white political party in any Western country, but more often than not, these parties cannot even get past the registration stage. Patriotic Alternative in the United Kingdom has been kept in registration limbo for the better part of two years. Its American equivalent, the National Justice Party, isn’t registered as a political party but only as an LLC (limited liability corporation), and as such cannot field candidates in elections.

Attempts at taking over established parties have similarly floundered. Takeovers of center-Right parties are nigh impossible, seeing as the primary function of the center-Right is to gatekeep against white identity politics. Indeed, the closest we’ll get to a White Nationalist takeover of an established party is the Mises Caucus’ takeover of the Libertarian Party in the United States. This will in all likelihood accomplish little except to scatter the Libertarian Party’s “low tax liberal” donor and party officer base to the four winds.

Thus, I agree we should have a pro-white political party. We should field candidates, contest elections, and have a coherent political organization through which our ambitious young men could pursue position and power, but alas, it’s not in the cards — at least for now. Direct political action is not a course we can take, especially not under conditions of scarce resources, as we are in right now.

What, then, is to be done? The Internet Men of Action™ are silent on this point, because they don’t know how to proceed. They do not know how to proceed, because by suggesting the three activities above, they’ve exhausted their arsenal of action that can be taken because it is based on a wrong interpretative, organizational, and operational framework — specifically, one that is part and parcel of liberal democracy.

When I use the word framework, I’m referring to a complete system of ideology which can then be adopted by anyone. This system of ideology will orient an individual towards the good and away from the bad, good and bad here corresponding to the ideology’s ultimate realization and non-realization.

The ideological framework should first and foremost have interpretative power: It should explain to everyone, of any character, anywhere on the IQ distribution platform what is more or less happening in the world, where the world’s center (Axis Mundi) is, where the darkness is, and where there be dragons. It should thus help its adherent to make the distinction between sacred and profane — especially sacred and profane space and time — and provide meaning for his existence and a place in the world, particularly his position in the hierarchy of the ideology’s believers. It must provide a sociodicy for ill and a theory of good and evil which doesn’t contradict the ideology’s ultimate ends, nor can it contradict the human animal’s instinctive reactions.

The ideological framework should also have organizational power, which is to say that it needs to describe the proper way in which a movement for its advancement should be organized, and by proper we mean in such a way which is both effective and not in opposition to its ultimate goal. This organizational form should flow naturally from the ideology’s interpretational axioms. This form should allow the practitioner to instantly distinguish between friend and enemy without much deliberation or pondering, as well as to recognize his own proper place within the organizational structure and the necessity of his own membership therein, which will inevitably include the subsumption of his personal will to the organizational will. In describing the Axis Mundi, as well as the outer darkness and the abode of dragons, the interpretational framework will give birth to the organizational framework in describing both the good (us) and the bad (them), thus serving the important role of defining the friend/enemy distinction.

The final power that an ideological framework ought to provide is the power to institute an operational framework. Having codified the good and the bad, the inner and the outer, the friend and the enemy in the interpretative framework, and having transformed these truths into concrete organizational form in the organizational framework, we will then allow the organization to commence operations which are informed by its structure and personnel, who are themselves informed at the interpretational/ontological level. From what the world is, we have derived what we are, and from there, we have arrived at what we do. This is why it’s impossible to have a political movement built entirely on enmity: without knowing what we are, we don’t know what form to take, and being formless, we cannot take any action.

Here we come to the much-vaunted field of action, where the Internet Men of Action™ would love to operate. The problem is that we’ve yet to construct the interpretative framework, but they’d like to charge into action nevertheless. We do not know yet what is going on in the world (fully, or even adequately), let alone what form we should take or what we should do. Part of this is due to the West’s very recent awakening to the fact that the promises of the heretofore dominant ideological framework of liberal democracy are false. Another reason is that such enemy actively causes infiltrators and agents to be sent to disrupt an alternative ideological framework’s construction.

A third reason is the incumbency of liberal democratic ideology and the only partial awakening of a number of people claiming to be on our side, who nevertheless still have all the old biases and assumptions, including those Internet Men of Action™ who seem to believe, even after January 6 and the subversion of the Trump presidency, that a mass popular movement is the way forward for white identitarians.

The task of constructing the new ideological framework falls to the talkers, the writers, and the vloggers. Through learned discourse, research, and dreamweaving, we shall forge this idea-machine. Once armed with it, the Man of Action will be able to set forth and realize the goals of white identity politics. The forging of this framework will be difficult, and its codification into something prosaic that the common man can accept, recite, and integrate into his being will be even more difficult. Its completion, however, will be a thing of beauty and the surest sign that true and lasting victory is on the way.

It’s been said that the greatest political divide in America is urban vs. rural, with Democrats controlling cities and Republicans controlling small towns and villages. Beyond this political divide, there’s also a deep cultural divide between Red and Blue America. Hell, there’s even a physical divide, manifested in the physiognomy of the people. As observed by Travis LeBlanc in his reportage on the Million Maga March:

If I weren’t a believer in physiognomy before reaching Freedom Plaza, I was soon afterward. White liberals and white conservatives just look different. They look about as different from each other as Italians and Germans do. You occasionally meet someone who could pass for the other, but you will guess right over 90% of the time. As someone who has spent the last several years in one of the most liberal cities in America, that’s something that really stood out to me: just how different conservatives look. Part of it may be differences in fashion and dietary habits. Maybe with a different haircut, clothes, and a vegan diet, some of these people might look more liberal, but I don’t know. People just look conservative, and being around them felt like I had traveled not just to a different city but a different country.

I have my own theories as to why this is so, but that’s a story for another day. Suffice to say that my own observations of the conservative and liberal animals in their natural habitats bears out M. LeBlanc’s commentary.

These two different sets of white people have radically different cultures. White liberal culture is best summed up at Stuff White People Like (SWPL). Notice that it’s framed as explicitly white culture: white liberals are conscious of their whiteness, at least. White conservatives, on the other hand, would probably describe themselves as American or Christian before anything else. White liberals also seem to have a racial consciousness in the political sense; what separates them from dissidents is that they lack in-group preference, being strongly xenophillic — exhibiting strong out-group preference. Much of the SWPL list consists of exotic foods and practices. White people love showing their worldliness, even if they’re not worldly.

Contrast that with Red American culture, which appears to me — as represented through the imperfect prism of social media — to be centered on a seemingly utilitarian cuisine which nevertheless maximizes calorie intake at the expense of macronutrient distribution, big houses (McMansions), big trucks, guns, evangelical Protestantism of the megachurch variety, claiming to be independent, and venerating labor. The predominant politi-cultural archetype of Red America —  and especially since Donald Trump and MAGA swept away any remaining notions of Christian propriety from Red American culture — is the middle-aged peroxide blonde woman who shoots guns, drinks whiskey, and supports Israel. In fact, if I were given the abilities of Dr. Frankenstein, an unlimited budget, and a mission to bring this archetype into being, I’d take Marjorie Taylor Greene’s face and hair, stick it on Kristi Noem’s body, but add Kaitlin Bennet’s tits. She’d have a MAGA hat, aviator sunglasses, a tight black tank top, and military-style khaki pants (or jean shorts).

Red America seems like a magnificent place to visit, but I’d hate living there. For starters, they drive too freaking much. Maybe it’s a European thing, but I prefer walking. In fact, one of the biggest perks of city life is that everywhere worth being is within walking distance. I did not have a driver’s license until I was 27 and did not need it. The idea of commuting to work for more than half an hour disgusts me. The notion of sitting in a car and breathing its A/C for two hours every day just to go to work is disturbing, and I wouldn’t wish such an existence on my worst enemy. Back when I was working, my office was a five-minute walk from my house through picturesque, tree-lined streets. While I do own a car nowadays, I see my Korean compact automobile as merely a tool for going from place A to place B, Red America has a cult of the big truck. In fact, part of the suburban/exurban mode of living means that leaving the house automatically entails going somewhere in a car. Sometimes, entire weeks pass without me ever even starting my car.

Red American culture isn’t xenophillic. It is characterized by strong in-group preference. However, as I pointed out before, Red America lacks racial consciousness, and the people there introduce themselves as Americans, Christians, patriots — anything but white, really. Nevertheless, Red American culture is a white, Western culture, just as Blue American culture is a white, Western culture. But unlike Blue American culture, Red American culture is low culture — a peasant culture, or if you want to be more charitable, folksy culture. It’s self-sufficient and dreamlike and distrusts change, preferring to keep things as they are (even though it rapidly mutates under modernity’s relentless pressure). It is governed more by physical factors such as the vast distances of the American continent, or the necessity for arms in the face of America’s predatory wildlife. Most importantly for us, it sees that which is foreign as a problem to be solved or a danger to be kept at bay. Sure, they love it when foreigners like Kathy Zhu or even Nick Jeelvy enjoy their culture, but they’ll never try to integrate the Chinese or the Macedonian into their own. Isn’t this a good thing? Isn’t it better to keep our culture pure instead of syncretizing it with foreign influences? Perhaps.

Contrast this with high culture, which is more beholden to the elite tastemakers’ caprice, always seeking to manifest the elusive and ideal metaphysical-moral center into concrete cultural products. This aesthetic-moral center isn’t arbitrary, nor is it under any one person’s absolute command, but it is an emergent property of a system of elite tastemakers seeking to ennoble existence beyond the nasty, brutish, and short facts of life. High culture emanates from the halls of power, and the further divorced it is from material reality, the more sophisticated it is.

In a high culture’s decadent phases, it starts losing its transcendence, starts dropping its supreme confidence in its metaphysical-moral center, and becomes dangerously unbalanced. Islamic decadence has papered over its loss of faith and confidence with fervor, favoring the metaphysical and intensifying the conservative and performative aspects of the religion and the various Islamic cultures. Islamic high culture, which was already ancient when the Umayyads were chased out of Qurtuba, died with the Jannisary corps, when the Ottoman Caliph set his empire on an inevitable course towards dissolution. Without the Caliph to center the Islamic world, it drifted exclusively into a low-culture, low-church (mosque?) religion, embracing the jejune fanaticism of ibn al-Wahhab (a suspected dönmeh, meaning a false Jewish convert to Islam). If you want an image of Islam’s present and future, think of the aesthetically barren House of Saud presiding over the ruins of Arabic low culture. Naturally, this isn’t the end-all-and-be-all of all Islamic culture, but its Arab core has been gouged out. Christian civilization, however, took a different turn.

Instead of taking the Islamic path of decadence — which is essentially the Kierkegaardian leap of faith for when faith is absent — Christian civilization took the route of good works, humanism, Christianity without Christ, and of jettisoning the metaphysical in favor of the moral. This was more or less a conscious decision of the Western elite once they found themselves unable to believe in the Gospel of Christ. Unlike the Caliphs of Islam, they’ve yet to suffer a complete collapse —  although the West has historically always been politically and culturally decentralized, certainly to a far greater degree than Islamic or Chinese civilization. As such, we still have high culture in the West, and only its metaphysical-moral center has been stripped of most of its metaphysical claims, leaving behind an overgrown moralistic tumor with a single, solitary metaphysical belief at its core: that all men are created equal. The current age of nihilistic moralism is the result.

SWPL is the lowest order of cultural artifacts emanating from this decadent Western high culture. It has a degree of sophistication, although nowhere near as grand as deconstructive theater or post-structuralist philosophy. But unlike Red American culture, Blue American culture — which also contains a high-cultural element — is an imperial culture, not understood in the sense of imposing itself on foreigners (although it also does that) but in the sense that it actively seeks out foreign cultural practices and artifacts in order to assimilate and integrate them into its own. Like the Imperial British culture of the nineteenth century, it’ll scour the world for that which it finds useful, beautiful, or merely diverting. It’ll gorge itself on Bashō’s poetry, it’ll pour matcha and aquavit down its gullet, it will stare transfixed at the magic of Indian cinema, it’ll even appropriate the hijab and repackage it as feminism. SWPL is more than half foreign because Blue American culture retains that imperial attitude that culture is to be enriched by the foreign and exotic, such as the silks and cardamoms of the Far East, the lush carpets of Persia, the million spices of India, and the gold and diamonds of darkest Africa.

How impoverished by comparison does Red America appear, content to live in its little corner of the world. How petty, clinging to its flag, banjo, and pickup truck. They talk a big talk about supporting Israel, but they won’t even eat hummus or matzo ball soup (which is incidentally an Austrian invention, known in Europe as Tyrolean soup) and find Seinfeld too alienating. No wonder they always get accused of anti-Semitism: they love the idea of Jews and support the idea of Israel, but engaging with the actual people and country? Not unless they’re looking at hot IDF girls with guns on Facebook — which is in fact a corollary of their own culture, seeing as the gun-toting girl is the Red American aesthetic as well.

Even Red America’s imperialism is absent in the cultural sphere. In the Bush years, Red America wanted to invade Afghanistan and Iraq: some to spread democracy to the Middle East, others to “take the oil,” and others still to kill the bad guys. Few thought of acquiring the vast cultural treasures of Mesopotamia and Bactria for America. The neoconservatives didn’t, either, because they, for all their posturing, are uncultured swine, lacking even a folksy low culture. But only 55 years prior, America absorbed Polynesian culture and developed the California tiki aesthetic in the wake of its conquest of the Pacific. Something similar was developed in the West Coast Asian cuisine and cultural aesthetic as a result of the American occupation of several Asian countries.

This seems to be the case whenever there is imperial cultural exchange. Just as Britain had irreversibly changed India, so had India irreversibly changed Britain. When T. E. Lawrence, as the vector of British imperial will, went to the Arabian desert, he was absorbed by it and the surrounding Bedouin Arab culture, emerging a different man. The only American serviceman to undergo a similar transformation during the War on Terror was Bowe Bergdahl, who was decried by Red America as a traitor.

Blue America, by contrast, will absorb everything: the tired, the poor, the huddled masses yearning to break free; the sun, the stars, the clouds; the social credit system of China; the moral fervor of Scandinavia; the violence of darkest Africa. Blue America is open about being in the process of un-Americanizing herself, as its institutions are increasingly staffed mostly by Han, Jews, and Indians. Its culture is starting to turn on white people, even as it projects SWPL onto the swarthy and yellow elite tastemakers it has imported to replace them. What began as an appreciation of the foreign has become a cult of the “vibrant, diverse, and authentic,” which nowadays just means the most vulgar aspects of black and Hispanic tribal cultures. It is ripe for the decentering which we saw in the Islamic world with the abolition of the Caliphate.

To avoid the fate of the Islamic world, a parallel high culture will have to be developed to fill the void. Red American culture cannot be that because it is, as previously stated, a peasant culture and lacking in the imperial element. It is too beholden to material facts to become the basis for court rituals or the glue of an ascendant elite. Thus, the dissident must seek to detach himself not only from Blue American (globohomo) culture, but also from Red American culture. Naturally, just as the Critical Drinker and others remain attached to globohomo culture so that they can show the refuseniks the way out, so will some dissidents or fellow travelers have to remain part of Red American culture in order to gather up those with potential and send them our way.

As for how to actually build this dissident high culture, we do it the way it has been done for millennia: by cultivating a dissident culture class. By this I don’t just mean artists and entertainers, but also thinkers, rhetoricians, and most importantly, dreamweavers. This culture class will then refine the metaphysical-moral center of the emerging high culture. Since we’re scattered all around the world, our high culture will be international from the beginning. Since so many of us are worldly, well-read, and well-travelled, and yet secure in the validity of our whiteness, we will not be ashamed to borrow even from non-white cultures, absorbing what is useful, as Bruce Lee put it.

For various reasons — some of which are enumerated in my essays on cargo-cult politics and echo chambers — this dissident creative class needs to operate far away from and out of sight of Red American culture. We will, of course, absorb from that culture all that is useful — for example, the idea of arming men and fostering the martial disposition — and reject that which is damaging, such as the promotion of gun-toting females who ruin their hair with hydrogen peroxide, or the veneration of Israel.

We must also resist the temptation to hold that culture in contempt, even though it may invite a lot of it. But the main reason why dissident high culture must be developed separately from Red American culture is because Red America will instinctively lash out against any high culture, even if it doesn’t actively disdain it. Having been at the receiving end of Blue American high culture’s disdain for many years, and primed by its inculcation of liberal ideology over the course of four centuries, Red American culture is suspicious and hostile towards anything implying cultural hierarchy — a high in relation to their low. They have the peasant’s innate distrust of the aristocrat, and especially of the urban imperial potentate.

Far too many dissidents have internalized Red America’s distrust of the big city. This distrust is not necessarily Red American, but a universal attitude of peasant culture. Because the dissident tends to stand up for the little people and defend their racial interests, he is tempted to likewise absorb this aspect of their culture. In light of the state of most modern cities, it’s not hard to see why. However, there’s nothing inherently evil about cities and nothing unnatural about living in a city — only tradeoffs with regard to living in the country. You gain some things and lose others.

Modern cities in the West, however, are unlivable — not because they’re big cities or because they’re “run by Democrats,” but because they’re full of incurably criminal and hygiene-hesitant non-whites. A majority-white big city, by contrast, will present a lot of what we call atomization and carries with it many of the problems of civilization (as opposed to problems of nature), but it will also be a safe, clean space where you might even raise a family. Crucially, however, cities accumulate a large number of people in a single area, and that makes ambitious projects possible. I can probably muster a crew for an independent film production in a city of 700,000, but not in a town of 20,000, simply because there aren’t enough people with the necessary disposition or proclivities for making an indie film in most small towns.

Artists tend to be city creatures, unless they’re rich and living in a big house away from the village or off chasing inspiration in the wilderness. The more complex reason for this is that the social affinity between the tastemaker and the cultural worker doesn’t lend itself well to the location- and tribe-bounded affinities of the small town. Therefore, while it might be prudent to move away from a North American or West European city for your safety, do not discount the city’s power as a cultural entity — and certainly not the idea of the city. And for the love of God, don’t move into the suburbs. Living anywhere where you don’t habitually walk will kill your soul.

In parallel to the political institutions which have to be built, the Dissident Right must also develop cultural institutions — and this means either cultivating the personnel to staff them, or poaching such people from our enemies. But for once, we’re not starting from scratch. There’s already Counter-Currents, which functions as the university of the Dissident Right and the center of its emerging salon culture through its livestreams, along with our friends and allies. We’re doing it bigly and it’s wonderful to behold.

For once, I am ending an article on a positive note. If we can keep this up and keep our heads above water, all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.

Part 1 of 3 (Part 2 here)

Anyone involved in Dissident Rightist politics has probably heard of Propertarianism, which purports to be a system of law that will ensure a society immune to the various pathologies of modernity by redefining property to include those intangibles which are earned, built, and protected (homesteaded in the Lockean sense), and thus protecting such property – especially property common to a community of people. Its founder and chief proponent, Curt Doolittle, has triumphantly proclaimed that Propertarianism completes the Enlightenment and would purify Western thought from adverse Semitic influences.

Doolittle runs a Facebook page where he quite openly discusses and workshops Propertarian tenets – in a sense, you can see the body of law and philosophy being built before your very eyes as Doolittle goes back and forth with his followers. It’s a strong approach to building a philosophical system, second only to peripatetics as practiced by Aristotle – walking around the Lyceum with his students while discussing philosophy. The limitations of the iInternet prevent us from engaging in online peripatetics, so our philosophy will necessarily be lacking insofar as we develop it in online discourse.

Before we jump into a discussion of Propertarian thought itself, however, it’s necessary to address several issues people have taken with the way it is presented, the ideas ancillary to it, and Doolittle’s way of doing things.

Allegations of federasty

Several people, chief among them Jason Köhne – or as he is also known, No White Guilt – have spoken against what they consider Curt Doolittle’s advocacy of violence, or fedposting. I had the good fortune to witness the moment Köhne turned on Propertarianism in a livestream with John Mark – who is Propertarianism’s loudest advocate. As soon as John Mark mentioned that in a potential coming civil war, the Right would almost inevitably win, Köhne’s fed alarm started sounding. What followed were several weeks of Internet drama in which John Mark and Curt Doolittle were accused of being federal agents, and John Mark called the Alt Right and the broader Dissident Right “the losing Right,” putting them in the same category as cuckservatives. It wasn’t pretty. And tragically, it was a massive misunderstanding and an overreaction to an understandable Type I error.

Curt Doolittle often points out that the current US government – which is an enemy of the Right, of white people, and of everything good in the world – is ridiculously vulnerable to concentrated guerrilla actions against its infrastructure assets. It’s also worth pointing out that while this same US government can bring a world of hurt down on armed groups that oppose it, since 1945 it has consistently lost to armed groups that oppose it, especially those which are decentralized. The one counter-example that US armed forces cheerleaders will often point to are the 1991 and 2003 victories over Saddam Hussein’s Iraq. I’d like to put forth a theory that Saddam Hussein wasn’t actually defeated; the Ba’ath Party and its armed forces lived on in one form or another as the Fallujah Brigade, Al Qaeda in Iraq, ISIS, and other insurgent groups which have plagued American forces and their allies over the past sixteen years. They might even outlast the US government.

Needless to say, pointing out that the US is vulnerable to guerrilla warfare doesn’t constitute a call for guerrilla violence. Indeed, I’ve argued that the US is vulnerable to such tactics myself on this very site, and so have countless others in our movement and beyond. This is due to the simple fact that the US government is run by the corrupt and insane, defended by an officer corps that is full of women and cucks, and whose grunts are constantly harangued, humiliated, and punished for being white, male, and not cutting their own dicks off as sacrifices to Prog Moloch.

Another thing Curt will often say – though in vaguer terms – is that the future must be physically fought for. Again, this is something that not only I have mentioned before, but something which is generally agreed upon in the Dissident Right. Everyone who foresees the collapse of the American empire understands that bloody violence will rush in to fill the vacuum left by the dying hegemon. We know this from history, because violence always rushes in to fill such vacuums. What we in the Dissident Commentariat tend to disagree about is the nature of the coming conflict. Some assume it will be a race war; others believe it will manifest in the form of sectarian or local conflicts. My personal prediction is “pocket Bosnia” at the personal level. Western man, the atomized individualist, will have decades of repressed brutality gushing out of his hindbrain, but find himself without a folk, Männerbund, or even familial connection in order to help him wreak violence. It’ll be personal, disorganized, brutal, and probably swept aside by an organized and cohesive force which right-thinking white men may or may not scrounge up in time.

Regardless of what form it takes, securing the existence of our people and a future for white children will require organized violence. To that effect, I’ve written my own speculations on how to construct gangs and Männerbünde in order to effectuate this violence, when the time comes – here, here, and here. What violence ought be engaged in can under no circumstances be illegal; only after the collapse of the US will it become necessary. We will have to and we will, but until the time comes when there is no law, we will at no point break the law.

So, like I said, it was a misunderstanding and a Type I error on Jason Köhne’s part. It’s not as bad to eject a well-meaning guy from the movement while erroneously believing him to be a federal agent than it is to accept a federal agent whom you erroneously believe is a well-meaning guy. Curt Doolittle is so deeply autistic that he cannot sugarcoat his observations about the fragility of the US government or the effectiveness of guerrilla warriors against the category of regimes to which the US government belongs, whereas John Mark’s speech patterns and statements are those of a salesman.

It may be harder to detect for American ears, but the paranoid little Balkaner at the heart of my being can see the giddy and commercial smile behind John Mark’s motorcycle helmet, and the sleazy life insurance salesman in me recognizes his sales tactics, from the use of simple language to the childlike enthusiasm. From an optics perspective, this could be a good or bad thing – a system of law and philosophy is not a life insurance policy (or is it? More on this later).

It is therefore no wonder that Jason Köhne’s alarm was tripped – ivory-tower autistes and traveling salesmen moonlighting as Daft Punk roadies are hardly the kind of people who can accurately and effectively spread an ideology. All it took was this little misunderstanding, and now Jason sees evidence of John Mark’s federal employment everywhere. The fact that John Mark didn’t get purged by YouTube in the latest Orwellian crackdown is seen as highly suspicious at the very least. And John Mark isn’t helping matters by calling Jason Köhne and other Dissident Rightists cowards for raising the alarm.

Personally, I doubt either Curt or John are feds. John’s a wee bit sleazy, but no sleazier than I was when I was selling life insurance. Curt, bless his little heart, is too smart and too autistically single-minded to work for the federal government. They’d have him out on his ass in an instant. Men like him spot a problem and cannot be deterred from solving it, regardless of whether the problem needs solving or is even solvable – which in the context of the federal bureaucracy means disrupting everyone’s comfy sinecures. There’s no real way to control them; they’re like bulldozers with a brick superglued to the gas pedal. The best that can be done is to steer the unstoppable bulldozer in a direction where it can do at least some good and less harm. I know this because my father was a man as intelligent and as single-minded as Curt who found himself running up against an impenetrable wall of bureaucracy, and had his career and life ruined as a result.

They could, of course, be acting – but then we’re in the business of ferreting out shadows. We find ourselves with insufficient information to proceed, and are forced to start doubting even each other. Am I a fed? Is Greg Johnson a fed? Are you a fed? Plot twist: Curt Doolittle is sincere, but everyone else is the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (shhh). Nobody expects the Canadian mounties.

The Cult of Curt Doolittle

A second issue that needs to be addressed before we dive into his philosophy are the accusations that Curt Doolittle’s followers exhibit cult-like behavior. We can easily dismiss this as having little or nothing to do with the philosophy by claiming that thinkers and content creators aren’t responsible for the behavior of their followers, but that’s not exactly true. Recall Aesop’s fable of the trumpeter: He was captured by the enemy and then pleaded for his life by claiming that he had not killed a single man. He was nevertheless executed, given that his trumpeting incited other men to battle. If Propertarians are cultishly devoted to Curt Doolittle, there’s probably something about Doolittle that lends itself to attracting such men.

The answer, I believe, lies in Doolittle’s method of stress-testing Propertarianism by asserting something on his Facebook page and inviting his followers to discuss and, if possible, disprove it. He calls it king of the hill: He entices you to attack his position. The goal of the game is to put one over on Curt. In the process, Propertarian thought is developed. As I mentioned before, it’s very fun, and possibly the second-best teaching and philosophizing method in the world after Aristotelian peripatetics. In the process, casual players and entryists are boiled off, leaving behind the sharp and the devoted. The result is a bunch of people all trying to knock Curt off his perch within a closely defined framework where each victory, or even near-victory, grants the player higher status in the social circle. Naturally, only the most devoted would move into the inner circle of this informal status hierarchy, and their devotion would percolate outwards into the broader group of people (which is fairly clear of entryists and casuals, anyway). But I’ve just described a general group dynamic which could be said to work for any forum; even commentators here on Counter-Currents. What’s so different about online Propertarians?

In the end, it’s a question of personalities. What’s the kind of man who’d follow a stranger online and try to prove him wrong for the sake of online prestige, while in the framework of an as-yet incomplete philosophical and political movement? Not your average dude, but a neural outlier; someone whose activities look weird when seen from the outside, no matter what he does. In a sense, Curt is the only fount of knowledge when it comes to Propertarianism. If you’re interested, you gotta go to Curt. Looking in from the outside, it’s a bunch of guys listening to Curt and craving his approval. Seen from the inside, it’s a bunch of guys arguing amongst each other and with Curt.

Now that we’ve gotten the gossip and drama out of the way, next we’ll get into Propertarianism itself.

 

Peter Pomerantsev
Nothing Is True, Everything Is Possible
London: Faber & Faber, 2015

Most people probably know the story of the Potemkin villages: When the Russian Empress Catherine toured newly-annexed Ukraine, Grigory Potemkin, her lover and the territory’s Governor, erected false villages and instructed men to act as peasants in order to deceive the Empress and the foreign ambassadors accompanying her about the region’s wealth. Whether the story is historically accurate is a subject of debate. The Wikipedia article mentions that Potemkin, being the Empress’ lover, was probably unable nor intended to deceive her. The dissimulative dwellings were probably erected for the benefit of foreigners, in order to make the Russian Empire appear stronger than it really was.

When I first picked up Peter Pomerantsev’s Nothing Is True, Everything Is Possible, I ruffled through it, expecting a rather uninteresting read; iberal kvetching about authoritarianism and propaganda. Pomerantsev was born in Soviet Ukraine to a Russian-speaking Jewish family, but was raised in London, as his parents were émigrés. What I did not expect was a work that would finally help me to deeply and truly understand the story of Potemkin and the Empress, and the kind of world where it would even occur to someone to build a false village in order to simulate wealth. We are taken to Moscow as Pomerantsev saw it with his own eyes, during his period as a producer and documentary filmmaker in the 2000s, when he worked with Russian television channel TNT. At the time, they specialized in reality TV programs that had formats mostly imported from the West. As Pomerantsev observes, however, television is the great postmodern theater that unites the 143 million multi-ethnic, multi-confessional souls scattered across the Russian Federation, and is the only thing they all have in common. As such, it is central in its importance to the Kremlin, and always tightly controlled.

The world of Russian reality television is presented in the first part of the book. One constant refrain that the producers repeated is that they must have happy stories: The population needed to be entertained and given an escape from their drab existence. By seeing which programs were successful and which weren’t, we get a glimpse of ordinary Russians’ aspirations and the reality they lived in. A knockoff of The Apprentice was unsuccessful because nobody believed that hard work and innovation were the key to business success — and of course, they aren’t. In 1990s Russia, business success came from being in the mafia. In the 2000s and 2010s, it came from being close to the President, or at least a part of the Vertical of Power: Russia’s answer to the Great Chain of Being. This is the long, slimy trail of corruption which stretches from the Kremlin itself, with its fraudulent infrastructure projects and strip-mining of Russia’s natural resources; through the mid-level oligarchy, where money is made through tax rebate scams and the state’s arrest of competitors on bogus charges; to the lowliest policemen, who are dubbed “werewolves in uniform” by Moscow’s residents, accepting 500-ruble notes folded into papers they constantly demand from passersby.

The most successful reality show was How to Marry a Millionaire (A Gold Digger’s Guide). Far from the image of tradition and piety that the Kremlin beams to the West’s impressionable dissidents, the reality of Russian womanhood involves a lot less child-rearing, domestic arts, or church-related activities and far more sunbed tanning, hair-bleaching, and sleeping with oligarchs in the galleries of exclusive clubs that operate precisely for the purpose of purveying young gold diggers, mockingly called cattle, to wealthy men, called Forbeses (after the magazine) or sponsors. The girls are not hookers, you see; they are being sponsored by the wealthy men who give them cars, apartments, and fancy clothes (which they retain ownership of and will take away when they get tired of the girl. In exchange, the girls sleep with them whenever it’s expected.

It may sound crassly materialistic, but that is not quite true. The central theme of the entire work is how unreal everything is; how everyone participates in an elaborate masquerade, knows it, knows it that everyone else knows it, and yet they all go along with it with a wink and a nod. Nothing is true and everything is possible. Naïve Westerners will say that Russians are obsessed with money, but Pomerantsev contends that money rushed into Russia so rapidly and suddenly that it looks unreal to the Russians themselves, as if it were fairy’s dust or fool’s gold. There’s not much separating the oligarchs and the gold diggers (who are definitely not prostituting themselves to them). All of them grew up poor in the Soviet Union, and all of them grew up wearing a false face, pretending to be good Bolsheviks in the post-Brezhnev state where nobody believed in Bolshevism anymore. The gold diggers know their sponsors could dump them at any moment, but the rich men themselves know that they could likewise lose their favor with the Kremlin, or be taken out by the authorities at the behest of a rival at any moment. Pomerantsev presents a world where everyone is dancing, laughing, and having a great time — or at least is pretending to — while standing on a marshland that could swallow them whole at any moment.

Crowning Act I is a profile of Vladislav Surkov, whose real name is Aslambek Dudaev. He is the Kremlin’s half-Chechen chief political technologist, a thoroughly postmodern figure who directs not only television and media, but also Russian political life as if it were an avant-garde theater play. He is behind, among other things, Nashi, the radical anti-fascist patriotic youth organization which was instrumental in stamping out Russian White Nationalism during the 2000s and 2010s, culminating in the arrest, torture, and murder of Maxim Martsinkevich Tesak. But it doesn’t end, or even begin, with Nashi. Surkov sets up organizations, news media, magazines, non-governmental organizations, political parties, and movements and directs them all to do this or that, all in the service of building up the image of Putin and Putinism, or to present a Potemkin political system to the West. Sometimes he lets it slip that he is behind this or that organization so that the Russian population starts believing that everything is postmodern theater, and that no political movements are genuine. That way, even if they do not like Putin or his acts, they trust no one who could challenge him and are thus depoliticized, turned into cattle who easily accept the current ruling class by default. Over time, they find themselves nodding along with the official story, which they know is false because Surkov’s postmodern theater has gaslit them into believing what they know is false.

The book’s main message is already clear in Act I: the dissolution of the very notion of truth in the midst of the impermanence of everything apart from the all-pervading President (who is never referred to by name), who is everything to everyone. The rest deals with the consequences. Act II speaks about what corruption looks like in practice. This includes the ongoing architectural self-mutilation to which Moscow subjects itself, as well as the annual draft and all the ways young men seek to escape it, because Russian patriotism is all for show and everyone knows that you’re likelier to get raped in the army than receive any useful training. It documents some ways in which the facade presented on state television occasionally cracks and reveals what Russia really is. It’s a worthwhile read for Westerners, but for me it is a painful reminder that the Communist criminal dynasties have not yet been rooted out of the Eastern state apparatuses. The West, for all its problems and decadence, is still a much better place to live than the benighted Orthodox part of the old Bolshevik occupation area.

In Act III we lean of the rise of the new religiosity, which is not an Orthodox revival as much as a resurgence of cults and sects: groups of lonely men and women sequestered from broader society and orbiting a charismatic leader. What begins as Pomerantsev’s investigation of Ruslana Korshunova’s suicide results in the uncovering of a “life training”-style cult, based on the defunct American Lifespring but reborn in a Russian context. We see in this chapter the psychological results of living in a society where nothing is true and everything is possible, and where the very possibility of truth is questioned. Pomerantsev ends the book with an indictment of a West that enables the corrupt Russian system and also the beginnings of the same epistemic nihilism taking root there. Indeed, the parts concerned with Korshunova’s suicide (Pomerantsev calls her Ruslana throughout, bringing her and her family vividly to life) and the self-improvement cult she was sucked into eerily resemble the recent proliferation of self-help and lifestyle gurus such as Jordan Peterson, Andrew Tate, or Bronze Age Pervert in the West. Tellingly, all three of these self-help grifters have been stalwart supporters of the Putin regime and enemies of the notion of Aristotelian truth. A does not equal A if your goal is to sell books and self-improvement courses to lonely and alienated young men.

Pomerantsev is obviously a liberal, but since the book was written in 2014, and thus before the rise of wokery in earnest, he does not hector the reader, nor try — ineffectually — to demonize conservatism in general by using his insights into Putin’s Russia as a means of demonizing his political opponents in the West. Rather, he contents himself with reporting facts, feelings, scenes, experiences, conversations, and moods. His prose is captivating and light, although one feels as if great truths are being revealed. He reads very much like a Russian author: Every word seems to have metaphysical undertones and tectonic meaning, even when he’s describing the banality of an obscenely rich tech bro’s fancy dress party.

What angers me as a nationalist and identitarian in the West, however, is that so many of the people who ought to be on our side and ought to know better, seeing as how they’ve rejected the Western propaganda matrix, have allowed themselves to be sucked into the postmodern theater of Russian propaganda. Some persist to this day, being willing or unwilling players in the recently-purged Surkov’s ongoing surrealist show. When I spoke to my friends about this book, one phrase kept cropping up in our conversations: “The liberals knew about this and they weren’t suckered in. We were, en masse.” In other words, we allowed ourselves to believe the great myth of Traditionalist Russia; the great myth of Holy, Orthodox, strong, masculine, etc., etc. Russia. We allowed ourselves to be stupid, and some have persisted in this error, compounding it with pride. We were a day late and a dollar short, or maybe the liberals were several steps ahead, but to introduce a third and viscerally effective metaphor, we screwed the pooch on Russia something fierce.

I strongly recommend Pomerantsev’s Nothing Is True, Everything Is Possible as an antidote to the mind-screw. You may have to read past his liberal biases, but there is much of value to be found in this artful deconstruction of the greatest Potemkin village the world has ever seen.

As part of an effort to better understand, and if possible, return to tradition, I’ve been plumbing the depths of folk tales, reading accounts of oral traditions, stories, legends, myths, sayings, epic songs, and other linguistic cultural artifacts of times past. One significant understanding I reached in my explorations is that pre-modern man placed a great value on luck as a factor in success or failure. Contrasting that is the modern view that chance plays a lesser role in the world. But what if the old folks had it right?

Here is an example: A man would always complain of his luck (k’smet in the original, which has leaked into English as kismet) and about how he was poor and nothing went well for him. His luck, personified as a man and angered at being slandered, sent him a dream that he ought to find his fortune in a rotten cherry stump in a different town. The man went there and found the rotten cherry stump in front of a grocery. As he picked up the stump, the grocer asked him what he was doing. When the man told him, the grocer laughed at him for having travelled all that way on account of a dream, recounting his own dream of finding a pot of gold under the fireplace of a house next to a spring. The man realized that the grocer was describing his own home and fireplace, so he went home, dug up the fireplace, and found a pot of gold.

What’s that supposed to mean? Is it a moral story? What’s the moral of that story? Follow your dreams, even if they sound absurd? Complaining will jumpstart your luck? Don’t mock people who do seemingly stupid things? It’s certainly a very fun story (in the original telling). It’s not even especially magical. If it were written today, we’d call it magical realism and toffs would scoff at it for being lowbrow (as magical realism is perceived in the literary mainstream). It is sort of nonchalant about the supernatural, treating the humanoid personification of a specific person’s luck as no big deal; that luck is an entity in itself, similar to an ancient daemon, is not even commented on. Lafcadio Hearn noticed the same nonplussed attitude towards the supernatural in Japanese folklore. Yes, you came across a woman with a neck three fathoms long, but did she have any gossip to share?

Indeed, the only moralism we see in the story is the grocer exhorting the man to look to his trade and labor and make his fortune by mundane and material means, ignoring prophetic and portentous dreams in favor of keeping his nose to the grindstone. And so the grocer, who dreamt of the pot of gold so that the man could find it, is made the fool of the story, the butt of a cosmic joke played on him by another man’s kismet. From the perspective of the grocer, life is tragicomic.

Before we can write the story off as Balkan peasant superstition, let us consider a passage from David Hackett Fischer’s Albion’s Seed: Four British Folkways in America:

The gentlemen of Virginia were deeply absorbed in the study of stars, planets, spheres and portents — not as signs of God’s purpose, but as clues to their own fate. They believed every man possessed a certain fixed quality called fortune, which could be understood by knowledge of these things. The idea was widely accepted in Elizabethan England.

Many gentlemen kept “fortune books” which were collections of magical and astrological lore for good luck in love, marriage, sex, health, travel. One such fortune book included an entire chapter on marriage with entries on “whether a man shall marry, the time of marriage, how many husbands a woman shall have, who shall be the master of the two, how they shall agree after marriage, and whether the man or his wife shall die first and the time when. The cult of fortuna implied that life was a game of chance in which the odds were rigged by mysterious powers in the universe.

We see here that the Virginian gentlemen planters had a view of destiny and luck that is cognate with the view in the folktales I’ve been unearthing. This commonality likely reaches far back into the past, to the ur-religion and ur-folk belief of Indo-European people about how the world functions, as we see such perception of luck and destiny in many different European folkloric traditions.

When we speak of destiny, we speak of a quality which is fixed but unknown to man. Lucky men have a good destiny, unlucky men don’t. Some are destined to have, others to want. Some are destined to rule, others to be ruled. Some are destined to find meaning, fulfillment, and love; others to wander the Earth with a hunger that cannot be sated at the center of their being. Luck is the visible part of destiny: its effects on our day-to-day lives, the manifestation of this metaphysical reality in the physical realm. I purchase a lottery ticket and win. That is luck, but luck transpired because I was destined to win the lottery. And indeed, luck seems convoluted to observers, and so men will claim that “events conspired,” but this is nothing more than destiny unfolding as it was supposed to be and as it always was foretold, but man could not see or hear it.

Pre-modern man did not question luck. Another story concerns a bet between “the Mind” (but better understood as the Wit) and the Kismet on who is more important. The Kismet, endeavoring to prove that he is the more important one, takes a simple shepherd boy and has him married to the King’s daughter so that he is to inherit the kingdom. It is not specified how. It was luck — sheer, dumb luck that did it. Now, the Wit gets his comeuppance, as it is demonstrated that Wit is necessary to keep the gains made by luck, but at the end, The Wit and the Kismet come to an understanding that both of them are necessary for a man’s success and endeavor to work together in the future.

This is an attitude toward economic and political status that would scandalize a modern bourgeois and ostensibly rational mind. Fortune comes from the sweat of man’s brow, or as per Ayn Rand, from his intellect. If some men are wealthier than others, it is because they worked harder, or are smarter, or both. The notion that wealth is related to luck and that a shepherd could become a king through good luck, or that a king could be reduced to the level of a shepherd through bad luck, scandalizes the modern mind. The bourgeois liberals aren’t the only ones who reject luck; their managerialist frenemies who run the modern bureaucratic states also scoff at fortune and luck. They do not fit into the models on which the bureaucrat depends for his schemes and plans. How does one account for the ebbs and flows of fortune in a five-year-plan?

The very unknowable nature of destiny means that it repels the modern mind, especially the modern Western mind, which recoils from that which it cannot re-present in the Heideggerian sense, or more precisely, that which it cannot isolate, illuminate, and keep in mind. What cannot exist in the mind (or cannot be grasped in the mind) cannot exist and is rejected as superstition, generally provoking an outsized reaction in Western thinkers. It goes to show that we are thoroughly metaphysicized as a civilization: few of us have the sense of wonderment that Macedonian peasants and Virginia gentry had at the unknown and unknowable workings of fortune.

The unknown — and more importantly, unknowable — factors which lead to the success or failure of human ventures, or God playing dice with the universe, frighten and disgust the metaphysical thinker. They conflate human categorical ignorance of the laws of the universe as non-existence of the laws of the universe, meaning complete metaphysical and physical anarchy: up is down, the law of gravity isn’t being inforced, and the interpunction signs in this article are leaping off your screen and engaging in a spirited game of polo.

Luck and destiny operate according to their own laws, which man might or might not learn. Men have certainly tried to use divination and astrology to control their fortune and luck, with mixed success. I’m not a believer in astrology, though it has been pointed out to me that I possess the freewheeling and whimsical ego typical of the male Sagittarius. But ultimately, I do not have to know my destiny in order to put my trust in it. That may be a privilege of the East, where faith is not an empirical category and theology doesn’t try to re-present God. Accordingly, men of the East still put their trust in luck, even as our own traditions are slowly devoured by the Western Weltanschauung.

To accept the phenomenon of luck is to accept an unknowable factor in outcomes, something beyond the ken of man. To accept the phenomenon of luck is to accept a limiting principle to man’s artifice and the light he can bring to an unrevealed universe. To accept the phenomenon of luck is to reject the Luciferian (light-bringing) scientism of the Western metaphysical tradition.

Yes, it’s that time of year again when my friends will claim that cold weather brings out the best in them, when silly white girls will claim that they love winter and that it’s the best season, when the shortening days give way to cold nights and hoarfrost greets every morning. It is a season of sweaters, long coats, woolen hats, and padded shoes — hopefully snow boots as well. There’s much to love about winter.

But there’s much to fear as well. The cold is a quiet and cruel killer. Without the hearth, without the home, without warm clothes, it is not possible to survive. The cold slowly creeps into the body, conquering it inch by inch. The body responds by conserving resources, withdrawing blood and heat to the torso and head to protect the vital organs, making a desperate gamble that it’ll buy time at the expense of the outer protrusions. Slowly, Jack Frost creeps from the outside in, beginning with the fingers and toes, the numbness and tingling of extremities being signs of his triumph. He’ll take fingers, he’ll take ears, he’ll take toes and noses, and when he’s had all that and if we’ve not yet left his domain, he’ll take all there is to take.

Imagine the best snowball fight you’ve ever had. Imagine the frantic throwing, rolling, ducking out of the way. Imagine hitting your opponent with pinpoint accuracy — only to find yourself empty-handed. Imagine diving behind a snowbank to scoop up another snowball. Imagine the paradoxical sensation of hot and cold, the exhilaration of the fight, the feeling of the freezing snow against your palms (the best snowballs are made without gloves). Imagine the romance of a snow-covered park. Imagine the brightness of a moonlit winter night. Imagine snowy slopes where white people ski and sled. There’s no diversity out on the snow. They don’t like it.

When I was a young lad and engaged my peers in snowball fights, the womenfolk of my family would always grumble about it. It is their place and in their nature to do so. The cold sets into a spirited young lad with distressing ease, and what spirited young lad wants to wear scarves, hats, or even a jacket? Doing so means losing mobility and thus being pelted with more snowballs. Taking off the cumbersome coverings is the only logical choice for the seven-year-old focused on winning the fight — not that such an engagement can ever be won or lost in any meaningful way. But the women lose their minds, and it’s not until you’re older, wiser, and develop a morbid fascination with all the ways a human being can expire that you understand why they were so frightened.

In the warmth of home after a long day in the snow, we discover — after the excitement has worn off — our fatigue, as it snuggles up against us and envelops the body. The crackling fireplace, the hot bath, the hot meal, the warm bed: They all soothe the body, beckoning a restful sleep. The day’s jubilation is replaced by the evening’s secure contentment, the weight and warmth of a heavy winter meal chased down with coffee and tea in the belly, the images of the winter night visible through the window-panes — but the cold knife of winter kept safely at bay. All the family is here, and we are, for a blessed moment, happy.

Now imagine all of that without the warmth of a home to retreat to.

If you want to feel sadness, pain, and cold; if you want a chill to grip your feet and spread up your legs all the way to your heart; if you want to choke back tears and weep for things unreal, I kindly suggest you read the fable of the “Little Match Girl” by Hans Christian Andersen. It’s the story of the life slowly draining out of a poor little girl who has lost her shoes on New Year’s Eve. It’s also the story of the dream of home: of warmth, food, and family. It’s also a story of dying, of being with God in the place where there is no cold, no hunger, and no fear. Our ancestors loved God and found themselves fearless in the face of death, because they believed in salvation through His grace.

If you want to feel pain, hope, and despair, and if you want to witness a brutal, losing struggle against the cold, read Jack London’s “To Build a Fire.” It puts the fear of old Jack Frost back into you: the very real and present danger of, first, slowly losing the use of your hands and feet, then your extremities, and finally, freezing to death. Old Man Winter grants you a final mercy: the option to surrender and drift off to sleep, perhaps to the place where there is no cold, hunger, or fear. But Jack London did not believe in God. All that awaits his adventurer freezing to death in the Yukon is the darkness, and a dying dream of warmth. The only one who will witness his passing is his dog, who soon scurries off to find a new provider of warmth and food.

Those phantoms of our past are long gone, though. We live in a world of unquestioned security. Old Man Winter has been banished from our lives. He claims fewer souls than ever. Jack Frost goes hungry: no fingers, toes, or ears for him. In our insulated homes equipped with central heating and electricity, dressed in our affordable winter clothes, cold hath no more dominion. And so, cheery white girls sipping their pumpkin spice lattes will declare that winter is their favorite season. They might even post pictures of themselves posing suggestively in winter clothes. They’ll search ferociously in their family trees for even a smidgeon of Russian ancestry and imagine themselves to be the lost Princess Anastasia.

Those same cheery white girls will then hold up “Refugees Welcome” signs. They will buck all standards of propriety and fritter away their fertile years “expressing themselves” in flurries of sexual incontinence while young white men find themselves unmarried and childless, never thinking about the future. Indeed, those same young men, ignoring the future because it’s meaningless to them, turn inwards and achieve nothing. Thus an entire generation of engineers, scientists, businessmen, thinkers, and leaders is being wiped out without firing a single shot. And when the brown and black hordes of the world descend upon the West, they eat the seed corn and avail themselves of our warm homes, but contribute nothing. They only wreck, destroy, breed — and they don’t like winter. All the while, the kakistocrats in charge of our countries are pushing forward with their schemes to impose draconian emissions restrictions on the West, in accordance with their twisted and false faith. All of these factors combine to undermine the underlying factors which give us the warmth, community, and security which allow us to love winter.

As I write these words, there’s a very real possibility that disruptions in the supply chain will cause fuel and power shortages throughout the West. Meanwhile, this unusually warm November has returned to the grey, foggy form I’ve become accustomed to. We had our first genuinely cold day some time ago. Parts of Europe and America are already under the cover of snow. Lady Autumn is slowly gathering her golden skirts and preparing for the final stage of her reign: cold-toothed, steely-skied November, harbinger of time’s inexorable march.

Behind her, in the wings, waits Old Man Winter, and for the first time in many years, our warm, watery flesh is within his reach. Will he take a bite? Who knows. But for the first time in a long, long time, he just might.

Like any big bad internet racist xenophobe sexist holocaust-denying huwite supremist worth his salt, I am a softie for animals of all kinds. I visit the zoo at least twice a year to observe our furry friends. One of the reasons I go on long hikes through lonesome trails is to enjoy birdsongs in the quiet and maybe see a squirrel or two. But of all of God’s creatures, none is richer or more complex than my relationship with Canis lupus familiaris, man’s best friend, the humble and noble dog.

I’ve never, however, had the privilege of owning my own dog. As a child, I played with my grandfather’s pooch, who is now dead. Always the highpoint of visits to Grandpa’s, the image of his tail wagging as we went on long walks in stretches of forest now turned into hideous developments is forever etched into my memory. He was a good old dog, but he was cruelly taken from us in the summer of 1997, hit by a bus.

Now, complicating matters is my very severe cynophobia, my fear of dogs. It is quite an unpleasant experience to want to connect to a living being, but to be deathly afraid of it. Just recently, a large, friendly dog wanted to jump on me and lick my face during a hike, but I found myself backing away in horror, even though I am more habituated to dogs and their affections. Indeed, I can pet and play with most small and medium-sized dogs. Considering I had trouble being on the same side of the street as a dog as recently as 2014, this is progress.

People have observed that I am somewhat doglike in my behavior. I am inattentive and easily distracted, especially by commotion, strongly territorial and argumentative when I find my territory threatened, I use my nose for orientation far more than the average human, I get a little nutty and act out if I do not get my daily walk and I have a touch of the extreme omnivore about me — I have yet to eat a sock, but I haven’t ruled it out.

Naturally, my model of human behavior and human society is based on my knowledge of canine behavior. I’ve even considered the implications that doglike evolution of humans might have for human biodiversity, let’s just say that what began as speculation on multimodal ethics has grown to be a rather extensive (and deliciously nutty) theory on the behavior of human individuals and groups, all thanks to our four-legged friends and the ready-made example of behavior which represents one of the modes of human. But this is a story for another time, a future article, one less concerned with the frivolous.

I have, for about a year, been feeding and petting a stray dog that lives near my office. The neighbors (E. Europe doesn’t have zoning laws) feed her, take care of her, and have even built her a very comfortable dog house. Being an attorney, I provide her the unique service of mediating food disputes between her and the other neighborhood animals, or at the very least, admonishing her when she is too unfriendly towards the alley cats and crows. Her name is Luna. When I didn’t see her for a few days around New Year’s Eve, when the fireworks were shaking the city, I was genuinely worried for her health and well-being. She is the closest thing I’ve had to a dog of my own. Luckily, she turned out to be fine and in rude health, wasting no time and immediately setting to argue with the neighborhood crows — though in her defense, they were disturbing her food bowl.

When I get into one of my dark moods and trudging through the day feels like swimming through an ocean of pudding, spending a few moments with Luna in the morning, or feeding her on my lunch break is the only joy I have in my life. My wife also tells me that animals have a way of sensing sadness and despair, and they curl up next to sad people to cheer them up. I don’t know about this, but I know that dogs I stop to pet lick my right knee, which is my bad knee — the one which has found gainful employment with the weather prediction service. And so, with all this in mind, I considered the possibility of getting my own dog.

Immediately, a whole host of problems hoved into view. I live in an apartment, in a densely populated urban area, where I would consider it inhumane to keep a dog. The happiest dogs I know live in wide open spaces where they are free to run and frolic. I would likewise have to purchase dog food and other necessities on my insult-masquerading-as-a salary. Then there’s the issue of leaving my new fuzzy friend alone for 8 hours while I sell myself as a common whore on the labor market. My life ain’t fit for dogs.

Then it hit me that my life ain’t fit for humans either. I too, would like to run and frolic in green meadows under the open sky. My ancestors were shepherds, according to family legend. I am not adapted to bug life, but rather to a life of fresh air, interactions with living things and song – so much song! I would like to have access to good, nourishing food without having to pay a golden fortune for that. And to say nothing of the disutility of labor, which I have covered extensively, and not just in the economic sense.

I deny myself the companionship of a dog because I would not, in a thousand years subject a canine to my miserable existence as a wage slave in a megalopolis. Indeed, much of the modern system seems to discourage the well-being of young men of a family-starting age. Wages are depressed by all forms of immigration, legal and illegal, and property values are kept artificially high in order to placate landlords and boomers. The Gaia-Thunberg suicide cult has managed to impose punishing excise taxes on fuels which has made car ownership a millstone around the neck of a young man, and has sent food prices skyrocketing, hurting the middle class and the poor. In the US, an insane private-public partnership (or rather, conspiracy against the public) has managed to bring the worst of both the capitalist and socialist worlds to healthcare. Yes, friends, things are bad and getting worse. Young men are poor, their labor exploited and they are friendless — cut off from the natural male hierarchy. And things are so bad, they can’t even get a dog, let alone start a family.

There has to be a better way. There has to be a way out. I find it easy to blame the system and indeed, it would appear there is much to blame the system for, but I can’t shake a nagging feeling that I am somehow complicit, even if by mere cowardice, that I have made my own bed and I shall now lie in it, that I deserve this life not fit for dogs.

In the mornings, I pet Luna and she licks my knee (which is acting up again). God willing, there will come better days. Days of sunshine, when I will take my family somewhere where we can live in accordance with our ancient nature. And there will, God willing, be a day when I introduce a son of mine to a friend of limitless devotion — a genuine, real dog.

After I remove the ice pack I use a deep pore cleanser lotion. In the shower I use a water-activated gel cleanser, then a honey almond body scrub, and on the face an exfoliating gel scrub. Then I apply an herb-mint facial mask which I leave on for ten minutes while I prepare the rest of my routine. I always use an aftershave lotion with little or no alcohol, because alcohol dries your face out and makes you look older. Then moisturizer, then an anti-aging eye balm followed by a final moisturizing protective lotion. — Patrick Bateman (a man)

I had not watched American Psycho until very recently. All the memes and references to this film simply flew over my head. I recognized that it was Christian Bale in the memes and thought he looked even pissier than usual, but never really thought much about it. Then I saw the film and found it a clever satire on the empty suit type of man. It’s one of those vicious types of comedies where you’re laughing at the protagonist, not with him — never with him. I look at Patrick Bateman and see a chimp in a suit; he is put forward for my entertainment because he is a ridiculous figure: comically narcissistic, petty and pusillanimous with his so-called friends, astoundingly effeminate even as he tries to pass himself off as masculine.

I found myself delighting in hating this little empty suit of a man, and not because he was a murderer. Who among us hasn’t fantasized about chopping up our neighbor into tiny pieces and then ravishing and/or eating the neighbor lady? No, I laughed at Bateman because I knew men who were like him in every way except the murderer part: vain, shallow, effeminate and faux-masculine at the same time, stupidly materialistic, and aggressively plastic — men who wore their normalcy on their sleeves. In fact, if anything it’s Bateman’s murderous nature that makes him an interesting character at all. Take away the murders and he’s just another useless yuppie.

So, it’s a good movie, right? You laugh at a ridiculous character and have fun, and there are also some gory scenes to satisfy your base desires for ultraviolence. But then, in the age of the Internet, some films do not end when the credits roll. They pass like great ships and leave a wake behind them in the culture, and the wake itself is sometimes more interesting than the ship — or at least more instructive about the state of our society.

Moving as I do in the circles of the online Dissident Right, I’ve encountered more than one person who looks at Patrick Bateman and reacts not with amusement at this ridiculous creature as I did, nor with the moral revulsion that normal people would react with, but by declaring that Patrick Bateman is “literally me” — by which they mean that they are like Patrick Bateman, or more likely, they’d like to be like Patrick Bateman. And disturbing though it may be that people are looking up to a murderer, they’re not talking about repeating Patrick Bateman’s crimes, but rather his legal behavior. At first I thought it was just the typical fooling around and memery, but apparently there are people out there whose entire lives revolve around being Patrick Bateman without the fun parts.

Now, it may be a statement about postmodernity that it’s not the murders that disgust me, but the narcissism, the ridiculously convoluted food, the cosmetics, the workout regimen which is pure effeminacy masquerading as masculinity, the business card, and the materialist nihilism of it all — but murder is a very human matter, and whether we like it or not, it does occur naturally. Men killing each other, men killing women — it’s nothing new; it’s evil and romanticized in equal measure. Men taking delight in killing men is likewise not new under the Sun. But the murders are the less disturbing aspect of Patrick Bateman’s personality precisely because they’re the only serious and fun things about him. Everything else about him is the quintessence of banality and boredom. The Patrick Batemans I’ve met on my own ill-advised journeys in business and academia have all been banal and boring little men, endlessly jockeying for imagined status.

I guess it was obvious to people that Patrick Bateman is a parody of such men when the book was first published in the 1980s, and that it was also obvious that he is someone to be laughed at, not emulated, when the movie came out in 2000. But here we are in the Year of Our Lord 2022, and young men are aspiring to one day become Patrick Bateman without the fun and serious bits — because “It’s hip to be square,” apparently. Young men aspire to dress, look, and behave like Patrick Bateman, paradoxically because they see him as masculine. I believe the word “sigma” gets thrown around a lot.

The low-hanging fruit would be to simply point to this essay’s epigraph, which is amazing in its pettiness and effeminacy, and of course when delivered in Christian Bale’s monotonous deadpan voice that he uses for Patrick Bateman’s inner monologue, it’s chilling and uproariously funny at the same time. No straight man could have possibly written those words (Bret Easton Ellis, the author of the book, is gay). This style permeates the film: It is empty and vicious at the same time, which is a good description of Patrick Bateman himself, but I’ve noticed that many homosexual men have that same way of expressing themselves in daily communication, business e-mails, weaving intrigue, gossiping, sniping, giving advice, and delivering eulogies. This is not what really tipped me off to Patrick Bateman’s fundamentally effeminate nature, however. Patrick Bateman is not even a gay man. He is a woman.

It is the sex scenes which reveal Bateman’s true nature. Bateman has sex with a prostitute, and in the iconic scene, he looks at his own biceps in the mirror and gives himself approving signs. There is, of course, the surface reading of this being more narcissism, with the narcissist using the sex partner merely as a more advanced form of sex toy, a masturbation aid which exists solely to gratify and glorify the narcissist. But we’re looking at a much deeper pathology than mere narcissism. Narcissistic men who use women as sex objects still have a fundamentally masculine sexuality, which is to say that they see themselves as subjects acting upon the female object, sometimes violently so, and such acts serve to enhance their own self-image as great, powerful, potent, desirable, and attractive. The narcissistic man will focus on projecting his own grandeur onto the female object. He will boast of his sexual conquest, and he will appropriate the conquered woman’s beauty for his own narcissistic self-image and project it outward to the audience he desperately needs, but he will not regard himself as the object of desire. He is the actor; he acts upon the woman.

We see in Bateman something different, Bateman is acted upon, desired, and lusted after by Bateman himself. We see autoeroticism in the purest sense: Bateman being turned on by the image of himself. In a sense, Bateman would be happiest if he could literally fuck himself. The difference is subtle. The narcissistic man makes sex all about himself fucking the woman. Patrick Bateman makes sex all about himself fucking. Were he born a few decades later, he would have become a transsexual.

Steve Sailer has been telling anyone who will listen that there is a species of transsexual out there that is essentially a high testosterone man who, for reasons which Sailer locates in extreme narcissism — obviously, I disagree, but this is not relevant to the point being made — confuses the subject and object of sexual desire and thereby gains arousal from imagining himself as a woman (and conquering himself-as-woman sexually). The technical term is autogynephilia. It explains why macho, masculine men like Bruce Jenner turn into transsexuals, and why even more bookish men are ridiculously male-brained, having professions like “military historian,” or else are somewhere on the autism spectrum, which means having an extremely male brain. Because these men tend to be higher than average in intelligence, they also have a higher degree of willful control over their minds which allows them to essentially psych themselves into becoming women psychologically.

Patrick Bateman’s approach to everything, from clothing to physical fitness to business cards to sex, is a woman’s approach. He attempts to fit in and gain status by means of consumption and posturing, by adopting political and intellectual positions in order to appear intellectual, by being acted upon instead of acting, and by being perceived as beautiful rather than to perceive (or create) beauty. Not even male homosexuals act the way he does. The creature whom you declare to be ”literally me” is a woman. He does things which are formally masculine, but are in fact feminine things expressed in masculine form.

So, Patrick Bateman is a troon? What’s the big deal?

The big deal, my good fellow, is contained in this essay’s epigraph. You’ve probably seen the film and heard it being read in Patrick Bateman’s voice. Now I want you to employ the little grey cells and imagine it spoken with this voice and intonation.

Richard Spencer’s burger preferences are a source of continued fascination here at Counter-Currents, from Grand Magus O’Meara seeking out the hidden pretentiousness of James Bond’s taste in burgers as reflected by Spencer to my own consternation with the idea of the modern burger as a food for the insufficiently beaten urban bourgeoisie. More to the point, Bateman’s skincare monologue could easily have come from Mr. Right Wing Narcissism himself. Whatever else you may say about Richard Spencer, he attained a very large following in the 2015-2017 period. A lot of young, ostensibly Right-wing men followed someone who is two shakes short of Patrick Bateman himself, and a lot of these same men now follow the equally narcissistic and twice as deranged Nick Fuentes — or even such personages as Bronze Age Pervert, all of whom promote a typically feminine, which is to say appearance-centered, approach to fitness and Reaganite superficiality that is also favored by Bateman (this sphere notably denies sociopathy and narcissism even exist). So, this is not merely a problem of a popular movie presenting a sick character; it is the problem of a popular movie presenting a profoundly sick character who is widely admired and emulated, and who is even being put forward as an exemplar of masculinity by both young men and purported leaders of the dissident movement.

The only way one could imagine that Bateman is a paragon of masculinity is to have never encountered a masculine man during one’s formative years. I am not talking about bodybuilders or Marines, of course, but rather men who are subjects acting upon objects. The essence of masculinity is agency, the highest form of which is mastery. I am talking about men who act as men by using their strength, wealth, influence, intellect, and other constitutive elements of power towards a concrete and meaningful end. They range from construction workers with beer bellies who put the toughest gym bro to shame with their strength, to stone-faced men with mild-to-moderate autism in clerical and artisanal jobs who staff civilized society’s vast institutions, to suave negotiators and charismatic diplomats specializing in the fine art of getting people to do what needs to be done when it needs to be done, all the way to those men whose business is war and who are the most practical and utilitarian of all, pure subject acting upon object: Where are they, how many are there, what weapons do they carry, and how do we kill them?

If young men are indeed so removed from even the faintest glimmer of masculinity that they consider Patrick Bateman to be the great man’s man that ought to be emulated, then we can safely conclude that the crisis of fatherhood is more terrible than we ever imagined. Is it the case that the masculine men have all disappeared from the lives of their sons, or is it the case that masculine men are not allowed to be masculine in the home, and especially in the company of their sons?

I imagine that if my mother had been a shrill shitlib, she’d have never permitted my father to teach me how to bury a landmine and dig a field latrine at the tender age of 7. My father is not Rambo; he is an austere and cerebral man of letters at his core, though always seeking to stay away from the ivory tower and as near the intellectual trenches as possible. He is, however, also athletically inclined and always conscious that the ultimate role of a man is that of a warrior and that at some point, every man might be called upon to defend his country, his creed, or his family with gun in hand, and to kill other men in that capacity. My father teaching me how to bury a landmine was an event that inspired the typical boyish delight in all things military in me, but he treated it as a solemn act of transmitting crucial knowledge, never once smiling through the ordeal and insisting I perform all of the steps myself.

Whatever opinions I subsequently formed about the man, and all estrangement notwithstanding, I am and will remain my father’s son. I lack his austerity, though I admire it in other men. I am fire itself where he is quiet, persistent, wine-dark water. He is a builder; I am a wrecker. The elder Mr. Jeelvy made the younger in all ways conceivable. And when the time was right, he receded to the back stage and allowed me to become a subject acting upon objects; a man with all of the word’s attendant implications. Though he abhors my “extreme” politics, the old man set the events in motion that led me to becoming what I am today. If it hadn’t been for his direction, I would have followed my natural laziness and predilection for banal cleverness to a very comfortable, low-effort career built on nepotism and charm.

In light of that, I imagine that the peculiar Western disease of refusing to accept that men are their fathers’ sons leads them to attempt to model their personalities without being bounded by family or belonging. Men and women alike insist on being free in their quest to be, and given this freedom, some choose to model themselves on Patrick Bateman, or worse, characters from Ryan Gosling movies. They do this because they are fleeing from the familial as the ultimate expression of oppressive unfreedom. Men instead find themselves shackled to the forms prescribed for them by the media, and so by rejecting their genuinely masculine fathers, they attach themselves to proto-troons like Patrick Bateman, who express the feminine through masculine forms; false shepherds like Richard Spencer, Jordan Peterson, or Bronze Age Pervert; or even live vicariously through such caricatures of masculinity as Donald Trump or Joe Rogan.

The great tragedy is that we may be approaching a world where no young man has a father — and if you’re not your father’s son, then you might as well look at Patrick Bateman and say, “Wow, that is literally me.”

English original here

Nedávno jsem s jedním ze svých přátel mluvil o rusko-ukrajinské válce, konkrétněji o jejích dopadech na západní nacionalistické milieu. Spousta lidí, kteří se donedávna bez váhání označovala za odpůrce imperialismu, nadšeně přijala za svůj imperiální projekt anexe Ukrajiny, likvidace její státnosti a pohlcení jejího lidu do širokého ruského imperiálního náručí. Jiní, kteří ještě „včera“ z plných plic brojili proti „bratrovražedným válkám“, momentálně s velkou chutí povzbuzují vzájemné krvavé pobíjení ruských a ukrajinských vojáků v bratrovražedné válce.

Když si tyto jedince a skupiny takříkajíc zaneseme do mapy, zpozorujeme obecnou tendenci obyvatel Ameriky a západní Evropy častěji se stavět za ruské imperiální ambice, zatímco u lidí z východnějších oblastí Evropy povětšinou nacházíme rozpolcenější či přímo proukrajinské postoje. Jak to vyjádřil můj kamarád: „Z čím větší dálky medvěda pozoruješ, tím roztomileji působí.“

Tak tomu ovšem není jen v řadách nacionalistů a disidentů, v míře podpory Ukrajině v konfliktu s Ruskem se dosti výrazně odlišují také přístupy vlád. Vládnoucí garnitury pobaltských zemí, Polska, Česka či skandinávských zemí projevují hlasitou podporu, nezřídka až na úkor své vlastní národní bezpečnosti, zatímco Francie a Německo se etablovaly jako kolosy váhající. Výjimkou pak samozřejmě je Maďarsko, jak jsem se ale kdysi dozvěděl při návštěvě Budapešti, „Maďaři nesnáší všechny cizince – tak to bylo odjakživa, a tak je to taky správně.“

Výrazná je pochopitelně také podpora ze zemí „anglosféry“, ty však sledují své vlastní imperiální geopolitické zájmy protichůdné s těmi ruskými, jejich motivy i chování se tedy s těmi národních států úplně nepřekrývají. Proto se zde budu soustředit především na rozdíl mezi reakcí východní Evropy (především Polska a Pobaltí) a Evropy západní (hlavně Francie s Německem) na tuto válku a možné historické kořeny těchto odpovědí.

Hned na úvod bych rád upřesnil, že si nemíním brát Francii s Německem na paškál a kydat na ně hnůj za jejich nemastnou odpověď, jelikož věřím v právo národních států určovat si svou vlastní zahraniční politiku, vybírat si své spojence i konkurenty a vůbec rozhodovat o vlastním osudu. Neuchází mi ani to, že Francie s Německem se do pomoci Ukrajině nemohou napřít svou plnou vahou, jako to učinily Polsko nebo baltské země z dalšího důvodu, spjatého s geopolitickou realitou: Zatímco pro východní země představuje Rusko hlavní bezpečnostní hrozbu, obrana proti níž vyplňuje skoro celý jejich bezpečnostně politický obzor, bezpečnostní a vojenské priority západní Evropy leží jinde. Zejména Francie se dosud zcela nevzdala velmocenských ambic, a tak si musí nevyhnutelně zachovávat schopnost nezávislé „projekce“ síly. Za tímto účelem jsou tak organizovány i její ozbrojené složky, v ostrém kontrastu s východoevropskými zeměmi, kde má armáda za úkol hlavně ubránit zemi před ruským útokem. Pokud tak Polsko vyprázdní své vojenské sklady a ukrajinští vojáci s využitím poskytnuté výzbroje a zásob zneutralizují ruskou hrozbu, Polsko se od svých dlouhodobých strategických cílů nijak neodchýlilo. Kdyby se však obdobně zachovala Francie, ohrozila by svou schopnost mocensky vystupovat v Africe, Magrebu a svých četných zámořských državách.

Rád bych se zaměřil na něco jiného, a to jistý nevděk Západu za oběti, jež východní (a v menší míře také jižní) Evropa historicky přinesla – a stále přináší – a z kterých má Západ nezanedbatelný prospěch.

Evropský kontinent je na východě ohraničen eurasijskou stepí a uralským pohořím, na jihovýchodě Malou Asií a Levantou, na jihu Středozemním mořem a severoafrickým pobřežím na jeho opačném břehu. Západní a severní pomezí Evropy tvoří nezměrné a historicky neproniknutelné oceány: Atlantský a Severní ledový. Na východě a na jihu však vždy bujelo nebezpečí a přicházeli odtud nepřátelé Evropy, aby napadali její bělošské obyvatelstvo.

Mezi prvními to byli stepní Hunové, kteří rozvrátili východní germánské kmeny a vrhnuli je proti už tak dost oslabenému Římu, jehož západní část se pod tímto náporem zhroutila. Germánská království na Západě sotva stihnula obnovit jakési zdání řádu, když se od jihu začal valit arabský a maurský příliv, který pohltil celý Iberský poloostrov s výjimkou Asturie a jen tak tak byl zastaven francouzskými rytíři. Itálie se nikdy nemohla cítit v bezpečí před arabskou hrozbou, dokud křížová tažení neoslabila chalífy a její jižní oblasti, včetně Sicílie, byly podobně jako Španělsko podmaněny Araby a porobeny, dokud normanský šlechtický rod de Hauteville skoro bez cizí pomoci (jen s papežskou podporou) Saracény nevyhnal. Následovaly vlny stepních nájezdníků, jež vyplnily většinu středověku – Bulhaři, Tataři, Kumáni, Maďaři, Pečeněhové a konečně Mongolové – jejichž hrůzná rozpínavost nad eurasijským vnitrozemím byla zastavena společnými silami Poláků a Maďarům, což se ovšem neobešlo bez strašlivých ztrát a podmaněni Rusi, jež mělo trvat následující dvě století.

Uvadání a nakonec úplný zánik Byzance znamenal nejen trvalou ztrátu Anatolie pro evropskou civilizaci, ale také otevření jihovýchodu Evropy osmanskému kořistění. V průběhu následujících tří století svedli Turci sérii krvavých válek s balkánskými státy, až si je nakonec zcela podmanili a pokračovali dál na sever do Uher a Rakouska, kde byli i díky polské pomoci zastaveni a donuceni k ústupu. O lecčem vypovídá, že Francouzi se s Turky spojili v „nesvaté“ alianci a jejich podpora sehrála klíčovou roli při porážce a obsazení Uher Osmany. Ti sice byli poraženi u vídeňských hradeb, ale vláda nad Uhrami a Chorvatskem jim byla vyrvána až po dalších 150 letech jako výsledek velké turecké války. Zbytek Balkánu však setrval v jejich spárech ještě mnohem déle.

Počátkem 20. století se z východu přihnala ještě jedna hrůza, bolševické hordy. Jejich první nápor na západ zadrželo obnovené Polsko v polsko-sovětské válce roku 1921, pochopitelně s pomocí baltských národů, druhý útok ve 40. letech však už byl naneštěstí úspěšný a v roce 1945 se tak východní Evropa, včetně východní části Německa, dostala pod sovětskou okupací. Následujících 45 let sovětské nadvlády znamenalo rozklad tradiční i vysoké kultury na Východě, z něj rezultující dysgenický demografický vývoj a vznik převráceného systému pobídek lidského chování v bolševických státech. Samotné války a komunistické masakry jako Katyň nebo Bleiburg zahubily mnohé z těch nejlepších mužů Východu ještě předtím, než mohli zplodit potomstvo, zatímco vysoké společenské postavení bolševiků a jejich užitečných idiotů napomohlo šíření zločinných komunistických chromozomů východních komisařů. Genetické škody byly a jsou velmi pravděpodobně nezměrné. Podezíravost vůči Západu pak zůstává nedílnou součástí východní psýché

Ve své eseji o masakru v Bleiburgu „Dysgenický efekt komunistického vraždění“ se doktor Tomislav Sunić zamýšlí nad možností, zda k nižší průměrné inteligenci balkánských národů nemohlo přispět též dysgenické působení komunismu v negativním smyslu (masakry jako ty v Bleiburgu nebo Katyni), tak ve smyslu „pozitivním“, kdy tyto režimy cíleně prosazovaly kriminálníky, sociopaty a etnické menšiny do privilegovaného postavení, díky čemuž tito lidé dosahovali větších reprodukčních úspěchů, než by tomu bylo bez systému převrácených pobídek. Zcela se s touto jeho tezí ztotožňuji, dodám ovšem, že relativně vyšší průměrné IQ středo- a východoevropských národů, které si také prošly rudou „skartovačkou elit“, ukazuje jako na pravděpodobného viníka průměrné inteligence Balkánců kolem 90 bodů spíše na naši zkušenost s osmanskými Turky. Jeden můj kamarád s oblibou připomíná, že ve válkách s Turkem padly dvě třetiny balkánské šlechty a příslušníci zbylé třetiny přestoupili k islámu a jejich potomci dnes v Istanbulu a Ankaře tvoří tureckou velmi světlou vládnoucí elitu. K islámu zhusta konvertovali nejen aristokraté, ale také příslušníci bohatší buržoazie, podobně jako obyčejní rolníci, kteří se chtěli pozvednout ze statusu dhimmi, a tak se v průběhu každé další generace křesťanského Balkánu „odštípnula“ část inteligentnějšího obyvatelstva a posílil Turecko.

Inteligence samozřejmě není jediným a samospasným ukazatelem zdatnosti národů, je to ovšem parametr měřitelný. V kterých dalších, hůře kvantifikovatelných ukazatelích jihu a jihovýchodu Evropy uškodila osmanská a komunistická okupace? Co bylo zničeno, aby se mohl zrodit Homo sovieticus? Jaké nízké darebáctví bylo oděno do hávu velikosti, aby vznikl prostor pro pokroucenou psyché sovok boomera nebo jeho soudruha jugo-boomera? Bědný jest osud porobených.

Pro Západ Východ sloužil jako sanitární kordon ochraňující jej od vpádů z jihu a východu. Jako zábrany muslimské moci v minulosti (a částečně dodnes) posloužily také Španělsko s Itálií. Severozápad Evropy byl z velké části těchto pohrom ušetřen, jakkoliv ani jemu se nevyhnuly jeho vlastní problémy, schizmata a obtíže.

Samozřejmě nechci vytvářet dojem, jako by Východ šlechetně stál na stráži nevděčnému Západu, blíže realitě by asi hovořit o bezpečí pro Západ jako o pozitivní externalitě bránícího se Východu, jemuž Západ občas vypomáhal, s nepominutelnými a často rozhodujícími výjimkami, jako byly francouzsko-osmanská či anglo-osmanská aliance nebo podpora amerických židovských finančních a industrialistických elit v začátcích budování Sovětského svazu, vrcholící až bezvýhradnou logistickou, diplomatickou i vojenskou podporou sovětské věci Rooseveltovou vládou, díky čemuž si mohli rudí podmanit východní Evropu i s kusem Německa.

Bylo by pochopitelně bláhové považovat vytíženost východu kontinentu s vpády zvenčí za jedinou příčinu, proč se Západu podařilo vyvinout v dominantní globální civilizaci. Máme tady ostatně kontrolní skupinu: V Asii to byla Čína, kdo nesl největší tíhu útoků stepních barbarů, k rozvoji významné civilizace třeba v Indočíně to ovšem nevedlo, byť Japonsko v čínském „zákrytu“ nastartovalo svůj vzestup k postavení světové mocnosti. Aby mělo odstínění barbarských vpádů nějaký význam, musí existovat potenciál k velkoleposti. Japonsko ho mělo kus, severozápad Evropy celé hory. Přesto však po generaci za generací prolévaná krev obránců Východu měla na tomto vzestupu svůj díl.

Když mi kamarád navrhnul, aby napsal článek o této dynamice, zprvu jsem se zdráhal, jelikož jsem měl obavy, že vyznění takovéto eseje bude nutně zavánět resentimentem vůči Západu. Samozřejmě nijak nemiluji, když někdo vylučuje obyvatele Středomoří, Balkánu nebo Slovany z řad bělošské rasy kvůli naší nižší inteligenci, větším sklonům ke kriminálnímu chování nebo nepokrytému materialismu našich žen. Tyto negativní rysy jsou jizvami po ranách utržených v boji na ohroženém jižním a východním evropském pomezí. Ti nejlepší z nás hynuli, aby ti nejlepší z vás mohli objevovat, bádat, vynalézat a tvořit. Necítím hořkost, protože na civilizační dividendě máme svůj podíl i my. Nezapomínejte ale na položené oběti – dlouhodobé škody na našem genofondu – a přizpůsobte tomu svá rozhodnutí.

Příště totiž Východ, ať už proto, že krvácel až příliš, nebo že se cítí zrazený, nemusí postavit své dobité tělo mezi Západ a snědé hordy za hranicemi našeho kontinentu.

This translation originally appeared at Delian Diver.

A friend recently sent me a video on the history of Western, and specifically Anglo-American, cultural attitudes towards pigeons. The specificity of the subject titillated my thoroughly postmodern fancy, so I gave it a watch. You should as well.

It’s short and succinct, presenting the story of the West’s cultural relationship with the pigeon. To make a long story short, the pigeon was for a long time considered an admirable bird, symbolic of fidelity and purity. Then, in the 1930s, anti-pigeon opinions started appearing in the great American newspapers, specifically in The New York Times. By the mid-1960s, Western culture had turned entirely against the pigeon, and in 1980, Woody Allen’s Stardust Memories forever named these once-admired birds “rats with wings.” Ever since, Western culture has scorned the pigeon.

This would be a good piece of trivia to fill a morning with, but something about that timeline looks awfully familiar to me. Pigeons: Gaining attention in the 1930s, culturally dominant by the mid-1960s, and then seared forever into the civilizational consciousness by the 1980s. We might as well be talking about the erosion of authentic American culture by Jewish subversion. Could the pigeon’s public image be yet another victim of the culture of critique?

A search for Jewish attitudes towards pigeons yields nothing of interest except a deleted scene from Family Guy about an anti-Semitic pigeon. Maybe it’s one of those “correlation doesn’t imply causation” things. In fact, from what I can tell, the West’s reverence for pigeons might be Christian in origin, and outside depictions of the Holy Ghost as a dove, usually come from those aspects of the faith shared with Judaism. Thus, theoretically, religious Jews — or culturally Jewish Jews — shouldn’t hate pigeons. Yet here is the Jew Tom Lehrer singing about poisoning pigeons in the park. Maybe he was just being an edgelord.

Perhaps I’ve been a dissident for too long. Maybe when all you have is a gas chamber, every problem looks like a Jew. Maybe the rise of pigeon-hate is just an epiphenomenon of urbanization, of rising neuroticism and specifically hygiene neuroticism: the repulsively feminine terror of anything dirty. Pigeons can rapidly make a park bench unusable with their droppings, and their poop is a nightmare to get off a car’s windshield and can even corrode its paint. And yet I enjoy observing them, feeding them, and watching them get chased by dogs and children. I also see the neighborhood cats stalking them, I see their interactions with the pensioners who feed them, and I sometimes even see it when they struggle against the sparrows and corvids for territory and food. As a life-long city slicker, I appreciate every smidgeon of nature that finds its way into the concrete jungle surrounding me.

About two years ago, common wood pigeons started appearing in my city, along with the usual turtledoves and rock doves. At first I didn’t know their names, so I called them fat pigeons — because they’re plumper than the rock doves. I started tracking their movements across town and the surrounding woodlands, mostly to amuse myself but also out of a sense of local patriotism. It is a point of pride for me to know the various soil types and the locations of creeks, streams, rivers, and underground aquifers around town, as well as the local history, flora, and fauna. It gives me a sense of place and belonging. I track the movements of wild ducks, geese, and cormorants along the local rivers, wetlands, and creeks for the same reason.

Macedonian folklore tells us that pigeons came from the third heart of Musa Kesedžija, a notorious outlaw who had three hearts. When the heroic king Marko defeated him, he opened his chest. Two hearts were awake and the third was asleep. When Marko slit open the sleeping one, two pigeons flew out, singing “Ne boj se, Mujo” (don’t fear, Mujo). The reading is that pigeons represent the courage of Musa Kesedžija, but they address him using the diminutive Mujo, implying motherly or wifely love. The turtledove is considered to be a transformed woman grieving for her early departed brother, or sometimes a woman whose son was killed — sometimes heroically, sometimes for mundane reasons – and who grieved for him so strongly that God transformed her into the turtledove. The common thread is the female — specifically the loving mother, sister, or wife — who encourages and grieves for her son, husband, or brother. The image of the Pieta, of the Virgin Mary holding the dead body of Christ in grief, is what comes to mind.

What lies behind the pigeons and doves’ precipitous fall in symbolic status? As these birds were used to represent purity, piety, marital fidelity, and love, primarily in the female aspect, their status decreased with the loss of female purity, piety, marital fidelity, and love. As white women were encouraged to become impure, impious, disloyal, and hateful, so were the dove and pigeon abandoned as symbols of these virtues. And as Western woman became a creature of pure id, unsexed and transgendered, perverting the traditional gender role, the dove and pigeon lost their positions as women’s aspirational animal. Gone is the ideal of the pure, virginal, and devoted dove. What animals are modern women encouraged to emulate? She-wolves, tiger moms, bitches.

In this sense, Tom Lehrer’s vulgar fantasy of poisoning pigeons in the park and Woody Allen’s description of the pigeon as a rat with wings makes perfect sense. Both men are ethnic Jews and atheists, fully-fledged believers in liberal modernity and female degradation masquerading as liberation. Both men are purveyors of the obscene, of the caustic irony characteristic of civilizations in decline, of insincerity masquerading as courage, of subversion and mockery of the revered (just listen to Lehrer’s “Be Prepared”). Both are men of the lie and the culture of critique, and naturally, both men hate pigeons.

Western man reveres the pigeon because he reveres propriety and piety, especially in a woman. He reveres the pigeon because, like all birds, the pigeon is representative of the force vector flying into infinite space. Birds are the great aspirational animals of Faustian man, soaring bravely into the infinite blue. Western man, the dreamer, the maker, lifts his head and sees his feathered brethren, mighty brother eagle, wise brother raven, pure and pious sister dove. They waited for him for so long while he dreamt, earthbound, of painting his hands and his face with the blue. Then, at once, through the power of his courage and artifice, he took flight.

As Western civilization dies, so does its soul become ugly and vulgar. As we decline, we will see more hatred and resentment of animals. We will see cruel treatment of them. We will see a hatred of birds as we see a hatred of the pigeon and the dove. We will see their names slandered and we will see them compared to pests.

But this, too, shall pass. In the meantime, here among friends, I proclaim my love for the pigeon.

I’m tired, Trinity. I’m tired of this war, tired of fighting, tired of this ship, being cold, and eating the same goddamn goop every day. But most of all, I’m tired of that jackoff Morpheus and all of his bullshit.

— Cypher

There was a time in my life where I wore a black leather trenchcoat and sunglasses every day of the week. Even in summer. Especially in summer. It’s easy to wear a black leather trenchcoat when the wind blows high, but only true believers will wear this garment under the searing Mediterranean sun. Some things you do, despite being stupid and counterproductive, to signal something. In my case, I was signaling my adherence to the aesthetics of The Matrix.

We get the term “redpill” from The Matrix. It is enculturated enough that anyone who uses the term but then feels the need to explain that it comes from The Matrix sounds like an old man. It feels like reading a newspaper article about the internet in 1997. To become redpilled, to be a red pill, means to emerge from a manufactured reality and become aware of a different, higher-order reality. A darker reality. A reality which, frankly, seems to be evil.

We refer to the Matrix, or to the shared delusion of our time, as a dream state. Lemme tell you something about dreams — nobody likes to be awakened from them. Just last night, three beautiful women with wide, child-bearing hips were singing merry songs about my sexual prowess, and then in an instant — sunlight, a full bladder, and a noseful of my own morning breath. Sure, there are the ones where you’re naked in school, falling, or where you are being chased by an indeterminate, threatening something, but overall, dreams are nice and reality stinks.

When serious thinkers analyze The Matrix, they rarely mention Cypher. Masterfully portrayed by Joe Pantoliano, Cypher is the guy who’s taken the red pill, but hates himself and Morpheus, who gave him the choice for it. Now, we’re obviously supposed to hate Cypher for betraying his people and for choosing ignorance over the truth, but let’s not pretend that he doesn’t present a very compelling case for the blue pill. As Morpheus says to Neo before Neo is about to take the red pill: “All I offer is the truth.” The truth, as is often said, hurts. But everyone assumes that once you learn the truth, you can’t unlearn it.

People feel malaise at the world because they understand that it is a lie, that it is inauthentic. That a movie like The Matrix was produced, became enormously popular, and has greatly influenced culture and language is a testament to that fact. Even normies feel that something is off, that this is not how it was supposed to be, that they were somehow lied to, betrayed, that things are not as they appear. And thus, we have a demand for red pills.

But as we said, the truth hurts. Furthermore, success in any society depends upon pointing deer and making horse. In order to demonstrate compliance with the ruling ideology, you have to say and do very stupid and counterproductive things — some even stupider and less productive than wearing a black leather trenchcoat in the middle of summer. But fear not. The marketplace of ideas has come up with The Purple Pill™, which both addresses your malaise at having to live in the shared delusion we call the official narrative and defends against the existential pain and social leprosy which are known side effects of the red pill. Enter the alt-lite.

Bear in mind that I’m not accusing any of these people of being controlled opposition, federal agents, or paid shills. No, they are successful and their product exists because their product is superior to ours. I’m selling red pills, which means you get to feel small and powerless in a world that hates you and wants you dead, and if there is to be victory, it will come at incomprehensible costs, so far into the future that even the young bloods among us will only taste it as old men. This is all assuming we don’t lose and suffer the repercussions of standing against the prevailing orthodoxy. Dissent isn’t fun if you’re a real rebel. Contrast that to what a guy like Cernovich or McInnes is selling: you get to be the cool bad-boy rebel, but at the same time be relatively within the Overton window and thus escape more serious repercussions. Well, Cerno and McInnes can escape repercussions. The Proud Boys won’t. But that’s a tale for another day.

You know what’s even cooler about the purple pill? It gives you a very clear friend/enemy distinction; it makes all problems solvable by increased coordination and effort (which also gives you a secret weapon in the internal fights — failures can be blamed on the egotism or laziness of your compatriots). In fact, stopping to think if you’re fighting the right fight is very counterproductive — winners have no self-doubt. Usually, I link to an article where I already made my point to keep newcomers abreast of the older ideas, but this time I want you to read the comments. One guy asks me that if we can’t win by losing, and that we will inevitably lose by winning, then what the hell do we do? You’ll notice that I haven’t responded. It’s because I have no idea. All I can truly offer you is either the truth, or my honest uncertainty.

“But once we’ve redpilled the normies,” you say to me. Well, ok, we redpilled them. Cypher was also redpilled and then he was so disturbed by the reality of the red pill that he ran to the Agents and betrayed his friends in the hope of getting his memory erased and getting plugged back into the Matrix. So, how are you gonna keep them redpilled, especially when the red pill may as well paint a gigantic target on their backs, and we don’t have the resources to protect them? And don’t forget that a man can very easily forget things he knew, even things central to his old worldview, if it is beneficial to him. Especially if it’s psychologically beneficial to him. Money is meaningless, but respite from the psychic pain of being a dissident loser? That has a hell of a lot more value than mere dollars and cents.

Enter Ramzpaul.

The whole drama with Ramzpaul began with the corona lockdown. He was against it. He fought with Tiina Wiik, his Happy Homelands co-host, over it. At the same time, he blocked the Scandza Forum on Twitter because they were “white supremacists.” And then he engaged in a campaign to equate measures against corona-chan to soyboy snowflakeism. And then he retooled his Happy Homelands show by taking on fellow lockdown opponent Styxhexenhammer666 as a co-host. And then he invited Milo Yiannopoulos. Milo ghosted him, apparently because he and his entire “family” were sick (but Corona-chan ain’t real, folks). Then he had Laura Loomer on. Then he had Gavin McInnes on. Do you see where this is going?

Being a young white man, I have no particular attachment to the economy. In fact, while it is not 100% correct to call the economy a massive con job run by the old, nonwhites, and women on young white men, it is a good enough heuristic, and living your life as if it were true is a good way to extricate yourself from modernity. In fact, “crashing the economy” sounds like a pretty good deal to me. Now, some of the older white guys, specifically of Ramzpaul’s generation, were grandfathered in and have a stake in the economy. Naturally, they feel disgusted and horrified that the young bloods no longer want to be chumps.

I was never that scared of Corona-chan, either. Believe you me, reader, I know my way around rowdy oriental women (hint: they find black leather trenchcoats irresistible). One of the side effects of the red pill is that you might get denounced by your family and friends for daring to claim that the horse is a horse. Sometimes, they denounce you bad enough that you are eerily ambivalent about whether Corona-chan decides to whisk them away to the other place. And then you hate yourself for it and have another whiskey, for tomorrow we shall do it all over again.

But here, I’d direct you to the Z man of the Z blog who has likewise expressed skepticism towards the wisdom of the lockdown but without losing his mind. Z has problems of his own — failing to appreciate just how little “the economy” means to young white men — but at least he doesn’t debase himself by nodding inanely as Gavin “I french-kissed Milo and stuck a dildo up my ass to show I’m not homophobic” McInnes denounces Nazis (who are secretly all Feds) and proclaims his undying love for Israel. Skepticism of the measures our government takes to fight Corona-chan is valid. Skepticism of Corona-chan’s lethality is valid. Going full alt-lite isn’t.

In fact, here we see the core difference between alt-lite and Dissident Right. What are we fighting for? Our people? Or our Freedumbz™? More importantly, who’s the enemy? A Satanic pedophile globalist cult run by Hillary Clinton, George Soros and Bill Gates, which may or may not include Jews qua Jews; or a distributed, decentralized coalition of minor interest groups (one of whom may be Jews qua Jews) each trying to get a handle on the greasy levers of power, in which groups compete against each other but can cooperate to undermine anyone trying to insert sanity into the system, most members of the coalition unaware or only partially aware of the existence of the coalition or their membership in it? I think you can figure out which form of the enemy is easier to contend with, and therefore, more amenable to packaging in the purple pill.

Corona-chan doesn’t have to steal your Freedumbz™. Globohomo has already taken everything of consequence from you. 2nd Amendment guys like to beat their chests about how they’ll use their guns to protect what is theirs, but far more important for military success than guns is social organization. And you don’t have the right to organize the way you choose to. The Civil Rights Act took away the freedom of association, and with it, the makings of a militia capable of protecting anything. When you have no organization, your guns count for nothing. All you can really do is play “Fortunate Son” as the government burns your house to the ground, Waco-style. But five unarmed men with a functioning organizational structure and clear friend-enemy distinction? There’s no end to the damage they can do to globohomo.

And what of your freedom to go out and work? That’s a freedom? People are empowered and ennobled by toiling away, building someone else’s dream? Give me a break. Globohomo wants you working, white man. You have to toil in the fields so that fat POC women can have 10 children by 15 different fathers. You have to sit in a stuffy office, bent over a desk, so that the hens in HR can have someone to torment and get paid to do it. You have to address stuffed shirts as “sir” because some obese boomer needs his Social Security, retirement stonks package, or whatever. Globohomo also wants your wife working, and not giving birth to white babies, cooking meals for the family, and turning the house into a home.

But this is not about truth. It’s about packaging a compelling narrative which eases the malaise of living in the simulated reality, whilst maintaining the illusion of normalcy — or at least allowing the user to feel normal. So, yes, railing against an evil Satanic pedophile cult that’s coming after your freedoms will have to do. You might even want to have valiant Donald Trump doing his darnedest to protect your freedoms from said evil Satanic pedophile cult, because people like their golden-haired heroes. While we’re at it, why not throw in Donald Trump’s plucky sidekick Q. Disney shows us that people respond well to plucky comic relief sidekicks.

Ramzpaul isn’t the first Cypher of the Dissident Right. Ryan Faulk of the Alternative Hypothesis tried dialing it back and instituting an egopolitan Faulkland (or so Travis LeBlanc would have you believe). But Alt-Hype fizzled out because his heart wasn’t in it. His heart wasn’t in it, because there was no alternative narrative to latch on to, except the stupid and autistic one he concocted himself. Trav LeBlanc nuked that narrative from orbit.

But our good old friend Ramzpaul is smarter. He latches on to the existing alt-lite narrative of Satanic pedophiles and imperiled freedumbz. His new friends Styx and Gavin are there to greet him with open arms. And yes, we’ll see Ramz sit through many inanities with the Loomers and McInneses of the world for the same reason I wore a black leather trenchcoat in the middle of summer: If you wanna be part of the team, you gotta play the part. If it means unlearning what you learned, unknowing what you know, and un-taking the red pill, it will entail that.

It started with corona, but it’s not about corona. It’s about being tired of fighting, tired of being demoralized and demonized; it’s about the pain and suffering inflicted by globohomo on dissidents. By alienating us from the social fabric, globohomo injures us in ways that aren’t easy to bear. Our ancestors charged into machine gun nests and took them by storm, but they had the full backing of their society, and they’d have received a hero’s funeral in the worst-case scenario. Whatever we do, we do alone, except for each other. If we fall, few will mourn for us. If I am hit by a bus tomorrow, I doubt many of my former friends will show up at my funeral.

As things get more real and the pressure mounts, expect more Cyphers — and more high-profile Cyphers. Sadly, not all of them will be obese embarrassments like Matt Heimbach. Some will be respectable and affable men like Paul Ramsey, older guys whose grounding and guidance are direly needed in a movement full of young bloods. Above all, understand that deconstructing the purple pill is paramount to our success. The purple pill is a chance for our guys to make a separate peace with globohomo the second their resolve wavers (and their resolve will waver). If our movement is to succeed, it must be destroyed.

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Many people have characterized 2021 as the year when they realized exactly how bovine the public is. While speaking disdainfully of “normies” was always present on the Dissident Right, even before the internet, when the old hats called them “sheeple,” 2021 — with its twentieth month of lockdowns, masks, and now vaccine hysteria, coupled with the sham election in America, the hard-Left swing of the so-called Conservatives in Britain, and the people’s total compliance with it all — proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that the public is just as easily led by the nose and incapable of independent thought as we always suspected it to be. Sheeple, cattle, slaves, whatever you want to call them, they have no will outside what they’re told by the authorities to will.

Now that we’ve understood this, the question we need to answer is, what are we gonna do about it? Recently, someone pointed out to me that I have a strong disdain for normies. I indeed stand guilty of such disdain, but I’m not so proud that I can’t admit that such disdain is foundationally wrong. To hold a normie in disdain for not being able to manifest an independent will is like holding a dog in disdain for not being able to drive a car. But irrational though it may be, the disdain I and others on the Dissident Right have towards normies is very real, and deserves exploration.

I look at the average pooch, and it is in all ways that matter an inferior being to myself, and yet I have no contempt for it. It is very good at being a dog, at sniffing, at running, fetching sticks, using emotional blackmail to obtain free meat at the butcher’s, and being a good boy, but unlike me, it cannot drive a car, it cannot write an article for Counter-Currents, or even poop in a toilet. The difference between a dog and a normie, of course, is that I do not expect the dog to be able to do the things I do. Part of it is probably because the dog doesn’t look like me. For all our internal differences, the morphology of my set is very similar to that of the normie. We have all the same bits, all the same parts, and all in the same order. If I have sex with a normie woman, there’s a chance I’ll impregnate her. I can even speak to the normie, if not quite communicate with him. So, what’s to stop a normie from manifesting an independent will? If I can do it . . .

This is the line of reasoning that a libertarian took with me recently when he complained about the public’s lack of skepticism towards various theses that are being put out there without evidence or arguments. If he can do it — if he can rise above his programming, if he can break the conditioning, if he can demand evidence before believing something — then so can the people. I pointed out to him that he is in all likelihood not a normal man, is probably of higher IQ than average, and is very willful and jealous of his independence (hence the libertarianism), as well as most likely being slightly autistic and therefore not easily enthralled by charisma or intimidated by power.

Contrast that to the normie, who is the definition of average: of average IQ, probably not willful or interested in independence, not particularly impressed by evidence, and powerless to resist charisma and cowering before power. Psychologically, the normie and I might as well be different species.

If we are more or less a different species, as is the case with the dog, then why do I hold the normie in disdain, whereas I have infinite patience with the dog? The reason is quite simple. In the West, we are inundated from childhood with the egalitarian ideology. Egalitarian ideology teaches that we’re all equal, especially in mental ability, or as my libertarian friend put it, if I can do it, why not they?

Now, as much as I may reject this way of thinking intellectually, I was born and raised in this egalitarian culture. I was taught that all men are created equal, and that everyone can achieve anything if they apply themselves. And then, having been told that, I crashed headfirst into reality, where men are decidedly unequal — so unequal, in fact, that some of them barely register as human upon closer examination, being more similar in temperament to sheep and cattle than men. If you’re taught that God’s gifts are distributed equally, and that man can do anything he sets his mind to, then you soon learn to consider those who cannot achieve as simply lazy, willfully stupid, and pig ignorant, and if they’re perfectly compliant an authority’s commands, then they’re just slaves and value comfort more than honor. Why not hold them in disdain?

However, once we internalize an alternative hypothesis with regard to the nature of man and the nature of society, the need for disdain evaporates. When we speak of an organic, or corporate (meaning body-like) society, we speak of a society of specialized human beings, with the human body serving as a metaphor. Just as the human body has specialized cells and tissues which form organs, organ systems, and in turn the body, thus society has specialized people forming specialized institutions. By specialized, we do not merely mean specially trained, but specially born, with a position in the great chain of being determined by biology, IQ, the capacity for decision-making through rationality or emotionality, a tendency towards fear and hedonism or a lack thereof, and by the degree of connection to the transcendent and one’s capacity for spiritual life. In such a conception of life, every man, no matter how humble, has a role to play, and will be judged on how well he performs his role. In the egalitarian society, we are all expected to be everything and we’re all judged against the best, against the highest, because we’re all deemed to have the capacity to be the highest. In the egalitarian society, we form not a body, but an amorphous mass whose goal is to expand, cancer-like, and a neuron is expected to perform the functions of a muscle cell.

With that in mind, it would seem my disdain for normies is irrational. Maybe it’ll be with me forever, as I developed it early enough in life that it forms a sizeable chunk of what is now my adult personality. I suspect it developed during the course of my state-mandated education, where I was surrounded by peers and teachers who were normies. Had I been given an opportunity to be educated alongside my own kind and hadn’t been forced to interact with normies on a daily basis, I probably would have developed the paternalistic attitude towards the normies’ outlook that characterized the historical aristocrats. But I suppose that part of the reason why we’re crammed together in schools regardless of temperament and cognitive ability is so that the disruption of the normal, healthy functioning of the societal body is a desired end for the egalitarians.

Regardless of this, I’ll do my utmost — and indeed, so should you — to shed this vestige of egalitarianism in your outlook. I’m not saying love the normie, I’m not saying agree with him, and God knows I’ll never try to speak to him about subjects way above his paygrade, but we need to stop hating the normie simply for being a normie. As for yourself, you’re reading this text on Counter-Currents because you’re different. You’re probably higher than average in IQ, possibly even gifted, but more importantly, you have a dissident temperament. You are a willful person, willing to question arguments from authority figures and somewhat immune to the effects of charisma. Accept that and act accordingly.

I’m not giving you license to strut arrogantly and remind everyone constantly of your superiority, but rather I’m giving you a mission to become a leader of your people and take your position in the great chain of being. Godspeed.

I hear it’s that time of year again when woke capital takes time out of its busy schedule to celebrate sexual deviancy and the courage of the gays. As has become customary, I will now use this time to reflect on the past — specifically, the 2001 French comedy Le Placard (The Closet). 

François Pignon is a middle-aged button-pusher at a plastics manufacturing concern. He is divorced, but still in love with his ex-wife. His son ignores him and considers him a bore. To top it all off, he overhears rumors that he’s about to be fired from his job, foreshadowed by there literally being no room for him in the company photograph. So, he goes home and tries to commit suicide. His neighbor talks him out of it and convinces him to try and retain his job by pretending to be a homosexual. The neighbor photoshops (advanced technology at the time) pictures of François engaging in homosexual acts and forwards them to the office. All of a sudden, François cannot be fired due to political correctness considerations. Overnight, this gray, introverted little corporate bureaucrat is suddenly exotic and interesting to the surrounding characters. Turns out that all his life really needed was a little gay magic. 

Le Placard is one of those films that could have only been made during its time. Twenty years earlier, Pignon would have been an effeminate grotesquerie prancing around the sets (which would have probably made for an entertaining film itself). Twenty years later, the notion of a heterosexual white male pretending to be gay scandalizes our puritanical overlords. Indeed, the very idea of a white male profaning gayness with his whiteness and toxic masculinity is unthinkable. Smelling salts would have to be administered. 

The idea of a company having its hand forced by political correctness concerns and the gay lobby is also part of that period. Pignon’s company manufactures condoms, among other things, and is worried that a possible boycott by gays for firing a gay employee might hurt their bottom line, with the very un-PC and likely true claim that gays use more condoms than the general public. How refreshing to only have to worry about a boycott and not the state itself coming down like a ton of bricks on a company for daring to fire a minority. Of course, it would be a moot point, since the company’s staff — especially in the HR department, where the hiring and firing decisions get made — would all be fags and their hags. It’s doubtful Pignon would get hired in the first place in this day and age. 

But even for a production of its time, the film is remarkably illustrative. It sends the message to white males, such as François Pignon, that the only way to redeem yourself is to embrace one of those fun, colorful LGBT identities. Otherwise, you’re just a nobody. It’s entirely natural for your son to reject you as boring if you’re just his dad, just a white, male, heterosexual, working stiff. It’s entirely natural for you to be a non-entity to your coworkers and an object of contempt for your ex-wife. Such is the lot of the straight white male, especially if he’s unassuming and introverted, like François Pignon. 

But what of the Chad, the extroverted, assertive, masculine white male? A supporting character, played by Gerard Depardieu (who should need no introduction) is Félix Santini, a rugby-playing macho man who cracks a few gay jokes at Pignon’s expense, but is soon tripping over himself to make friends with Pignon, lest he be suspected of homophobia. Initially, Santini’s attempts to ingratiate himself to Pignon are comical, but soon his marriage falls apart and he is institutionalized after a nervous breakdown, all because he was afraid to be deemed a homophobe. Santini is also a user of racial slurs, so you’re supposed to feel no sympathy for him, but here’s the supposedly all-powerful white male, running around like a scared rabbit, buying gifts for the homosexual and ignoring his wife to placate the gay, suffering a nervous breakdown after Pignon turns down an offer to cohabitate. Even back in 2001, in France, which as I understand is somewhat behind the curve on the globohomo agenda, we see the immense power of the homosexual over the heterosexual, especially the heterosexual white male. 

While we’re on the subject of gay power over the heterosexual, we cannot ignore the presence of the two main female characters of the film. The first is the former Mrs. Pignon, who is best described as a complete bitch. Pignon is still completely devoted to her and comes running at her beckoning, while she holds him in utter contempt. Only after he is outed as a homosexual — specifically after he takes part in a pride parade, sitting on a parade float throne with a giant condom on his head — does he gain the confidence to chew her out, name her for the horrible person she is, and proclaim that she doesn’t deserve him. Only as a homosexual can he take control over his life from this horrible woman. 

His outing as a homosexual also makes him very interesting to the very sexual and attractive Mademoiselle Bertrand, his boss at the office who previously treated him as a piece of furniture. Whereas previously he was invisible to her or indeed any women outside his horrible ex-wife, Pignon is suddenly an object of attention, pursued by the voracious and vivacious Bertrand, culminating in a session of intense . . . heterosexuality in the condom assembly line, right in front of the company director and the prospective Japanese investors. 

Message sent and received: the homo gets the girl. 

Of course, what’s left unspoken during the whole film, or indeed in any of the reviews, is that Pignon was probably gonna get sacked for economic reasons. The film makes it out that his firing comes as a result of him “not fitting in” or because the bosses are just meanies, but in reality, people usually get fired for good reasons. Assuming that companies have an infinite surplus of money to give out to people for make-work is a very Leftist assumption to make, and so is the assumption that refusal to hire — or firing — can only be a result of people being mean. Le Placard is a relic of a time where being mean to a white heterosexual male was still considered somewhat unfair, so Pignon’s deception is still considered morally good. But the bigger picture is that under conditions of infinite or at least vast company wealth, the overriding factor of whether someone will be fired or retained is loyalty. Whether they can do the job or not is secondary, since the bottom line is not likely to be affected. 

In the year 2001, especially before 9/11, even a high-tech French plastics manufacturer still lived more or less in economic reality. In the year 2021, vast gigacorps defy economic laws and are so intertwined with governments that the public-private distinction is more or less meaningless, even outside of France. Without the bottom line as a moderating influence, companies are completely free to hire and fire based entirely on loyalty, and as we know from previous articles, bioleninism is the best loyalty-generating system known to intersectional man, and that’s without even considering the gigacorp managerial staff’s free option. Only gigacapital can be woke capital, and gigacapital isn’t merely immune from economic reality — it can actively create demand by guiding its consumer base’s moral and aesthetic predilections. 

Le Placard is one of those films which could be considered the swansong of white males, of humor irreverent of political correctness before such sentiments were cast out into the outer darkness. It is still a film that promotes the globohomo agenda — it probably would never have been approved otherwise. But it’s a good enough comedy for a rainy day that carries with it the nostalgia of the early 2001s, just before 9/11, when it looked like we were for yet another carefree decade free of big-H history. 

In early March of this year, I wrote “Ukraine and Epistemic Failure Analysis” as a response to the Right’s collective failure to predict that Russia would invade Ukraine and initiate what has become the largest European war since that bit of unpleasantness with the Germans in the 1940s. That essay concerned itself with that very narrow failure of the nationalist Right to accurately predict the onset of war. Since then, that conflict has developed and expanded, and so have the Right’s reactions to it and its predictions as to its ongoing course. They have been, almost without exception, wrong. In this essay, I will enumerate these failures and comment on why I believe they took place.

For starters, Western dissidents, from MAGA to White Nationalists found themselves convinced that there would be no war, but that if there were to be a war, Russia would seize the whole of Ukraine, or at least its capital, Kyiv, within a week. The infamous “three days to Kiev” slogan is now widely mocked, but it was sincerely believed in the beginning. Even in the first months, at least until the Russian retreat from the Kyiv, Sumy, and Chernihiv fronts in Ukraine’s forested north and the beginning of the slow grind in the Donbas region, there was the belief that Russia was “holding back” and treating Ukraine with kid gloves. As I write these words, we are in the eleventh month of the invasion and Russian forces seem exhausted, even when augmented by the newly-mobilized soldiers from the September invasion.

At the root of the “three days to Kyiv” myth were two beliefs: in Russia’s great strength and in Ukraine’s pathetic weakness. The first exists in great measure due to the fact that the Russian state takes great care to appear strong and project an image of strength. Projecting an image of strength has its advantages, since the weak-willed are intimidated and you get to be the big man without actually being all that big and strong. However, without also actually being strong, it means that the myth of your great strength is fragile and can evaporate the second you try to muscle someone who decides to test your strength. Such people and entities are few and far between, but they do exist. Some have more balls than brains, others are governed by notions of honor rather than by self-preservation or reason, while others can still see through your bluff. It also leads your enemies to overprepare. According to this paper, the Ukrainian military took the Russian threat very seriously and thus prepared to fight the best Russian army that could possibly exist. When it came to it, they had to fight a Russian army with amateur logistics which committed blunder after strategic blunder due to political indecision at the level of the civilian government.

While we’re on the subject, people also believed Ukrainian defense efforts would be comically inept. While we can enumerate a laundry list of reasons why Ukrainian state capacity would be low — it is sometimes considered Europe’s most corrupt country; it’s poor, and politically and linguistically divided; it has very low birthrates; and its economy is still somewhat stuck in the Soviet period — the reality is that Ukraine was dismissed because “it isn’t a real country.” Aside from the fact that the denial of Ukrainian nationality was a Kremlin propaganda point which very heavily saturated the Western dissident Right in the years between 2014 and 2022, it also feeds into most Westerners’ dismissive views of the East. The difference between a Russian and a Ukrainian is academic to someone who looks at the region from far away and with a dose of contempt for those somewhat animalistic Slavs. Let the Russians absorb the statelets of Eastern Europe and clean up the map somewhat — who cares? Suffice to say, in the past ten months the Ukrainians have shown themselves to be eminently real, or at least real enough to call the Russian bluff and seriously imperil Russian imperial ambitions.

A subset of the myth of Russian great military strength is the myth of great Russian economic strength. It was believed that Russia would have Europe on a leash with its control of energy resources. In the immediate aftermath of the invasion and the Western-imposed sanctions, a great hullabaloo arose about how Europe would freeze in the winter unless it lifted the sanctions and stopped its support for Ukraine. At the same time, we were treated to some very creative fiction about the great strength of the Russian economy — that while it may look small on paper, because it is focused on staples like oil, wheat, and fertilizer, it’s “real,” unlike the financialized Western economies. Ten months down the line, not only has Europe not frozen, it has managed to develop the infrastructure to substitute Russian energy imports, while the combination of sanctions and labor shortages (due to mobilization and emigration to escape mobilization) have economically crippled Russia. The Right failed to predict that the global economy is a dynamic and antifragile system which does not depend on any single node in order to survive and thrive. The “real,” unfinancialized Russian economy has turned out to be nothing but a natural resource extraction operation, and rather embarrassingly dependent on Western technology. Almost all industrial capacity from the Soviet period has been lost and many of its technological aspects have been outsourced to the West. The advent of sanctions means that the rug gets pulled out on many operations, even those as crucial to the state’s finances as hydrocarbon extraction and exports. Import substitution is a joke, and now that some of the best and brightest Russians have fled the country to avoid mobilization, it’s less likely than before.

Of course, Russia and Ukraine aren’t the only actors in this conflict. Ukraine depends on weapons deliveries and support from the West to keep fighting. But have no fear: Western dissidents also made serious prediction errors with regard to the West as well. As a corollary to the myth of Russia’s great strength, we were also led to believe that the liberal West is degenerate and weak, that its armies are full of trannies and gays, and that its governments are run by shrill, unfuckable women and weak men will not be able to withstand the great masculine onslaught of shirtless Russian paratroopers. The dissident Right was, of course, wrong again. It turns out that the West was not only very robust and prepared to slog it out with Russia, but that it has a lot more fight in it than it appeared. Now, this could have been a stratagem — as Sun Tzu advises, it is wise to appear weak when you are strong, but it also could have been a case of the hapless Russians, as well as Western dissidents not recognizing strength because they do not realize what strength really is (or where it comes from). After all, every day I see conservatives, MAGA, nationalists, reactionaries, and a whole slew of other types of people loudly proclaiming how weak and pathetic the Left is, not stopping to realize that they’ve been consistently losing to the Left for at least 150 years. Whatever else they may be, someone who’s been consistently winning for 150 years is anything but weak. Recognizing that the West’s ruling class are not only not weak and pathetic, but also strong and secure in their position, or at least strong enough to check Russia by expending a fraction of America’s military budget in Ukraine, is essential if we’re to move forward with the nationalist agenda.

Over the past few years I’ve heard a lot of very confident pronouncements from dissidents about the reality of conflict. Reactionaries famously proclaimed that the era of mass war is over and that an era of elite, specialized soldiers is coming, with the bulk of the population being merely booty to be fought over by these powerful few. However, when reality got an opportunity to vote, it voted yet again for the levée en masse, as first Ukraine and then Russia mobilized their civilian male populations into the army, or in Ukraine’s case the army and territorial defense units. Of these two states, Ukraine’s mobilization efforts were met with less avoidance and resistance and produced better results. While this could be because th Ukrainians consider themselves under attack and are fighting to defend their country, it must also be said that of the two populations, it is the Ukrainians who are more ideological and politically active, while Russians are more pragmatic and politically passive. This has led to reluctance among the Russian population to take part in what it considers the state’s business. Indeed, if the state is the property of the elites — a private state — then why should the common folk concern themselves with its affairs? The moment the elites require the population to concern itself with a state affair as grave and as existential as war, the state must be reformed in order to give the commoners a stake in it; i.e., it must be reformed into a public thing — a res publica, if you’ll allow me an indulgence of gratuitous Latin. The great bugaboos of reactionary thinking, popular politics and ideological mobilization, have proven themselves to be great strengths for a state and indispensable in modern war.

What weapons and tactics have dominated the fight? Not the much-ballyhooed cruise missiles or special forces, but such standard elements of modern war as infantry, both light and mechanized; tube and rocket artillery; air defense systems; tanks and armored vehicles; and fighter jets and tactical bombers. As I write these words, Russian forces are attempting to seize the city of Bakhmut in eastern Ukraine, but have suffered immense casualties trying to storm the Ukrainian fortifications in and around the city: bunkers and trenches defended by machine gun- and mortar-armed infantry on foot, with heavy artillery support. The front lines are moving very slowly at the moment not because of any technological standstill, as expected by those who predicted that cruise missiles would paralyze armies of the future, but because of mud. Ukraine is still in its muddy season, which has extended into late December in this unseasonably warm winter. Rain and moisture have turned the vast fields into mud soup, which can suck a boot right off a soldier’s foot, to say nothing of trying to drive heavy vehicles over it. Until such a time that the ground freezes firmly enough to bear a tank, there will be no major maneuvers from either side.

I am sure that in Heaven or Valhalla, the veterans of Agincourt are having themselves a hearty belly laugh because war, after all, never changes. Naturally, each war brings forth a change on the battlefield, and we’ve seen unprecedented developments in electronic and drone warfare as well as a great lessening of the role of the attack helicopter, which cannot survive in heavily contested skies where every light infantry platoon has a shoulder-launched anti-aircraft rocket. But aside from these gradual changes that were expected due to the march of technological progress, the Ukraine War isn’t that much different from the way wars have been fought in the past. Notch another failed prediction for the dissident Right, this time in the area of military strategy and weapons technology.

What’s the point of enumerating all the ways in which the dissident Right got this war and its attendant phenomena wrong? Well, if we had merely gotten any one of them wrong, I’d have chalked it up to human error, or to having had the wrong facts, or any of a myriad of reasons why people make mistakes. But we didn’t get one thing wrong; we got everything wrong. And that would be bad enough, indicating that our framework of thinking and analysis is fundamentally flawed. But there’s more. Our primary enemy, the Western ruling class, was right on almost everything. It would be bad enough to say they were right about everything, but it’s worse than that. They, too, committed an error when they assumed that Russia was strong and that Ukraine was weak, but as soon as it became apparent that this was not the case, they immediately changed their assumptions and double-checked their methods and framework of thinking. Our principal enemy erred and then adapted after a period of failure analysis, whereas we erred and then persisted in our error. There has been no reflection on the Right, outside of my own efforts here at Counter-Currents. People are too caught up in defending the honor of their bad takes on the war or signaling their loyalty to this or that side to stop and think about why they’ve been consistently making bad predictions. Compounding the problem is that some of the people who’ve been the most vocal Putin cheerleaders came into the war hot off having predicted that Donald Trump would crown himself Caesar of America in the wake of the 2020 election.

Whichever way we put it, the goal of this movement is to attain political power, either directly or by developing a policy program and ideology that will allow others to seize power and implement our agenda. Standing in our way to power are not only rival political groups, which also seek power, but also the current power-holders: the Western ruling class. What the Ukraine War has demonstrated is that vast swathes of this dog’s breakfast of a movement are clownishly inept, and worse, pridefully clinging to their crooked interpretative frameworks that have led them into error again and again. Having erred, they do not adapt, they do not show contrition or self-reflection, they do not learn from their errors, and they do not even admit that they erred. I could be uncharitable and insult them by implying that they’re in this for money, but there are so many easier ways to make money that I can only conclude that we’re dealing with a coterie of unserious dilettantes chasing the dopamine rush of having the hottest hot take on social media. I won’t name names because it’s unproductive, but you know who they are, and insofar as they’re reading this, they know who they are.

If we are to seize power, then we must establish an interpretative framework which will allow us to accurately analyze world events and adapt to them. If our interpretative framework fails us, it is not the end of the world, since we can always adjust it or abandon it and start anew. What this war and the past ten months have shown me is that many of my old assumptions about the world were wrong, and I have taken steps to remedy this situation. I would like to invite my fellow White Nationalists to likewise do so, insofar as their own interpretative framework has failed them.

As for those who refuse to respond to the pressures of reality, we must abandon them. We are already a small and embattled movement, and we cannot afford the luxury of pig-ignorant ballast that refuses to admit it could have made a mistake.

I’ve had some good burgers in my time. Uh, I . . . I love a good Swiss, melted Swiss cheese and mush — roasted mushrooms and caramelized onions on a burger. Uh, that is hot stuff. You can get that at, at a number of different places. — Richard B. Spencer

I recently found myself at a classy burger joint. This was not my first time in a “classy” burger joint, but it was the first time I noticed that the burger joint was “classy.” No, there was no chamber orchestra playing soft music, nor was the waiter a stuffy French guy in his mid-to-late 50s (think Jean Rochefort), but there was something about the place that made me feel like it was a haunting ground of the classy. It made me feel underdressed and undergroomed. But it was a burger joint. How could I be underdressed for a burger joint?

While this was not the first time I had gone to such a place, it was the first time I noticed the discrepancy between the classiness of the place and the fact of what it was. I realized this when Mrs. Jeelvy gave up on eating her burger normally and started eating it with a knife and fork. All the other times we’d been to such places I had insisted that the burgers be eaten the way God intended, which is to say picked up in our hands and eaten directly with the mouth. This has led to many instances of the burgers’ ingredients vacating the buns out the other end, necessitating their consumption separately. All of this could obviously be avoided by cutting the burger into slices and eating it with a fork, like a club sandwich, but I had insisted on the traditional way of eating a burger up until that day. Due to a series of circumstances beyond my control, I was too tired and unfocused to enforce burger-eating etiquette on Mrs. Jeelvy, so she just ate hers with a knife and fork.

Then it became apparent to me that while she was violating traditional burger etiquette, she was eating the burger as its maker had intended it to be eaten — in other words, modern, fancy burgers are made in such a way that eating them with your hands is impossible. One has to sit down, place the burger on a plate, fix it in place with a wooden chopstick, cut it to pieces with a knife, and subsequently eat it with a fork. Eating the burger as God intended will mean that, if you’re not sitting down with a plate, its contents will fall to the ground. This is a profound change in the burger as we knew it.

The burger is traditionally a variation of the sandwich. The defining characteristic of a sandwich — and the reason why John Montagu, the Fourth Earl of Sandwich, saw fit to invent it — is that it can be eaten with one hand, leaving the other free for other activities, such as, in the case of Lord Sandwich, playing cards. In keeping with the by now familiar high-low versus middle pattern, this aristocratic invention was rapidly taken up by the working class, specifically because of the convenience and ease of its consumption. A hard-working man who hasn’t got a lot of time to eat can fish one of these “sandwich” things out of his lunchbox and scarf one down standing up, holding a cup of coffee in his free hand while leaning against a wall — indeed, on my way back from the burger joint, I witnessed construction workers doing exactly that.

If a burger cannot be eaten standing up without seriously disrupting the integrity of the burger and risk damaging its contents, then it is no longer a sandwich in any functional way. The sandwich is defined by the ease and convenience of its consumption. A food that requires utensils and a state of being seated to consume it is not a sandwich.

Now let’s move on to a burger’s contents and nutritive functionalities.

The nutritive utility of the sandwich comes from the fact that it can theoretically present a fully-balanced meal in an extremely efficient package. The bun contains carbohydrates, the meat and cheese the necessary protein and fat, and the salad, pickles, or perhaps onions are a source of fiber, vitamins, minerals, and other essential nutrients. In short, a burger or a sandwich should contain everything the human body needs.

Due to its very high energy-to-size ratio, the sandwich has historically been popular with the working class, who may not have much space to carry food with them while working but who expend a large amount of bodily energy in a typical day. The prevailing philosophy in the construction of a sandwich is utilitarianism. This is a food to be eaten by men who haven’t got the time or space to sit down, prepare plates and utensils, and dine properly, but nevertheless require the full macronutritional package such a meal provides. It is simple fare for hardy men.

The very idea of a fancy burger, consisting of mushrooms, melted Swiss cheese, goat cheese, caramelized onions, Thai or Chinese crap, daikons, cashews — anything beyond bread, meat, cheese, lettuce, tomato, and the complex sauces which all pretend to be subtle or forceful; they’re none of those things, and always clash with the hamburger itself — is contrary to the very concept of the burger as a type of sandwich. Indeed, what has happened to the burger in recent decades is a sort of embourgeoisement. No longer is it the quick meal of choice for the working man or aristocratic gambler, but it is now a positional good for upper middle-class hipsters to show off their status and refinement. Why else would a burger require melted Swiss cheese and caramelized onions? Have you tried caramelizing onions? It’s a two-to-three-hour process, for crying out loud. No working man’s wife has the time to produce such a meal, unless it is the main meal of the day –which a sandwich clearly is not.

The upper middle class showing off their status with positional goods and behaviors is nothing new, but what’s interesting to me is their appropriation of this quintessentially working-class meal for the specific purpose of showcasing their “worldliness.” The burger represents something raw and authentic, even when it is so frou-frou and inauthentic that it no longer has the functionality or utilitarianism of a burger. The reason why the upper middle class now feel the need to eat structurally and nutritionally complex burgers which have to be consumed sitting down and with utensils is that they crave the “rawness” and “authenticity” of the working class. This is why everyone and their mother is so concerned with being working class.

As was noted by a friend during the 2020 election campaign, the so-called “working class” supporting Donald Trump were actually the lower middle class trying to pass themselves off as working class (because they work, unlike those lazy libtards, get it?). The actual working class, meaning men selling their labor and working with tools or their hands, were largely apolitical, while a minority in the Rust Belt states were the mysterious “Obama/Trump” voters: people who voted for Obama in 2008/12 and Trump in 2016. The idea of the working class has a sainted position while having close to no actual voice in politics or culture. It is there to stand as a passive receptacle of policy and cultural tropes while its own culture is appropriated and mutated beyond all recognition by both Leftist upper middle class hipsters and Rightist lower middle class suburbanites. The role of the working class here is just to provide passive affirmation of the two politically-activated bougie demographics — a sort of authentication service, a rubber-stamp of working-class kosher certification.

The reason behind this is simple for anyone who’s a regular in these parts. Because ours is an egalitarian civilization whose core tenet is that All Men Are Created Equal, any specificity of biology which separates man from man has to be denied, and therefore all divisions between man and man (which cannot be done away with) have to be declared artificial. That which is artificial — created by artifice — is inauthentic and not “raw.” All high culture therefore has to go, because all high culture is artifice and removal of man from nature.

But here’s the problem. You still have the middle class and their desire to put on airs and strut around, reminding everyone that they’re wealthier and better-educated than the lower class while at the same time more moral and better-behaved than the upper class (“That Lord Sandwich, he gambles, you know”). In a culture which despises artifice, they will find ways to express their sophistication and morality in the language of naturism, rawness, and working class worship. Hence, the “raw and authentic” burger stacked so high that it cannot be bitten into. The middle class’ sophistication and wealth has to be expressed through the form of the burger — a form invented by an aristocrat, inspired by Greek peasants, and used primarily by the working class.

The great irony here is that the much-hated globalist corporations like McDonald’s and Burger King have kept, at least in form, the burger as it was and should be. In a world of hipster burgeries, McDonald’s stands as an unlikely beacon of authenticity — just good, hearty fare. The burger, as presented by the Clown, was what the burger was always meant to be: minced meat between two slices of bread and cheese, with optional vegetables. McDonald’s doesn’t try to sell me the experience of an authentic burger, but somehow it’s what I get there. It doesn’t try to sell me gourmet, “perfectly made,” “expertly crafted” burgers — but somehow, through the use of unknown dark magicks, its burgers remain intact when I hold them with my hands and bite into them.

Does this mean I’ll stop eating fancy burgers? Maybe. If the same ingredients were arranged in any way except a burger, I’d have no problem with the meal. I like Angus beef, I even like goat cheese (I could eat it by the carload, to be frank). The combination of the typical fancy burger ingredients is something that can be readily made into an exquisite meal by a qualified chef. It is the empty form of the burger that is symbolic of degenerate mores and the fetishization of the poor, as well as a desperate search for “authenticity” by people who are profoundly fake. But more to the point, if you like fancy foods, just bite the bullet and admit that you’re a highfaluting fancy-food enjoyer and eat fancy foods without dressing them up as “raw and authentic” working-class foods.

This can also be applied to fashion. If you want to dress luxuriously, just wear fancy clothes, don’t wear designer sports shoes or jeans. Be honest about yourself and your class positioning. If you’re going to flaunt wealth and status, flaunt it, boast, eat sirloin and fillet mignon, cover your wife in diamonds and your mistresses in gold. But because our civilization hates the idea of differences between man and man, these old-school status symbols are hated and considered vulgar. When rich Arabs, Russians, and Indians do it, they’re considered crass and nouveau riche, even though when a fat sheikh shows up in a solid-gold Lamborghini, at least he’s not offending the form of the Italian sports car the way that fancy burgers offend the form of the burger.

If we are to build a dissident high culture, it will have to be honest about its artificial nature, because high culture is always a product of artifice and a product of refining the human tastes and predilections. It is not “raw and authentic,” but on the contrary, refined and sophisticated. It is polished, dainty, and removed from convenience and utilitarianism. Its artefacts aren’t convenient to use; its foods have to be consumed sitting down using special utensils; its fashion doesn’t prioritize comfort or mobility; and its literature, film, and art depend on understanding insider jargon, references to things that must be learned, and the internalization of principles alien to both the common man and rival high cultures. Since we are dissidents, and we oppose the current age of lies, we will offer our truthfulness, our earnest elitism, and our unabashed refinement.

We will not eat haute cuisine posing as a burger. We will call burgers only those foods which are functionally and nutritionally burgers.

The past few months have seen the dissolution of several dissident narratives, even as the year 2020 worked overtime to produce them. Many people developed a healthy skepticism of the governments and reigning elites in the West. More who were already skeptical about governments and elites upgraded their skepticism to outright distrust of and hostility towards those groups. Dissident organizations grew in membership and funding. Dissident publications grew in readership, even in the face of censorship and deplatforming. Dissident thought flourished. Old hats, thought lost to the void, reemerged. New men arose. It should have been a very good year.

But it wasn’t. 

Oh, sure, you can present me with an argument to the contrary. I, too, will be making such arguments in the future, I wager. It was a very good year in the sense that every year above ground is a good year. After all, we are dissidents. Much like guerrillas, as long as we exist, we are winning. When you’ve been blacklisted from the credit card industry and still manage to raise enough money to keep on trucking, that’s a clear win. When major social media block links to your website and you still have growth in readership, that’s a clear victory. But maybe the real victory was the friends we made along the way. And after all, isn’t a decrease of trust in institutions a good thing? It’s right out of the national populist white paper. 

I strongly recommend you read the linked speech transcript. But here’s the part relevant to our discussion today: 

If people believe such [Alex Jones type] stories, it doesn’t just lower the trust in the system, it lowers their trust in logic and their own lying eyes. But there’s a problem with that. Complete epistemological nihilism is very easy to start, but it is hard to stop. You might think the nihilist train will take you to your destination, but when you pull the cord to make it stop, it’s just going to keep on barreling down the tracks.

We’re seeing some of that today. At the time of writing (January 18, 2021), true believers in the QAnon narrative are still trying to convince me that the pretender Biden’s inauguration is a massive trap for the pedophile satanic elites. See, these past four years of ineffectual attempts at fighting the deep state — which these people always assume is a coherent cabal — have been nothing but Trump and the white hats in government playing possum. Now, The Plan will be put into motion and The Storm will commence and the evil satanic pedophile elites will be arrested, tried for treason, and President Trump will restore Our Republic. 

But we’re not seeing complete epistemic nihilism. That might follow in the wake of Biden’s inauguration. Already, some of these Q believers sound like Q is their last thread before unraveling completely. It’s not just that the evil satanic pedophile elite media were lying to us — but the good guys, white hats, patriots, and Q himself were lying to us too. Worse, maybe it was all always lies. Maybe my own eyes are lying to me. Maybe there’s no such thing as truth. This is usually the point in the Lovecraftian tale where the protagonist goes mad and starts babbling about Yog Sothoth and the dusty tomes of the Mad Arab. 

Hey, you wanna get nuts? Let’s get nuts. Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Biden Washington wgah’nagl fhtagn.

Maybe that’s too dramatic. In all likelihood, only a tiny minority of Q believers will wander the street as lost souls repeating “Trump Won” until they’re blue and then green in the face. And for what? They never presented a genuine threat to the system. Even as they were entering the Capitol and taking selfies, none of the enemy’s agents were in genuine danger. QAnon and the broader patriot narrative do not challenge the central narrative of the ruling elite. It is, in a sense, a fanfiction of the ruling elite’s narrative. 

The basic and inviolate, central and indubitable, indubitable I say, totem of the ruling elite’s narrative is that All Men Are Created Equal. Human egalitarianism, including gender, race, class, caste, and all other forms of egalitarianism. Every featherless biped being equal to every other featherless biped, including (and especially) Diogenes’s plucked chicken. It’s just those mean ole white men who et cetera et cetera. All of their insanities flow from and are energized by this presupposition. 

Now, pause for a moment and let us retreat into movieland. 

Let us imagine that the past 5 years have been an adaptation of a Tom Clancy thriller. The Trap has been set. The pretender Biden, pumped full of an adrenochrome-methamphetamine-and-Scotch cocktail, is lifting his hand to be sworn in by the traitor John Roberts, who trembles as he brings forth the Necronomicon wrapped in a Bible’s dust jacket (to deceive the rubes). Cordoned off from the rest of the country by 20,000 troops in Washington DC, and believing the patriots well and truly defeated, the satanic elite have prepared 10,000 children under the age of 5 to be ritualistically raped and sacrificed to Communist Moloch in celebration of their total victory over Our Republic. Suddenly, arriving in attack helicopters evocative of Lord Indra’s chariot, Donald Trump and the Patriot army! US Marines pop up from hidden trap doors all over the National Mall and start arresting the pedophiles and Satanists. The National Guardsmen supposedly guarding them turn around and start shooting. 

Enraged at the foiling of her plans, Kamala Harris shoves aside the trembling Roberts and shambling Biden, grabs a screaming infant from the rape pile, and rips out his pineal gland, scarfing it down in a frenzy and suddenly sprouting a forked tail, wings, horns, and a sturdy outer carapace that deflects bullets and grenades. Madison Cawthorne, faced with Uber-Kamala, turns to Steve Turley and says “I never thought I’d fight side by side with a boomer.” “How about side by side with a friend?” asks Dr. Turley. “Uh, based,” responds Fuentes, as he cleaves Mike Pence’s head in two with a battleaxe. Unperturbed, Barron Trump marches towards Uber-Kamala, commanding a division of ICE agents. She easily slaughters the agents, and is poised to open Barron from golden pubes to collarbone, but suddenly, she takes strong helicopter fire from her flank. It’s President Jair Bolsonaro, flying in with a detachment of Brazilian paratroopers to aid the battle, himself in his old captain’s outfit. “Dê a eles o inferno, Gringo!” quips Bolsonaro as he turns to engage Mecha-McConnell who is now trying to shoot him down with surface-to-air missiles built into his CCP-supplied battle mech. All of President Trump’s international allies are now appearing. We see Bad Vlad Putin riding in with a whole brigade of Russian bear cavalry, Bibi Netanyahu and a battalion of Israeli paratroopers charge the pedophile flank, crying out in pain as they strike them, and old Janez Janša has brought the entire Slovenian army (all three of them) to bear on the globalist center. Even Melania gets in on the fun, producing countless knives from her mink stole, engaging in a designated chick fight with a sonic-gavel wielding Alexandria Ocasio Cortez until both of them have lost too much clothing to keep the film’s PG-13 rating and she finally stabs a stiletto between Mommy AOC’s ginormous tits and black blood dramatically flows from her evil heart. 

But circling back to Barron. 

An unassuming man in an Army uniform gives him something shiny: the sword of George Washington. He uses it to sever Uber-Kamala’s head clean from her body. She lets out a scream that shatters glass and the energy beam from her dying body shatters the CCP headquarters far away in Beijing. The legions of liberated children carry President Trump on their shoulders. He looks for the man who gave Barron the sword of Washington and promises to reward him, but the man is gone, smuggled out of the mess by Bronze Age Pervert. We see from his name tag that he is Lt. Gen. Quentin Q. Quinn. The heroes party and Our Republic is restored. 

I’ll give you a second to get your erections under control. Now, is this narrative pretty? It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever written. Is it true? Eh, we don’t use the t-word around here. Is it Q-compatible? Yes. Would it be ruined by casting Forest Whittaker as General Q? No, rather, it’d be enhanced. 

The Q narrative was always race-blind. It never addressed the fundamental and inviolable central plank of the elite narrative: the notion of egalitarianism. Why shouldn’t Q be black? Why shouldn’t he be Jewish, or Hispanic? Our Republic is for everyone, as long as they come here legally. And who’s to say black people can’t oppose the pedophile satanic elites? 

Now, I’m not exactly singling out the Q narrative here. I’ve already done that in the past, when its falseness wasn’t as readily apparent. But it’s not alone among dissident narratives in lacking dissidence. Racial egalitarianism can survive on Flat Earth (as the Pratchett opus will demonstrate), it can survive under conditions of anti-vax conspiracies, it can survive if aliens killed Kennedy, and it can even survive assuming that post-WWII, Nazis and Fascists infiltrated the governments of the West (as believed by Noam Chomsky and other eminent intellectuals). These are just some of the more ridiculous ones. There are others, each containing complete or partial rejections of human biodiversity, sometimes overtly. Some are rather compelling. For example, what is pejoratively called “IQ nationalism” seeks to reduce human biodiversity to IQ, for some tautological reason such as “it is measurable,” or “it is the best predictor we have of x,” where x is the inchworm’s pet parameter that will make marigolds measurable. 

Whether we like it or not, no matter how flimsy the elite narrative, it is based on presuppositions set very deep into the Western psyche. These are reinforced by education, constant propaganda, and constant demonization of its opposites: the narratives acknowledging human biodiversity. Doubting or even imputing malice to the elite’s motivations does not automatically translate to an accurate or even useful representation of who they are or what they do — their genuine malice towards whites, males, Christians, and heterosexuals notwithstanding. The dominant narrative, as well as its ancillary conservative narrative, already has idea spaces for bad guys who’ve infiltrated the government (see Chomsky). If I had a dime for every time I’ve heard about “the fascist globalists running the EU and UN,” the Dissident Right would have its very own George Soros. I’ll even grow great big eye bags if I have to. I hear it’s union rules for shady financiers. 

Human thought and emotion are like water. They flow around the barriers erected in the human mind by education, by propaganda, and if we’re very unlucky, by genetics. A sense of being hated by the elites without any significant deprogramming will lead to resentment of the elite on the elite’s terms. Consequently, any attack against the dominant narrative will be impotent because it will not question its central premise. 

It doesn’t matter that you don’t believe that Epstein killed himself if you are not prepared to understand that Epstein was a racial alien, fundamentally and irreconcilably incompatible with white Westerners, dispatched by a foreign power, fundamentally and irreconcilably incompatible with the order of Western nations, to run a kompromat-gathering operation on American and Western power-brokers. 

But to understand that is to get the Jew thing, which is a particularly nasty strain of anti-egalitarianism. It goes against every tenet of your conditioning. It’s like asking a pious Muslim to accept that Mohammed was nothing but an opportunistic and charismatic liar who invented a religion so he could steal, kill, and get his weasel waxed.

So, in the words of Larry David, curb your enthusiasm. Yes, we’ve witnessed a great rise in distrust of official narratives and institutions, but the alternatives springing up aren’t much better. They do not strike at the heart of the enemy’s deception and as such are to be shunned both out of practical necessity as well as out of duty to the truth. 

We’ll get nowhere with a warmed-over version of yesterday’s liberalism and a dream of Secretary Q played by Laurence Fishburne.

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Can you feel that magic in the air? It is the most wonderful time of the year. People from all over the world retreat to their hearths and homes to celebrate Christmas, to be with their families, to enjoy warmth, to remember good times, to reflect on the year past. It is a time of good cheer, of rest after a grueling 12 months of labor, it is the time when we celebrate our Savior’s birth, and the winter solstice, when the day is the shortest and the sun is reborn. It is a time of mistletoe, of snowmen, of presents, of Christmas trees and Christmas markets. It is a time when European man, even if he has precious little to eat, spares no expense to prepare his home for that most auspicious of visitors – the spirit of Christmas. It is a time of joy. Who could possibly want to ruin the season?  To ask the question is to answer it.

OUR GREATEST ALLY has seen fit to bombard Syria just as that country is preparing to celebrate Christmas. According to Syrian Girl  and Sarah Abdallah the Jewish state does this every year, to ruin the hope of the Syrian people, who gather to celebrate Christmas in a truly ecumenical way. As a bonus, the Israeli missiles also seem to have violated Lebanese airspace.

Your average conservative understands that the celebration of Christmas is under attack in the West. He will correctly point out that the Left seeks to stamp out Christmas and replace it with “holidays” such as Hanukah and Kwanzaa, or something even more repulsively homogenizing and non-denominational. He considers a wish of “happy holidays” an act of war against Christmas. But he will turn a blind eye, like a good little cuckservative, to the literal war waged upon Christians on Christmas by the state of Israel, with very real missiles striking Damascus.

In the darkest of hours of Europe, in the first year of the Great War, the spirit of Christmas descended upon the trenches. The men got out of their encampments and extended their arms in friendship to each other across No Man’s Land. The Christmas Truces were an oasis of peace and togetherness in that tortured epoch of division and war, and in that moment, European men, English, German, and French, broke bread together, sang carols, and played Christmas games. For a minute, the war was put on hold, harking back to the old European tradition of chivalry, which forbade battle on holy days, which forbade the torture and execution of war prisoners, the tradition out of which the Geneva conventions and the Peace of Westphalia arose, the tradition of European man’s attempt, futile in its last but nevertheless incomparably noble, to civilize even that most savage of human activities—war.

It is quite informative that the Jewish state of Israel would make a point of waging war on the second-holiest day of Christendom. It is even more informative that they make the point of waging their war against Syria, which is one of few countries in the Middle East where Christians can freely worship and live unmolested. Now, I am certain that the Jewish state has good strategic reasons for waging war on Syria and not, say, Saudi Arabia, but in the context of general Jewish attitudes towards Jesus and Christians, I am inclined to believe that there is a significant element of anti-Christian hatred to their choice of target and time. Christian joy on the day of our Savior’s birth itself incites Jewish resentment, these people without joy in their hearts, who narcissistically consider themselves the Chosen Ones, but whose entire religion is predicated on rejecting the messiah because his teachings weren’t quite to their taste.

Like many people who come from broken families, Christmas holds for me more bad memories than good. There is a tightness in my throat as I contemplate Christmas. A cold dread grips my heart as Christmas steadily approaches—a relic of the time when my sincerest Christmas wish was that the Christmas tree would survive the daily fights which would often culminate in violence. In my adult life, Christmas is a melancholy time, a time of mixed emotions as I am both reminded of past travails and pain, and a time when I open my heart to joy, to a truly childlike joy. If we had snow, I’d go running and dancing in the snow.

None are viler than those who ruin Christmas. To cause your fellow man pain in this time of joy is downright evil. It is a behavior that we in the Balkans associate with Albanian and Bosniak Muslim terrorists who would purposefully conduct terror attacks on Christmas, Easter, and other Christian holy days. We are under no illusion that the Muslims are our friends—why should we believe that the other ethno-religious group which wages war on Christmas is friendly to us. We do not speak of Islamo-Christian values (though the case for Islamo-Christian values is stronger), and yet our conservative luminaries are big on the Judeo-Christian values. Here’s a handy comparison: the Muslims believe that Jesus was born of a virgin, performed miracles, and they accept his ministry. What they disagree on is his divinity and his resurrection. In this sense, Islam is a Christological heresy, of a kind with Mormonism and Arianism (though much greater in scope). Judaism, on the other hand, contends that Jesus is in Hell, boiling in a vat of excrement and semen. That is not a disagreement about theology. That is a pronouncement of pure hatred.

In this magical and wonderful time, it is important to remember that no matter how powerful and well-entrenched our enemies are, they cannot triumph over us and they cannot take our joy. They tried to conquer Syria and feed her Christian population to the Salafi/Wahabi nutters. Now the spirit of Christmas is welcome in Damascus and Aleppo, as Christians fill their hearts with joy, safe in the knowledge that their Muslim neighbors will not molest them. Syria has weathered the worst of the storm. Now it is our turn. We must retake our nations and make our cities safe for the spirit of Christmas again, as they once were. We will have, for at least one miraculous night, peace on Earth and good will among men.

Last year, when Armenia and Azerbaijan clashed in the Caucasus, I counseled caution and neutrality for the dissident, as it was yet another tug of war between empires that did not concern us as nationalists and dissidents. Not our circus, not our monkeys. 

Well, now it would seem that the circus has left town. The war is, for the time being, over. Azerbaijan has defeated Armenia and taken Artsakh. We can therefore begin to pick at this conflict as a historical event, although we do not, as of yet, have sufficient historical perspective for a full analysis. 

Now, I don’t intend to play armchair general and dissect the strategies, technologies, and positions of the opposing armies. I’m not a military man and won’t pretend to be so. Armchair generals are common on the internet, so you can peruse them at your leisure. I do, however, know a thing or two about art and music, and this war involved some of that. 

During the war, the Azerbaijani Ministry of Defense released a propaganda music video to bolster the morale of their troops. The song is called “Atəş,” a Persian loanword meaning “fire,” but also “zeal.” Give it a listen. It’s literally music to invade Armenia to. 

Not to be outdone, the Armenians made their own propaganda music video. A key difference is that the music video did not come from the Armenian government, but from a resurgent System of a Down, which for all you young ones was a nu-metal band that was popular in the 90s and 2000s. The song was called “Protect the Land.” Give it a listen. 

Notice something? It’s in English! 

Call me old-fashioned, but if I were writing a song about defending Macedonia from foreign invaders, I’d write it in Macedonian. Then again, I’m not a fifty-something leftoid diaspora has-been with a voice evocative of a chicken mid-strangulation. There’s also the delicious irony of System of a Down, after spending the better part of the past 30 years telling everyone how in-group preference and war are bad, suddenly releasing Blut und Boden 2: Armenian Boogaloo. People say it’s a good song. Personally, I think that System of a Down is okay if you’re sixteen and angry at your dad, but those halcyon days are sadly behind me. 

But the language issue is the least of the problem. 

“Protect the Land” is whiny. Part of that comes with the territory of being sung by Serj Tankian, but more than that, there’s something about the song that is feminine and unmartial. Contrast that to “Atəş.“ My good friend and fellow contributor Fullmoon Ancestry is fond of comparing the sound of heavy metal drums to rumbling thunder, exactly as can be heard in the very martial, high-testosterone “Atəş.” “Protect the Land” is supposed to be evocative of the gathering storm before a war, but it only manages to evoke images of frightened women cowering before an onslaught. Even the rumbling bass line, which is the masculine canvas against which Tankian’s womanly wails are supposed to paint a picture of patriotism, is a repetitive and sophomoric denga-denga-denga I remember with a degree of contempt from my days as a metalhead.

“Atəş,” on the other hand, revels in aggression, destruction, conquest, and contempt for the enemy. It is triumphalist in its sound and tenor, artfully using the heavy metal form to deliver an intense call for warlike virtue. Whether due to a quirk of the Azerbaijani language or a personal preference of male vocalist Ceyhun Zeynalov, the rolling vocalized Rs shake the floor and windows even without a bass boost. Contrast Zeynalov’s low and ominous growls in the first stanza with his earth-shattering raspy yells in the chorus and later. If I were making an animated film about a ruthless warlord, I’d retain his services as a voice actor.

Speaking of vocals, whereas “Protect the Land” has Serj Tankian, “Atəş” has, aside from the aforementioned Ceyhun Zeynalov, Nərmin Kərimbəyova, who provides the female vocals. One might ask what role a woman has to play in a war song. Musically, her voice is the silk to Zeynalov’s boiled leather. As countless metal and goth musicians before them, the Azerbaijanis have made deft use of the pseudo-operatic female vocal for aesthetic and propaganda effect. The presence of Nərmin can only be explained if we formulate a narrative of “Atəş.” Purely from its sound, and not understanding any of the lyrics, we can visualize in the first stanza a tribe preparing for war. Whereas Ceyhun Zeynalov is playing the part of the tribal warlord, inspiring his men to do battle as the storm gathers above, Nərmin is the woman who privately exhorts them to conquer the enemy. Indeed, the vocal deliveries have a distinct open/closed duality to them. Zeynalov’s voice is all-conquering and omnipresent, with strong reverberation effects — Nərmin’s is private and cameral, spoken in the marital bed or behind the shed, a promise of marriage for the victorious soldier. The second stanza has Zeynalov’s raspy yells evocative of a commander who’s grown hoarse in the midst of battle, whereas Nərmin is acoustically distant, as if gazing wistfully across the steppe, praying to her strange gods for the return of her brave warrior. Protect the Land, in contrast, fails to tell a story, even though it tries to. Then again, System of a Down could never tell a story — only throw words together and see what sticks. 

Moving on to the realm of the visual, some of you young whippersnappers might not remember, but there was a time when we had something called music “videos,” where musicians would pair their music with visual presentations. This is a phenomenon of the television (a kind of Boomer YouTube controlled by Jews) era and music videos were themselves at one point considered an art form in and of themselves, although always ancillary to the music itself. We can therefore devote some space to analyzing the visuals presented to us in the two music videos. 

Let’s start with the most basic thing: light. The video for “Atəş” is bright, filmed on an open field in the daytime, contrasting the darker and colder colors of the Azerbaijani army’s uniforms and machinery. The video for “Protect the Land,” on the other hand, is dark, featuring closeups on faces in low and colored light. This may serve to evoke the unique color contrast of the Armenian tricolor flag (red, orange, and blue), but heroic it ain’t. The best — and best-lit — parts of the video are the landscape and panoramic shots of Armenian natural and cultural heritage. Now on to the subjects of the video. 

The “Atəş” music video depicts the performing band standing in an open field, surrounded by Azerbaijani military vehicles and equipment. They wear Azerbaijani uniforms and perform. This is a standard rock ‘n roll music video setup. There are some shots of soldiers engaging in drills, parades, and warfare, but by far the most memorable parts are the displays of artillery and rocket fire. There are more explosions per minute than a Michael Bay movie. The Azerbaijani army wants you to know of their great might. Of note is that the music video has taken great care to focus on the vocalists, Ceyhun Zeynalov and Nərmin Kərimbəyova. They perform with their bodies and faces as well as their voices. Their body language underscores the musical narrative mentioned some passages ago. Zeynalov throws his arms out to the side with great intensity, occupying as much space as possible in classic alpha male fashion, which is symbolic of the Azerbaijani desire for conquest of territory. Nərmin Kərimbəyova’s gesticulation is more personal, with hands stretched towards the camera, as if beckoning the viewer into heroism. The makeup team has also taken good care to doll her up — her skin is pure porcelain, contrasting Zeynalov’s crimson bulging neck muscles, her eyes deep black pools of Eastern mystery. Her full, puffed-out lips beckon to be kissed, and somehow manage to avoid the vulgarity of the protruding silicon lip unfortunately common in the Caucasus and Eastern Mediterranean. Even though she is in uniform, there’s nothing grotesque or unfeminine about her. Any red-blooded man would commit war crimes for her. 

Across the front lines, the music video for “Protect the Land” depicts catastrophic war footage, Armenian soldiers, dramatizations of Armenians putting on military uniforms, closeups of Armenians, and closeups of the band’s faces. If the point was to remind me that I’m not sure Armenians are white and how fucking ugly Daron Malakian is, job well done. The best part is the landscape and church photographs. I liked the montage of Armenians putting on military uniforms until they shoehorned an aggressively ugly schoolteacher with problem glasses putting on a military jacket in there. I get the idea of depicting a cross-section of Armenians to remind the soldiers what they’re fighting for, but the result is strangely demoralizing. Maybe System of a Down’s leftoid ideology is showing here, so they went for the aesthetic of the average Armenian. Maybe someone should have told them that the average person isn’t someone we like to look at, especially in closeup.

Do we want to see homely women and old people in a war song? The soldier at the front has no time for the petty lies of the civilian world. He lives in a borderland, lives and dies by his brotherhood with other soldiers. In the great terror of the war zone, the soldier should orient himself towards the highest, the heroic. This theoretical dictum translated to music video production means putting masculine men and attractive women in the forefront, as the Azeris did. 

What’s the relevance of this? Well, I’ve never read Norman Vincent Peale, but I’ve read a lot of James O’Meara on Norman Vincent Peale, so here’s the magickal answer: the Azeris won the war because they had the better song and better music video. They hyperstitioned themselves into victory with their high-testosterone heavy metal, whereas the Armenians poisoned themselves with victim mentality and promotion of ugly women. What you visualize yourself as, you become. The Azeris just wanted it more and visualized it better. 

Amusingly, this seems to be the dominant opinion among Russian military analysts as well, opposed to the standard Western take that contends that Azerbaijani material and technological superiority were the deciding factors, so make of that what you will. Now, I’m not the magick guy here at Counter-Currents, so I’ll let our resident warmage wrangle with that issue. 

I don’t know if the song made the victory, but I do know that the national will is behind both the song and the performance in the war. “Atəş” is overflowing with a will to destruction that is sorely lacking in “Protect the Land.” The Azeris were prepared to go to any lengths, to bear any hardship, their will was strong, and they were prepared to be monstrous in order to achieve their goals. That’s something to keep in mind for the future. There’s no real point in having nukes if you’re not ready to deploy them. No weapon, no tactic, no act in potentiality can exist “just for deterrence.” 

In my political career, I’m fond of pointing out that many of my country’s problems would be solved by ethnic cleansing. This is also true of white homelands. Many of my compatriots ask me to tone it down, claiming that it alienates normal people. I’m sure it does. Ethnic cleansing is an ugly thing and it’s never fully peaceful, consensual, or humane. Somebody, somewhere, is going to have to shoot a defiant widow, a pregnant woman, or even a 4-year-old child. And yet this must be on the table. We cannot hobble our struggle by being moralistic about the ugly business of interethnic conflict. Similarly, we mustn’t fall into the trap of believing we can defend our way to victory. Even if white ethnostates are to make a comeback, we cannot merely passively defend them against the anti-white onslaught. The old tenacity will have to be brought back, the willingness to destroy, to kill, to burn, to uproot peoples and shatter nations. We must reclaim the will to destruction.

Now, I don’t want this to be misinterpreted as a call to wignattery or crime. The will to destruction must be contained within the apparatus of the state; otherwise, it’s mere thuggery. Most people have the luxury of living without this burning fire within them, and God bless them for it. But at the high courts of the European states, such great will has to be cultivated, properly directed, and intensified if our conflicts are to end in victory. 

The Azeris have shown that they have this will and their war propaganda demonstrates this. The Armenians have been found lacking. I should probably sympathize with them. They’re the other big spent force of history. I’m sure that Tigranes and Alexander are cringing together in heaven as they look on their pathetic descendants. 

But maybe the problem isn’t Armenians in Armenia. Let’s not forget that System of a Down are diaspora Armenians. The fact that they sing in English rather than Armenian, even when producing propaganda for Armenian military ends, shows us the decay that sets in the soul of a people when they’ve been diaspora for too long. They become weak, cowering courtesans, men of the purse, begging and scheming at foreign courts. Contrast that to Armenians in Armenia, who were considered the finest soldiers in the Soviet army. 

Maybe the real lesson is that whites cannot survive the loss of our homelands — at least not in a form we would deem worthy of survival. 

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.

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 perverted and dangerous, because if there is rot, then there will be a parasite.

God save us all when this rotten forest will crumble.

— Maxim Martsinkevich Tesak

In my previous writings for Counter-Currents I’ve observed and pointed out that one role of the Right-wing dissident is that of a wrecker and dissolver. We are creatures of a late-stage civilization where there’s nothing left to conserve, so we must endeavor to abandon the instinct to conserve and embrace our thanatic impulses, our impulses towards destruction, for the simple reason that very little of that which surrounds us is worth conserving and almost everything is tainted by evil. I have poetically called my own urges for destruction The Shades of Wrath, and I feel them with me at all times, kept at bay by mental discipline and self-control but always tempting me with the unfathomable freedom that their release would represent. Sometimes I indulge them, in the ring or at the shooting range; at other times I direct their energy into my work.

We are born into a world which is filled with evil, and this evil has not left us untainted. This evil world appropriates our creative impulse in order to perpetuate itself, and our instincts for creation and regeneration are subverted and exploited, like how the virus uses a cell, to perpetuate the evil around us. When the artist is tempted by the cultural establishment to bend the knee so that he can make a living from his art, he is tempted by Satan and offered all the riches of this world so that he may contribute to the evil. An artist can therefore strike a blow for good by denying evil the use of his talents. The same can be said of the engineer, the scientist, the warrior, the thinker and any man of worth. But even if we resist, we are still surrounded by the structures of evil. This means that the proper tools of the artist in this age aren’t the brush, the chisel, the pen, or the musical instrument, but the sledgehammer and kerosene can. We are the generation born to destroy the evil around us.

As I write these words, a war rages in Ukraine and my body is tense with a mixture of anticipation and dread. The Shades of Wrath are stirring; they can smell the blood and gunpowder in the air. They whisper in my ear, “You’re a fighting-age male, and you know which end of a gun to point at the enemy. Why not volunteer to fight? You’re already 30. You want to hit 40 and never know what it’s like to kill a man? You think there’s gonna be another good war anytime soon?” I chase those urges away, as it’s all the childish fantasies of a man who has never seen an actual warzone. In modern war, as Hemingway put it, you die like a dog for no good reason. Industrial warfare is decidedly unglamorous. Worse than being blown to smithereens in a rocket barrage, they’ll probably just have me stacking boxes in the rear for the duration of the conflict.

But the unfathomably old bloodlust is still there. Thanatos will have his due. It’s hard to breathe, swallow, and think; I am boiling over with an urge to destroy. I created this monster within myself when I set out to become a wrecker.

We are the wreckers, the dissolvers. We have cultivated ourselves as chaga, as the mushroom which devours the tree’s rotten heart when the tree no longer serves its purpose in the forest. We do this in service to the forest, because the old, rotten trees have to fall if new, healthy ones are to grow. We do this by deconstructing the means by which our enemy operates: the narrative. We are destroying his ability to deceive and lead people around by the nose. By deconstructing his narrative, we’re also damaging his ability to coordinate his vast, decentralized network of managerial drones.

But we are not mushrooms. We are still men, and men cannot be wreckers alone. We know how to wreck the enemy, but what happens after? More importantly, can we conceive of an “after” from here, deep in our bleak, fungal struggle?

What does it matter to the wrecker what happens afterwards? When the demolition crew is done with a decrepit building, do they inquire as to the fate of the lot, or do they move on to a fresh building to demolish? The chaga may live in every tree, but it is only activated in those that are old and rotten. It would be very simple, but we are men and not mushrooms, and we’re not even the demolition crew, since we’ll still have to live in this place when the painful job of wrecking it is done.

Since we are men and not mushrooms, we must learn to create as we destroy. When we work our destruction, we must do so in such a way the creation of the new is incipient in it. Our acts of dissolution must also be acts of constitution. We are not mushroom men and we are not Alex Jones. We do not believe in epistemic nihilism. When we destroy lies, we replace them with the truth.

I’ve written before about the will to self-destruction which often lurks behind dissident politics. I’ve also discussed the problem of pathological approaches to dissident politics with Josh Neal, whose book American Extremist I recommend to everyone interested in these matters. The unleashed death instinct, the Shades of Wrath, are, as my fathers used to say, good servants but cruel masters. When man sets out to destroy, he must take care that his urge to destroy does not consume him utterly and transform him into something monstrous. Old man Nietzsche’s warning about fighting monsters and gazing into the abyss is applicable here.

For this reason, it is not enough merely to have a negative vision. The purely negative vision seeps into the deep psyche, which is the master of the rational mind and instrumentalizes it to work its nefarious work. In a sense one becomes possessed by the negative vision, as our ancestors imagined men were possessed by demons. Because the rational mind is the plaything of the irrational, deep instincts, they must be ennobled by a yearning for the good, a positive vision of the future, a light at the end of the tunnel, a blessed place where the struggle is at long last over and the body can relax, its urge to destruction finally fulfilled, the knife and gun finally laid to rest. It’s not just a conceptual idea of “an end to the war,” but a concrete place populated by concrete people. When we fight for our homelands, we have a positive vision of what they’ll look like once the war is over. This is how we keep ourselves safe from thanatic possession.

This may sound very abstract and theoretical, but we have already seen people give in to nihilism as a sin of excess corresponding to the healthy and righteous struggle to destroy society’s rotting institutions. We have seen Richard Spencer do it to himself, we have seen Hungary’s Jobbik fall from grace, and we are observing Nick Fuentes in this process of self-abasement even as I write these words. But those are stories for another day.

I will leave you with this thought: A man may fight against something, and there may be a lot of fight in him, but without a vision of something good to fight for, “the good” towards which virtue ethicists say man should orient himself, his soul may be devoured by the demon of dissolution.

[Without cotton] . . . Old England would topple headlong and carry the whole civilized world with her . . . No, you dare not make war on cotton. No power on Earth dares to make war upon it. Cotton is king. — Senator James Hammond of South Carolina

The famine will start now and they will lift the sanctions and be friends with us, because they will realize that it’s impossible not to be friends with us. — Margarita Simonyan, Editor-in-Chief of Russia Today

Since I live in Europe and find myself on the political Right, this past week or two (who the hell even counts anymore?) I’ve found myself completely inundated with dire warnings that I’m going to freeze to death this coming winter because our governments have angered The Gas Gods, or because I’ve refused to accede to the erasure of the Ukrainian nation by a post-Communist multiethnic empire falsely claiming to be Russian. There’ll be no respite from the cold, no warmth, no life, because we’ve dared anger The Gas Gods by supporting “ukro-fascism” and “hohols.”

Personally, I’m usually fascinated by every freaky cult I encounter, but this one seems less freaky and more reeking of desperation. Even more than desperation (which I can understand, having stared down despair and spat in his face more than once), it reeks of shallow thinking about destabilizing equilibria.

The prophets of doom foresee a dark and cold winter for Europe until it pleases The Gas Gods by discontinuing its blasphemous “sanctions” and “weapon deliveries to the UkroReich.” Then, if Europe does that, The Gas Gods, and more specifically the head Gas Deity, a bald godhead known only as “Based Putin,” would condescend to turn their blessed flatulence Europe-ward, thus putting an end to our cruel, cold winter through their strange multipolar magicks.

In truth, we’d been hearing a lot about how gas exports to Europe make the Russian Federation geopolitically unstoppable for many years now, both in the form of warnings from people who foresaw (or know from bitter experience) that Moscow would use energy exports as a weapon, and in the form of boasts from Russian or pro-Russian trumpeters, but it is only now that the pro-Russian side’s pronouncements have taken on a febrile pitch, screamed — insofar as one can scream while typing over the Internet — in a mad cacophony that seems more designed to reassure the pronouncer than discomfort the European listener. That this coincides with the Russian armed forces getting a bloody nose on the Kherson front and a ten-foot barge pole up the rear on the Kharkiv front is probably not of any significance, or so the Gas Cultists tell me. But let’s leave them by the wayside for a while and talk about cotton.

It’s the late 1850s in America, and it is obvious that the country is a house divided. The issue of slavery, unresolved at the country’s founding, seems less likely to be resolved peacefully and amicably between the North and South. There are other issues between the North and the South as well, each quite pressing to those concerned and all pertaining to a very old conflict between Yankees and Quakers on the one hand and Virginia gentlemen and Scotch-Irish hillbillies on the other. This is a war as old as the English people themselves, a war between Charles I and Oliver Cromwell, between Lancaster and York, and between Alfred the Great and Guthrum of East Anglia. Indeed, it seems that all is not well in the happy land of America, and the great gentlemen of the South are now seeking to secede from that Union which has become for them a prison.

When cooler heads raise the warning of the proposed new country’s economic viability, the great gentlemen of Virginia slam their fists on the table and cry, like Senator Hammond, that King Cotton will see them true. What will the industrial economies of Britain, France, or indeed the accursed Yankees do without King Cotton? The textile industry, the workhorse of the mid-nineteenth century industrial machine, will not be denied its cotton — and what joy, Old Dixie has completely structured her economy to serve and export King Cotton. Having done that, Old Dixie believes King Cotton will condescend to help her in her hour of need. Who makes war on Dixie, makes war on King Cotton, and he’ll rouse his dependents in England and France to rush to Dixie’s aid and destroy the damned Yankees.

Old Dixie puts her faith in King Cotton, but King Cotton has other plans. In the first year of the War of Northern Aggression, Dixie ceases all exports of raw cotton in an effort to rouse England and France into action, but finds them roused to action in a direction Old Dixie hasn’t predicted. England begins aggressively importing cotton from India and Egypt. Brazil and Argentina develop their own cotton-growing capacities to feed the voracious European industrial economies. The Russian Empire invades the Bukhara and Tashkent khanates in what is today called Uzbekistan, in part to establish itself as a cotton producer, both for export and its own industrial needs. The world has one lean year in which textile mills work at reduced capacity, but adapt the very next year. Dixie loses her source of revenue. King Cotton found other mistresses — Egyptian, Bukharan, Indian, Brazilian — leaving her alone to be ravaged by Lincoln’s marauding hordes.

The gentlemen of Old Dixie are stumped. They were proud, they were noble and of ancient blood, and they allowed themselves to be stupid. They were blinded by liberal ideology and its lure. They did not listen to their countryman George Fitzhugh when he counselled that the South in general and Virginia in particular should industrialize its economy, and do so by utilizing the state’s immense power working in concert with local interests while safeguarding the working class’ well-being, as is being done in Germany. His warnings went unheeded and Dixie has thus retained her old agrarian economy, unwilling or perhaps unable to industrialize, naïvely believing that it can dictate terms to England, France and even the damned Yankees due to its control of cotton. Old Dixie then loses the war with the damned Yankees and suffers all the woes of the vanquished.

The year is now 2022, and once again a resource-extracting country is attempting to use resource exports as a cudgel in international politics. Having supplied relatively cheap gas to Europe for the better part of the past 20 years, Russia has now ceased deliveries through Nord Stream 1 and will likely end all gas deliveries until its demands are met: Europe and America must end all sanctions against Russia and stop supplying Ukraine with weapons and resources. It has done so not expecting that the countries it supplies with gas — indeed, the countries its entire economy is structured around supplying with gas — will seek out alternative sources of gas and energy. While it is true that there will be an adjustment period where Europe will have less gas and will pay more for it, this is only until the infrastructure of the new trade routes is further developed. Gas from Kazakhstan, Azerbaijan, Argentina, Canada, Cyprus, Israel, and America will rush into Europe to fill the gap, locking Russia out of the industry and bringing the Western coalition closer together.

Before the Russo-Ukrainian War, my friend John Morgan penned an article claiming that Putin would gain far more from not invading Ukraine than from invading. While Washington and London were sounding the alarm for rooskies on the horizon, such cries were dismissed as dangerous paranoia in Paris, Berlin, and even Kyiv. In not attacking, Russia would have dispelled the American narrative about itself. Instead, when it attacked Ukraine and followed up by threatening to withhold gas sales from Europe, it confirmed every aspect of that narrative. When it failed to break the Ukrainian resistance and bogged itself down in an inadequate offensive, it even managed to confirm the McCain/Obama consensus that it is nowhere near as tough as it appeared. In attacking Ukraine and failing to defeat it quickly, whilst simultaneously threatening to stop the flow of gas to Europe, Russia painted itself in the very unenviable role of a bully who is nevertheless weak, and everybody loves a weak bully, since it means you can easily beat on him while facing no moral sanction for it.

What’s curious to me is that it seems intuitive, and one would say self-evident from the facts at hand, that Russia has far more to lose if the Europe-Russia relationship is severed. Europe may need gas, but Russia needs the European market. It lacks the infrastructure to deliver gas or even oil to its new trading partners in Asia, and these trading partners are not exactly paying fair market value for the oil they are purchasing. They can’t even purchase gas, due to the fact that the vast Russian pipeline infrastructure runs to Europe and therefore new pipelines, over rough terrain and without the aid of European technology under the sanction regime, would have to be built to service Asia. Europe has options; Russia’s main rival in the gas and geopolitical game, for one. Russia hasn’t got much in the way of options. Where Old Dixie put its faith in King Cotton, Russia now clings to President Gas, as Mark Gullick so eloquently put it. I love our good Mr. Gullick; he’s a philosopher and a poet (though he knows it not), but he gets it wrong there. Systems move when exposed to stress.

But if a retired philosophy professor can be forgiven for being naïve and thinking one-dimensionally about global energy trade, the Russian government cannot. Surely they must have known what would happen. Surely they didn’t all believe, as the lunch-stealing Mx. Simonyan does, that Europe will elect to be friends with a country that thinks it can dictate European foreign policy by withholding energy exports. It boggles the mind, but it bears repeating that modern government is not particularly well-staffed. The Russian government, consisting as it does of FSB thugs and organized crime figures, may not have the best and brightest Russians in its employ; many of them are probably part of the hated pro-Western liberal class, Moscow/St. Petersburg hipsters, or one of the Rodina’s many expatriates. Hey, they tried going against the empire-killer, what can I say? There’s a lesson there for would-be imperialists: You can’t out-empire liberalism.

Let’s be charitable and outline three scenarios here. Scenario A: The Kremlin believed Ukraine would break quickly enough so that sanctions could be avoided. Scenario B: The Kremlin believed Europe would not respond to the invasion. Scenario C: The Kremlin actually believes it can break European resolve by withholding gas. None of these scenarios is particularly charitable to the great, bald heads of the Russian Federation, but let’s consider them nonetheless. Personally, I believe that Scenario A is the one they are following, and that everything that has happened since the February/March Kyiv offensive stalled out has been the result of the Russian state flying by the seat of its pants. Of course, I could be wrong, since this is the course I would have taken if I were in charge of the Russian government, but then again I would not have attacked Ukraine if I were in charge of the Russian government. Scenario B is less likely, but let me address it along with scenario C, because they derive from the same root assumption.

If Moscow’s gamble was that Europe would not respond to the invasion, then it’s safe to assume that Moscow considers Europe too selfish and provincial to make sacrifices for Ukraine. Similarly, if Moscow believes it can break European resolve by withholding gas, it means that Moscow assumes Europeans are too dependent on material comfort and will therefore break if pain is applied. This, of course, is a fundamental underestimation of the Northwestern European character, whose first instinct when exposed to pain is to counterattack. Russians think themselves tough and capable of great endurance, but they are little children compared to Northwestern Europeans in the full throes of moral outrage, and as we have already pointed out, by invading Ukraine and failing to break it, Russia has shown itself to be both morally reprehensible (in both the prevailing moral paradigm and in the nationalist paradigm as well) and weak enough to retaliate against without significant pushback.

Contrary to Russian narratives about them, Europeans are neither provincial nor weak. Russia’s Europe-facing propaganda has made appeals to provincialism (why should you suffer for Ukraine?) and to weakness (you will freeze and starve; yield now). But it is trying to propagandize a people who has a vast world-consciousness, even among its common folk, as well as vast strength of moral conviction. We may not like the moral paradigm currently in place, but we must not underestimate the great power that moral conviction arouses in European people.

So, what started as a question of economics has become a question of will. Does Europe have what it takes to keep refusing Russia’s demands, and does Russia have what it takes to survive long enough without the European energy market? That remains to be seen, although my money is on Europe. Historical precedent shows that the European spirit doesn’t break easily and that Europeans do not respond well to blackmail. Distasteful though I may find the absolute demonization of Russia and Russians, I understand that it is being done to activate the powerful European moral instinct in service of this struggle. As for Russia, for all the chest-beating, its will to fight is so low that it’s not even willing to call its war in Ukraine a war, insisting that it’s waging a “special military operation” and denying itself a bevy of foreign policy options as a result of such a stance, to say nothing of solving its chronic manpower problems with mobilization or putting its economy on a war footing.

Man has always been in awe of the fruits of the Earth. We ascribe magical powers to them and revere them as minor or major gods. The gentlemen of Virginia spoke of King Cotton — but cotton was never a king. The neo-Chekists in charge of the Russian government thought themselves possessed of great power in the form of gas, but they forgot that markets are a two-way street and that Europeans are made of sterner stuff than old Soviet propaganda would have them believe. Ultimately, the fate of the world is not decided by resources or by inanimate objects, but by men and their will to fight, live, build, die, and kill. Moscow greatly underestimated the flexibility of Europe’s economy, but more importantly it underestimated European and Ukrainian resolve. They did that because they refused to take either Europeans or Ukrainians seriously — but that’s a story for another day.

If you’re a regular reader of Counter-Currents, you probably know that there’s a school of thought within the Dissident Right which argues for traditional Catholicism and integralism. We call them TradCaths for short. They’re a good bunch as far as people go. Sure, they might take their worship of G. K. Chesterton a bit too far and may not fully appreciate the man as a pioneer of the murder mystery genre (which he manages to merge with Catholic traditionalism in The Man Who Was Thursday, but that falls outside the scope of this essay), but at least they can be relied upon not to hurl invective at us . . . unless you catch them in a bad mood and then they start furiously denying the importance of race, using phrases like “race idolater,” and spamming pictures of Cardinal Robert Sarah (who’s black and very, very trad, from what I’ve heard).

Now, the bulk of those people are good-hearted and have good intentions. They seek to defeat Globohomo, which is our preeminent enemy. I’m not going to attack their ideas in this article, because believe it or not, I agree with a lot of them. I am also an integralist of sorts, seeking a union of church and state and recognizing that legislation (and other fields of governance) should be derived from the wisdom of tradition, and the best repositories of tradition are churches. I would even put my name to Catholic Social Teaching and give something like distributism the old college try. In fact, I think the only point of disagreement I have with the Catholic integralists is the old bugaboo about the supremacy of the Bishop of Rome over the rest of Christendom, but that’s a frothing-at-the-mouth philippic for another day. What I’m going to do, however, is question the motivations and allegiance of the preeminent Catholic integralist thinker in America, Adrian Vermeule.

Briefly, for anyone who’s not following the various flavor-of-the-month dissident movement variants, Adrian Vermeule made waves in March 2020 when he called on conservative jurists to abandon originalism as an interpretational framework of the American constitution and instead embrace a common-good approach. You can read an exposé and critique of Vermeule’s positions here, by our very own Robert Hampton.

Instead, I’ll direct you to some of Vermeule’s older writings, specifically a 2008 paper titled “Conspiracy Theories,” co-written with his fellow law professor and Star Wars fanboy Cass Sunstein (who later went on to marry notorious swamp creature Samantha Power). In the paper, Vermeule and Sunstein try to address the prevalence of what they call conspiracy theories in the context of national security. Specifically, they treat certain conspiracy theories as direct threats to national security, bringing up the specter of Timothy McVeigh and others involved in the Oklahoma City bombings, whereas they treat other conspiracy theories as indirect threats to national security in that they may inspire non-compliance with the government, or perhaps disrupt the government’s ability to marshal resources. For example, this could be a fit, young American man of military age who is dissuaded from signing up to be cannon fodder in a pointless war because conspiracy theorists filled his head with nonsense about the American government being anti-white and waging never-ending wars in the Middle East for the benefit of another nation. For this reason, Vermeule and Sunstein declare that the government needs to address conspiracy theories.

An important contribution which seems to put this paper a cut above the usual claptrap the academic mainstream produces is its willingness to understand the thought processes through which people come to believe things, and specifically the process through which they come to believe conspiracy theories rather than the usual normie conclusion, which is to use “conspiracy theory” as a slur accusing the recipient of insanity without necessarily calling him insane; sort of a modern version of “heretic” or “evil.” Vermeule and Sunstein, who obviously do not own mirrors, describe a process through which a conspiracy theory might become prevalent through social pressures, the theory climbing ever higher, using the reputation of every person succumbing to the social pressure to believe in it as a rung. After giving themselves and the mainstream a categoric counter-argument against all conspiracy theories reproducible by midwits (a black-and-white choice between epistemic nihilism and blindly believing in the “knowledge-producing institutions of society”), they conclude that the sources of conspiracy theories are “crippled epistemologies.” And they point out that rational, normal people may find their epistemologies crippled, and thereby believe in conspiracy theories.

A further finding which again proves that Sunstein and Vermeule aren’t your garden-variety establishment blowhards is their ability to distinguish between a segment of the population which follows conspiracy theories casually and a smaller, but far more committed segment which devotes itself to activities propagating the theory and following from it. Sunstein and Vermeule here point out that it is this hard core from which the bulk of the national security risk emanates, suggesting that it was such a hard core of true believers who carried out the Oklahoma City bombing, and in cases where violence wasn’t involved, where the bulk of the limitations on the government’s ability to act as a result of conspiracy theories comes from.

Here we realize that all the while, Sunstein and Vermeule have either been using “conspiracy theory” euphemistically or they’ve unknowingly described the anatomy of a dissident movement. Beginning (or pretending to begin) from the theory, they correctly identify that it is not a free-floating idea, but committed people united by this idea who pose a genuine threat to the current political establishment. In simpler terms, Vermeule and Sunstein have identified what I’ve been calling the dissident elite, and what others have called the vanguard, as the most dangerous aspect of the dissident movement. And here’s where it gets insidious.

Vermeule and Sunstein criticize the usual approach of dismissing the committed hard core of a conspiracy as irredeemable and impossible to “fix.” Rather, they claim that while usual methods (government rebuttal, censorship, “independent expert” rebuttal) reinforce true believers’ “crippled epistemology,” it is possible to flip them using “cognitive infiltration.” Let me quote from the report directly:

Rather than taking the continued existence of the hard core as a constraint, and addressing itself solely to the third-party mass audience, government might undertake (legal) tactics for breaking up the tight cognitive clusters of extremist theories, arguments and rhetoric that are produced by the hard core and reinforce it in turn. One promising tactic is cognitive infiltration of extremist groups. By this we do not mean 1960s-style infiltration with a view to surveillance and collecting information, possibly for use in future prosecutions. Rather, we mean that government efforts might succeed in weakening or even breaking up the ideological and epistemological complexes that constitute these networks and groups.

Informational and reputational cascades, group polarization, and selection effects suggest that the generation of ever-more-extreme views within these groups can be dampened or reversed by the introduction of cognitive diversity. We suggest a role for government efforts, and agents, in introducing such diversity. Government agents (and their allies) might enter chat rooms, online social networks, or even real-space groups and attempt to undermine percolating conspiracy theories by raising doubts about their factual premises, causal logic or implications for political action.

By this he means feds and their Non-Governmental Organization confederates lurking in chatrooms, poisoning the discussion with the paramount goal of breaking up dissident elite cohesion, misdirecting and problematizing the basics of dissent’s central organizing principles. Jeelvyan echo chambers vindicated yet again. Come to think of it, the constant bellyaching about echo chambers usually comes from outside the dissident movement, from liberals who imagine themselves erudite and balanced when all they do is turn fence-sitting into a strange sexual paraphilia. But I digress.

Vermeule and Sunstein here suggest that the federal government should actively disrupt dissident discussion with the express purpose of undermining our positions’ basic assumptions, spreading doubt about our logical processes and casting aspersions on our conclusions. In other words, supposedly based and redpilled Adrian Vermeule is calling on the federal government to put intellectual poison in redpills, just as it poisoned alcohol during the Prohibition era. And while he frames this as a call for reason, for the glorious feds to selflessly educate the ingrates who are spreading conspiracy theories, it’s obvious to an outside observer that this is a call for the federal government to dispatch agents who’ll keep dissident spaces occupied with bad-faith argumentation while posing as allies, normies, or disinterested parties. This is why, for example, Morgoth’s exposure of the hatchling bad faith argumentation tactic is so valuable: It allows us to put a name and a description to their deceptions.

So, what’s new? Feds lurk in dissident spaces and derail discussion, maneuver dissidents toward dead-end ideologies, and try to entrap them or break their resolve through demoralization, accentuating the negative, spreading doom and gloom, or encouraging dissidents to indulge in bad news porn. We all know this. What I and a depressingly large percentage of the Dissident Right did not know is that the man who wrote the white paper on “cognitive infiltration” is Adrian Vermeule, the much-ballyhooed based and redpilled Catholic integralist. And here he is, prancing around, abusing people’s faith and natural apprehension for being cast out of polite society to lead them down a dead-end philosophy which rejects racial reality and would accelerate non-white immigration to America — as well as, if successful, intertwine the government with the Catholic Church, which may not be quite as trad as some think. And he is by no means the only false prophet trying to derail dissent, but this is just too egregious. Propping up the guy who thought up the cognitive infiltration strategy as a leader of the Dissident Right is too cartoonishly obvious to believe. Yet here we are.

Regardless, we can learn from our enemies, seeing as they are kind enough to provide their papers for free. Remember what Sunstein and Vermeule say: agents should “undermine percolating conspiracy theories by raising doubts about their factual premises, causal logic or implications for political action.” This is very broad and vague, but let’s work on a heuristic which will allow us to suss out the agents dispatched to disrupt our thought spaces. Anyone who calls on you to disbelieve your lying eyes should be suspect. Anyone who tries to smuggle mainstream anti-logic into argumentation should be suspect. Anyone who continually spreads gloom and doom and repeatedly speaks about how all is lost is suspect. And of course we should all learn to exercise judgement: A person of incomplete redpilling might manifest all of these speech patterns, but the persistency will out the bad faith actor, the fed sent to poison the discussion space.

And of course, any snake who tries to distract us from our goals’ ultimate achievement, which is the survival of our race and our people, whether he is diluting it with faith-based race denialism, Latinx bodybuilder Hellenism, worship of techno-capital, or — God forbid — support for the mainstream Right must be ejected from Dissident Right spaces before they spread any more poison in our midst.

This essay is dedicated to the brave mujahideen fighters of Afghanistan.

After almost 20 years, it is finally over. The American-led coalition began to withdraw from Afghanistan in May, which then was retaken by the Taliban even before the withdrawal was complete.

Images have been pouring in all weekend of the fall of Kabul to Taliban fighters, with an iconic photograph being taken of a Chinook helicopter evacuating personnel from the roof of the US embassy, evoking a similar picture of a Chinook helicopter evacuating personnel from the US embassy in Saigon, at the end of the Vietnam war. The world watches with a mixture of amusement and elation as the world’s biggest, strongest, and gayest empire suffers an embarrassing defeat at the hands of a small group of toothless peasants armed only with AK-47s and unwavering religious conviction.

“Not true, we weren’t defeated, they didn’t beat us. The Biden administration just withdrew!” cries the cuckservative, echoing his Vietnam-era antecedent. But this kind of response is blind to the nature of guerrilla warfare, or indeed warfare in general. A guerrilla doesn’t engage the obviously superior enemy in open combat, but rather wages warfare by staying alive, deception, concealment, hit-and-run tactics, attacking soft targets, challenging logistics, and raising the cost of occupation. It is the ultimate in Bewegungskrieg — maneuver warfare — whose ideal is always to win by maneuvering with minimum engagement. To win a guerrilla war is to outlast your enemy. As long as a guerrilla exists, he’s winning, and when the occupying force buggers off and the guerrilla is still operating . . . well, the guerrilla wins. The notion that victory goes to he who wins the most battles, or who kills the most of the enemy, is a Rambo view of warfare, which is to say a view of war as spectacle and not as a serious matter of resolving conflicts of sovereignty and survival.

There’s arguments to be made that Biden arsed-up the American forces’ retreat. There were unconfirmed rumors during 2019 and 2020 that President Trump was negotiating a settlement with the Taliban which would have given them control of Afghanistan, in which case America could have received at least some sort of return on her 20-year investment in blood, prestige, and treasure but as we all know, the traitors in the Department of Defense refused to obey the President’s orders to initiate an orderly withdrawal from Afghanistan.

What has happened now, under the Biden administration, is that the Afghan government has fallen and has been replaced by a new Taliban government, which at the time of writing (August 16) has already been recognized by China, and will likely be recognized by Russia, Iran, and Pakistan soon enough, which will mean the international recognition of Taliban rule in Afghanistan. There were rumors that the Biden administration hoped to destabilize Afghanistan and in turn further destabilize China’s Xinjiang region, which is majority Muslim and borders Afghanistan, as it has recently seen unrest and internecine warfare by the Uyghur Muslim population and a heavy-handed response from the Peking government.

Unfortunately, the globohomo empire seems to fundamentally misunderstand the nature of order and chaos. Specifically, I can imagine that none of the over-130 IQ advisors, foreign policy experts, geostrategists, generals, and other types of swamp creatures had even the vaguest notion that Taliban rule might bring order and stability, and that US-enforced democratic rule only lead to ultra-corrupt governments where various tribes were jockeying for position in order to extort one another. In practice, there is no rule of law outside of Kabul. They could have looked at the example of the Soviet-backed Communist regime of the 1980s, which in practice merely acted as Kabul’s city council — but history and blind arrogance don’t really mix.

What will be the consequences of this 20-year-long war? Syrian Girl seems to think that the notion of the “humanitarian war” will finally be discredited, but personally, I don’t think that many minds will be changed as a result of this debacle. If anyone still believed in humanitarian war after the 2011 Libyan quagmire, Afghanistan won’t be able to teach them anything.

More immediately, we’ll probably see an influx of bootlickers, feminists, defectives, corrupt officials, and pedophiles who’ll arrive in the West as “refugees.” They’ll no doubt inflict their social pathologies on our already weakened and battered societies. But on the plus side, the Dissident Right had a very good year in 2015, when the migrant crisis hit Europe. Wave upon wave of the dregs of Afghan society might serve as a high-speed redpill dispenser.

The balance of power in Central Asia might also be affected. A look at a map tells us Afghanistan is a land bridge between Chinese-held Xinjiang and Chinese-aligned Iran on the one hand, and between Russian-aligned Uzbekistan and Tajikistan, through the Khyber pass and Pakistan to India, on the other. It also sits on a trillion dollars’ worth of known mineral reserves (which the previous government was too incompetent to mine). Both Moscow and Peking will therefore surely rush to court the Taliban, and indeed, the Chinese have already hammered out an understanding with the Taliban.

In all probability, these deals were made a long time ago, and were just waiting for the fall of Kabul to go into effect. What is certain is that with the loss of Afghanistan and Pakistan’s realignment towards the Chinese sphere, America has lost almost all influence in this region. I have a theory that as American power wanes, we’ll see an intensification of the Sino-Russian geopolitical conflict, as Moscow and Peking may no longer consider Washington a big enough threat to cause them to put their many differences aside. The aftermath of Kabul’s fall will provide empirical evidence for or against my theory. I fully expect a diplomatic race between China and Russia to court the Taliban. It’ll be a seller’s market in Afghanistan.

But the most relevant effect for us might be the response of the white American population to this event. Whereas 20 years ago, Americans cheered as the US military toppled the Taliban regime and established the “democratic” Afghan government, the reaction today to that same process playing out in reverse has been a mixture of disinterest and enthusiasm for the Taliban. People are making comparisons with the fall of Saigon, but significant segments of the American public didn’t cheer the Viet Cong and the North Vietnamese army as they conquered South Vietnam.

Considering that white Americans are the primary recruitment pool for globohomo’s armies, their reaction to this defeat is a portent of the weakening of the American Empire. As I predicted some time ago, the American military’s biggest weakness is its incoming dearth of personnel, as economic and cultural factors deter white Americans from serving. The withdrawal from Afghanistan comes on the heels of a sustained program to humiliate, demoralize, and ultimately destroy white Americans. Why should they feel patriotic? Why should they serve in the military that enforces anti-white rule and cordons off the nation’s capital to protect the corrupt ruling class? Why should they weep for globohomo’s defeats in far-flung regions of the world?

Having alienated its soldier caste through its domestic program of anti-white hate, the American Empire is now living on borrowed time as the best and brightest white young men increasingly refuse to serve in its armies and staff its institutions. Does this mean that we will win? No, we are but one faction vying for power in the wake of this declining empire. But it means that we’re closer to the end than we were last Friday. And for that, we should thank the brave mujahideen of Afghanistan.

Imagine you’re a young man who, despite his pronounced intelligence, lives in poverty. You are full of energy and vision, but lack the capital to achieve what you want to achieve. Furthermore, you have no marital or sexual prospects, and the only woman that’s been kind to you is a literal prostitute with an alcoholic father and an infirm mother. Not only that, but your family is facing such dire poverty that your sister is forced to marry a disgusting and immoral pervert who is more than twice her age just to spare herself and your elderly mother death from starvation. You are given a chance to save your sister from the lecher’s depredations, but to do that you must commit a transgression. Somehow or other, you convince yourself that a) the means justify the ends, and b) since you’re a somewhat superior form of being, you have the right to commit this transgression. But I could have spared you that opening paragraph, dear reader, and just asked you to imagine you’re Rodion Romanovich Raskolnikov, the ill-fated protagonist of Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment.

I first tried to read Crime and Punishment at age 10. The bold words written across the spine had beckoned to me in my grandmother’s vast library for a long while. Having already developed a morbid fascination with methods of execution and judicial beatings, I was expecting a vile crime and a juicy punishment; something like Quasimodo’s plight on the pillory, or the hanging of Milady de Winter in the climax of The Three Musketeers. Instead, I got a young man clumsily hacking away at an old woman with an axe and then torturing himself psychologically over the act. Dostoevsky failed where Dumas, Hugo, and London had succeeded: He could not captivate me. He committed the worst sin an author could: engendering boredom in his reader. I put Crime and Punishment back on the shelf, believing the irksome Fyodor Mikhailovich to be out of my life for good.

How naïve I was. Seven or so years later, I was assigned Crime and Punishment to read and ostensibly analyze in high school, though what was expected of us was more to regurgitate the canned conclusions prescribed by the large-headed gentlemen of the Writers’ Guild. I decided that I’d been too young at age 10 to fully appreciate the book and resolved to give it the old college try. I discovered two things: the first about myself, the other about the work.

I found it just as boring as before, but I detected a second emotion: revulsion. There was a bill of goods the book was trying to sell me, and my heart registered it as a poison or disease. What revolted me was the cruelty expressed toward Raskolnikov. As described in the opening paragraph, here was a young man of obvious intelligence and quality forced to live in squalor and to suffer social, familial, and sexual humiliation while seeing his own romantic prospects reduced to that of a literal whore, built up as the high paragon of Christian morality. He sees a way out, but it involves transgressing against society’s laws and becoming in small part a law unto himself. The author condemns him and instead recommends that he resign himself to his fate and respect the same system which put him through these humiliations in the first place. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he can marry the hooker after eight years of penal servitude in Siberia.

Much of the novel’s appeal comes from the subverted expectations. Raskolnikov builds himself up as an Übermensch who can create his own morality, only to fall apart under the strain of guilt after murdering the old moneylender and her sister. The novel is not exactly subtle in its didactic aim: to convince young men that they don’t have it in them to rebel against prevailing societal morality and norms. Even if they consider themselves resilient, they are in fact just as weak and guilt-ridden as everyone else.

In trying to preach this screed, Dostoevsky helped me learn something about myself. As it happens, at the time of my second reading of the book I had already transgressed against society’s prevailing morality in a way which was much worse than murder: I had publicly and loudly committed an act of racism, for which I was expelled from a prestigious private school, leading to my unfortunate incarceration at the school. I bore my punishment and shunning with pride because I knew I had committed no moral wrong. There was no guilt eating away at my conscience, I did not suffer delirium, nor did I feel the urge to marry a prostitute. What I learned about myself was that I was made of much sterner stuff than Raskolnikov. What I learned about Crime and Punishment, however, was that it was trying to convince me that I was weak and pathetic, and that I should content myself with a dead-end life, eating whatever scraps may fall from the big table.

Now, hold on, you may say to me. Racism is one thing, murder is another. Murder is unequivocally evil, while racism is a qualified evil. Yes, I guess you could argue this, but this is a novel after all, and a nauseatingly didactic one at that. Raskolnikov’s murder of the moneylender is not just a murder, but a highly dramatized stand-in for all transgressions against the system. From the letter that Raskolnikov receives from his mother at the beginning we can surmise, for example, that the greatest of Raskolnikov’s transgressions isn’t murder, but atheism. In nineteenth-century Tsarist Russia, dissent from the official Orthodox Christian faith was seen as a dangerous and destabilizing transgression. Raskolnikov’s name is rather on the nose for speakers of Slavic languages, containing the word raskol, meaning heresy or (religious) discord. The names of the other characters are similarly rife with clunky symbolism: for example, the wise friend is named Razumikhin — razum means reason. And Raskolnikov’s redemption at the end includes a religious conversion. Indeed, we can see that the eponymous crime is probably not the murder, but atheism — or more specifically, the contrivance that one can go against society’s rules, even when society’s rules are against one’s success and survival. Raskolnikov’s crime is that he dared go against the system that was quietly trying to turn his sister into a whore and grind him down into the gutter.

Having thus understood that Dostoevsky was trying to brainwash me into rejecting my indignation over society’s injustices, I closed the book, vowing to never subject myself to such nonsense ever again. I have heard many midwits proclaim their admiration for the great giant Dostoevsky. Whenever I had the energy to argue, I’d lay out my objections, and more often than not, I’d hear shrill accusations of being illiterate, uncultured, unwashed, and other choice adjectives that persons of middling intelligence use to slander their betters. Privately and to my close friends, I revealed Dostoevsky for what he truly was: an agent of the open air slave labor camp that was and is Eastern Europe whose role was to pacify the unruly slaves whenever they got ideas about fighting back against the system that was draining them of life. Where would the Tsarist usurer, the Communist commissar, or the transition-era oligarch be without good old Fyodor Mikhailovich to pacify their unfortunate human livestock? Is it any wonder that his vile poison was required reading for young men who are precisely of the type whose lives must be ruined so that the commies and oligarchs can live in splendor? I wrote a poem celebrating Raskolnikov as part of my homage cycle and moved on with my life, thankful that I had not ingested the poison Dostoevsky tried to pour into my soul.

It seems that each man is doomed to fight the same battle his entire life, however. And so when my journey led me to a more conscious and refined form of racism, I came across Dostoevsky’s philosophy of slavery once again, this time peddled by a false prophet and swindler of young men named Jordan Peterson. The approach was different, the prose was weaker, but the message was the same: Society’s not the problem and you have no right to pass judgement on society, even as it stomps on your face and pushes you into the gutter. Your role is to slave away for the enrichment of your executioners, marry a whore who’s beyond moral reproach, and if by chance you’re served a bowl of shit for dinner, you are to eat it, lick the bowl clean, and thank your masters for deigning to take a dump in your bowl. I wasn’t surprised to learn that Peterson was a fan of Dostoevsky, and indeed, a cursory search around conservative websites tells us that adherents of this ideology for slaves have a great admiration for Fyodor Mikhailovich. Jordan Peterson and many conservatives are very concerned about young men turning to nationalism — just as their fellow false prophet from 150 years ago was concerned about young men striking against usury and humiliation.

Thus, I’ve laid out my old objections to the philosophy of Crime and Punishment so that our esteemed readership can immunize itself against the psychological and moral leprosy it attempts to spread. When I first started thinking about this article, I called Raskolnikov “the first incel.” But that’s an inaccurate characterization. He’s not an incel in the sense that he’s an undesirable, genetic dead-end of a man wallowing in self-pity. Raskolnikov is handsome and intelligent, but driven to deprivation and destruction by an unjust system that depends on his gradual destruction. More to the point, he’s nowhere near the first. There have been millions of young men like him: men swindled out of a future and left without perspective or hope, shunned and disrespected, born in chains, forced to play an unwinnable game, and left with unsatiated desires and raging hormones. There will be no release for them, sexual, romantic, social, or economic. No society has ever thought to offer them any kind of succor.

And why should it? Societies are not based on compassion for young men. What will be offered to them are false prophets, unscrupulous or deluded men such as Jordan Peterson or Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky who give hope to the hopeless, thus buying society these men’s loyalty and labor, keeping them at playing the unwinnable game to their own detriment. They will lead these men astray, convince them to blame themselves for the crimes society has committed against them, and then make them sacrifice themselves on the altars of false gods instead of striking hard against the priests of these evil regimes.

I have a special relationship with the concept of bioleninism. While I’d been based and redpilled for a while, reading Spandrell’s initial posts in early 2018 resonated with me on a deep level. It jumpstarted my own path as a commentator and a more active participant in dissident politics. In fact, for the bulk of 2018, I functioned as a superfluously erudite explicator and expander of the idea of bioleninism. Before, I had been reading the old paleocons and paleolibertarians, graduating to Moldbug and allied neoreactionaries, but internalizing using bioleninism as a conceptual lens awoke in me a deep contempt for the enemy — the bioleninist coalition — not just because of the fact that as a white, heterosexual male I am the object of their resentful crusade, but also due to the sheer ugliness and anti-civilizational force of the bioleninist coalition. It has been two and a half years since Spandrell’s three–part essay was completed — it may be time to reflect on it.

It begins with an analysis of the problem of creating a ruling coalition — a winning political formula, and all the problems inherent in both feudalism and classical liberalism with regard to that. Long story short, the classical liberal model provides a massive state staffed by people with no loyalty to each other or the state, whereas the feudal model provides excellent loyalty and stability, but the feudal state is of necessity small and not very good at major projects — after all, what is feudalism but a homeowners’ association writ large? And so, a political formula arises to capture power — Leninism.

Leninism is, quite simply, the gathering of a political coalition based on their loser status, their resentment towards their betters in society, and the fact that they’d be nothing without the Party. The loyalty of Leninist cadre is ensured through his dependence on the Party for his status in society, which status he would not have otherwise. Conversely, the enemy of the Party is of necessity the person who would have something independent of the Party, even if the Party were to disappear tomorrow. The enemies of the Party run the gamut from a kulak — a peasant farmer who has two cows rather than one — to a shopkeep in Petrograd, Cossacks in Zaporozhye, Germans in the Volga, all the way to the Little Father, emissary and servant of the Great Father in Heaven, the Tsar and Autokrator of All the Russias.

Who is, therefore, the Party? Resentment is a strange thing — we don’t see it in the peasantry of Russia, but rather, the Bolsheviks were middle and upper-middle class. We don’t see much of it in Russians, either. Bolshevism was a movement with Jewish brains, Caucasian (as in, from the Caucasus) balls, and Latvian muscle. What did these three ethnicities have in common? They were the perpetual other in the Russian Empire, permanently separated from both the German-Nordic aristocracy and Russian commoners despite their newfound wealth.

Leninism was a means of weaponizing resentment, of using its burning passion to forge the iron bonds of the Party. The CPSU was a well-oiled machine that ruled everything in the Soviet Union and got things done. Considering the economic insanity under which they found themselves forced to operate, they did a fairly good job of governing the vast expanse of ye old Soyuz Nerushimi, even after the death of Stalin left a massive power vacuum that was never again filled by a charismatic, capable strongman, only by the grey, old men of the Politburo.

Bioleninism is that same basic model of building a ruling coalition — a revolutionary army turned ruling party — from the losers and dregs of society. This time, however, mobilizing the working class didn’t quite work out. The working class in the mid-to-late 20th century in Western Europe and North America was well-off and well-respected. Therefore, the coalition had to be built out of people who’d catch the bum end of even the wealthiest and most egalitarian society. Those who are biologically unfit to be in it. The stupid, the violent, the sexually deviant, the mentally ill, the unmarried, unmarriable women. The ethnic minorities, even if they were indeed wealthy, for being a member of a foreign tribe makes you low status regardless of wealth. And so, the Bioleninist coalition hoved into view — an army of blacks, Hispanics, Jews, Muslims, feminists, homosexuals, pedophiles, transsexuals, schizophrenics and worst of all, single women in their mid-to-late 30s. And they are fanatically loyal to the Party because they are literal human garbage without the party. Without the ideology of woke and the massive power of the state to protect them, the bioleninist clients would be shit out of luck — like Antifas attacking a Right-wing gathering, they’d be crushed in a fair fight. This is why the cult of woke is so fearful of those evil white racists and supremacists — because they understand that unless their party remains in power, they’ll be carted off to the various institutions — mental and correctional — that sane societies construct to house their kind. Contrast that to the lack of loyalty which the Republican party commands from the Right. The average white Republican voter rightfully understands that the GOP is a bunch of dorks without whom his life wouldn’t change much, or might actually get marginally better. Apropos, he votes in elections, but does not go the extra mile — he doesn’t pester his relatives, leaflet neighborhoods, put up posters or try to get liberals banned from social media. He just wants to grill, for Chrissakes!

Bioleninism is also applicable to the foreign policy of a hegemonic empire ruled by a bioleninist cadre. The bioleninist hegemon will choose to support nonviable tribes aspiring to the status of client statelets in conflicts that do not otherwise concern it, because in such entities, it will find reliable and fanatically loyal allies which give it pretexts and moral cover to involve itself in various conflicts around the world. Behold, bioleninist loyalty in song form.

We are now witnessing the ever-progressing expansion of the bioleninist coalition to such dregs as were unimaginable just a few years ago. The recent unpleasantness in America resulted in the beatification of the violent criminal, porn star, drug addict, and all-around worthless excuse for a human being George Floyd, who is now venerated as a saint in the cult of woke. If he had only been trans and mentally ill, he’d have been bioleninist Jesus. The bioleninist cadre has been given free rein to loot and vandalize America’s cities in honor of this new saint.

We might be tempted to think that the resentment fueling the bioleninist coalition is class-based, economic in nature or otherwise, well. . . rational. But it’s all status-based, and money and class don’t always grant status. Even Leninism Classic had an enormous bioleninist component — all those outsider ethnicities, especially the one which is perpetually low status despite wealth. As we have learned this week from the erstwhile Abigail Shapiro and her crusade for nose positivity among Disney princesses (I shit thee not, dear reader), the root of resentment is usually something petty like nose shape or size among women. Imagine being made to feel excluded as all those blondes with petite noses get hitched to the muscle-bound Nordic-presenting chads with lantern jaws, and then going home and have your yenta mother yack your ear off about Jerry from down the lane with the mole on his upper lip and the schnoz which can sniff Oz whose dad is an accountant for Goldman Sachs. Almost makes a girl want to pursue a career in professional grievance studies and hack out a Ph.D. thesis explaining why male attraction to women with normal-sized noses is pathological and indicative of Advanced Rape Fascism.

Beyond just the coalition of the fringes, bioleninism is the single most successful political formula on the planet, and its passionate resentment of the white, heterosexual, male, Christian, and increasingly, sane and law-abiding will only intensify as the bioleninist coalition needs ever-greater hysterics to keep trucking along, to find increasingly dysfunctional, crazy and downright ugly (in the spiritual sense) people to fill its ranks. It’s been long a joke on the Right that the Left will eventually make pedophiles and child molesters the latest addition to the coalition. There are many signs that this is next on the menu. After all, is there a better candidate for “has nothing outside of the party” than a literal child rapist?

Expect pedophile story hour to come to a library near you.

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In the past I’ve made the argument that a study of the toys that a people makes for its children give us an insight into that people’s cultural direction. Toys are a very interesting bit of material culture which are often overlooked as objects of study in anthropological and cultural research. They give us insight not only into what a culture and people are, but also what they hope to become in the future, because toys are the material cultural artefacts which a people produces for its children, and as such are training and development tools for what a child ought to become in the future. We therefore make baby-like dolls and tea sets for young girls, and toy guns, trucks and building blocks for young boys.

But there’s an even more important category of cultural artefacts indicative of a people’s present and future than toys: games. The reason is simple: Toys are made for young children, whereas games are meant for everyone.

Of course, certain games are not appropriate for all ages. It is a little embarrassing, not to mention dangerous, for pensioners in the park to be playing tag, just as it is irrational to expect that five-year-olds will play chess instead of strewing the chessmen around to be painfully stepped on at some unspecified future date. But since we’re talking about chess, it is a game which has a very broad spectrum of age-appropriateness: the proverbial seven-to-77 type of game. More than that, chess has a certain culture which surrounds it: It is a shorthand, the rules are simple and easy to learn, and it is rich in archetype and life-analogue, which makes it a gold mine of metaphor and analogy, both of which lie in the shared heart of poetry and education. As I’ve mentioned before, if two strangers who’ve read the same book can immediately work out politically relevant alignments, then two strangers familiar with the same game can immediately work out a rudimentary strategy and coordinate towards a common goal.

Sports games, too, fall into this category. I don’t intend to speak about mass-media commercial sports here, since such sportsball is everything wrong with the globalized, anti-nationalist world in a nutshell. Players become “us” or “them” on a whim; all it requires is a contract and a change of clothes. Fans will readily cheer on a team from a town they’ve never even visited, full of people who aren’t from there and probably aren’t even from the same country that the team is. Players are increasingly non-white, and even the white ones are more and more degenerate, embodying the very worst of modern hedonism, superficiality, and weakness.

The fans are encouraged to get fired up about this surrogate struggle as a means of getting distracted from the very real wars in which they’re embroiled in the real world.

Sports had these problems long before they added the obnoxious virtue-signaling during halftime. You complain that they’re trying to convince you that Bob is a Sheila in the ads, but you’ve already accepted that Ngubu is English on the pitch.

Of course, nobody treats sports as participatory games anymore, but as spectacles to be watched. Nevertheless, sports are games. They’re meant to be played. In playing these games, the players act out rudiments of what they’ll later have to do in real life. Team sports in particular serve as invaluable preparatory courses in both small-unit tactics and in strategic thinking. Combat sports teach valuable lessons in position, relative strengths and weaknesses, endurance, preparation, and determination. And, of course, games of chance such as poker teach the most important lesson of all, that luck is a factor and that courage is important. Poker in particular teaches one to play against the player, not against the game (a lesson easily missed in chess or team sports).

When people refer to games in the modern world, however, they rarely mean chess, football, or pattycake. When modern men say games and gaming, they usually mean video games. And here we run into a bit of a problem.

Whenever they see me playing video games, the elder womenfolk of my family are fond of complaining that I should set aside childish hobbies, especially now that I’m uncomfortably ensconced in my thirties. While the sentiment of leaving behind childish things certainly has a place, I’m not convinced that video games are as childish as all that, especially the grand strategy types which I enjoy playing. Indeed, there’s nothing strange or childish about a 30-year-old man playing chess, poker, football, or throwing a few friendly punches with a friend. However, were I to start a game of Hearts of Iron 4 or Crusader Kings II — both of which exceed chess, football, and poker in complexity and concentration required, and can certainly not be played by children (at least not well, at any rate) — that is childish.

Of course, I did not get to where I am today by listening to the prattle of old women, and were these opinions confined to that benighted demographic, there’d be no problem to address. However, more often than not it is serious men, including White Nationalists who dismiss video games as childish and unserious. Indeed, this is part of two broader trends within this intellectual thought-space, the first being hostility toward the modern, and especially technologically modern; and the second the dismissal of leisure activities, including games, as frivolous and unproductive for the cause, and therefore to be shunned.

The first trend is too big to be addressed in an aside, and has already been written on by me. Briefly, rejection of technological progress is dangerous and wrongheaded, granting an incomparable advantage to our enemies, who enthusiastically embrace technology to promulgate their cause. The second trend is what we’ll comment on briefly here: There is a growing joylessness to the Right-wing cause. Too many people are dour and permanently outraged, and most of the time it’s because they’ve allowed themselves to believe that leisure is degenerate. Accordingly, they avoid leisure, and as a result they become humorless scolds, more often than not reminiscent of the robotic Randian reason-worshippers who likewise shunned frivolity. From the text:

Personal enjoyment, indeed, was also frowned upon in the movement and denounced as hedonistic “whim-worship.” In particular, nothing could be enjoyed for its own sake — every activity had to serve some indirect, “rational” function. Thus, food was not to be savored, but only eaten joylessly as a necessary means of one’s survival; sex was not to be enjoyed for its own sake, but only to be engaged in grimly as a reflection and reaffirmation of one’s “highest values”; painting or movies only to be enjoyed if one could find “rational values” in doing so. All of these values were not simply to be discovered quietly by each person — the heresy of “subjectivism” — but had to be proven to the rest of the cult. In practice, as will be seen further below, the only safe aesthetic or romantic “values” or objects for the member were those explicitly sanctioned by Ayn Rand or other top disciples.

Now, exchange “whim-worship” for “degeneracy,” “grimly as a reflection and reaffirmation of one’s highest values” for “procreation of the white race” in the bit about sex, “rational values” for “implicit whiteness” in the bit about painting or movies, and “subjectivism” for “individualism,” and you have a disturbingly accurate picture of the broader Dissident right in 2022, even if we lack the totalitarian control that a centralized structure like the Nathaniel Branden Institute provided for the Ayn Rand cult.

“So what?” you say to me. “We should practice self-denial and shun frivolity, for the cause. We all need to work harder. We all must give more.” And indeed, we do. However, I’m not seeing more done for or given to the cause, least of all from the people who kvetch about others playing video games. But even aside from that, the notion of becoming a joyless scold is entirely unpalatable to me. Even if it weren’t, discarding all leisure and frivolity is a recipe for creative sterility, which is a very dangerous position for an embattled movement desperately in need of creative ideas and solutions if it is to survive and succeed in the current political landscape. I suspect that this puritan streak is a carry-over from mainstream conservative political attitudes. I’ve written in the past about the Right’s strange fetish for work and its incomprehensible belief that having ample leisure time is a sign of lower value. I hear jokes about “libtards not having a real job,” and that the positions which liberals occupy involve no labor and are essentially sinecures. I agree that this is indeed so, but having more leisure is precisely what gives liberals an important edge over conservatives — and indeed, ample leisure time is historically the hallmark of aristocracy. When a conservative mocks the liberal for “not having a real job,” it’s like a medieval peasant mocking his lord for not toiling in the fields: absurd on its face, unless one is mind-fucked into believing the insidious nonsense we sometimes call conservatism.

I wrote the “Work Stinks” essay when I was still employed, and my contempt for working is palpable there. Since then, I’ve managed, through prudent economic and financial decisions, to earn ample leisure time for myself. I live well, work less than 10 hours a week, want little, and devote myself to pursuits I choose. The nationalist cause is one of many of those, if the predominant one. I read old books, I watch good films, I hike, I cook, I play chess, I roam the city with my friends for hours on end, learning and teaching all the while in an homage to Aristotle’s purported peripatetic lessons. I scour vintage stores and those of artisan shoemakers for the very best in fashion. I go to the theater and to musical events. I train Wing Chun Kung Fu with a Sifu who’s also a rock star. I make mead, liquors, and beer. On a whim, I drive to other towns to experience what they have to offer. I take month-long holidays in foreign lands. And, of course, I play video games. My life isn’t exactly charmed, but it’s certainly better than that of some wage slave locked up in an office with his lunch time and toilet breaks monitored and measured. I consider this ample leisure time I’ve attained for myself to be one of my life’s crowning achievements.

I’ve been a gamer since I was 5, when my parents bought me a Nintendo SNES. Much of what I am — much of what you, esteemed reader, appreciate here on Counter-Currents — has been informed by that. Much of what I do is informed by the heuristics I practiced in those games. Of course, I also played sports, chess, and many other games, and developed many of those heuristics there. Moving with the physical body must not be neglected. But we must not lose sight of the fact that while video games seem childish and frivolous, they are far more culturally potent than movies and TV. While a movie is passively watched, a video game is acted out, which imprints more powerfully on the human mind, making the necessary assumptions and archetypes of the world sink in much more permanently. What video games people play is probably far more predictive of metapolitical trends than what movies or TV they watch.

A joking rallying cry often uttered on the Internet is “gamers rise up.” Like all good jokes, however, it is based on certain truths. Gamers — especially people who play competitively online, or the much-maligned “Swedish map games” of Paradox Interactive such as Hearts of Iron or Crusader Kings — tend to be young, white, male, and contemptuous of the world which surrounds them. By virtue of having played Hearts of Iron, they already have a better-developed world-consciousness (here meaning awareness of the world beyond their immediate surroundings) than the average conservative, or even the average non-gaming dissident. The shared culture of a given game or a collection of games gives them a reference point they can then use to coordinate with other gamers, even if they personally do not know each other. They span multiple countries and are no strangers to confrontation. In short, they are a revolutionary class in the rough, waiting for a unifying and directing cause to help them rise up.

In the past, people have tried to direct this nascent revolutionary class by appealing to them while expecting them to drop their hobby and embody the archetype of the joyless, robotic White Nationalist criticized earlier. This is the wrong approach. Of course, appealing to gamers as white men is a step in the right direction, but it would be far better to develop pro-white video games, not only as an appeal to gamers but also as a means of recruiting the young to the cause.

Modern video games require a good deal more funding and talent than White Nationalists can currently muster, but at the very least the idea-space must be opened. We can begin by modding existing video games. Friends of Counter-Currents are already engaged in such activity. Someone has created a mod of Project: Zomboid called Project Dindu where the players are the last white people on an Earth overrun by diversity. More ambitious still is American Krogan’s intended mod of Fallout 4, where all the non-whites are replaced by whites, many voiced by notable dissidents and white identitarians. These are baby steps. Future success for White Nationalist gaming will probably look something like Kingdom Come: Deliverance, the vast historical role-playing game focusing on Sigismund of Hungary’s invasion of Bohemia, which in practice plays as a race war between white Czechs against Sigismund’s Cuman mercenaries.

Speaking of Kingdom Come: Deliverance, Eastern Europe is often a hotbed of nationalist gaming. Indeed, Poland, Hungary, and the Czech Republic all have rising gaming studios which often produce unabashedly nationalist and historically revisionist content. Many industry figures in these countries are adjacent to the nationalist Right. Western White Nationalists who decide to enter the gaming industry would do well to cultivate business and political relationships with their Central and Eastern European counterparts. The games produced are of high and ever-increasing quality, given that they are made by white men instead of the diversity hires which increasingly infest Western game development.

European history, art, and folklore are a vast treasure trove of settings, drama, and struggle from which the gaming industry can draw inspiration. Historically, it did exactly that, producing the great video-gaming works which I grew up with. Now, as in many other types of media, the gaming industry has turned away from Europe and is glorifying the black and brown masses of the world while systematically deconstructing European identity and history. This, of course, doesn’t mean that we should shun gaming, but rather that we should pick up this discarded European patrimony and bring it to life in new nationalist and identitarian games.

Indeed, gamers should rise up, but another path is open to us — a path that will allow us greater metapolitical power — and that is the path of the game developer. Rather than play through the games made for us, often by our enemies, we must define the game parameters ourselves and produce new frameworks for the new nationalists yet to come of age.

It’s the most basic thing in the world: You can look at a rock, think it’s a bear, and run away. Or you can glimpse a bear, assume it’s a rock, and get eaten. Over time, evolution will select for seeing bears, when in fact, 99 times out of 100, it’s just rocks. Then clever fools will come and say that believing in a bear infestation is primitive superstition, and that they, taught by “science” and “logic,” have surmised that there are no bears among the rocks. In fact, bears do not even exist. Then they tip their fedoras and strut around while looking very important, until such a time when they’re devoured by bears. 

Fortunately, there exist such brilliant and great men who see bears everywhere, even where the ordinary man will not see a bear. Salvador Dalí was such a man. 

Dalí’s method was called the paranoiac-critical method. Dalí sought to induce in himself a paranoid state so that he may better perceive connections between things and concepts, to allow himself a sort of secret knowledge which could then be used for the creation of art. If it sounds like magic, it’s because it is a potent form of magic. It’s how one conjures bears from rocks, transforms faux-sophisticates into byzantine plotters, and summons inter-dimensional shape-shifting child molesters from outer space. It’s how you see melting watches in a pot of stinky cheese and end up with Christ on a tesseract. We’re also living in this very world of everything having double and triple meanings, everyone with double and triple allegiances. It’s certainly proving to be very entertaining. 

Dalí, like us, lived in a time when the fabric of reality was dissolving around him. We are ourselves in the end stages of that very same dissolution. His signature was the double image, the representation of two things with the same elements, often of something human and something animal, or sometimes something human with something decidedly inhuman, such as the aforementioned Jesus on a tesseract.

Dalí’s imagery was fitting for a period that lacked clarity. Indeed, his work assailed the very notion of clarity, the idea that things are just what they appear to be. Why shouldn’t gigantic. . . whatever the thing from The Great Masturbator is dominate a long perspective landscape of a vast and arid desert? Why shouldn’t the self-torturing monstrosity of Premonition of War revel in the boiled beans (a most musical vegetable, one certainly approved of by Dalí the flatulence-enjoyer)? Is it any more real than the motor car, the telephone, emerging global financial power, or the rise of Communism? Who’s to say? There’s a doddering, senile fool in the White House right now, and his administration, consisting entirely of affirmative action hires, is on the hunt for invisible white supremists. Personally, I’m ready to believe in the boiled beans thing. 

If you want to see surreal, go no further than the nearest internet imageboard or wherever the kids post their memes these days. Some are crude and deliberately nonsensical, such as the glottal stop in the store. Others are subtler, such as the juxtaposition of the anodyne whiteness intended in White Boy Summer with the intensity of Stalin, Tito, and Jared the Subway Guy. Yes, I know they’re technically white boys. The smug, shit-eating grin we imagine the creator of those memes must have felt is part of the surreal experience. It hovers over the image itself as we play out a brief drama in our heads: one part played by an incredulous normie wondering what Tito, Stalin, and Jared have to do with White Boy Summer (while secretly knowing what it’s all about), and the purported creator, some shitlord with a backward-turned hat grinning inanely in his sense of smug superiority. 

If Dalí were alive today, he’d be running a meme page, not only because that’s the bleeding edge of surreal art, but also because the man was a shameless narcissist and self-promoter. Watching his appearance on What’s My Line, I think of two things. One, this guy really needs to be all-encompassing, and two, this guy is a troll. Look at how he enjoys messing with the panel, who dub him a “misleading man.” Doesn’t he look like a meme himself? Doesn’t he presage the “Yes Chad” meme? 

Or maybe he’d be something grander than a humble memelord. He’d have to take center stage in whatever productions he organized. Merely combining an image with words, or image with image, or a glottal stop with the grocery aisle wouldn’t be enough for him. Wouldn’t this ridiculous-looking character be better suited to warning us about literal vampire potbelly goblins, chemicals turning the frogs gay, or massive election fraud, which all turn out to be true? It wouldn’t surprise me.

Every great showman is great because he’s on the bleeding edge of entertainment. Entertainment is novelty, and the bleeding edge in the empire of lies is the truth. So, what you’re saying is that no, diversity is not our strength, America is not a nation of immigrants, much less so the nations of Europe, and democracy is not the best system of government? I’m shocked — shocked, I tell you! 

They derisively call us “edgelords,” because we’re genuinely outside the narrow bounds of prescribed morality and aesthetics. To become an edgelord is a process of self-transformation not dissimilar to the paranoiac-critical method of Dalí. It entails burning away the rationality that the modern world forces upon us. No, of course you’re not safe; there’s a cabal of evil fucks out to exterminate you, your family, and your people — and by the way, your job enslaves you to this very system that seeks your destruction. 

The advocate for globalism — a SHORT, asthmatic dwarf fueled by resentment towards White Chads who smacked him around when he was in grade school — will try to make contemptible noises and use “facts” and “logic” to disabuse you of your “irrational” beliefs, but is promptly BTFO’d by an image of his large-breasted sister who is also Anne Frank in the form of a lampshade. Imagery — potent, vulgar, irreverent imagery in lieu of argumentation — it’s what Cioran would have wanted and what Dalí enjoyed. The latter’s love affair with sea creatures and in particular seafood underscored his own voyeuristic sexuality. And by historic standards, every man under the age of 35 is a voyeur. Even the most sexually successful of us have seen more women get fucked on a screen than we’ve fucked. 

Whatever the eye can see, the mind can distort, mold, hold, transform, invert, make liquid, make risible, make ridiculous, bottom text. If Dalí were alive today, he’d be dicking around in Photoshop. 

If there’s anything we can learn from the period between 2015 and 2018, it’s that cultural power on the edge comes from a place of authenticity and relaxation. Our great power was culture-creation, or more precisely culture-dissolution and culture-jamming. In 2017, the Dissident Right turned to politics and got its ass handed to it by the establishment for various reasons. Then, the big political thinkers got it in their heads that we should “do culture,” and suddenly, our cultural activities became inauthentic and rigid. Soon after, online dissident culture was swamped by bad actors who wanted to steer it in various directions, the two most dangerous ones being Right-wing terrorism and Right-wing cringe. Our great mistake was believing in the cargo-cult of political culture. We see liberal culture garner success and believe it is effective, not taking into account that the great success of mainstream art may be due to the fact that it’s on TV (or on the radio). We imagined artistic success as popular success, where we should have reached for the stars. 

Dali was immensely popular during his life and he had a knack for self-promotion, but he never compromised his vision, even when the communists of official Surrealism drummed him out for his “refusal to condemn fascism.” He was a supporter of General Franco and the Spanish monarchy, and later in life returned to Catholicism, and this shines through in his later art. He never moderated himself to appeal to the masses and never lost his ability to display transgressive truth, to shock, and to entertain. He was never locked up in an ivory tower, but always “in the shit” — designing fashion, film and theatre sets, jewelry, and furniture. 

Slowly, Dalí put the surreal little by little in mundane reality. His chais lounge in the shape of Mae West’s lips has been replicated numerous times. To me, it’s an uproarious visual joke (she eats your ass, get it?). To others, a grotesque evocation of Kronus consuming his children (you sit in her mouth, get it?). Seeing this chais lounge, I am reminded of an image of a man with a donut on his penis. Inherently funny in one way, a tragic metaphor of our society’s caloric chains around the sexual locus in another. 

What’s traditionalist, Right-wing, or conservative about all this? Everything and nothing. I won’t call myself a friend of conservatism, as you can read here. What is “traditionalist?” Everything and nothing. It depends on whether you’re a small- or big-T traditionalist. What is Right-wing? There’s nothing more Right-wing than killing what is already dying, of dissolving what is already dead. It clears away the structures of idolatry and sclerosis which arise in the wake of dying civilizations. We are the acid that dissolves the dead. The knee-jerk reaction is to sneer and to cry degenerate, but sometimes the best we can do at a civilization’s end cycle is laugh on the way down. 

Dalí laughed, uproariously, and he made people laugh as the world liquefied around them. I’m inviting you, each to the best of your ability, to do the same. 

Reading about China’s social credit system makes me thank my lucky stars for not having been born Chinese. I imagine that living in a state of constant surveillance and constant submission would fray my nerves to the point of aggressive antisocial behavior. I couldn’t hack public school, and I sincerely doubt that I could hack living in modern China. But looking at the social credit system as an idea, I can’t help but think it is not fundamentally a bad one.

Human biodiversity is an important concept. Whites are different from Orientals, culturally, religiously, linguistically, and in every other way worth mentioning. These differences stem from our genetic differences, which in turn stem from adaptations to different ecologies through time by means of evolution by natural selection. Therefore, it’s important to recognize that what works in China won’t work in the West, and conversely, what works in the West won’t work in China. Our cognitive differences run deep, resulting in irreconcilable differences in our ways of being in the world, our ways of perceiving it, and our ways of running our societies. To this end, despite my initial revulsion, I have very little doubt that the social credit system will work out well for China. Just as me and my people cannot be expected to live as servile bureaucrats with an irrepressible desire to accumulate material goods, I cannot in good faith expect the Chinese to live as rambunctious and intermittently violent mama’s boys, insatiable both in bed and at the dining table.

There are also similarities between East and West, but not enough to say that we share a destiny. People often taunt the similarity in levels of IQ and civilization, but I’m inclined to believe that the much-vaunted East Asian IQ is only comparatively high because the West is decadent and has had two centuries’ worth of dysgenic fertility. As for civilization, the gap between Western and Chinese achievement is vast. There is no equivalence worth speaking of. The conceitedly-named Middle Kingdom was a plaything of the Western powers not that long ago, no more in control of its destiny than a whore passed around by three merciless pimps. And no, friend Derb, there’s not going to be an Arctic alliance. The ChiComs (and they remain commies, despite – or rather, because of – their voracious mammonism) would rather feed us to the Temperates and Tropicals than break bread with us. China is in many ways an Israel writ large, hopelessly dependent on Western aid and complacency in trade policy, but ridiculously jingoistic and with a large diaspora hostile to their Western host countries. Whereas the Ben Shapiros of the world loudly oy vey at the very idea of whites not hating themselves, the Chinese diaspora buys up entire cities and steals technology from the West. Unlike Israel, they don’t have a steadfast ally in Donald Trump, but they did – and do – have such an ally in the Clinton crime family. China’s much-vaunted modernization was more the doing of Slick Willie than of Deng Xiaoping.

That being said, we can take the basics of the social credit system and develop our own version. Just like a sneaky Chinaman, we will steal this foreign technology and re-jigger it to suit our own nefarious needs while twirling our moustaches and sniggering in a snidely manner. It’s not that hard. We already have a social credit system in the West. For example, if you disagree with the ruling ideology intensely enough, you can, like our esteemed editor Greg Johnson, be kicked off of payment processors, social media platforms, and Amazon. Oh, and it’s not just “private” (as if these gigantic corporations could exist without the assistance of our gelded governments). Mild-mannered Southern gentlemen engaged in huwite advocacy will be banned from travelling to the Schengen area because the dulcet sounds of their Virginia drawl could inspire disapproved thoughts in the delicate skulls of European youths. On the other hand, any man who can issue “Uncle Jared’s Fitness Challenge” is probably not safe to let loose in your country. Sorry, Uncle Jared, you can’t take those guns into Europe.

On the other end of the spectrum, we have the motley crew of shitlibs and cuckservatives which pass for the West’s ruling class. Their high social credit score ensures they have every advantage accorded a Chinese Communist Party leader, and then some. These people often get away with murder, insulting them gets us punished and deplatformed, and on top of which they don’t have to do real work. Really, the list of privileges accorded to those with high social credit scores in the West is long and diverse. You can freely peruse the Zman’s archive on Cloud People as he brilliantly calls them to understand the extent of their privilege. Oh, and they get to tell us low-status white people to check our privilege, too. It’s called fucking with people and, as someone who has smacked people across the ears while my gopnik cousin held them down, I’ll tell you, it’s really fun when they aren’t able or allowed to hit back. Honest.

Now, needless to say, this is a bad system. For starters, it pretends that it doesn’t exist, which means we cannot critique it without incurring accusations of conspiracy-mongering. What do you mean, dissident voices are deplatformed? We’re only fighting HATE! White supremacist hate at that. Free speech doesn’t cover hate speech, BIGOT! There is no social credit system, it’s just that some people are deplorables and should be disenfranchised. Also, it’s quite informal and it’s controlled by the media and NGOs, who reach a consensus on who’s a deplorable and who’s laudable. Contrast that with China’s formal, unabashed, and state-run social credit system. It’s refreshingly honest.

At the heart of the current Western social credit system’s evil nature is the dishonesty of pretending it doesn’t exist, as well as its informality and private nature, whereas in China, you understand that going against the government is going to lead to nastiness. You then make an informed choice: Do I live with the consequences of speaking truth to power, or do I live with the consequences of keeping mum about injustice? In the West, we are lied to. We are told that we have freedom of speech, freedom of inquiry, freedom of this, freedom of that, but in fact we are less free in many respects than the Chinese. If I voice my deeply-held opinions about the nature of human differences and the consequences thereof in a Western public forum, I could very well be arrested for fomenting racial violence. I could voice those selfsame opinions in a Chinese public forum and remain unmolested. The Chinese might snigger at me for stating the blatantly obvious, but that’s about it. Critiquing the Chinese state is not advisable, though. In the West you can talk smack about the elected officials, but dare suggest an illiberal mode of governance and you’re attacked as a FASCIST NAZI WHITE SUPREMACIST!

I’ve made my choice. I’ve paid the price. I’m still paying it, and I will keep paying it in the future. It’s not all bad. It’s pretty cool to be a rebel. I’ve carved out a niche for myself in both meatspace and online. Besides, I couldn’t live in a servile position, repeating lies just to guard my material wealth like some whipped cur whimpering and shimmying up to the very master that whipped him. And so here I am.

Obviously, we should work to formalize this system, if for no reason other than to annoy the powers that be and their myrmidons. This is because the Western Left’s big foundational lie is that fascists have infiltrated every level of government in the US and other Western countries, and they are busy collaborating with evil fascists in major corporations, with clerical fascists in the various churches, and networking with fascists in other countries to stamp out the beleaguered liberals in their scattered archipelago of universities and food co-ops. This ideology is called Chomskyism, and would have you believe that CNN is a Right-wing extremist outlet. There’s also a slightly different interpretation according to which the American government is actually fine, insofar as it doesn’t interfere with business and that its primary purpose is spreading democracy around the world – preferably in countries near Israel, since they tend to be the least democratic, dontchaknowit? This one is called neoconservatism, and I believe our readership is not only familiar with it, but is sick of it.

I call upon ye, dark forces of Internet autism, to suss out from the various heapings of praise and scorn from the establishment media outlets and their accursed blue-check confederates the social credit scores of various famous people. I guess a certain amount of guesswork might be necessary, but it’s good to try. If we can rank people, we can deduce from their behavior which actions earn social credit and which actions cost social credit, and we can get a more-or-less accurate picture of the Western social credit system. This will prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that our ruling class is merely LARPing as beleaguered revolutionaries. In fact, we’ll be able to quantify their LARPing by measuring the difference between their actual social credit score and their perceived low station in society. Call it the Ruler Delusion Spread, or something snazzier, like the Conveniently Crazy Coefficient.

Now, obviously, we’re going to have to have racial categories. No white woman can have a social credit score higher than the Obama girls, simply because black women are sainted in today’s society, but among black women, we can have a fair competition. Now, even though being fat, loud, and annoying are considered boons in a black woman in today’s world, I strongly doubt that Diamond and Silk have higher social credit than the Obama girls, because they’ve committed the sin of liking Orange Man. Oh, and don’t believe that our souring on Blumpf here on the Dissident Right is going to give us a pass. No, we liked him back before Benjamin Netanyahu gave him his horns. Speaking of Bibi, yeah challah cost and all that, but doesn’t he oppress those poor brown Palestinians? We’re going to have to dock you some points for that, Jew Hitler.

It was times like this that I wish I was as autistic as some of you wonderful people. But no matter. This is an interesting and fun project, and it will generate great lulz if implemented, but let’s look to the distant future. Should we in the West survive our clash with demographic destiny, we might just have to implement – or rather formalize – an existing social credit system, just as the Chinese have. This one, however, will clearly favor pro-survival, pro-civilizational behavior, and it will be tailored to white sensibilities, and better yet, to the needs and national quirks of every separate nation, region, and locality. We’d be damned fools if we assume that Swedes and Spaniards can be governed by the same rules, and slightly less foolish if we assume the same for Basques and Andalusians.

One of the things that gave me a visceral negative reaction to the Chinese social credit system is its tendency to reward grass-eating, docile behaviors. Personally, I would hate the idea of my people becoming grass eaters, so I’d structure the social credit system to favor rambunctious, willful behavior, in order to breed a population of proud warriors. It will cost us in social stability and wealth, but some things are more important. Besides, Europeans do not really need rigid social stability the way the Chinese do. The relatively greater frequency of alpha male traits in Europeans suggests that we are used to following orders from local alphas presiding over relatively small groups of men. This correlates to Europe’s geography, with many independent water sources and mountain ranges dividing relatively self-sufficient valleys, in contrast to China, where rice’s water-intensive cultivation process has made the population dependent on centralized power. This makes us highly flexible and adaptable when it comes to problem-solving, and we should be comfortable with pluralism in methods of rule. We can decentralize in Europe, and the King can be relatively powerless, with the bulk of the power distributed among local worthies, headmen, mayors, and landed gentry, each governing in a manner concordant with the land and the people of their locality. In fact, attempts by Europeans to order their affairs in a centralized manner usually end in unmitigated disasters.

It is right to learn, even from the enemy. In good time, and if we survive our present predicament, China will become our primary enemy. When that happens, we cannot face them equipped with inferior social technology. We must play to our strengths and realize that we will always have a social credit system. It is best, therefore, to formalize it and tailor it to European needs, rather than keep it oblique and unclear. We shall then meet our Han counterparts on the great field of civilizational and cultural struggle. And beat them.

He sat alone on a giant throne
Pretending he’s the king.
A little tyke who’s rather like
A puppet on a string.

— “The Phoney King of England”

Long before anyone thought to call him a neoreactionary, mostly because he himself said it’d be the term a Harvard progressive would use to describe him, Mencius Moldbug called himself a formalist. You can always, and probably should, read about his ideas on formalism by yourself. For those of you with no patience for long-winded essays mired in Gen-X cynical and self-referential humor, here’s the skinny: violence is bad, violence is best defined as conflict + uncertainty (Moldbug would rather concede that friction is a better term for what he calls violence) and leads to suffering, and the best way to excise it from the world is to eliminate uncertainty. That is to say: formalize all relations so that there may be no uncertainty as to what belongs to whom and which responsibility falls on whom. In practice, this would mean abolishing the current political system wholesale and replacing it with one where the actual power-holders are formally recognized as such. One way of doing that is turning a country into a joint-stock corporation and issuing stock to the actual power-holders. So, theoretically, a formalization of America would end up with various arms of the government, media, NGO sector, Wall Street, Silicon Valley, the intelligence community, academia, foreign nations, and the military-industrial complex owning shares in the US government.

How would that change anything? Don’t these institutions already rule? How would formalizing their rule improve our situation? Three ways.

First, it would strip away the charade of democratic rule and rule of law, saving a lot of resources that currently go into political campaigns and de-escalating a good deal of the political conflict which occurs among the population. If you have no voice in how you’re ruled, there’s no point in arguing about it with your uncle at Thanksgiving, denouncing your errant brother, or blocking people on Facebook over it.

Secondly, it would put an end to the constant vying for power between the various power centers. American democratic politics, as per the neoreactionary model, is a low-level civil war between the coalition of the permanent bureaucracy, media, Silicon Valley, academia, the American empire’s European satrapies, half of Wall Street, and three-quarters of the intelligence community — which you may know as the Blue Empire and I like to call Team Moloch — versus the coalition of the US military, the military-industrial sector, the American empire’s Middle Eastern satrapies, the other half of Wall Street, and the remaining quarter of the intelligence services — which you may know as the Red Empire and I like to call Team Mammon. In fact, if you want to get anything done, you have to throw a bone to each of these actors with varied and diverse agendas, and each seems to have veto power. By formalizing their ownership, they can now vie for power in relatively civilized ways, whether by buying and selling government stock in the open market, or maybe by engaging in open warfare, which would result in one massive instance of extreme violence followed by a long period of stability, as opposed to the current unworkable middle of 250 years of constant low-level civil war (with brief violent flare-ups during the War Between the States and the Mormon War).

Thirdly, the true owners of the country and directors of its policies will be revealed, which means that the spotlight of scrutiny would shine upon them. Indeed, neoreactionary lore hinges on the idea that informal power is a thousand times more exploitative and tyrannical than formal power, given that whenever the oppressed can credibly claim that he is being tyrannized, the oppressor can even more credibly claim that he has no power to tyrannize with; he has just some authority, that he is not a cruel despot ruling over cowering peasants, but a private citizen offering learned counsel, or even a beleaguered public servant catering to the whims of ungrateful rubes. Indeed, the informality of power is a shroud that the powerful use to secure their position against scrutiny and thus become more powerful than even the kings of yore. It also means power without skin in the game — the king always shares the fate of the kingdom. If he tyrannizes his nobles or the peasants, his head can end up on a pike, his house can be sundered, and his sons made landless. The bureaucrats behind the West’s many fuckups and tyrannies are alive and well, and probably not even weighed down by a guilty conscience — after all, they’re just public servants. I’ve likened an informal system of power to a poorly constructed plumbing and sewage network. Power leaks out of it like water and sewage leak out of a system, and parasites of all kinds attach themselves to the pipes, trying to suck as much water out while directing the flow of sewage towards their competitors. Inevitably, some sewage gets into the water.

Now, I have my disagreements with ol’ Moldbug. He has many blind spots, and then there’s the problematic issue of his heritage, which really shows in his teleology, to say nothing of the mandatory slander of Dr. Kevin MacDonald. If you go to an Ashkenazi programmer for your political philosophy, you should expect that he’ll be allergic to “friction,” — or power plays — and dismissive of the idea of tight-knit ethnic lobbies wielding inordinate amounts of power. Nerds are conflict-averse to begin with and become more conflict-averse with every conflict they inevitably lose. To understand that there exists a class of men who not only relish conflict, but would go mad with boredom in the absence of it, is difficult for them. But nevertheless, he presents us with an interesting and workable model of the US government as it is, and gives some interesting suggestions on what should be done to fix it. He is certainly directionally right, which is to say he thinks in the right direction, especially given the early date of his thought (2007).

Of note, what really turns a lot of people off from neoreaction is the fact that Moldbug isn’t exactly a big fan of changing the owners, merely formalizing their ownership. Some are disgusted by the very idea of a sovereign corporation, others yet question the wisdom of finding out who’s in charge of the monstrosity we call modernity and then not hanging the bastard(s). Then there’s the whole issue of why things are the way they are and not some other way. Many neoreactionaries admire Singapore. Why isn’t there a European Singapore? My answer is that Europeans aren’t Asians and cannot be governed like Asians. They’ll say liberalism is a problem, and I agree, but you have to ask yourself why liberalism arose — and the answer might be that it could be the only practical way to govern white people at a certain stage in our civilizational cycle. You can read more on my thoughts on that subject in this essay, where I announce my monumental discovery that civilizations aren’t cars.

Now, all that being said, formalism has obvious benefits, outlined above. And I believe it stands to reason that more formalism is better than less formalism, if only that the resulting ugliness would shock society into restructuring. The shock of Queen Hillary in 2016 was palpable, and sent shockwaves throughout the world from which globohomo may never recover. Queen Hillary in particular managed, somehow, to unite the entire power structure on her side. Although nominally of Team Blue, she managed to secure the allegiance of Wall Street, the military-industrial complex, the upper echelons of the US military, and even the traditionally red MENA satrapies. But then electoral democracy happened. More specifically, an ugly and unlikable woman was pitted against an immensely entertaining alpha male. And then she lost. And then Team Mammon neutralized Trump. But we got some really good memes out of it, and the real power-brokers were forced to show their hands. The entire government apparatus of the US was in more-or-less open rebellion against Donald Trump. The security services even bogged him down in impeachment. Now niche terms like deep state are commonplace, one power center — the media — is completely defanged, and others are on the wane.

Having Donald Trump in the White House has been good for formalism because it showed just how powerless the President truly is, even with the much-ballyhooed Republican congressional supermajority in the first two years of his presidency. The nominally most powerful man in the world pushing with all his might and failing to get a single inch has been an immense red pill. That is, until he was neutralized. Now he’s a good Team Mammon player who only wins insignificant battles – losing by winning. It’s the only way he can get something, anything, done. Sometimes I step into MAGAtwitter and find myself in a world where Reagan-nostalgia and bog-standard cuckservative tropes are radical realignments that will defeat the Libturd DemonRats™ once and for all. WWGWWA! All hail secretary Q! A C T I V A T E          S E S S I O N S.

Lest we slip back into the idea that the President has actual power and that he is on the verge of arresting the deep state en-masse, a different approach needs to be taken. A President with an agenda of his own pushing back against the establishment was tried, and it worked for a while, but then the enemy came up with a response to the stratagem — let him keep his bluster and help him lose by winning. I suggest something radical.

I suggest America elect an actual, smiling, giggling even, non-entity. I suggest America elect someone who is incapable of ruling, or even appearing to rule. I suggest America elect someone who is literally brainless, or as close as one can get under the circumstances. I suggest America elect a demented old man who rants about his hairy legs and Cornpop, the Scourge of Wilmington, Delaware. In case I’m not making myself clear, I suggest America dispense with the malarkey and get to ridin’ with Biden.

You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one. The scuttlebutt on the street is that some of the smarter leftoids and globalists are #RidinWithBiden for this precise reason: so that the “experts” staffing the American bureaucracy can rule through this much-venerated senile figurehead. The Trump administration has shown us the great dangers of a President with a mind of his own. Indeed, Donnie Boy is only the most egregious example of a chaotic commander-in-chief interfering with the power centers in ways that disrupt the stability of the US sovereign corporation. Barack Obama brazenly humiliated Our Greatest Ally™ and made noises which made Wall Street and the MI complex very uncomfortable. Indeed, a temporary alliance between State under Hillary and Defense under Leon Panetta was forged to take the initiative on the Libya conflict, while Obama preferred to let the French take the lead. And ol’ Dubya was, for a while at least, literally Hitler, offending the sensibilities of academia, media, and the European satrapies. His rehabilitation in the age of Trump notwithstanding, the very idea of a Connecticut Yankee LARPing as a Texas cowboy in the White House was the highest of heresies at the time.

In fact, the only two Presidents I can think of which didn’t annoy any of the power vertices too much were Franklin D. Roosevelt and Bill Clinton. Roosevelt, of course, built most of them, and Bill Clinton presided over the most peaceful, almost frictionless period in recent history, a mythical time known as the 90s. Indeed, so peaceful and frictionless were the 90s, that the most interesting political issue of the age was Slick Willie getting a bee-jay from a fat Jewish woman — all while NATO was bombing the shit out of Serbia, or some other boring, irrelevant shit characteristic of the victorious Idea merely annexing unowned ideological space. History had, in fact, ended, or so we were told by the esteemed Mr. Fukuyama. Bubba Bill was notorious for “triangulating” with Team Mammon’s emissary Newt Gingrich and throwing them a bone or two. So emblematic are the 90s that vast swathes of the population dream of going back to this golden age of ahistory.

Now hold on a minute. You can say many things about Bubba, but he ain’t brainless, right? I mean, he too probably has hairy legs and loves it when children jump on them, but at least he has the good sense to keep mum about it. Well, that’s the thing. Bubba was very smart, but completely ruled by sin. He was so corrupt that it made no difference to him whether the bribes and hookers came from Team Moloch or Team Mammon. That’s why he could triangulate. Sin makes man into a non-entity. There is no man behind the eyes anymore, only a gaping, sucking hole that has to be filled with indulgence after indulgence. But even a sinful man has a limit — pride is a sin, after all, and pride can fuck everything up. Prideful men make for poor puppets.

Therefore, I propose that a literally brainless man be put into the White House, so that it may become apparent who rules and all political friction is removed, or at least brought out into the open, instead of fought over through proxies. This time, there won’t even be Slick Willie’s sociopathic charisma to paper over the naked power plays. Those who hold power will be formally recognized as such. No more hiding, no more cloak and dagger.

No malarkey!

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This year, Counter-Currents aims to raise $300,000. We now have $232,058.06, which puts us 77% of the way there. Thank you, everyone who has donated so far. We are going to need a Christmas miracle to get the remaining $67,941.94. So if you have not donated yet, time is of the essence. Full information on how to give appears below. But before that is this important message from Nick Jeelvy. — Greg Johnson

Elon Musk has announced that he is stepping down as CEO of Twitter after posting a public poll on the platform as to whether he should or not. There have been speculations as to whom he will nominate as his successor, with two names being prominent: Blake Masters and Jared Kushner. Suffice to say that if the latter turns out to be the case, it will prove once and for all that Elon Musk is an enemy of nationalism and is to be treated with the appropriate hostility.

This development comes on the heels of Donald Trump issuing a collection of NFT trading cards, which include images of himself in a superhero outfit while standing in a wrestling ring. The release of these NFTs marks a new low both in cringe and greed for the former US President.

Finally, it would appear that some of the energy has gone out of Kanye West after exiting the news cycle following his bombshell interview with Alex Jones. While you never know with Ye, and he has a way of coming back from seemingly debilitating debacles, there definitely seems to be a lull in the euphoria. So, now what?

The last two months of 2022 may prove to be the time when hope for the Great Man to come and rescue us from our predicament died. Hopes of a popular uprising were dashed after the system adapted to the populist victories of 2016 and counterattacked with a mixture of delaying, subversion, censorship, and outright election fraud in order to check this movement and prevent the rise of even more serious identitarian politics. The populist wave having been defeated, many started to put their hope in the idea of the Great Man: a world-historical figure, a Caesar, who would sweep the current ruling class aside and institute a brave new age of . . . Well, nobody was quite sure, but everyone was vaguely confident that the Great Man would bring about something resembling the vision they had for the future. It’s always like that with those elusive great men: They are many things to many people, especially if they’re yet to come.

It’s hard to answer the question of why the Great Man myth persists. Personally, I believe that it is one of those eminently useful fictions that keep a society trucking along. People need to believe that a great and noble-hearted lion marches at the head of the column. This belief makes sure they suffer every hardship and shoulder any burden, because they have supreme confidence that the Great Leader — through his great strength, wisdom, and sexual prowess — will see them through any challenge. People like to think their leaders have a plan, a vision, and a good grip on the situation. The myth of the Great Man, who forges the chaos of the world into something resembling order, like Marduk fashioning the world from Tiamat’s bones, is a great succor and motivator for men.

The people cannot — and most definitely do not need to — understand that this supposed Great Man is merely the head, or perhaps figurehead, of a clique of men who rule, and that this clique or the man at its head is not particularly or especially great. Oh, they’re usually clever, having discipline and presence of mind, and will probably not turn the community they lead into a sow’s ear (most of the time, at least), but they’re usually not exceptional or in any way impressive. I suspect that if the people knew how dreadfully banal and ordinary those comprising the elite are, they’d revolt in an instant. Caesar looks like a Great Man from across the Forum, but from up close he is just a man, bald and insecure about it, sometimes given to fits, marred by power-lust, naïveté, and overconfidence — and prone to expiring when stabbed.

But I’m not here to deconstruct the Great Man thesis. Even if it is false, people may need to believe in it. And who knows, maybe a Great Man will pop up one of these days and lead us all to glorious victory. I’ll keep an open mind. In the meantime, however, we have business to attend to. We have institutions to create, we have strategies to develop, and we have networks of contacts and influence to establish. We have conversations to lead, vocabulary to develop, culture to cultivate, and dreams to weave. All of these things have to be done absent the wise leadership of a Great Man. For the time being, we’ll have to content ourselves with the fine men and women of Counter-Currents and allied organizations — people who show up and do their utmost, every day for years, to make the survival of the white race their business. These people work tirelessly at their desks, chatting around the proverbial water cooler, exploring ideas and methodologies of coalition-building and political operations, illuminating and elucidating that which is indispensably white about culture, and holding up a mirror to the world so that it may see how much it owes to the white race and how impoverished it’d be without it. They also hold up the same mirror to the self-hating white man so that he may see how indispensable he is. It’s not quite as glamorous as Caesar imposing his terrible will on those refractory Gauls, but it is a thing of beauty in its own right.

I have a vision to share with you. It is what you’ve seen from Counter-Currents thus far, but at scale: much bigger and vaster than anything that has been tried before in White Nationalism. It will transform what has hitherto been the proverbial university of the Dissident Right into the actual university of the Dissident Right, but also become so much more than that. We shall have a salon for our learned discourse, a treasure-trove library of learning both ancient and modern, a gallery of visual art kept safe from our enemies’ insidious reach, a place for children to learn, a place for elders to teach, a great war room for the map junkies and grand strategists, and a gymnasium fit for the gods. Close your eyes and you’re already there. You’re in the Savitri Devi Memorial Garden, and there, amidst the flourishing of carefully-trimmed nature, Collin Cleary is giving a lecture on Heideggerian metaphysics, walking along with his students in true Aristotelian fashion. A few steps away is the notorious Answeratorium, where Jim Goad has been known to level his wit at great volume against those who’d do white people harm. You then cut through the arts department, where they’re holding an exhibition on the latest Phill Eiger Newman collection (“Antisemitism on Canvas”). You then reach the Grand Laboratory where it has been reported that a new form of anti-white racism has been discovered, and the scholars are scrambling to defend against it. After a day of adventure and stimulation, you retire to the Bowden Salon for a quiet drink with friends, but even here the excitement never stops. It appears a group of rowdy lads are loudly arguing about whether the liberal worldview is inherent to white being and salvageable or a mere disease to be shed.

It is, of course, just a dream. It could in the fullness of time become reality, but for the time being, our goals are more modest. We aim to raise $300,000 by year’s end. These funds are essential for our current and future operations. As it happens, we have no great men to rely on; only your good selves and the money you can spare for our worthy cause. Neither Elon Musk, nor Donald Trump, nor Kanye West will swoop in to rescue us. We shall therefore forge our own greatness and author our own destiny, standing shoulder to shoulder and shouting our defiance to the enemy. We are few, but we are determined and unwavering. We are small, but we work hand in hand. We may not be great, but we don’t need to be. All we need is to be good enough to bring our great task to its completion.

With your financial assistance, I have no doubt that in the fullness of time, we shall be equal to our great struggle.

Show of hands, who here remembers the groypers? Who remembers the Groyper War? Who remembers the plague of frogs which descended upon Conservative Inc.? Who remembers Counter-Currents’ blow-by-blow coverage of the events? Who remembers the incisive analysis, the reports from the trenches, and even the humorous retrospective? Many of you, I suspect, have tales of valor from that erstwhile conflict. In an otherwise bleak and disheartening time, the groypers brought the joy of victory to the Dissident Right, and real victory at that, rather than Trumpian #winning.

Well, I was as euphoric as anyone when the famed takeover of UCLA sent shockwaves through the internet, but this past month has seen me dragged kicking and screaming to dreary, depressing reality. Witness here, the state of the world:

Thank you Charlie! https://t.co/fG7YXOCk9R

— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) February 7, 2020

50.6K likes, 10.7K retweets as of February 12th. Nothing but butt-kissing MAGApedes and frothing-at-the-mouth Leftoids in the responses, with the exception of a single voice in the wilderness doubting whether Chuckie Boy is really America First.

Did the naysayers not warn me and other groypers that they’d achieved nothing, that the donor class is still with Charlie Kirk, that Donald Trump was still with Charlie Kirk, that TPUSA was fundraising with (heavily edited) clips of themselves apparently BTFO’ing the groypers. Didn’t Nick Fuentes flush his credibility down the toilet with his laughably bad take on the Soleimani assassination? Could the groypers have actually lost by winning, as I described in my article linked above?

I made a mental note of writing up a retrospective on the Groyper War at some point in the future. Truth be told, my instinct was to start writing immediately, but I decided to at least wait and see the outcome of the America First Political Action Conference organized by Fuentes and others in order to build on what was accomplished in the Groyper War. Wait and see is a good heuristic for these things.

But then I saw Fenek Solère’s excellent reportage on the position of Matteo Salvini in Italy. Of note is the mention of the The Brothers of Italy, led by Giorgia Meloni, as potential allies for Salvini who could guide him to a more sophisticated nationalist position. What is very interesting to me as an outside observer of Italian politics is that there is very little mention of Lega (or Lega Nord as it was known back in the day), but that national populism in Italy is all Salvini all the time. One wonders if there is a party infrastructure in place behind the man.

Indeed, in the comments, I drew an analogy to the bus factor, a measure ostensibly of risk (but actually of fragility) initially employed in software development which calculates how many people have to be hit by a bus before a project is stalled out or completely ruined. Modern corporate projects usually have ridiculously low bus factors due to their focus on efficiency. Efficiency is the elimination of redundancies, which means that usually no more than one person knows how to perform a specific step in the process. Most corporations are one second of inattention away from pandemonium.

If Italian populism is Salvini and nothing but Salvini, then the elite is one assassination, character assassination or kangaroo trial away from victory. Indeed, option 3 is in full swing as the Italian Senate has stripped Salvini of his immunity, opening him up to prosecution on trumped-up charges of kidnapping for “illegally detaining migrants at sea” during his tenure as Minister for Internal Affairs of Italy. There’s a big ole bus barreling towards Don Matteo and organized Italian populism currently has a bus factor of one. That’s bad.

But even if Salvini were to get hit by a bus, Lega would go on. Lega will probably not be as great a force without Salvini and from what I can tell, the party’s secessionist wing is currently holding its peace only due to Salvini’s charisma and the direness of the situation. Without Don Matteo, I expect Lega to retreat to the north — to their beloved Padania, as they’re fond of calling it — and function as a strong regional party, thumbing its nose at Rome.

Let’s turn our attention to America. Much like in Italy, American national populism is very much Donald Trump, and precious little outside of Donald Trump. Unlike in Italy, there’s not even a Lega to fall back on — only the GOP (hawk ptooey). No reliable second-in-command, no institutions backing the national populist agenda, just the man himself, embattled and unable to push through even the smallest of agenda items, a prisoner in the White House, reduced to #winning on buttsex in Botswana and dishwasher deregulation. But as long as he’s in the Oval Office, there is a vector and an avatar for the national populist movement in Washington, shining a beacon of light in the beady eyes of globohomo.

If Trump were hit by a bus, it’d be the end of the organized National Populist movement in America and in all probability, a start of an age of genuine darkness on the North American continent. Like Salvini, he’s been put through the wringer of impeachment and a Senate trial on trumped-up charges, acquitted on partisan lines by the Republican-controlled Senate (I shudder to think what he gave to Mitch McConnel in exchange). His victory in 2020 is not a foregone conclusion, as the demographic situation strongly favors the Democrats. And even with all that being said, he’s a 74-year-old overweight man under unthinkable amounts of stress. So, who steps up after Trump? Who steps up after Salvini?

In my comment on Fenek’s article, I complained that Trump isn’t building any infrastructure that will sustain him and his government. He’s not even taking the most rudimentary of action to stop his supporters, disorganized that they are, from getting banned on social media. Later in the day, it came to me that Trump is, in all probability, too busy with the actual business of government in order to build institutions. This task is usually left to political allies of the President. The ideal man for such activities in the USA would have been Roger Stone, but we know what became of him, and all Trump can do is tweet about it. The guy with the actual infrastructure is Charlie Kirk — so Trump retweets, endorses, and sends Donald Jr. to shore up Charlie Kirk. This support of Charlie Kirk, who serves masters with an agenda inimical to national populism feels like betrayal to nationalists and genuine populists.

And here we come to the groypers and Nick Fuentes and the America First Political Action Conference.

Nick Fuentes, of course, soiled his pants something fierce in the aftermath of the Soleimani assassination, criticizing people who opposed the proposition to bomb Iranian cultural sites in a Telegram rant. Having listened to Fuentes for a longer time than most, I can confirm that it is entirely on-brand for him to do so. Indeed, I do not necessarily disagree with him that destroying the cultural sites of an enemy nation is a bad thing in wartime. I was going to write a piece for Counter-Currents in his defense, but I was talked out of it by a friend who suggested that Fuentes would be better served by learning to live with the consequences of his words.

All that being said, AFPAC is the right thing to do. It is the kind of organization that serves as an incubator for cadre. For too long, our side has been neglecting the importance of cultivating political personnel. The Z Man of the Z blog in particular has paid attention to the reasons why the Buckley right and later Conservative Inc. have failed to develop cadre — they relied on the (correct) assumption that a majority of Americans already quietly support them and all they need to do is rally them for political clout.

Indeed that was the case, but the majority of Americans found themselves unable to think, strategize or create a framework for developing and promoting ideas — this required the cultivation of political cadre which the right simply did not do, preferring instead to drum out conservative intellectuals like Pat Buchanan and Sam Francis who dared question the orthodoxy.

This means that there is no talent pool from which a Rightist, national populist President, or even senator, congressman, or governor can draw staff; and so he is forced to rely on swamp creatures. Furthermore, if there’s nobody to act as staffers for National Populist politicians, there’s no apprenticeship and no next generation of National Populist politicians, which means dangerously low bus factors.

This is not helped by the neurotype that is likely to become a National Populist politician, which seems to include some measure of egomania. At this late stage, I wonder if Donald Trump endorsed Carter Strange in the 2017 Alabama GOP primaries for the US senate out of a fear that a victorious Roy Moore would present a serious challenge from the Right. Judge Moore’s nationalist credentials are definitely stronger, especially in light of the Trump administration’s lackluster successes. The comparable dynamic would be that between FDR and Huey Long — who I believe was the only man who could realistically challenge the FDR machine. A pity for America and pure serendipity for FDR that Long was assassinated.

Insofar as this problem can be solved, infrastructure for organizing, directing, and above all cultivating political talent must be developed. It cannot follow the patterns of the conservative movement, as they’re all wrong and they’re built to appeal to and amplify the normie conservative neurotype (vastly different from Dissident Rightists). If old hands like Michelle Malkin are willing to help, then by all means, they’re welcome, insofar as they realize that their time has come and gone and they are now merely greybeards guiding, but not directing, the young guns. And Nick Fuentes seems poised to build something of worth.

Tellingly, his conference has a higher bus factor than you’d expect. If Nick Fuentes were hit by a bus, or liquidated by the deep state, or mauled by a catboy, the AFPAC would just keep trucking along under the guidance of Patrick Casey and other groyper generals. It’s supposed to be a meeting of the minds for groypers, but also a strategy session, a networking opportunity, and a way of sharing know-how in political organization. Recall that during the Groyper Wars, the entire leadership of TPUSA’s University of Kansas chapter defected to the groypers. Kansas was the biggest TPUSA chapter and the leadership had built it from scratch — that’s skill that’s now transferable to the groypers.

If National Populist politicians want to not only survive, but also push through their agenda, they will need cadre to do it. In the absence of National Populists and dissidents to staff their administrations and generate ideas for them, they will default to cuckservatives, libertarians, and other slave-morality Rightists in order to do so. This will make their already precarious positions weaker. Next time we complain about Trump having forgotten his base, it’s important to understand that he needs a National Populist political infrastructure in order to govern effectively. No such thing exists right now in the US. But if you build it, they will come.

One of my first memories of Will Smith is him decking the alien in Independence Day. I liked that film, with all of its subversive elements and even its anti-white moments. Before my red-pilling, I considered it a fun diversion. But it turns out that Chris Rock is tougher than both that alien in Independence Day and Will Smith — well, he’s not as tough as the movies make him out to be, anyway.

You can read all about the incident itself here. Since the old man has already covered the details of the story, I thought I’d delve into the reactions to it, specifically those narratives which have arisen in its wake and the narrative cores that they’re designed to operate around. Let’s begin with something we are all familiar with.

White Nationalists and identitarians, Mr. Goad included, have spun this incident as simply blacks being blacks, or put more poetically, Getting Niggy With It. To paraphrase Tom Metzger, the presence of many blacks in one place allows them to act out their ancient jungle instincts and jockey for position in the negro hierarchy in the time-tested negro tradition of internecine violence. This has turned the once-venerable institution of the Academy Awards into a showcase of ghetto behaviors best kept far away from the eyes of good, law-abiding, platitudinal middle-class white people who are mighty uncomfortable with blacks being blacks.

The irony, of course, is that White Nationalists and identitarians, as well as other racial realists, are comfortable with this idea and are willing to set policy based on the fact that blacks will be blacks. The solution? Make the Oscars White Again. There is that old chestnut about how white they were to begin with, but that’s a story for another day. This is one narrative with which we’ve been making lots of hay in the past week, and it is the one closest to the truth as we see it. We’re rehashing it here so that walking you through the other narratives will be easier.

The other narrative — the one favored by conservatives and other people unwilling to look racial reality in the face — is that this was an instance of actors being actors, which is to say, the thing was staged, likely to boost the Academy Awards’ plummeting ratings. Here’s how this narrative activates and builds on some very important conservative narrative cores.

First of all, it shows the conservative’s belief that popularity and market share matters to the elite, and that the elite are very concerned with putting asses in seats for the Oscars and other entertainment products. That the elite can quite literally manufacture demand out of thin air, especially in the entertainment sector, would raise some very uncomfortable questions about the nature of the economy and markets. If demand can be manufactured by flooding the market with a particular type of good, then all the bromides about free enterprise and rugged individualism are false and the economy is a much different beast than what we expected. Nobody wants to believe that consumers are unimportant — mere powerless ants when compared to the sprawling megacorporations. The conservative needs to believe in the power of the boycott in order to keep his belief in the consumer- or demand-driven market. The narrative that Smith and Rock staged this in order to boost the Oscars’ ratings confirms to the conservative that it was a show put on for his benefit as a consumer, silencing his doubts about the market.

Second, it betrays the conservative’s need to perceive the liberal as effete and fundamentally a false person, and by process of elimination, himself as a masculine and fundamentally real person. We see in conservative memes that they perceive themselves as rugged cowboys or the drill instructor from Full Metal Jacket. Will Smith and Chris Rock are The Other, not as blacks but as actors, and actors being actors means false and effeminate men being false and effeminate men. Ultimately, in this case Smith and Rock are stand-ins for the bi-coastal elites which the conservative resents and perceives, in the lingo of the YouTube commentator, as fake and gay. There are vast problems with this attitude, covered masterfully here by James O’Meara. As pointed out by the warlock himself and from my own humble contribution in the comments section, conservative macho men imagine themselves to be many times more powerful than the libtarded fags that have nevertheless consistently been beating them for the past 250 years. But going against deeply-embedded narrative cores which make people feel good is not a pleasant task.

Third, it reveals the conservative’s reluctance to accept that crime has a color. While this barely rose to the level of petty assault, it was still quite egregious, and since it was televised and taking place in a time-honored American institution, it is grievous. If we accept that they staged it, then we absolve black people from their well-documented propensity for violence. Just like how those evil DemoKKKrats cause ghetto blacks to descend into crime with their evil welfare state and housing projects, the evil white DemoKKKrats behind the Oscars instructed Will Smith and Chris Rock to perform this act of violenc — but this violence in no way, shape, or form comes from deep within the black Dasein; it’s all Democrats.

These are three very good reasons why the conservative needs this incident to be fake.

Moving back to the (outer reaches of the) Dissident Right, we have the narrative of men being men, or that this was a confrontation based on honor. See, Chris Rock was out of line, and this made Will Smith defend his wife’s honor. This plays very well to the sensibilities of the RETVRN crowd, and really, I can agree with their sentiment as well. I agree with Johnny Sack from The Sopranos that there are things which ought to be sacred. If Ralph Cifaretto can make insulting remarks about his wife for $200,000, “What’s next, Carmine, he can fuck her for a million?!” But at least Ralphie made the joke among insiders, whereas Chris Rock made fun of Jada Pinkett Smith live on national television. So yeah, I too would have lashed out against the bitch-ass nigga. End of story, right? Wrong.

Since we’re comparing Johnny Sack to Will Smith, let’s compare Ginny Sack and Jada Pinkett Smith as well. They’re both the unattractive wives of wealthy and powerful men, but this is where the commonalities end. Ginny is a housewife, while Jada is a strahng, independant whaman. Ginny has produced Allegra, a reproductively viable and handsome (if hefty) young woman, whereas Jada has given birth to two genetic dead-ends. Ginny has never been disloyal to Johnny and is the great fount of his strength — when he’s underboss for Carmine; when he’s the boss of the Lupertazzi crime family; when he’s arrested, indicted, and forced by the feds to admit to the mafia’s existence; and finally, when he contracts lung cancer and dies in federal prison, she’s always there for him. Jada regularly cuckolds Will with all sorts of men. Ginny has taken Johnny’s last name. Jada styles herself as Pinkett Smith.

Many critics of the honor narrative have pointed out that as a pussy-whipped cuckold, Will has no honor to defend. That may be so, but masculine defense of women’s honor is a white phenomenon. As I will repeat until I am blue in the face or the gullible white men of the world finally understand this (whichever comes first), American blacks, like all West Africans, have a matrilocal social structure where the women and children live separately from the men and the women couple freely with the most dominant males, having children who don’t know who their fathers are, as well as having children by multiple fathers. The men avoid genetic cuckoldry (taking care of non-kin) by caring for their nephews and nieces, their sisters’ children. The patriarchal family unit of man and wife owing sexual loyalty to each other and taking care of their children, buttressed by the man’s authority over the wife with the support of secular and religious authorities and bound even tighter with the bonds of mutual affection we sometimes know as love, is specific to Europeans and not easily replicable by other races. A man defending his wife’s honor is part of this socio-biological phenomenon that we call matrimony, which in our universalist arrogance — another typically Western European trait — we assume is common the world over, but is in fact specific to our existence as white people. Thus, the honor narrative offers a convenient escape from the fact that a dishonorable wife has no honor for her husband to defend, but at an even deeper level, it is yet another convenient escape from racial realism, this time in relation to family structure (another biologically-determined factor).

So, which is it? Is blacks being blacks? Is it actors being actors? Or is it men being men? I have no idea, nor do I really care. The evidence could go either way. What matters when we believe the narrative is whether it confirms our own assumptions about the world: the narrative cores implanted deep within us and, sadly, unexcised as of yet in many of us. I’ve decided to follow Jim Goad’s lead and go with the blacks being blacks narrative because it’s good grist for our mill here at Counter-Currents. Any other narrative relies on cores which are hostile to what we’re trying to accomplish, and that’s false enough for me.

These fought, in any case,
and some believing, pro domo, in any case. . .
. . .some in fear, learning love of slaughter;
Died some pro patria, non dulce non et decor. . .

walked eye-deep in hell
believing in old men’s lies, then unbelieving
came home, home to a lie,
home to many deceits,
home to old lies and new infamy;

— Ezra Pound, from Hugh Selwyn Mauberley.

There is a formulaic and trite insult directed at men of my age and younger about how back in the day, 18-year-olds would charge into machine-gun fire at D-Day whereas the current crop of young people are such special snowflakes that they [insert pet peeve youthful behavior]. Well, we are nothing if not self-critical thinkers, and we detect a glaring absence of heroic charges towards yonder machine gun nests on our part, as well as an altogether arrogant abuse of the royal We. Therefore, let us examine the act of charging into machine-gun fire.

To charge into machine-gun fire is almost certain death. Indeed, while the modern battlefield holds many nasties to surprise the eager young blood out for glory, the machine gun stands out as emblematic and characteristic of industrial warfare. At the pull of a trigger, hundreds of lives may be extinguished, “cut down.” The sound of a machine gun is chilling, too; nothing quite like it exists in nature. A grinding, barreling, clanking of a single lethal act repeated ad infinitum, or at least until the gunner or whoever is charging him is gone. Unlike the deep rumble of an artillery field gun, which channels our ancient, thunder-wielding gods, the machine gun produces an entirely unnatural sound which is all man, just the humble bullet repeated many times, too many to counteract. In a grim echo of the beginning of the industrial revolution which begot it, the MG42, of the kind which was fired on the beaches at D-day in particular, produces a sound which is more akin to the tearing of fabric than of a weapon firing. This ain’t your grandpappy’s boomstick.

And yet, men charged these human disassembly machines. Men made of flesh and blood, eminently perforable men, with putty just as soft as yours covering their brittle bones. Mortal, frightened men with shit rolling down their trouser legs still found the courage to charge these instruments of doom. Sometimes they lived. Sometimes they overtook the machine-gun nests. Blessed fate saw fit to have courage defeat bullets. So, how can you, from the comfort of your home, sitting at a computer, reading these words on a screen, with your every creature comfort met, refuse to do something as trivial as stand up for your people?

You have to ask yourself, though, are the soldiers charging a machine gun nest and the dissident standing up for his people operating under the same conditions?

The kind of heroic charge into the maw of the death-dispenser that we see in the movies and in our minds’ eyes is normally led by the figure of the self-effacing officer. In the British case, he is an erstwhile scion of a noble family, dating back to the Norman conquest. He was educated at Eton and later one of the great universities. He is a man of culture and wealth, and yet shares a connection with the common men under his command. He speaks of Horace and how it is good and beautiful to die for one’s country. From across No Man’s Land, his counterpart of no less noble stock is the descendant of Junkers, educated at one of the finest military academies in the world. This man with a heart of steel leads from the front, projecting Preußentum outwards. His Rheinland and Bavarian charges can only stand in awe at this man born for the bloody business of war.

Both figures are emissaries to the common soldier, who is expected to follow the leftenant and lieutenant into the hail of bullets. They are emissaries from the nation’s ruling class, and parts of it. Not only are the two at the helm because they are the best (aristos), but because the common man must be reassured that yes, your king has skin in this game. Only then can the king genuinely ask the common man to throw his life away; otherwise, what cares this man for the squabbles of kings, of who will rule over what province? But much more than that, the warrior-aristocrats leading the charge are in that blessed moment the nation personified, exhorting her men of good character to do their best for her, to ensure the existence of their people and a future for their children, though it may come at the cost of their own lives. The life of the nation, of that greater body, is not only of greater importance, but depends on the self-sacrifice of men, on courage and tenacity, on unrelenting will in the face of certain death.

If the man who charges towards a machine gun nest lives to tell the tale, captures the nest, kills or captures his enemy-the machine-gunner, he has served his country well. What awaits him is a hero’s welcome back home, medals, promotions, status. In the years that follow, he can expect to convert his status into attraction amongst the women of his homeland, and therefore get married, father children and grandchildren and have for those young ones a tale of valor about grandpa charging a machine gun nest, scars to show off, maybe even the machine-gunner’s sidearm which he liberated and still keeps as a trophy and reminder. And as grandpa sinks in his armchair, wistfully remembering his glory days and the brave, good men that wait for him in Heaven, the young ones dream of their own glory yet to come, of the chance to prove their valor and manhood. And even if — even if he were to fall and never rise from the mud, the man who charges towards a machine gun nest understands at some level, even as terror grips his heart, that he will be remembered, that he will be given a hero’s funeral, that his sacrifice makes possible the survival of his nation, of his family. With his dying breath, the man who was cut down by a machine gun sees his victorious comrades raising their glasses in his honor, and silently shedding tears at his grave, for there rests a man of valor, a man of honor, a friend.

The man who charges towards a machine gun nest has the full backing of his society. He is honored if he falls, rewarded if he succeeds. The only wrong thing to do is to run away, which is punished severely, not only by death, but by shaming: in the most extreme case, damnatio memoriae, which strikes terror into the heart of men. Far more terrible than death, to be forgotten, to disappear, as if one has never existed, to be no more than a fart in the wind. Men will whisper “remember me” with their dying breath, and we do. No one is hated more than the deserter, the traitor, the coward, he who values his own skin over his country and comrades. Compared to the shame, the sting of cowardice, what terror can the bullets unleash? Death is momentary, but to live inglorious and defeated is to die daily.

Indeed, the man charging into machine-gun fire is, for all the unenviable dangers of his situation, exempted from the uncertainty and neuroses of modernity. The constant detective work one must employ to distinguish between friend and enemy isn’t present in such a case — the enemy is the guy firing at you, the friend is the guy standing next to you. There are no deep philosophical conundrums about the purpose of existence or even moral ones about what is right and what is wrong. Your purpose is to charge the machine gun nest and disable the machine gun. That is right. Stopping, hiding, running away, deserting, cowardice; that’s wrong. Most men who have faced bullets will speak of the refreshing “clarity” of combat. They get so wistful about it, too; their eyes attain a strange, longing glow, as if imagining the youthful body of a forgotten lover. And indeed, clarity would be a drink of fresh water in our world of shadows, treason, and half-measures. At least a bullet through the brain is something, as opposed to not-that-something. And here we are, in our comfortable armchairs, envying men being shot at with a machine gun. They are alive in ways we cannot even begin to contemplate.

And what of us? What are the conditions under which we operate? What are our worst and best-case scenarios? The earnest dissident takes his arguments and his racial crime statistics, and his visions of a nice, white country and faces. . . damnation. He stands up for the truth, because he has been taught that there is such a thing and that it is worth fighting for, but learns to his horror that those bloody postmodern neo-Marxists were right and that truth doesn’t exist, or at least doesn’t matter, which is the same thing at the level of analysis where we have to live. He clasps his hands over his heart and tries once again, to appeal to reason, to appeal to compassion, to shock into understanding his unbelieving friends and relatives, only to see himself abandoned, thrown to the SJW mob, unemployed, deplatformed, demonetized, spied upon by people whose job is to fight terrorism and treason, disinvited from family functions, ostracized from polite company.

But what is this compared to the machine gun? Not nothing. At least the man who charges the machine gun nest doesn’t have to do it alone. Whom do we have? Each other? How do I know that you’re not a federal agent out to sell me an unregistered firearm, or an opportunistic sociopath looking to become a cult leader, or merely a dysfunctional reject from society desperate for acceptance? And even if you are yourself an erstwhile dissident cloaked in courage and armed with the truth, what power have you to help me when I am in trouble, and indeed, what power have I to help you if you yourself are cut down by the metaphorical machine guns of modernity?

Man was not meant to stand alone; against machine guns or against his own society. I will take this moment to admire the courage of those who still stand athwart the enemy even at this hour, even though everything opposes us and our cause, even though we’ve been denounced by our people, by our friends and our closest family. Our struggle is not only political, but personal. If we fall, precious few will weep for us. As things get worse and more real, many of us will lose conviction, waver, and scatter. Others yet will take the purple pill and remove themselves from the hard edge of the struggle.

There’s your answer. Young white men in the West do not have the support of their society. They aren’t inspired to heroic deeds because they know, deep in their heart, that their deeds will be scorned no matter what they do. In fact, the ruling class, rather than inspiring these young men, would rather they checked out completely, became a fatality of the opioid epidemic, or better yet, cut off their dicks, became transgender, and called for the death and castration of even more young white men. No reward if you win, no one weeps if you fall. Under those conditions, it becomes difficult for a man to go to the corner store, let alone charge into machine-gun fire. And yet, what choice do we have?

The Dissident Right is often accused of constructing a fantasy world, of being LARPers. We are told that the reality is such and such and that we’re ruining our lives by engaging in dissident politics. I guess we are. And yet it is this fantasy world which keeps so many of us going, the now-memetic nostalgia for the place we’re not sure even exists, the dreams of a better future which seem less likely with every passing second. And yet the history of our people is a history of the impossible being willed into being, of the Live-Action Role-Play being played out in reality. In the fantasy world we build, we are not hated and scorned, but respected for our courage and valor. We are not “throwing our lives away” but sacrificing them for the greater good. In truth, this world we build isn’t fantastic. It is very real, but appears fantastic because nothing of the sort should exist in modernity, which is the age of irony, of selfishness, and of passivity. To charge a machine-gun nest is so outside modernity that any ethos which even attempts to resurrect the philosophy of self-sacrifice seems fantastic.

The man talking about sacrificing his life for his people is to be taken as seriously as the man claiming to be a noble prince rescuing the elven princess from the orcs. It’s a LARP; you don’t really believe that. You can’t really believe that. If you really believe that, then I’m the selfish prick who’d throw his friends under the bus for a few more months of life. No, you’re lying, you’re pretending, you’re a LARPer, you’re throwing your life away, can’t you see you’re throwing your life away? Your life! My life!

The postmodernist will screech at you for constructing a world where meaning still matters. He will likewise hate you for having people to share that world with. The Dissident Right, the white nationalist and white-positive sphere, we form a community. At the core of this community is this shared dream of a world where there exist things more important than a man’s life. My great fear is that we cannot will our dream into being, but let it never be said that it is not possible, that it cannot be done, and if we fall, at least tales will be told that men got together to share a dream, that they fought with honor and valor; and though they were defeated in the last, their courage was seen by all.

Once more into the beach, dear friends.

If you liked this article & want to support our work, read Greg Johnson’s “All Hands On Deck!“

 

English original here

Kyle Rittenhouse byl shledán nevinným ve všech bodech obžaloby během pozorně sledovaného procesu, který zkoumal jeho konání při loňských nepokojích, kdy ve wisconsinském městě Kenosha zastřelil dva teroristy z Antify a dalšího zranil. Dobré shrnutí faktů procesu si můžete poslechnout třeba tady. Patříte-li mezi ostřílené disidenty, asi jste slyšeli také o soudu s „joggerem“ v Georgii a civilním řízení v Charlottesville, pro nově příchozí však si však stručně shrňme, o co v těchto případech vlastně jde.

V oněch dávných kouzelných časech, tedy v únoru 2020, se černošský kriminálník jménem Armed Robbery – někdy mylně psáno jako Ahmaud Arbery – (slovní hříčka, výslovnost jména zabitého černocha se skutečně podobá výrazu „armed robbery“, tedy „ozbrojená loupež“ – pozn. DP) vydal do rozestavěného domu na předměstí s úmyslem něco ukrást. Na sobě měl pracovní boty, podle médií se ovšem byl jen tak proběhnout. To byla jeho krycí historika, když kradl nebo si vytipovával stavby v sousedství, proto o něm místní mluvili jako o „joggerovi“ (běžec). Rodinné duo (otec a syn) Travis a Gregory McMichaelovi ho konfrontovali a pokusili zadržet. Vysloužilý policista Gregory McMichael v něm totiž poznal známou firmu ze svých dní u sboru. Armed Robbery, v projevu inteligence a sebekontroly typické pro americké černochy, se Travisovi pokusil vyrvat z rukou jeho brokovnici. V následné potyčce byl zasažen třemi výstřely ze zbraně a jeho slibně se rozvíjející dráha zločinu tak byla předčasně uťata. V době vzniku tohoto článku se proces chýlí ke konci.

Co se týče občanskoprávního sporu v Charlottesville, je zahalen tak hustým oblakem fake news a mediální propagandy, že nezasvěceným nelze než doporučit alespoň několik článků o neblahé události na našich stránkách, aby byli schopni sledovat mé argumenty. Ve zkratce zde ale skupina mužů, označených za organizátory demonstrace, čelí civilní žalobě. Roberta Kaplanová, prominentní židovská právnička a hybná síla celého procesu, ovšem celou věc dosti nevhodně „prokecla“, když se nechala slyšet, že smyslem žaloby není náprava utrpěného bezpráví nebo náhrady škody pro navrhovatele, ale „znemožnit žalovaným jakékoliv budoucí organizované konání“ – zjevně kvůli jejich rasismu, který je podle všeho dostatečným důvodem zbavit člověka jeho práva promluvit, protestovat, nenásilně se shromažďovat i písemně žádat o nápravu křivd. Skutečným cílem jsou tedy ústavní práva Jasona Kesslera a dalších konkrétně – i všech bělošských aktivistů obecně.

Tato trojice procesů – s Rittenhousem ve Wisconsinu, s McMichaelsovými v Georgii a spor Sinesová v. Kessler ve Virginii – rozhodne o podobě budoucnosti pro americké bělochy, především ohledně jejich práv na sebeobranu, ochranu vlastních společenství a práva bělochů na politickou organizaci a proaktivní obranu svých práv, dědictví, existence a budoucnosti. Všechny tři společně pak ztělesňují práva, bez nichž se život pro americké bělochy stane obtížně snesitelným a ztráta kteréhokoliv z nich je promění v dobytek určený na porážku – ať už všechny naráz nebo pěkně po jednom.

Osvobozující verdikt v Rittenhousově procesu znamená, že pokud se skutečně blíží masakr, bude se nejspíš muset odehrát kousek po kousku. Odskočme si nyní na moment k vojenské teorii, konkrétně k oblíbené mongolské taktice obklíčení a ponechání (falešné) ústupové cesty. Obklíčení nepřítele zpravidla předznamenává vítězství v dané bitvě. Jelikož nyní čelí nebezpečí na všech stranách, stává se mnohem zranitelnějším: vždyť útočník může snadno napadnout jeho křídla i týl. Obklíčený nepřítel však také ví, že jeho jedinou nadějí na únik zůstalo vytvořit ve vojích obkličující armády průlom.  Proto obklíčení vojáci často bojují jako lvi a svým protivníkům umějí způsobit děsivé ztráty. Mongolové tudíž, kdykoliv obklíčili nepřítele – a považovali ho za náležitě zoufalého – utvořili ve svých liniích proluku či mezeru, kam se obklíčení v zoufalé touze uniknout nahrnuli, jen aby byli na svém chaotickém útěku pobiti (pro Evropany asi nejslavnějším příkladem budiž bitva u říčky Sajo v dubnu 1241, kde byla zprvu dobře bojující uherská vojska, celkem úspěšně vzdorující přednímu mongolskému sledu, nejprve detašovanými mongolskými jednotkami geniálního generála Subotaje obklíčena ve svém táboře a při následném zmateném ústupu bažinatým terénem vyhlazena tak strašlivým způsobem, že uherské království fakticky pozbylo bojeschopnosti – pozn. DP). Bez této falešné naděje na záchranu by Mongolové museli svá vítězství zaplatit o poznání dráž. Samozřejmě nebyli první ani poslední, kdy tuto taktiku ke skoncování se svými nepřáteli zdárně využívali. Dosáhli v ní ovšem nevídaného umu, vypilovaného i naháněním zvířat na stepích. Poznatky z fyzického prostoru lze v některých případech přenést i do prostoru konceptuálního a politického.

Běloši jsou v Americe dnešních dní také obklíčeni a jejich řady se jeví stále sevřenější. Desetiletí protibělošské indoktrinace přináší své ovoce a její tlakový hrnec podle všeho vbrzku vykypí v podobě systematického útlaku bělochů a legalizace vraždy v případě, že oběť byla bílá. Už dnes v Oregonu pracují na legalizaci znásilnění bělošek černochy. Nepřátelské armády obklíčily bílou Ameriku a ta ve svém nitru bolestně hledá vůli nezbytnou k tomu, vyrubat si z tohoto kotle krvavou cestu ven.

Narazil jsem na komentáře, že „celý systém“ chtěl odsoudit Kylea Rittenhouse, což je lež. Kyle Rittenhouse se těšil podpoře onoho slizkého bahna, které si říká „konzervativci“, falešné opozice, jejíž úlohou je nasměrovat zmatené americké bělochy do mezery v obklíčení, aby zde byli pobiti. Podívejte se například jak Kylea Rittenhouse hájila hromada slizu v pytli vzdáleně připomínajícím lidskou podobu jménem  Stephen L. Miller (nemá nic společného s Trumpovým poradcem téhož jména): média podle něj přehlížejí „očividné a skutečné projevy víry v bělošskou nadřazenost a rasové profilování v Arberyho případě“. Tento slizký tvor píše pro National Review a FOX News, známé to hlásné trouby kontrolované opozice, takže tento jeho postoj celkem směle můžeme označit za reprezentující konzervativní establishment. Jestliže tihle lidé chtějí, abyste šli určitým směrem, rozhodně byste se měli právě této cestě obloukem vyhnout.

Triumf globo-homo mašinérie ve sporu Sinesová v. Kessler by znamenal, že každý pořadatel demonstrace by byl právně zodpovědný za každou a jakoukoliv protiprávní újmu, k níž by během této akce došlo. Některé samosprávy už to praktikují, když po organizátorech podobných akcí vyžadují pojištění (a pojišťovny – jak příhodné – s „bělošskými rasisty“ byznys neprovozují). Konec veřejných demonstrací by to nebyl jen pro bílé identitáře, ale i pro všemožné konzervativní skupiny, pokud by tedy Antifa nebo všemožné domácí tajné služby dokázaly při těchto akcích vyprovokovat násilnosti. Výsledkem by tak byl konec práva na protest, pokojné shromažďování i možnosti otevřeně promluvit za americké bělochy. Triumf globo-homo obžaloby proti McMichaelovým v Georgii by zase fakticky skoncoval s právem bělochů bránit své komunity proti černošské zločinnosti a ve výsledku zlegalizoval jejich trestnou činnost i na předměstích.

Dvě strany jsou beznadějně zataraseny, ale nezoufejte. Pokud jste běloch – nebo skoro běloch – a útočníci nejsou černoši, a k dispozici je bohatá video dokumentace, že jste jednal v sebeobraně, a Konzervatismus s.r.o. se za vás postaví, a pokud ve vaší minulosti není jediné sebemenší smítko rasismu (podle definice nejšílenějších levičáků, jak jinak), pak možná vyváznete jen s mediální smrští kolem vaší maličkosti, namísto mediální smršti a kriminálního rozsudku. Naděje umírá poslední, a tak bílá Amerika otevírá šampaňské. Když nebudeme rasisti a všechno bude natočené ze všech možných úhlů na videu, budeme žít – sice dost možná jako otroci a bez ochrany před černými predátory, ale budeme žít. A třeba nás i nechají postnout nějaké ty založené memy o založeném Kyleovi.

Jestliže soudy rozhodnou ve prospěch obžalovaných v případě Sinesová v. Kessler i McMichaelových, obkličovací manévr selže, jelikož výsledná mezera by byla příliš široká, než aby umožnila masové pobíjení. S právem na sebeobranu, obranu komunity a právem shromažďovacím i protestním utvrzenými soudními precedenty by nebyl boj v Americe ztracen a my bychom získali cenný čas k další organizaci. Pokud však soudy v obou případech rozhodnou pro systém při současném osvobození Rittenhouse, bude to pro bílé Američany signálem pro úprk k únikové cestě, označené protivníkem za bezpečnou: antirasističtí, rasově lehce přisnědlí normálovští konzervativci se svými libertariánskými memy a hlasitými deklaracemi podpory BLM s tím, že „přece nejde o rasu“. Ano, Kyle šel skutečně systému na ruku, což jsme měli tušit. Všichni patolízalové řízené opozice se ze všech sil snaží nahnat americké bělochy do mezery v nepřátelských vojích, jediného prostoru, kde je povolen odpor proti globo-homo. Rasově slepý, individualistický košervatismus se soustředí víc na to „natřít to liberálům“ než se postavit nepříteli. A tak se nemalá energie a vůle, zmobilizovaná bílou Amerikou na svou obranu a přežití, vyplýtvává na zvolení tak nevábného exkrementu, jako je (nově zvolený guvernér státu Virginia) Glenn Youngkin.

Netvrdím, že se to nutně musí odvíjet podle nějakého plánu – nemusí. S přihlédnutím k fungování amerického politického systému s jeho institucemi kontrolované opozice (jež si svou pravou roli často vůbec neuvědomují) stačí pro splnění její úlohy, aby se mainstreamová pravice řídila svými politickými instinkty: kooptace energie autentické pravice, její vyvedení ze systému a následné prosazení agendy svých sponzorů – to vše završené vychloubáním, jak to „natřeli liberálům“. Naneštěstí to funguje. Mongolové nebyli žádní hlupáci. Vládci Ameriky jimi sice jsou, ovládají však lid, který se rád nechá ošidit znovu, znovu… a znovu, než bude mít konečně dost.

Ještě ale není všechno ztraceno. Obklíčení a manévr s falešnou cestou k záchraně vyžadují ke zdárnému dovršení disciplínu a trpělivost. Naštěstí pro nás se ale v řadách protivníka najde spousta psychotických černošských rapperů ze Soundcloudu s bohatým trestním rejstříkem, opojených nenávistí k bělochům. 21. listopadu tak pasák nezletilé Darrell Brooks namířil své SUV do vánočního průvodu ve wisconsinském městě Waukesha. Přestože to média budou jistě zatloukat, jednalo se teroristický útok na bělochy, zřejmě motivovaný  Rittenhousovým osvobozením. Pět lidí (o pár dní později svým zraněním podlehl ještě malý chlapec – pozn. DP) bylo zabito, další desítky zraněny.

Jakkoliv hrůzný tento útok byl (a skutečně děsivý byl, podívejte se na záběry), stane se budíčkem pro všechny bělochy, kteří by snad věřili, že mezera vytvořená v nepřátelských řadách Rittenhousovým osvobozením přestavuje naději na přežití ve stávajícím systému. Nedisciplinovanost protivníka nám nabízí příležitost. Kontrolovaná opozice – do jejichž řad se nyní bohužel počítá i Kyle Rittenhouse – nás chce zoufale přesvědčit, že se nejedná o rasový konflikt.

Poselství je třeba opakovat jasně a zřetelně: útok ve Waukeshe mířil na bělochy. Stíhání Travise a Gregoryho McMichaelových je protibělošským útokem na bílé komunity. Útok pomocí paragrafů a soudů proti organizátorům Charlottesville je výpadem proti bělošské politické organizaci a aktivismu. Obžaloba Kylea Rittenhouse byla protibělošským útokem na právo bělochů na sebeobranu. Navíc je třeba zasadit případ do širšího kontextu rasových nepokojů roku 2020, tj. protibělošské kampaně žhářství, plenění a vraždění protibělošskými teroristickými bojůvkami BLM a Antify. Všechny snahy o rozněcování falešné naděje, že bílí Američané mohou uniknout zkáze předstíranou rasovou slepotou, je třeba utnout hned v zárodku. Nezávisí na tom nic menšího než přežití bílé Ameriky.

Poznámka DP: Procesy zmiňované autorem jako protiváhy mediálně mimořádně sledovaného Rittenhouse skutečně nedopadly pro „bílou normálnost“ v USA nijak povzbudivě – otec  a syn McMichaelovi byli uznáni vinnými a hrozí jim, že stráví zbytek života za mřížemi.  Verdikt civilního soudu v Charlottesville se z procesní podstaty řízení shrnuje obtížněji (zájemce odkážeme na užitečný článek a komentář právníka Glena Allena), někteří mluví o výsledku neuspokojivém pro obě strany. Vzhledem k astronomické nerovnosti prostředků žalující a žalované strany ovšem o úspěchu pro bělochy hovořit nejspíš nelze).

This translation originally appeared at Delian Diver.

The fall of Kabul was a serious and somber moment, one of those historic moments that great authors write about. But like real historic events, it was not without its moments of levity. Here’s a video of the newly-victorious Taliban playing around with the gym equipment in Kabul’s presidential palace. It even elicited responses from greatly esteemed Twitter users such as Nassim Nicholas Taleb, who criticized them for not trying to deadlift. This might be a good moment to look at the nature of physical fitness and our relationship to it.

None of the young Taliban whom we’ve seen invade the presidential gym or dick around in bumper cars look like they can bench-press or deadlift their body weight. And yet these lads were fit enough to defeat the Afghan National Army and outlast the armies of globohomo for twenty years. As people commenting on Steve Sailer’s Unz article have said, deadlifting doesn’t matter when you’re an irregular light infantryman. The average Taliban can cover twenty miles of rough country on foot in a day, subsisting on little food, all while lugging around arms and equipment. Are they fitter or not than a gym bro who benchpresses his body weight but cannot hike up a moderately steep hill?

Personally, I am something of a gym bro and delight in that whole life. The rushes of testosterone and endorphins which one gets from lifting are sometimes exactly what I need after a long day. And yet there’s a different sort of quiet pride in one’s own fitness which comes from trekking uphill over rough country, all the better if there are no other people around. This carries risks, of course. Tall grass is a haven for snakes, ticks, and other nasties. Woods contain dangerous animals. I myself ran into a wild boar on one of my off-track hikes. Having no weapons with which to fight it, I am not ashamed to say that a bout of very vigorous discretionary valor saved me from injury. Some months later, a fellow hiker ran into and photographed a mama bear with cubs on that same trail. Less dramatic but equally dangerous is the possibility of twisting and breaking your ankle on a jutting root or a hidden hole in the ground. The danger adds to the experience. Wander off the beaten track and you understand that nature isn’t just beautiful, but unwelcoming to city slickers.

I suppose that’s why the Taliban, the Viet Cong, and many other guerrillas made the woods and hills their secret bases from which they struck at their vastly superior enemies. If you don’t know the land, it’s just as deadly as the enemy army. Our civilization is a decadent, urban one. The woods and hills are a foreign country to us. Lacking challenge and lacking difficulty in our lives, we’ve invented gyms and gym equipment. Deadlifting is a simulation of lifting heavy stones to waist level. Precious few Westerners have to lift heavy stones as a matter of course. Just as the characters of Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World had surrogate pregnancies and surrogate violent emotional experiences, so do we have surrogate back-breaking labor in the form of gym workouts — at least for the time being.

Soon we are likely to see the rollout of vaccine passports all around the world. They’ve been in use in my country of Macedonia for four days now. I don’t know about you, but I’ve seen enough vaccine horror stories to know that I’m not putting that poison into my body, no matter the cost. That being said, this means that I’ll probably not be seeing the inside of a gym for as long as the vaccine passport mandates are in force. I can always buy a bunch of gym equipment and open an ersatz one in my basement, but it’s expensive and a hassle. I am rather planning on taking to the hills, mountains, forests, and lakes for my fitness.

Even at a leisurely pace, hiking up a hill burns more calories than weight training. Swimming famously develops every muscle group while also providing a cardio workout. Part of the reason why I’m never really out of shape, even though I may occasionally get fat, is that I spent seven years of my life playing water polo. This has given me core strength and endurance that takes very little effort to maintain and doesn’t ever really go away. Many Dissident Rightists are gun enthusiasts. Why not use those guns for hunting? Remember to ditch the SUV and go on foot; you’ll also learn valuable bushcraft and survival skills.

Also important is the spiritual aspect of going into the woods. We whites are intimately connected with the forest, where we can find respite from the hustle and bustle of city life and where the old spirits live. A wood is sometimes just as noisy as the city, with the sounds of the bugs and the birds and the occasional animal, but these noises, curiously, do not grate on the senses. Encounters with wildlife can also be recuperative. Just remember that the woods aren’t always a welcoming place. Little Red Riding Hood found that out the hard way, as did I when I had my encounter with the wild boar. Go in prepared.

Preparedness also applies to other equipment. Resist the temptation to go in wearing shorts — your legs will be a smorgasbord for ticks and other bugs. Proper shoes are also key. Unless it’s punishingly hot, you should be wearing hiking boots. Some people like to bring along a walking stick. Personally, I find that if I need a stick, the woods will provide. Know the water sources where you’re going, and if there are none, you’ll have to bring water yourself. Do not mess around with water; you’ll need a lot of it.

I assume most people reading this will likewise refuse the vaccine. Part of the price of refusing the poison will be the privilege of going to the gym to work out. I’ll instead seek out my physical fitness in the woods. Forget the gym rat life. Sign up for the Taliban fitness plan today! Take to the hills, come back with legs like Doric pillars, learn all the flora and fauna of the woods, take a dip in a mountain lake, purge your lungs of big city gunk, and one day, maybe even overthrow the evil globohomo regime.

One of my internet friends (you know who you are) recently posted a picture of Ted Kaczynski along with text claiming that “you can’t pay reparations if you don’t have any money.” Well, that’s technically true. You can’t pay buttfuck nothing if you don’t have any money, but the curious nature of money means that people will often own negative money, which is to say owe money. So, the theme for today shall be how things can always get worse, and that there’s such a thing as worse than nothing. Now, I’ve been informed by the Counter-Currents legal team that forcing blackpill after blackpill down the throats of our esteemed leadership is very bad for fundraising morale, but honor is honor and honor demands that we face the truth with all the choleric and cantankerous curmudgeonry our pancreatic glands can muster. 

Way back in the old times, when the specter of communism stalked the Earth, the name of the game was redistribution. The rich had too much, the poor had too little, and therefore, we had to take from the rich and give to the poor, so that the poor may have more — and even more importantly, so that the rich may have less. Now you may agree or disagree with that, and I’m sure we’ll have some spirited and opinionated discourse in the comments, but the fact of the matter is that such a scheme is at least feasible. When my country fell to communism and my family found themselves on the wrong end of redistribution, the communists took the fields, the flocks, the hunting grounds, the orchards, the graze lands, the shops, the trucks, the transport company, they took everything but the house and then they took two floors of the house as well, and my family had to start, as they had two generations prior, from nothing. My great-grandfather, once the heir to a landed estate stretching as far as the eye could see, had to tend sheep to feed his family. 

Right now, the specter of liberalism stalks the Earth. Liberalism, resting as it does on the assumption of human egalitarianism, that all men are created equal, needs to either erase or pathologize all distinctions between people. Distinction persists, so it must be due to prejudice, which is the preeminent and purportedly most prevalent pathology of modernity. Obviously, white people, being full of prejudice, cause those poor nonwhites to underperform, and furthermore, the system itself is racist (systemic racism) because it was built by white people to favor white people. The only way to fix this pathology is to introduce a counterweight to the system to correct for its systemic bias against nonwhites. The same solution can also help ameliorate past grievances, such as slavery. We can therefore balance out the books of society and achieve genuine equity through the introduction of reparations. 

Now, there’s a lot of hand-wringing about the difference between equality and equity. Some people will have you believe that equality is equality of opportunity and that is the good kind of equality and that equity is equality of outcome, and this is the bad kind of equality. This is wrong in many ways. 

Equality of opportunity is impossible, first of all because people bequeath wealth to their children (remember that landed estate that my great-grandfather was set to inherit?), second because of innate human inequality in parameters of body and mind. I have a friend who is short and small-framed, but is pound-for-pound the strongest person I know. However, in a fight between the two of us, none of it would matter. 

I am so much larger than him by birth, that even when out of shape, I could easily kill him with a punch. 

We are simply 4 weight classes apart, and no amount of effort is ever going to change that. His 110% is significantly less than my 30%. The gulfs in performance are even vaster in the mental realm. Many of my college friends resented me for being able to coast to passing grades on nothing but my intellect, charisma, and family connections. But that’s college, right? In the real world, diligence and effort count. Wrong. Yes, you’re a hard-working and ambitious young man, but Nick’s jokes make me laugh with my belly, and besides, I know his dad from the Embassy soiree. To speak of equality of opportunity in such a world is a cruel joke played on the disadvantaged, and yet to fix these inequalities would mean bringing about the world of Harrison Bergeron (which is notably worse than communism, past and present, as practiced anywhere on the planet). 

“Equity” is the exoteric version of what the anti-white coalition would like to implement; it is the sales pitch that ropes guilty whites into the anti-white coalition. People like me who are simply born smart, charismatic, and into wealthy and influential families always have the nagging worm of guilt in our minds that we don’t really “deserve” what we have. This is because we still believe, as a culture, in meritocracy. By the standards of meritocracy, you don’t really “deserve” it, no more than I deserve my naturally large frame and intimidating beard. 

So, what’s the result of having while finding oneself undeserving — and everyone is undeserving under the impossible standard of meritocracy?

Guilt. Guilt can then be directed into self-effacement and self-flagellation, indeed, self-pauperization in order to achieve “equity,” which is supposed to be equality of outcome. Of course, equality of outcome is so last decade. The fact of the matter is that we’d be lucky to get equality of outcome at this point. What the enemy wants at this point is for nonwhites to win and whites to lose in every iteration of the game, to make up for past wrongs (this is the story for guilty white liberals), or just to make whitey squirm (this is the story for ascendant nonwhites). 

In order for the game to be resolved to the satisfaction of the enemy, whites will have to bind themselves in debt slavery to nonwhites. Some rich white people can perhaps buy indulgences, maybe give away money, but what about poor white people? What about the white middle class? How do they atone for the sin of whiteness? Obviously, they’ll have to become the bondsmen of the oppressed, perhaps even become debt slaves. Maybe not directly, but certainly through the mediation of the bureaucracy, both state and private. I can already hear the Silicon Valley oligarchs licking their chops — indentured white engineers. 

Another important thing to keep in mind is that we won’t be able to win merely on the back of economic action. Who cares if you’ve sequestered yourself from the system if the system can just force you back into its fold. The relationship between white people and the anti-white system has been described as borderline attachment: I hate you — don’t leave me. Without white people to milk, the system will crash, but white people by our very presence incite the rabble to envy, and there are many of our number who are infected with pathological understanding of human inequality, leading them to work towards their own destruction and the destruction of white people in general. Victory will come from seizing state power and then using state power to construct a system beneficial to our people. 

So, now that I’ve told you, like Aesop’s mouse council, that the key to defeating the cat is to tie a bell to its neck, let today’s lesson be that it can always get worse, and that it can get much, much worse than nothing, and that things will be getting worse until such a time that we win and are able to establish a system that favors white people. 

Several years ago, I was walking around town while listening to music or maybe a podcast on my phone earbuds when a friend recognized me from behind and approached me. He was in good fooling, so he grabbed my shoulders roughly and gave me a proper scare. I remember clenching my neck and immediately jutting my elbow backwards into his ribs before I could even see who it was. Fortunately, I did not injure him, but it was an unpleasant experience for both of us. I did not hear him coming at all on account of the headphones.

After I’d made the proper apologies and made sure that my friend was all right, I realized that had he been a ruffian approaching me with ill intent, I would have been almost completely defenseless. While my martial arts training did include lessons on how to defend myself from an assailant from behind, the fact that I was wearing earbuds meant that I did not know there was someone right behind me until his hands were already on my shoulders. My situational awareness was severely degraded.

This came as quite a shock to me at the time, since I had been trying to develop my situational awareness abilities for some time, partially out of safety concerns and partly out of a desire to increase my mastery of myself and my environment for the purpose of becoming a better and more confident man. It was nothing to scoff at; my friends would often comment that I have “a copper’s eye” in that I can take the measure of a number of people on the street very fast and from very far away.

For my part, I find that assessing people as they pass me on the street — the noble and Olympian sport of people-watching — gives me both greater security and greater confidence, as well as providing me with vast sample sizes for my observations of the human phenotypes and their associated behavioral traits. Observing large numbers of humans is key to developing a predictive theory of human behavior in their various capacities, and short of moving to more densely populated areas, honing the senses and mind so that they can observe and process a greater percentage of the people you meet daily is the best way to increase your human sample size.

This may all sound like a waste of time, but having good situational awareness can oftentimes mean the difference between finding yourself in a dangerous situation or avoiding it. I remember one time where, due to keen situational awareness, I managed to successfully avoid a group of about half a dozen men who were looking for me with the intent of kicking my ass. Being aware of the neighborhood and its various shortcuts and backstreets, I managed to avoid them. By recognizing their hostile intent in time, I managed to retreat before they could organize their attack. Situational awareness allowed me to see the potential fight coming a mile away and take measures to avoid it.

Fast-forward to today. Having run into the old terror of the blank page, I decided to take a walk while listening to music, hopefully to declutter my head and get some serious writing done. While walking around, I realized I had once again put myself in a state of diminished situational awareness by wearing headphones — but that was really just the beginning of all that was wrong with me at that moment.

All summer I’ve been wearing flip-flops. I wear flip-flops for a good reason: Modern shoemaking does not really produce shoes which fit my particular shape of feet — long, broad, and with toes spread very wide. They are somewhat flipper-like, and this is probably part of the reason why I’ve always been a very strong swimmer. But alas, it means that the only way I can have comfortable shoes is if I have them made to measure. This is never a pleasant experience for me, but in the summer, in the sweltering heat when my feet sweat and my toes rub against each other in extremely hot weather, it is absolute torture, leading to painful calluses and blisters. After having gone through many inadequate pairs of shoes, I’ve decided to just wear flip-flops for as long as the weather permits. It’s not a perfect solution, but it’s better than having my toes mashed together.

Of course, were I to be attacked on the street, I’d have a distinct disadvantage against any opponent wearing shoes. Running and fancy footwork are much harder to pull off in flip-flops, and if I were to kick them off in an effort to gain mobility, I’d risk injuring my feet on the many nasties which a modern city has scattered in its streets. Just last year I managed to step on a jagged piece of plastic which went straight through my flip-flop and into my foot. Imagine what a piece of broken bottle or a rusty nail could do to a completely unprotected foot, even the callused-over hobbit foot of a 20-kilometers-per-day walker such as myself.

Not only was I wearing flip-flops but I was also wearing baggy shorts, which limited my movement. Having lost a good deal of weight, they were barely hanging on my hips and they prevented me from fully lifting my legs at the hips. Now, this is not a problem during a leisurely walk, but suppose I were attacked and needed to defend myself. Would it really matter that I can perform a perfect Mavashi kick in the gym if I would be prevented from delivering it in a real fight by my very own pants?

But aside from my Unemployed Slacker™ getup, I was wearing all my glittering baubles: my gold watch, my leather Samsonite man-bag, and as always, I had brought my bearing, which announces my class and privilege whether I want to or not. In summary, I was dressed in the worst possible way for either conducting or avoiding a fight while loudly announcing my wealth to anyone with eyes to see. I quickly felt very vulnerable.

Getting mugged is just one scenario, of course. The other one was for me to be attacked over my political views, which is always a possibility seeing as I’m a bit of a public figure in Macedonia, and a rather controversial one at that. More than once people have stopped me on the street to say they admire my courage and willingness to stand for nationalism, but people have stared daggers into me while passing by on just as many occasions. Fortunately, judging from my back-of-the-envelope calculation, most of the people who congratulate me are people I wouldn’t get in a fight with, whereas the ones staring daggers into me are of the type I could fight five at a time. Nevertheless, all it would take in my diminished state is one outlier recognizing and attacking me. I would soon be in a world of trouble, being in a state of decreased situational awareness and having decreased mobility as a result of my clothing choices.

I did not turn back and go home. Rather I carried on with my rounds, listening intently to a friend’s show on my phone. I passed by a group of youths who were staring at me with a degree of hostility. Were they eyeing a possible target, or did they recognize me as that fascist from the Internet? Maybe they just didn’t approve of my flower-print t-shirt. Who knows? In any case, nothing happened.

Relegating my observations of passersby merely to the visual, I noticed that most of them were wearing headphones. Many had the Bluetooth earbuds which are harder to see; fewer had my old-school cord earbuds, but I was astounded at the degree to which people were willing to not only decrease their situational awareness, but also exclude the sounds of everyday life. Whatever they were listening to, it wasn’t traffic and it wasn’t other people. Many were walking around alone, just like me, but unlike me, I suspect most of them were blissfully unaware of the danger they had put themselves in by curbing their situational awareness.

If you were expecting some lament about the alienation of man from other men due to technology, it’s not coming. Man will be alienated from man for as long as there are men, and the genie of technology is not going back in its bottle. Rather, I want to comment on the luxury of walking around with your ears plugged like a gormless idiot. It is a luxury of safe societies.

My friend Richard Houck has written about 7/11 nationalism, and that essay didn’t resonate with me until I bought a bottle of water from a kiosk. The drinks refrigerator was self-service, unlocked, and completely out of the clerk’s field of view. The kiosk was in a relatively poorer, working-to-lower middle class part of town, which is nevertheless ridiculously safe. I could have just swiped that bottle of water, or even a soft drink, and there’s no way the store clerk — a lady in her late 50s or early 60s — could have stopped me or even seen me do it. And yet I didn’t. I picked up the bottle and paid for it. But more than that, such laxness in security is viable for that business. I suspect that losses due to petty theft are negligible, if they even exist. The kiosk’s security depends on the customers’ righteousness, and it is right to assume that customers have the decency to pay for the drinks they take out of the cooler. A comparable business in an unsafe American or Western European neighborhood would have to spend massive sums on security measures and would still lose stock to shoplifting.

I also don’t imagine people in the West have the luxury of walking around like gormless idiots in flip-flops and earbuds, zoning out to music or their favorite podcast while walking around town. It is indeed a great privilege, and one that is thankfully still available in Eastern Europe. We may be poor, but at least we don’t have the massive security expenses and constant terror that diversity brings. This may be more due to the fact that we have less worth stealing and so the swarthy, thieving do not make serious attempts to move to our countries, of course, but we should savor these privileges while we have them.

Martial arts is just a hobby for me. I haven’t been in many serious street fights; most of the time, I can either avoid or deescalate situations leading up to fights because of good situational awareness. The one time I miscalculated and escalated to pushing, the situation was deescalated when I went into my fighting stance — the other guy clearly did not expect the dopey hipster with the goofy print shirt to know a thing or two about fighting. He shouted a few insults at me and backed away. But situational awareness is likewise a bit of a LARP for me because even tough guys and career criminals are reluctant to pick random fights in the streets of Eastern European cities. I do it for my own benefit so that I can feel manly and confident. The real security is the societal assumption that fighting in the streets is wrong and that going out in the streets doesn’t carry any risk of getting in a fight. And that’s a product not of individual achievements in situational awareness of martial arts, but of social achievements in policing and instillation of good manners.

The importation of criminal and anti-social minorities into the West has dismantled these social achievements, and now it is no longer safe to assume that fights can be reliably avoided in the streets of the West. It is therefore very dangerous for men to walk around in flip-flops, listening to music on their headphones. Unless the danger can be beaten back, these will be luxuries of a bygone age, and even walking in the streets might become a long-lost legendary art.

Have you ever wanted to watch a movie where a 72-year-old man engages in gratuitous violence against racially-defined enemies? Rambo: Last Blood delivers. In this world of remakes, reboots, and endless installments of cash-cow franchises, Rambo: Last Blood is refreshingly current and lucid, even if it is a product of its time and rehashing culture.

Now, when I say current and lucid, I’m not gonna say fresh. The film is an Irish stew of plot devices that is surprisingly nourishing. There’s an element of Gran Torino, in which an elderly white man passes the torch to a young non-white; an element of Taken, where a father figure tracks down his kidnapped charge from sex traffickers; an element of Death Wish, where the death of a loved one sparks a murderous rampage; and even a dark reprise of Home Alone, where a determined defender fends off a home invasion using clever traps. The movie’s plot is not original, but then again, few things are in this decadent age. Ultimately, I don’t think any of its makers intended to produce an original film. After all, if you’re making a Rambo in 2019, you’re making it for an audience hopped up on member berries. And yet as far as action films and cultural signals go, it’s one of the best to come out of Hollywood recently.

If you’re milling around Counter-Currents, you’re probably aware of Carl Schmitt’s concept of the political, the notion that the political is that which distinguishes between friend and enemy. Identifying the friend and enemy is key to politics and governance. For large-scale entities such as nations, this distinction is made not by explicit signaling — for example, by marching orders from generals or political leaders — but by cultural institutions and cultural artifacts. For a large swathe of the American population, the friend/enemy distinction is signaled by action films, and the Rambo franchise in particular seems to have a finger on America’s pulse. It is for this reason that Rambo: Last Blood is a culturally important movie.

When I was born, Rambo was already a byword for a tough guy who can single-handedly mow down hundreds of enemy soldiers. Watching Rambo II and III at a very young age, I found myself wanting to be Rambo and wanting to mow down the enemies of freedom. Like other ’90s kids, I also grew up with the Saturday morning cartoon Rambo: The Force of Freedom, which was pure fun, lacking the political nuance of the films.

Of note is that the first three Rambo films establish very clearly the friend/enemy distinction for Red America — which is to say those Americans who are pro-American, and the heritage of these Americans as well as the nation’s armed forces.

The first film, First Blood, clearly establishes the sense of betrayal which Vietnam veterans felt when returning to a country which hated them.

The second film portrays the Vietnamese as the enemy, but doesn’t treat them with malice, instead directing its anger towards the US government, ending with John Rambo’s appeal that “the country love its soldiers as much as they love her.”

The third film can be easily construed as the most patriotically gung-ho one, with its clear-cut demonization of Russia’s conduct in Afghanistan and its dedication to the brave Mujahideen (later recut to honor the “gallant people of Afghanistan”) has not aged well at all. However, you’re liable to get this impression only if you’ve skipped through the boring talking parts to get a look at Rambo driving a tank through the evil commie colonel’s helicopter. Ultimately, Rambo’s loyalty isn’t to America (the betrayal still stings, and he treats the embassy man with contempt), but to Colonel Trautmann, his commanding officer who has been captured. Much like the Roman legionaries who followed their generals against Rome, human loyalty is portrayed as man-to-man, rather than as man-to-nation.

Which brings us to Rambo: Last Blood, the fifth installment of the franchise. The film opens with a rescue operation to find and retrieve three lost hikers during a thunderstorm in the mountains. The authorities have deployed vehicles and helicopters to try to locate them, but to no avail. In a conversation between the state police commander and the local sheriff, we learn of “a volunteer on horseback” who cannot be contacted by radio. That volunteer is John Rambo. He finds the first of the hikers, a woman, horribly mangled by a fall. The remaining two, a young woman and the dead lady’s husband, are hunkered together. As Rambo tries to extract the hikers, the man rushes off to find his wife just as a flash-flood hits. Thanks to his training, Rambo manages to save himself, his horse, and the young female hiker, but the man is killed. As he returns to the search-and-rescue op’s field HQ, he is tormented by his inability to save them all, reflecting his loneliness as the last surviving member of his squad all the way back in the first film. He returns home with the gratitude of the young female hiker and a heavy heart.

Rambo is now retired and lives on his father’s horse ranch in Arizona along with Maria Beltran, an elderly Mexican woman whose relation to Rambo isn’t established. She seems to be a combination of live-in maid and trusted friend. Living with them following the death of her (single) mother is Maria’s granddaughter, Gabriella, who is preparing to go to college. Rambo has dug an entire network of tunnels under the ranch “because he likes digging and he’s crazy,” where he houses his memorabilia from the various conflicts he has fought in and the forge where he crafts knives and other weapons.

We learn that Rambo has raised Gabrielle with Maria after her mother died and her father abandoned her. He dotes on her like a daughter. This is symbolic of Red America’s fatal flaw: Even though it is masculine and warlike, family-oriented America and conservative America is racially colorblind, and worse yet, blind to biology. For all his strength and nobility, Rambo is not a father, but rather LARPs as a father to a child not his own — the daughter of an absolute piece of shit, as we’ll see later in the film. Rambo’s efforts and resources are put toward caring for a child who has been dumped in his lap. He is a literal cuckold in the very biological sense of a bird duped into caring for a cuckoo hatchling. The even deeper tragedy here is that he is not even deceived into believing that the child is his, but rather engages in this cuckery of his own volition in order to experience the pleasure and pride of parenting, satisfying his own desire to nurture. By adopting the Mexican girl, he indulges an instinct without paying the biological price — a behavior we’ve come to expect from Boomers.

Gabriella is called by a friend, Giselle, to come to Mexico, where Giselle has managed to track down Gabriella’s father, Miguel. Rambo and her grandmother are adamant that Gabriella is not to go to Mexico, the grandmother calling it “that dangerous place.” Rambo tries to dissuade Gabriella. She retorts that her world is not his world, to which he responds that her world is worse.

In a sense, he is right: The anarcho-tyrannical state of the West and the outright anarchy of failed states like Mexico is worse than a warzone. In a warzone, at least, the friend/enemy distinction is clear and a man can have a measure of confidence in his skills and companions.

Gabriella feigns agreement, but secretly drives to Mexico to track her father down. There, the petite and attractive Gabriella meets her overweight and ugly friend Giselle, who is quite the picture of subtlety with the glowing raccoon make-up caked on and the requisite chola hoop earrings. Fat is a bad look on any woman, but Mexican women seem to become particularly ugly when they gain weight. Giselle’s ugly appearance betrays spiritual ugliness, as it is heavily implied that she is a low-end prostitute or otherwise engaged in petty crime. She lives in a shithole apartment in a shithole town in a shithole country, the claustrophobia of which is masterfully portrayed and contrasted with the wide-open spaces of Rambo’s ranch in Arizona. The photography conveys the mood of the town, which is evil and foreboding, recalling the jungles of Rambo II and IV.

Ugliness is strategically placed all around the film, especially in the Mexican scenes, to accentuate Gabriella’s youth, beauty, and innocence. As she knocks on the door of her father’s apartment, an ugly woman answers. She is apparently his father’s new wife, and we can hear the sound of a baby crying from inside the apartment. When Gabriella asks her father why he abandoned her and her mother, he answers that she was a mistake, and he never cared for them. In short, he is exactly the sort of man who abandons a sick wife and an infant daughter, exactly as her grandmother described him. Yet who among us can resist the temptation to find a lost father? Devastated, Gabrielle allows Giselle to take her to a night club, where a shady character drugs her and she is kidnapped.

She is taken by the Martinez brothers: the level-headed, business-oriented Hugo and the violent and vulgar Victor. In a meeting with a fellow human trafficker, we see the conflict which lies at the heart of every organized crime syndicate personified in the two brothers: the tension between the organization as a money-making business venture (as conceptualized by Hugo) and the organization as a means of attaining sovereignty for the criminal (as conceptualized by Victor), or more succinctly, money versus honor — themes of a kind with the conflicts I explored in my review of The Sopranos.

Of note is the imagery involved in the costumes, hair, makeup, and casting of the Martinez brothers and their cartel underlings. I believe that native-looking actors were deliberately chosen and their hair and clothes styled to look like Aztec warriors for a reason. The Mexican drug war, in this film as in real life, is in a sense a low-level race war between the white (or white-ish) Mexican ruling class — with help from white America — versus the native and Mestizo cartels. Like the Mexican revolutionaries from almost a century ago, the cartels are the vectors of America the great Death-Continent, as described by D. H. Lawrence. Pancho Villa rides again, and the Plumed Serpent traces his warpath across the skies. The white man, in his arrogance, believes he can tame America. Whether Spanish or English, he appears to be woefully not up to the momentous task.

As he learns of Gabriella’s disappearance, Rambo drives to Mexico in an attempt to rescue her. He first interrogates her father, and then Giselle. We learn that Giselle sold Gabriella to the cartel when Rambo notices that Giselle is wearing Gabriella’s armband. Rambo forces Giselle to divulge her cartel contact: El Flaco, a pimp who drugged and took Gabriella.

Rambo corners El Flaco and gruesomely tortures him in order to find out where Gabriella is being held. Normie critics will oy vey about the gratuity of the violence, but I have to admit that I enjoyed it intensely. Truly, there’s nothing more gratifying than seeing an enemy squirm in pain and humiliation, especially if you are the one inflicting it. Vicariously breaking a narco’s rib and pulling it out of an incision is probably the next best thing. This is especially important in light of the news that Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi “died like a dog” and the media pointing and sputtering at Trump for daring to celebrate the shameful death of an enemy. There are those who’ll have you believe that your enemy is “a human being who deserves compassion.” They and their intellectual forefathers are very thoroughly discussed in the fifth chapter of The Culture of Critique.

After getting Gabriella’s location from El Flaco, Rambo stakes out the location. There are some great panoramic shots of the slum where the Martinez brothers keep their slave girls. The squalor sloping downwards towards the sea is an eerie reminder that a Latin American favela is a twisted mockery of the typical Mediterranean town, whose white stone houses descending to the sea are mirrored, darkly, by the favela’s corrugated metal shacks. I’ve mentioned before that non-whites tend to twist our memetics into pure ugliness. Here it is again in architecture and city planning.

Even though he was a master of stealth in all of the previous movies, Rambo sticks out like a hulking, 70-year-old gringo in the slum, and the cartel quickly discovers him, surrounds him, and kicks him half to death. The Martinez brothers are divided on how to proceed. Vito wants to kill him and Gabriella, but Hugo stays Rambo’s execution and singles Gabriella out for abuse, rape, and drugging. He allows Victor to brand Rambo on the cheek and gives Rambo a hard lesson in cartel property law as pertains to “putas.” Rambo is left for dead by the cartel, but is saved by a mysterious woman who has been following him since he confronted El Flaco in the club.

The mysterious woman is revealed to be Carmen Delgado, an independent journalist investigating the cartel. She takes the injured Rambo to her house and calls in a doctor to tend to his injuries. The casting here is again of note: Carmen is portrayed by the white Spanish actress Paz Vega. The doctor who treats Rambo is also visibly white, unlike all the previous Mexican characters. Now, while Paz Vega is an attractive woman, she is deliberately made up, dressed, and styled in a frumpy way in this film, and her house is full of cat imagery. I’ve no doubt this was done to, first,  cement Gabriella’s status as the only attractive female in the film, and second, to underscore that the white man is getting old and tired and that his grip on the American continent, which was always tenuous, is slipping. Carmen Delgado is a woman under siege; the flowcharts and case files on the cartel which litter her house give it the appearance of a bunker. Her sister was kidnapped, raped, and ultimately killed by the cartel, who force-drugged her with heroin.

Rambo gets better, recovering from a serious concussion after four days (hey, he’s Rambo), and he manages to track Gabriella down in a brothel. He enters, posing as a john, but brutally kills the cartel members and johns before finding Gabriella, who has been force-drugged with heroin and is overdosing. Rambo hauls her into his truck and heads for the border, telling Gabriella that she was what gave him hope after his many years of suffering and despair. Gabriella dies from the overdose during the trip.

Determined to bring her body back home, Rambo crosses the border illegally (his papers were stolen by the cartel) by driving through a barbed-wire fence in a scene which I suspect is a dig at Donald Trump for his snail-like alacrity in constructing the border wall.

Rambo and Maria bury Gabriella next to her mother, and Rambo starts preparing for war. He builds innumerable traps around his house, barn, and, above all, the tunnels he has dug all around his property. He then drives to Mexico and enlists Carmen’s help in order to exact his vengeance. With her help, he infiltrates Victor Martinez’s house and decapitates him, fleeing Mexico shortly afterwards. The next scene shows the Mexican police maintaining a crime scene perimeter in conjunction with cartel sicarios openly carrying assault rifles (actual AKs and M-16s, not merely scary-looking Armalites) in a nice showcase of what failed states actually look like. Hugo Martinez’s shock at seeing his brother’s headless body (Rambo dumps the head on the highway) is palpable, and the previously clean-cut, even-headed businessman pulls his hair up in a savage ponytail reminiscent of his brother’s more native-looking hairstyle and prepares for war. No more LARPing as a gringo-friendly man of reason. Deep America arises within Hugo. He and his many sicarios infiltrate the US through a tunnel that goes under what appear to be sections of newly-built border wall (the metal spike thing), perhaps underscoring the importance of more comprehensive border security than merely building a wall. They then invade Rambo’s ranch.

At first it seems genuinely scary — until one of the cartel trucks hits a landmine. Then a sicario takes an arrow to the head from a booby trap. And then they descend into the tunnels. It is here that the movie segues into slapstick as the sicarios are brutally and humorously dispatched with plenty of gore and gibs. It’s Home Alone, but Kevin is a 72-year-old retired Green Beret. Rambo saves Hugo for last, pinning him to the barn wall with four arrows and cutting his heart out in a gruesome pastiche of the Aztec sacrifice ritual. Battered and wounded, having dispatched his enemies, he then limps to his porch, where he vows to fight for his people to the last.

So, what can we draw from this film? Well, in the strictest Schmittean sense, it redraws the lines of conflict. Whereas Rambo spent the last three films slogging it out in Asia, this film signals to Red America that the new enemy is in Mexico and increasingly penetrating into America. Tellingly, there is no indictment of incompetent or malevolent bureaucrats at home (a notable feature of earlier films), making it a very clear us-versus-them kind of signal. The absence of obstructive bureaucrats in the film is probably symptomatic of the Boomer generation’s blindness to America’s many internal enemies.

Speaking of Boomers, Rambo is very much one. You know who else is? Donald Trump, Joe Biden, Elizabeth Warren, and Bernie Sanders. One of those four septuagenarians will be the next President of the United States. Much like the latter days of the Soviet Union, America is now a gerontocracy.

Waiting in line at the movie theater, I noticed that all of the other new features were reboots, rehashes, or remakes. There’s a new Terminator coming up. In it, Arnold Schwarzenegger will portray an aging Terminator. America is no spring chicken, and this movie is both symptomatic and emblematic of it.

There are no young men willing to take up the bow and knife. It’s up to grandpa Rambo to hurl his weary old bones at the enemy. Maybe it’s because nobody paid attention to young Rambo from the second film, when he demanded that his country love its soldiers as much as they love her. The Reaganite patriotism of the ’80s turned out to be hollow, and for all the explosions, ’80s Rambo could not save his country from inevitable decline. There is no more patriotism, just mercenary soldiers fighting to wipe out their college debt, pick up combat skills (to resell as sicarios and actual mercenaries), or to have a steady-ish job. The young are jaded by their realization that the game is rigged against them.

A note on the racial aspect of the film. On its face, it is a race war between white America and Amerindian Mexico. However, the issue of Gabriella, who is herself visibly brown makes this not a racialist but an American conservative conceptual struggle. There is the same sense of “passing the torch” which is seen in Gran Torino, only the non-white beneficiary doesn’t live to receive the torch in this film. The cartels are presented with nuance, but the plot doesn’t quite speak with the same tenor of the imagery, which clearly communicates that the cartel is inherent to the Mexican nation, whereas the plot portrays them as a force of evil outside of the Mexicans. There are even overtones of magic dirt, with the good Mexicans being either in America (Maria and Gabrielle) or white (Carmen and the doctor), the implication being that the brown Mexicans need the good juju of American soil to project goodness on them. Rambo is himself not entirely white, canonically. The movies make him German-Navajo, whereas the novels portray him as Italian-Navajo. Sylvester Stallone himself is Italian, Breton, and Jewish in descent, though phenotypically he is very Italian and has portrayed Italian characters in almost all of his major roles. Overall, race in the film gets about the best treatment it can get from a conservative who can’t quite think racially, but still has strong racial instincts.

I don’t like Boomers, yet I find myself strangely attracted to this film in which an actual Boomer plays a badass Boomer who fights the cartel — as imagined by Boomers — in order to protect a sainted (but stupid) Mexican teenage girl who behaves like how Boomers imagine Mexican teenage girls behave, all the while appealing to Boomer nostalgia. Maybe it’s that disconnect between imagery and plot. Much like with other forms of communication, the non-verbal reveals that which the verbal cannot convey, and the photography, sound, lighting, hair, makeup, casting, and dress reveal that which the dog’s breakfast of Boomer and Boomerite plots dare not say. The Left is not wrong when it speaks of implicit racism. Your cuckservative uncle’s voice shakes when he proclaims “as long as they come here legally . . .” because deep in his heart he understands that, legal or not, Mexicans means cartels, which means violence, rape, drugs, kidnappings, and that awful, disgusting noise they call music — and even good Mexican grandmas like Maria light candles for Santa Muerte. That’s why he shrinks back when the Left cries “racist.” He has been found out.

In those cursed and difficult years when I still worked in an office (tfu tfu), the aspect I most hated was the forced socialization. Every now and then, the boss or the chief Human Resources hen would organize a get-together, a “retreat” for the purposes of “team building.” I hated every second of these get-togethers. It was bad enough spending eight hours a day, five days a week with these people, not counting overtime, but now I had to be deprived of what little free time I had in order to pretend I’m their friend? Needless to say, I was King Sourpuss on these outings.

The truth is, my disdain for normies predates my entrance into dissident circles. I hated spending time with so-called normal people due to their sheer blandness and their obvious discomfort with any conversation approaching anything remotely controversial. There’s also the minor question of normal people’s abysmal aesthetic tastes and the way their preferred music, fashion, and food choices annoy me.

While I had managed to purge all normies from my social life with a ruthlessness that’d make Stalin blush, it was impossible to be rid of such contemptible people in my work environment. Naturally, I can grit my teeth and bottle up my true feelings in exchange for a salary, and provided the length and intensity of exposure remain within the confines of the professional relation, but sadly, that is too much to ask of the modern workplace. It is not enough that we are polite and professional with our coworkers; we must also be their friends.

Having escaped the cruelty and humiliation of regular employment, I was glad to be rid of this type of forced friendship where every fake smile concealed a barely-suppressed urge to let slip the dogs of honesty. I now only spend time with people I choose to spend time with, and I don’t have to pretend to be friends with people I wouldn’t even think about paying attention to if I saw them walking down the street. And yet, I was reminded of this curious trend in modern employment recently when my better half was put through the administrative wringer precisely for eschewing these get-togethers.

I wouldn’t be honest with myself and my readers if I didn’t ask the question: What is the impulse that drives my decisions and my tastes here?

When disarticulated from my own unpleasant experiences with co-workers, the idea of working and being friends with the same people seems somehow cozy. Indeed, one of my favorite scenes from The Deer Hunter is the one where the band of lads going from the steel mill, where they all work together as a single work gang, to the pub, where they all drink together as friends. It shows the kind of camaraderie that I find endearing and look for in my own life. Besides, doesn’t the idea of the people surrounding you not being fit to be your friends sound a little . . . finnicky? Am I not just a child refusing to eat his spinach and broccoli?

Indeed, I did not initially run into this problem when I first entered the workforce, but rather all the way back in the earliest days of my miseducation. I could not for the life of me stomach being around “normal” children. They were uninspired, uninspiring, and frankly, boring. Things became worse as I grew older, not better. The initial alienation, which was very strong to begin with, became compounded by years of contempt for people’s dullness, and at the same time, a bitterness over always being seen as the outsider (which I always was, but nobody wants to be the outsider).

When I complain about the modern workplace forcing me to be friends with my co-workers — or at least “strongly suggesting” it, in the contemptible non-committal jargon of the managerial class — what I’m essentially demanding is that my employment be a purely economic transaction; that I merely sell labor and time (mostly time; only fools and horses work, after all) for money. There’s something very modern about this insistence that all my obligations to my employer should be strictly professional. Going even further back than the industrial workers who go straight to the pub after the steel mill, we have the peasants of yore who engaged in agricultural labor and did not have an employer, but rather a lord. Their co-workers, for lack of a better term, were their families and neighbors from the village they rarely left. Even when they travelled to cities and market towns to exchange their goods, they regarded this foreign land beyond the nearest hill as strange and dangerous. Man is a provincial creature.

So, when I yearn for the right to be left alone on my off-time and to choose who I associate with, I am in a sense rebelling against my Geworfenheit — my Thrownness, as Heidegger would put it, into the world – and more specifically the involuntary associations resulting from my circumstances.

I’m sure it comes as no surprise to the reader that I’m not on particularly good terms with my blood relatives. After all, I didn’t choose them, either — but I’m not alone in this impulse. Indeed, our entire civilization runs on this impulse, the yearning to be free of involuntary association. We flee the fractious villages where everything happens in the context of everything else for the oily cities, slick with the grease of commerce, where we become lost in a series of decontextualized events which may as well be random. After all, what does it really mean when a passerby on the street looks at me with a degree of hostility? In all probability, nothing, or at least nothing relevant to me. Maybe he doesn’t like the cut of my jib, or maybe he argued with his wife and is now staring daggers at people on the street in a vain attempt to offload stress — but ultimately, it is irrelevant to my existence. But in a village, where everyone knows everyone, it could mean any number of nasty things, all of which mean life or death in the narrow rural context.

The great irony, of course, is that even in the teeming megalopolis, the semi-involuntary association of the dreaded teambuilding exercise does not allow the taciturn man to experience social ego death in the mass. What we thought would be the liberating oil of commerce was a lie: These structures followed us all the way to the city. You can escape them — for a while, at least — by being a contractor or consultant, but to do that, one must take greater risk than the employee. It is a conscious choice to be a wolf rather than a dog. Starvation and freezing to death are the very real potential costs of not wearing a leash.

Indeed, it’s these involuntary associations which give life meaning, and for the soulless bugmen and underfucked hens working in modern corporations, the involuntary association imposed upon them through company retreats and team-building exercises is what gives them meaning: It establishes them as community members of good standing, holding all the correct beliefs and repeating all the right clichés. Far from feeling superior to them, I should probably take a long, hard look in the mirror and recognize that I’m the defective one, arrogant and childish, unwilling or perhaps unable to get along, inadequate for any society outside of a soulless commercial dystopia.

And yet men like me have always existed: restless, taciturn, convinced from birth that they’re meant for something bigger and contemptuous of those content to keep tilling the land, unwilling or unable to get along with them. We all know the story of the simple farm boy who sets out to have an adventure, but truth be told, the adventure-seeker will not be happy with a settled life even in the grandest of cities. In times of old, men like me joined armies or robber bands to seek fortune and glory in battle, or hopped a merchant mariner on the way to Hong Kong, because even the stinking bilge is better than spending the rest of your life as Assistant Second Horse Rumpswab in a two-horse town which is a horse short.

Here we are, in 2022, in the ass end of modernity, and there’s no adventure left. All that’s open to a young man is to go be a living prop in some corporate psychodrama where highly ambitious women of mediocre looks and intellect twist their powdered faces into false smiles and organize team-building exercises. How natural, how proper does the use of a battleaxe seem in those moments when we are forced to go through these motions, this cargo cult of camaraderie which is modern team-building? How we wish that a rocket artillery barrage would shatter the building and dismember everyone in it, just so that the falsity and boredom would stop, if even for a blessed moment.

Is it possible to find a way out? The army seems like an even greater bureaucratic nightmare than corporate work in some respects. Brigandry? Forget it. Our age’s lawlessness stems from anarcho-tyranny, resulting from a state strong enough to extort and harass law-abiding people but unwilling to crush criminal gangs. The only way out, it seems, is to retreat to an inner world of fantasy: escapism. Fantasy literature, gaming, or even radical — or more precisely, extremist — politics online. Driven insane with boredom and pointlessness, young men will look for some simulacrum of struggle and find it in role-playing as a Nazi, TradCath, or tankie online.

What is lacking, and what men look for, is the kurias, the wolfpack, the gang of young men who are off on a grand adventure. Naïvely, they seek it out in imageboards and video games. They’re likelier to find it in dissident institutions such as, for example, Counter-Currents. As for adventure, there is no adventure grander than bringing about the renaissance of the white race after its unfortunate decline.

Of course, having been at this for a while now, I felt a certain degree of consternation in the fact that it involves less hands-on battleaxe work than I expected. Indeed, it is in a sense more office-bound than what I used to do when I was an attorney. Very little litigation goes on, unless I find myself invited to an online debate (not that I find them useful). But in writing for Counter-Currents and in hosting The Writers’ Bloc, I find that I would not terribly mind being invited to team-building exercises with my fellow White Nationalists and contributors to Counter-Currents. Service to the cause has allowed me to spread my wings and soar into the great, sacred blue, whereas I felt like Baudelaire’s albatross chained to the ground before.

Ever since I was a young lad, I doubted myself. I did not enjoy spending time with the people around me, so I concluded that there was something wrong with me. I did not get along with the other kids at school, the other students in college, or indeed, my colleagues in the workplace. Over the years I made peace with the fact that there’s something wrong with my social module, and devoted myself to the friendships and relationships I cultivated outside those official contexts. But now, after years of thinking of myself as a taciturn fellow, here I am, breaking out of my cocoon, a beautiful racist social butterfly.

It may be that what was missing from my life was not some magical “social intelligence,” but simply people worth socializing with and the context of a grand, unifying cause to make such socialization worthy. It’d appear that old Mircea Eliade was right that everything flows from the gods and their ordained, fundamentally religious order. Friendship comes from the gods, it was instated by the gods, and man seeks out friends in order to move closer to the gods — to the Axis Mundi of his faith. Only within the context of this religious faith can friendship truly exist.

Relations between men are not strictly horizontal: man to man, as the saying goes, but mediated by the context in which men live. When we say that we speak man to man, there’s an unspoken and unwritten code of honor among men that is being referenced. Only from the Axis Mundi and the gods in their function as lawgivers can such a code arise. The man without a cause cannot, therefore, even have any friends. Indeed, when I made my commitment to the cause public, which coincided with a significant decrease in my alcohol consumption, I discovered that many of my old friends had been merely drinking buddies. Old John Barleycorn can indeed provide a para-religious experience, and he is a powerful god, capable of great cruelty and mercy in equal measure, but he will not form asabiyyah the way a cause will. Men do not die for each other because they once shared a bottle of Jack.

Through the cause as a central organizing principle not merely of our movement, but also of my own life, and now that I’ve given myself over to it, I have managed to find genuine belonging, just as I managed to find genuine education. Finally, something worth doing and people worth doing it with. When we toil away in the mines of racism, the vision of victory sustains us, and when the long day is done, we retreat to the tavern for a sip of the local brew, pleasant, noble fatigue pulsing in our weary arms.

How glorious, how self-affirming to be a cog in this divinely ordained machine, a soldier in this holy army, a man among men on the greatest adventure of my life.

Allow me, dear reader, to open with two interesting anecdotes. Each depicts an interaction between myself and law enforcement officers. One is pleasant, the other isn’t. Both end happily and both would have ended in my arrest and possibly death if they’d happened in America or Britain.

The first transpired in my lovely homeland of Macedonia, in April of the year 2011. I was on my way to college, on foot, to sit for an exam. I was stopped by two policemen. Now, these were not the proverbial bobbies on their bicycles. No, they were heavily armed, highly trained members of the EBR (Rapid Deployment Unit) of the Macedonian Ministry of Internal Affairs. While they weren’t visibly packing anything deadlier than a 9mm sidearm, I couldn’t help but notice their scary-looking assault rifles, by which I mean actual high-capacity, rapid-fire capable long barrel rifles, stored in the back of their armored police Jeep. They asked for my identification while regarding me with some suspicion. When I handed my ID over, I asked them to hurry things along, as I needed to get to college. As one went to the police Jeep to run my ID through the system, the other one stayed behind. I was a smoker back then, so I stubbed out my cigarette on a nearby concrete post, jokingly asking the officer who’d stayed behind not to fine me for the littering, as it is very obviously not the concern of the EBR. He chuckled and lit a cigarette himself. I could feel the tension deflating.

His colleague returned, informing us that, no, I’m not the guy they’re looking for, even though I looked very much like him. I asked what he did, and apparently, he was a literal bank robber. The first officer stubbed out his cigarette on the same spot where I’d stubbed out mine and jokingly said that I’m not wanted for anything. . . yet. I responded that I’m relieved they hadn’t found the bodies. . . yet. All three of us laughed and the officers left. I went on to college and aced the exam. It was just one of those days.

Now, I was a libertarian at the time and very concerned about the militarization of police, but the fact that I just had a friendly and even enjoyable interaction with two policemen armed to the teeth and deadlier than most soldiers flew clear over my head. At no point did I feel threatened, disrespected, or even delayed. The whole incident did not last more than five minutes, just as I requested of the officers in the beginning. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

The second anecdote hails from the Montenegrin-Croatian border, in August of 2017. Traveling in a bus full of hippie-looking youngsters to the city of Dubrovnik, I was asked by a hostile and rude border guard whether I’d be willing to subject myself to a drug test. I asked him whether it’d be absolutely necessary. He responded by searching my person and luggage and taking me to the border guard post for interrogation. I noticed while he was searching my luggage that he wasn’t armed. He looked doughy and unfit for combat. When he found nothing of interest (and learning with some embarrassment that I’m a well-respected attorney in my own country), he let me cross the border. As a parting exchange, he asked me why I did not want to take a drug test. I responded that I did not want to delay the bus. The drug test would have taken about two minutes. The delay from the search and interrogation came up to thirty minutes. I tried to laugh about it, but this guy was so rude and official about it, it fell completely flat. I took my parting shot, inviting him to look me up if he ever had a traffic accident in Macedonia, leaving my business card. Backhandedly, I wished his brains would get splattered all over our infamously crappy roads.

While appreciating the irony of searching the straightest-laced guy in a bus full of hippies of smuggling drugs, this was 2017, only 2 years out from the peak of the migrant crisis, and I was already a nationalist. I understood that the border guard was right to suspect me, to search my luggage and person, and to interrogate me. The only thing I disagreed with was the guard’s rudeness. But then again, does he really owe each outlander politeness?

Now, negro bellyaching aside, it is undeniable that American police are in general more trigger happy than what I’m used to here in Macedonia, ruder and more hostile than the Croatian border guard. As an American friend pointed out, if I’d behaved the way I did with the EBR officers with an American cop, I’d be in prison or sporting 20 superfluous bullet holes. Being polite, but relaxed, compliant without surrendering your dignity and integrity, and treating policemen as men rather than as otherworldly beings would have earned me a hostile police interaction event in the USA. Even the Croatian border guard, rude and hostile as he was, did not significantly threaten me in any way. From what people tell me about American police, this is not the case. American police seem to demand robotic compliance from citizens, have no consideration for people’s dignity and integrity, have no tolerance for people using levity to break up a tense situation, and get mighty miffed when they’re treated as men rather than as Judge Dredd without the muscle. They somehow manage to make boilerplate American cop-speak sound rude. There are countless examples of whites suffering wrongful deaths and arrests at the hands of police, even though these are suppressed by the anti-white media who’d rather rend their garments in memory of Fentanyl Floyd. If I were in America, I’d avoid the police like the plague.

If you’re waiting for the usual European condemnation of American policing practice, it ain’t coming. I understand why these things are the way they are. Declining policing standards as a result of affirmative-action hiring mean that giving a policeman broad discretionary judgment is just asking for trouble. Policemen have to become automata implementing predetermined protocols rather than men keeping the peace per the law and their own wisdom.

If, by chance, the citizen deviates from the protocol and this results in his unlawful death or imprisonment, then it is his fault.

But what else are you going to do? Enforce a high standard of police work? That’d mean hiring a better quality policeman, which precludes a disturbing number of magical minorities from serving. So, no, you can’t have a friendly interaction with the friendly neighborhood policeman. There’s no friendly neighborhood policeman anymore. Just a low-IQ goon sent out to follow a simple, colorblind script. American police cannot have a nuanced approach to interactions with the public because they’re not allowed to notice nuance, especially if such nuance tends to transcend racial boundaries. In fact, it is better to hire police who pretend like racial differences in behavior and criminality do not exist. Accordingly, police impose a one fits all protocol on the American public.

What I learned from thinking about my two aforementioned run-ins with cops is that both the EBR officers and the Croatian border guard had the right attitude. The EBR guys might have been a bit too friendly with me and the Croatian border guard might have been rude, but ultimately, the difference between a relaxed and tense interaction with law enforcement is the difference between interior and borderland.

It’s a conceptual, but also physical division of the world. You can plot it on a map. There is an area populated by our people. Let’s call it the interior. Within this area, there are criminals, yes, but for the most part, it’s our people. Here, the agents of the law might interact with criminals, and those interactions are inevitably hostile, but most of their interactions will be with law-abiding, peaceful citizens. The attitude of law enforcement should be relaxed, friendly, and polite. They should think of themselves as members of the community — in fact, it is preferable they actually are members of the community. The ideal should be the bobby on his bicycle, someone who doesn’t even need a gun to enforce the law, mostly because the law enforces itself. The law not being insane also helps with this self-enforcement. This is the archetype of the policeman.

There is also an area that exists at the edge of our lands. Let’s call it the borderland. In this narrow strip of land, interactions aren’t between people of the same group, but of differing groups. They are necessarily fraught with tension, distrust, and precaution. The agent of the law in this context cannot act as a policeman. He is not there to serve a community or maintain order. He is there to protect what lies behind him, the interior, from outside pollutants and threats. His disposition must necessarily be rougher than that of the policeman. He cannot give the benefit of the doubt to the people he interacts with. What might be dangerous paranoia in a policeman is a security-conscious mindset in a border guard. He cannot afford to be as flexible with the rules as the policeman; there’s not as much room for error or understanding. He isn’t a part of the community — there is no community (more precisely, he does not interact with his community in his official duties). The policeman is an organ in a body. The border guard is a link in the armor that the body wears.

The hidden, third part of this division of the world is the warzone. This is a place where neither the policeman nor the border guard belong. This is the provenance of the soldier. The soldier is not loyal to the local community. There’s not even a community behind him, no line where our lands begin and their lands end. The soldier’s loyalty is to his squad, to his platoon, to his division, to his band of brothers, even though these entities are theoretically loyal to a state. The soldier is the most automatic of the three, unless he is a commander. He must diligently and without question carry out orders, which means implement a series of protocols. His discretionary judgment is not called for, except in exceptional circumstances, and even then only if he is in a command position. His is not to reason why. His is but to do and die.

This division of the world is mirrored by the Islamic understanding of the world, as divided into Dar al-Islam (house of Islam), corresponding to the interior, Dar al-suih (house of truce) corresponding to the borderlands, and Dar al-harb (house of war), corresponding to the warzone. But I’m sure most sensible conceptions of the world have similar divisions.

Circling back to the old libertarian bugaboo about the militarization of the police, the problem is not that the police carry weapons fit for war. The problem is that police carry with them attitudes fit for the borderland, or even a warzone. This is not because American police are racist, evil, or even mush-headed donut addicts. This is because the American border has collapsed and what should be the American interior is now the American borderland, liable to become a warzone in short order. The police are merely responding to this changing fact by “militarizing.”

Recall my very positive interaction with the heavily armed and highly trained EBR. Their guns and military-style training did not prevent them from acting as policemen. Contrast that to the rude and hostile Croatian border guard, who wasn’t even packing. The militarization does not lie in the acquisition of deadlier weapons, but in the growing attitude of cops as border guards, and increasingly, of cops as soldiers, loyal to their squad rather than to any community in particular. There are many exhortations to “back the blue.” While I, living in a relatively cohesive country that still has a functional interior-borderland distinction, theoretically agree, consider that as the interior devolves into a borderland and then into a warzone, the blue might stop backing you and indeed anyone except itself.

Therefore, anyone looking for a solution to the problem of militarized police, police violence, unlawful deaths and arrests as a result of interaction with the police, and police insularity (division of the world into cops and others) should seek to restore the border. Only in restoring the border (in both the conceptual and physical sense) and staffing it with border guards can we have an interior, which is the abode of the friendly neighborhood policeman, the bobby patrolling on his bicycle, helping old ladies across the street and rescuing cats from trees, while nevertheless prepared to fight and die in the name of law and order. But to do that, we’d have to have a clear delineation between who is us and who isn’t: who belongs in the interior and who doesn’t. But that’d necessitate coming to grips with the reality of internecine ethnic conflict and the character of America and other Western nations.

Unlike Fentanyl Floyd, I’m not holding my breath.

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For a while now, I’ve found that I cannot bring myself to enjoy new films, new TV shows, and other new media, not only due to the active war on whiteness waged therein. I expected Netflix’s Barbarians to be no different, but people were talking it up and I was having trouble sleeping, so I thought, what the hell. I wasn’t quite prepared for what I saw. This may be the first series that I have, as the kids would say, binge-watched. 

The story is set in 9 AD, in Magna Germania, and it concerns the events leading up to the battle of Teutoburg Forest, including the great clash itself. It follows the fates of Gaius Julius Arminius, alias Hermann the German — a prince of the Cherusci tribe raised as a hostage by Rome who went on to unite the German tribes and command them in the Battle of Teutoburg Forest, as well as his wife Thusnelda and his (fictional) childhood friend Folkwin Wolfspeer. 

The series skillfully weaves together the grand conflict of domination and submission between Rome and the German tribes with the personal conflict experienced by the characters. From Thunselda’s resentment of her Roman-loving father and her quest to marry the lowborn Folkwin, to Folkwin’s struggle with his place in the world as a commoner moving among nobles, to Arminius’ inner and outer identity struggles as a German who’d been raised to be Roman, even becoming a knight (equitus) of Rome and commander of Roman cavalry, as well as his divided loyalties between his father Segimer, who gave him away to Rome as a hostage, and his step-father, who in this dramatization is made out to be none other than Publius Quinctilius Varus, the historic governor of Germania. 

The casting is masterfully done. Not only do the actors bring the characters, both historic and fanciful, vividly to life, but they seem to have been selected as representative of their respective nations. The German characters are portrayed by blond, blue-eyed actors. The Roman characters are portrayed by Italian actors, and indeed, few faces are as Italian as the face of Gaetano Aronica as governor Varus. Arminius is portrayed as black-haired, but pale and blue-eyed, which underscores his liminal nature, as a man who belongs both in the Roman and German world. And indeed, while there are many minor storylines and one major storyline and they’re all worth seeing, the story of Arminius is the best and most important to learn from in this series. 

Having been essentially kidnapped as a child and used as a janissary by the Roman Empire, Arminius faces a conflict whether he should become what he was raised to be, a knight and a prefect of Rome, or become what he was born to be, a chieftain of the Cherusci and possibly King of Germany. Essentially, he’s given the choice presented in my previous article on two nationalisms. Each choice comes at a price. Arminius could choose his people, become their chieftain, and fulfill his destiny, but that comes at the price of achieving his full potential as a commander and statesman, which can only realistically be done within Rome as the greatest Empire in the world at the time. Or he could choose Rome, wealth, and glory, and abandon his people, severing himself forever from his roots. Each choice is painful and each entails a betrayal of a father, either the blood father Segimer or the mentor and childhood idol Varus. 

Not to put too fine a point on it, but all of us are stolen from our parents by globohomo’s indoctrination machine masquerading as an education system. We are all janissaries who’ll be stolen, brainwashed, and put in service of the evil empire, and the way out is the way into the tribal life. But the tribal life means we abjure glory and greatness within the empire, meaning our greatest potential will never be fulfilled. 

Having a rooted identity comes at a price. As Mishima was told by a Leftist student, to have a national identity is to be limited — and as Mishima replied, that’s okay. All of us who are here made Arminius’ choice — rather than soaring into the great imperial heavens, chasing glory and prestige, we elected to inhabit a smaller, more intimate, dare I say, cozier space. The price, of course, of imperial height are our roots, our flesh, and blood, our children, born and unborn — our lives, which are ground away into nothingness by the relentless Mammon-machine of Empire. But how is one to reach ever-higher if one is weighed down by smelly, flabby flesh? 

Arminius, for better or worse, chooses the tribe. Without revealing too much, I’ll say that the final episode shows us that his choice was not risk-free, nor is his success guaranteed. But I want to address one final point. 

This is a German show. It concerns an important event in the history of Germany and a German folk hero. We know little about the historic Arminius, so in the context of culture, he is a blank canvas on which the story of the German nation can be told, and indeed, 19th-century German nationalism put a spotlight on Hermann the German as a hero of the German people. But conspicuous by their absence are blacks, immigrants, homosexuals, feminists, and other nasties of modernity. It took me a while to see, but all the while I was watching the story of Germany as told by Germans, and it was a story of pride, a story of the greatness of the German people and their hero Arminius, a story of overcoming great adversity and a story of victory in battle. I was watching a romantic nationalist novel in audiovisual episodic form. This was not an old Leni Riefenstahl film, but a 2020 television series. 

It shows that the German soul is alive and well under the thin veil of globohomo and that the spirit of Hermann, who chooses the nation even though he could have the empire, is alive and well in Germany. 

 

The news of the week is that Elon Musk has bought Twitter and is apparently returning free speech to the platform. For reasons I’ve made clear in last weekend’s Writers’ Bloc with Pox Populi, I remain skeptical of Musk’s intentions and how much benefit white identitarians can derive from this corporate takeover. But whatever my objections to Musk, and whatever counterarguments people can offer, there’s always one response I can count on: “At least he’s triggering the libs.” It is taken for granted in this movement and even beyond that “triggering the libs” is a positive thing. I will therefore once again act as the wet blanket of organized white identitarian politics and show that no, triggering the libs is not necessarily good.

At first glance, this is completely counterintuitive. How can throwing an enemy into complete psychological anguish be bad for the cause? Was it bad for the cause when liberals all over America and the world had their massive temper tantrum when Trump was elected President in 2016? Who can forget the androgynous thing screaming “Noooo!” at the heavens during Trump’s inauguration? It was perfect from a propaganda perspective: it energized us while demoralizing them. It told the story that we’re winning while they’re losing, simple as that. And it would be, if indeed that was what was taking place.

I am going to advance a bold thesis: I propose that Leftists benefit from being triggered, and in a sense enjoy it. I contend that Leftists gain energy by being triggered and become more focused, psychologically stronger, and indeed crave these psychological stimuli. I also contend that people on the Right don’t understand this because they expect Leftists to be psychologically similar to them. This is a natural, but false, assumption which is reinforced by unexamined egalitarian priors and the Rightist tendency to overestimate their own strength and unwillingness to consider the possibility they are themselves in dire straits.

In order to understand Leftist psychology, we must first have something to compare it to. Let’s see how the conservative person reacts to being in some way symbolically defeated or insulted. When the conservative witnesses his cause losing and being beaten back, he becomes depressed — not in the clinical sense, but in that he becomes less active politically; his political activity decreases in both frequency and intensity. This is because conservatism and the Right in general tend to be more realistic than the Left, meaning their activities and worldview are downstream from reality, and they like to think of themselves as the adults in the room. And when adults encounter a problem they cannot solve, they walk away and find ways to work around it. Thus a defeat leads to retreat, reorganization, and — if it is devastating enough — surrender. Consequently, conservatives will often bitterly cling to bizarre narratives such as QAnon even after they’ve been defeated, because to admit defeat is to dissipate conservative political energy. This often costs conservatives more in the long run, as clinging to such myths alienates those who can see through them and prevents failure analysis (by blocking the admission of failure).

By contrast, Leftist activities and worldviews are upstream from reality. By this I mean that the Left does not look at facts and then derive action plans from them, but rather have a vision for what the world ought to be and take steps to make material reality comport with that vision. They’re not the adults in the room and are in fact proud of being youthful idealists, often deriding the adult viewpoint as stodgy, uninspired, and defeated. Leftists do not expect reality to comport with their vision, and so when they suffer a defeat, or are made to believe that they’ve suffered a defeat, their instinct is to howl in moralistic outrage because reality dares defy their visionary will. This is usually followed by a massive mobilization of resources, both at the individual and organizational levels, towards beating reality (and conservatives) into submission.

Thus, the defeated Leftist is immediately galvanized to counterattack, plan the next attack, and watch vigilantly for future threats. Mirroring the defeated conservatives’ tendency to descend into fantastic narratives about imminent victory, Leftists who win tend to psych themselves up into believing that they’re really losing in the long term and that they are poor, starving partisans armed with sticks and eating tree bark, even if they are indeed hegemonic over every institution in the West.

This makes the Rightist assumption that “triggering the libs” is somehow a victory very dangerous. The Rightist assumes that the Leftist will react the same way as he does to a defeat, and that the skyward screams of a triggered Leftoid are an admission of weakness and a prelude to retreat. The Rightist assumes that the Leftists, having been defeated or made to believe they have been defeated, will become depressed, decrease their political activities, and give way to the rising Right. In fact what has happened is that the Rightist, in triggering the Leftist, has merely fuelled the Leftist’s paranoia, confirmed his delusions about being a powerless and persecuted warrior for truth and beauty, and reinvigorated him. Or, to put it in simpler terms, the Rightist smashes the hornets’ nest with a baseball bat and, seeing the hornets’ rage, assumes he has defeated them. When men are enraged, they make mistakes and are easier to defeat — but hornets aren’t men.

In American Extremist, Josh Neal argues that antisocial Leftist extremism has its roots in an inferiority complex and paranoid ideation. Low-level antifa goons base their activism on resentment driven by their inferiority complex and are thus triggered whenever this inferiority is made apparent to them, but the higher-ranking Leftists are a little different. It’s worth quoting from the book directly:

However, when we look up the social ladder, we find the AELs who graduate to the level of superiority complex. Succeeding in the realization of their fictional final goal, (though in today’s bioleninist world, it is less of a succession and more of a selection), they now wield their obvious social and vocational achievements like a broadsword, ready to be unsheathed at a moment’s notice. In classical Adlerian theory, this, too, may not be about the lording of success over the peasantry, but rather an ego defense to mask the deep wound of inferiority from which they never recovered.

Whenever the Right, or Trump, or Elon, or whoever else picks at their wound, it reminds the powerful Leftists of their deep-seated feelings of inferiority, activating their complexes and leading them to react in order to assuage their own psychological torment. This wouldn’t be problematic if these people didn’t wield real and substantial power which can most easily be employed toward frustrating the Right’s political ambitions, but the fact of the matter is that if anyone is in a position to destroy people’s lives and ruin livelihoods over a perceived insult, it’s the Western Left.

And now that we’ve established the psychological dispositions of Left and Right, I’ll add that this imbalance heavily favors the Left and is probably the reason why they’ve seized and maintained power in the West and elsewhere. Those soyboys, bugmen, and hysterical women who screech and throw tantrums when they don’t get their way have been consistently defeating the cool-headed macho men of the Right for at least the past 300 years. Pointing this out means that you usually get labeled a defeatist or accused of rooting for the Left.

Over time, my observations of the political Right in the West have led me to believe that it is filled to a great degree with political dilettantes who are obsessed with doing what feels good, i.e. inflicting psychic pain on the Left and proclaiming themselves superior to it, rather than doing the hard work necessary to win. This latter approach means building infrastructure, providing mutual assistance, creating an interpretational framework for the world, deriving an operational framework from the world while simultaneously deconstructing the enemy’s operational framework, recruiting, organizing, donating — y’know, the stuff that politics is made of. Indeed, the obsession with feeling superior to the Left is such that proclaiming the Left’s pathetic nature is now an essential part of in-group signaling for the online Right. Personally, I’m a bit tired of it. If a group has been consistently winning for 300 years, it is not a pathetic or weak group, no matter how little they resemble our archetypes of strength.

The Left’s state of perpetual aggravation means they have the boundless strength and stamina of fanatics to give to their cause. All of those activities which are the stuff political success is made of take effort, money, and will to bring into being. The Leftist will give and work his fingers to the bone for the cause because it is the only way to assuage his diseased psyche. We may call it maladjustment, dysfunction, pathetic, ressentiment, libtardation, Trudeau, or any other derisive nickname, but it is the Left’s greatest strength.

These are people so insane that they won’t be happy until they’ve completely eradicated all political opposition. (They won’t be happy even after that, but they don’t know it). If only we had that kind of strength. If only we were so insane.

I’ve got one for you. What do you get when you cross a white, Christian, conservative population with a conservative movement which ignores it? You get what you deserve.

Well, Conservative Inc. has been getting what it deserves good and hard since late October. Charlie Kirk, Rob Smith, Dan Crenshaw, Andrew Klavan, Matt Walsh, and even Ben Shapiro – a discontinued wind-up toy turned shill for globohomo and Israel – have been groyped, which is to say they have been forced to face tough questions and tougher crowds as their attempts to purvey the controlled cuckservative narrative have been repeatedly foiled by intrepid young men wondering quite loudly:

So many questions, precious few answers. Conservative Inc., for their part, have responded by smearing the questioners, running hit pieces on prominent figureheads, belting out the usual epithets, gatekeeping, purging their organizations of patriots and nationalists, and kicking out even those who merely defend the right of such people to ask questions. Even more recently, they have begun shutting down Q&A sessions in their events. In a blatant attempt to carry on business as usual and peddle the controlled narrative, Conservative Inc. has failed to take into account that there is a contingent of bright young men who will have their voices heard, by hook or by crook. And something quite like that happened Sunday at UCLA.

The standard script for such events is to have Charlie Kirk and whichever supporting character he’s entertaining at the time field questions from college-age liberals or outright socialists so that they can proceed to destroy these liberal college kids with facts and logic! Of course, the entire edifice of feel-good college liberalism or American campus-style weed-and-free-shit socialism could be knocked over by an asthmatic 90-year-old woman, so the grifters of Conservative Inc. are what in boxing jargon are known as paper champions. They defeat absolute nobodies in order to bolster their credibility among respectable circles, chiefly among donors and to convince the broader conservative movement (and, I believe, themselves) that they are high-status winners.

At this point, I warmly invite you to read “Charlottesville’s Silver Lining,” my essay on the decline and fall of the Alt Lite. But assuming you’ve got no time, patience, or energy for more than one Jeelvyan irascible philippic per day, the operative concept is the following: In order to shore up their relevance, Alt Lite, center-Right, and centrist types have to constantly proclaim victory after victory and loudly trumpet the size and scope of their following.

The deeper, Dissident Right doesn’t need to be massive, or even win all that often in order to be relevant; our legitimacy is derived from our allegiance to the truth. We do not have to signal our high status; it is self-evident from our quest for the answers to the really tough questions. This makes us robust, even a little bit antifragile to failure. Every honest truth-seeker knows that being wrong is but a stepping stone to being right, and every falsified hypothesis decreases the number of unknowns in the world by one. All that being said, even if we cannot reach the full truth – or at least not in our lifetimes – then we can at least offer our audience an honest uncertainty about the world, and try to live with it as best as we can.

However, your typical Right-wing grifter, whether Alt Lite or center-Right, isn’t in the business of delivering truth. He is in the business of selling purple pills and comforting half-truths to people who would like to keep modernity, but simply remove a few of its worst excesses. More often than not, he is also in the business of limiting the range of allowable opinion, though I must confess that I find the audience a wee bit complicit in their deception.

After all, to believe Charlie Kirk’s platitudes about legal immigration is to deny the facts about legal immigration. The purple pill vendors exist because there is a market for it. Such vendors rely on their purportedly large following and high social status in order to gatekeep and grift.

You can usually tell that someone is not a truth-seeker, but rather a political striver if their speech is full of buzzwords relating to the status of the interlocutor. If they constantly harp on about how they are “winning,” “rising,” “massive,” and “the best,” whereas they dismiss you either using the usual epithets or with more general insults such as “trash,” “garbage,” “shit,” “retards,” and of late “incel,” then yes, this person has an agenda not entirely aligned with the truth.

Of course, sometimes even honest people use tactics like these. Indeed, I’ve used many such buzzwords in this very article, but this is only to be expected; humans are highly social creatures who use status to acquire resources, political power, and ultimately, reproductive success. Beware people whose speech consists of nothing but status signaling, and doubly beware such people who purport to be your friends.

This is why the Groyper Uprising is such a bugaboo for Conservative Inc. Deprived of the ability to smash chairs over the heads of hapless campus socialists, they’re exposed as shams who aren’t “winning” and who aren’t “fighting the culture war.” The establishment is scared because the kayfabe of mainstream politics is breaking. And now, the long, green arm of the groyper has reached Donald Trump, Jr.

First off, as someone who hadn’t paid Don Jr. much attention, I am aghast at how far the orange has fallen from the tree. Why would President Trump’s son, who is a successful businessman in his own right, be caught dead on Kimberly Guilfoyle’s arm? Why would a handsome Prince of the Realm be dating Gavin Newsom’s 50-year-old sloppy seconds? Kim Guilfoyle is a year older than Melania Trump, and unlike the First Lady, does not carry the Balkan genes which have made Barron Trump a giant among men, being a rather unstable combination of an Irish father and a Puerto Rican mother. And when she opens her mouth? Hell sounds like that, friends.

Okay, I get it. Sometimes you date down, especially after a tumultuous divorce. At the risk of turning Counter-Currents into a gossip mag, I’d wager that Kim Guilfoyle landed Donny boy on the rebound. In all likelihood, she’s a placeholder girlfriend until the usual Trump fare of models and actresses resumes.

But it boggles the mind as to why Don Jr. would drag this hectoring harpy to an official event and put her on the stage. While I recognize the utility of arm candy to signal status as an integral part of salesmanship and politicking, it was entirely unnecessary to go that far, whereas I can buy that a Poindexter like Jeff Bezos can lose his mind over a 50-year-old goblina. To learn that Don Jr. has gone loco over a quintagenarian señorita is to seriously entertain the possibility that our elites are incurably beta, even though they may be the honest to God sons of undisputed alphas.

Now, Don Jr. expected things to go swimmingly. After all, his buddy Charlie Kirk had shut down the Q and A so none of those meddling kids could get in the way of hawking his book, which is apparently about how liberals are triggered (so original, so incisive!). He was free to waltz in, leathery caliente mamacita in tow, deliver his boilerplate speech to applause, and waltz out – and that’d be the end.

But no, instead the crowd booed and chanted “Q&A.” Don Jr. and Charlie were stumped, and so it was up to Kimberly to save the day by lecturing the white men in the crowd about record black unemployment, record numbers of female-owned businesses, the Trump economy (which has left working and middle class whites wanting), and, of course, by condescendingly calling them incels.

Of note is that all three insisted on pretending that the booing and hissing crowd was a mob of Leftoids, when in fact they were Trump-supporting conservative young men.

After thirty minutes in front of a hostile crowd and Kimberly’s embarrassing harangue, the trembling trio retreated. Charlie Kirk, hoping to save Don Jr. embarrassment by terminating the session, somehow managed to launch a veritable deluge of excrement at an industrial-strength fan. Donnie boy had to limp away with his tail between his legs.

Now, Vincent James and Steve Franssen, who have emerged as groyper figureheads, have assured Don Jr. that the groypers are really after Charlie Kirk and that he caught shrapnel because he stood next to Charlie. This is partly true, but I won’t pretend that Don Jr. is blameless in his own embarrassment. After all, it was he, not Charlie Kirk, who brought Kim Guilfoyle onstage, and it was he who stood there like a non-entity while she insulted his father’s supporters and emasculated him in front of the whole world.

Nevertheless, it’s a good idea to give Don Jr. an opportunity to make a separate peace with the groypers even as Charlie is trampled under webbed feet, given that one of the acceptable forms of victory is replacing Conservative Inc. as the policymakers for the Trump administration. Kim’s gotta go, though. Hey, maybe Nick Fuentes can set Don Jr. up with Brittany Venti. E-girl or not, Donaeld Aetheling deserves better than La Bruja Hibernica.

The ball is now in Donald Trump’s court. The core of Charlie Kirk’s grift has been washed away. He has no victories to show, he has no mass following to fall back on, and his association with Don Jr. was not enough to protect him from the plague of frogs. Other grift-righters, neocons, and libertarians LARPing as conservatives will soon follow. The energy, sexy ideas, youth, and freshness are all on the side of the groypers. The bloated and turgid bulk of Conservative Inc., while massive in finance and institutional power, cannot match the nimbleness and ferocity of the groyper assault.

America First is the name of the game. An American nationalist movement has arisen to counter the conservative dog and pony show. If Orange Man chooses to side with American nationalists, he will be given an opportunity to remake the remains of the American empire into a nation. If, however, he chooses poorly, and hitches his wagon to Conservative Inc.’s train to oblivion, he will be devoured, chewed, and spat out by the swamp he set out to drain. Personnel is policy, and judging from those the Trump administration has chosen, their policy is the policy of Conservative Inc.

But this time, we’re going to have to see more than just nationalist rhetoric from the man himself. This time, we want to see muscular use of the Presidential pen to get things done, and even more importantly, an America First hiring policy within the administration itself. We want to see immigration restrictionists – not just for illegal immigration, but for legal immigration as well; sane purveyors of an actual America First foreign policy rather than neocons and Israel Firsters who want to drag the US into yet more wars; economic nationalists as opposed to the corporate stooges who want to staple green cards to diplomas; and policies which help the white working class instead of economic globalists who seek to plunder the commons for private profit.

Now, more than ever, it is time for Donald Trump to renounce the shills, grifters, and defeatists of the mainstream Right and side with the winners, truth-seekers, and triumphant frogs of American destiny. The future of America and the course of world history depend on this fateful choice.

In case you haven’t heard the news, John McAfee has reportedly committed suicide in his cell in a Barcelona jail on June 23, 2021. He had been imprisoned there since October of 2020. His imprisonment sadly prevented him from fulfilling his pledge to “eat his own dick” if Bitcoin didn’t hit $1 million before the end of 2020. He had claimed repeatedly on Twitter that he was happy and wasn’t entertaining thoughts of killing himself. And nobody believes he killed himself. 

A lot of people think McAfee was awesome for snorting bath salts, banging hookers, marrying a black hooker, and living in international waters in order to evade capture by the American government. A minority believes he was an obscene degenerate for the very same reasons. I’ve seen memes calling him the ultimate boomer: make a shit ton of money on vaporware, live in a tropical location, marry a nonwhite hooker, do drugs, have no children (despite the claim of having 47 illegitimate children), and kick off a conspiracy theory with his dying breath. I’ll let you draw your own conclusions about what he was. Personally, I had no strong opinion of the guy one way or the other. I caught his 2016 run for the Libertarian Party presidential nomination, just as I was evolving out of libertarianism and I considered him a wacky distraction from the main event of that season. He moved in and out of my view since then, pledging to eat his dick if Bitcoin didn’t reach $1 million by the end of 2020, failing to eat his dick when Bitcoin didn’t reach $1 million at the end of 2020, giving some good tips about cybersecurity, talking about shoving his arm up women’s asses (I’m not linking to that, do your own damn research), and generally providing a mixture of entertaining, useful, and downright disgusting stories. 

Now, on to the main issue. Did John McAfee kill himself? That’s a good question, but sadly, I cannot give you an answer. On the one hand, John McAfee was an insane drug user who’d suddenly been thrown in prison after a lifetime of indulgence. On the other hand, he did say he had no intention of killing himself and seemed to activate some sort of deadhand post on Instagram, which was an image of the letter Q. Oh, I think you can see where this is going. Some people have drawn parallels to the case of Jeffrey Epstein. There’s supposed to be some super-secret info contained in that Instagram post that people more technical than me are unraveling as we speak, and we’ll see what data it unveils, but allow me, if you will, to use this moment to delve into the nature of the conspiracy theory as understood in American (and therefore global) culture in the past 70 years. 

The standard notion of the conspiracy theory is that there’s a conspiracy, usually at a high or possibly at the highest levels of government, to commit, facilitate, or cover up malfeasance of some sort. The ur-example, and the one that probably spawned the conspiracy theory as a cultural trope, is the assassination of John F. Kennedy. Just as Jeffrey Epstein didn’t kill himself, so was JFK not shot by a lone gunman, and only with knowledge of the government could the true nature of the JFK assassination be hidden from the public. So, the assumption is that the government, or more often, actors within the government, are skulking around in the dark, destroying evidence, intimidating, bribing or liquidating witnesses, running disinformation campaigns, setting up patsies to inevitably fail in their investigations, everything to keep the truth hidden from the general public. 

Now, I’m pretty sure that malicious actors in government have been up to no end of shady business they mean to keep concealed from the public, but baked into this now-standard conspiracy narrative is the notion that if the facts of the conspiracy were to ever reach the public, there’d be a great uproar, and the bad guys would be caught, tried, if not by the public, then at least by good guys in the government who are themselves being duped, intimidated, etc. And so, the conspiracy theorist will look for evidence, which evidence he will present to the public, to the authorities, to anyone, so that action might be taken against the conspirators. When one goes down the conspiracy rabbit hole, one expects it to have a definite end. 

Now given that we’re all inheritors of the culture of the past 70 years, many of our own woes have been interpreted through this framework of government spooks skulking around, working in the shadows to effectuate the things we don’t like. Racial replacement of white people? Legalization of crime for nonwhites? The Great Reset? Green New Deal? It’s all shadowy g-men and Deep State operatives who’ve somehow infiltrated the institutions of power and are projecting their terrible will from behind the shadows. But allow me to present an alternative hypothesis on just how malfeasance is achieved. 

What if government malfeasance doesn’t rely on covering up, distorting, or presenting false facts to the public, or at least doesn’t solely rely on such distortions, but rather, relies on distorting the processes by which people think so that no skullduggery would be necessary to conceal malfeasance? Malfeasance would simply be done in the open and the people could be conditioned to ignore it, or even love it. All of the malfeasance that has caused the problems facing us as people in the modern world have been performed in the open. The 1965 immigration act? Completely open. BLM, civil rights, and critical race theory? Completely open. Carbon emissions legislation and propaganda? Completely open. No shadowy figures, no wheeling and dealing, just respectable politicians, civil servants, journalists, scientists going about the business of abolishing white people in the light of the midday sun while white people look on and cheer them on, because they’ve been shorn of the tools necessary to detect such malfeasance. Our problem as Dissident Rightists isn’t that we lack the data to prove that white people are racially replaced, or that races commit crimes at different rates, or even that there’s a concerted push to legalize crime for nonwhites — even the least erudite man can rattle out these facts. Our problem is that other people, whom we sometimes derisively call normies, lack the intellectual framework with which to process these facts as if there has been an inhibitor chip inserted into their heads to stop bad thoughts. Or maybe they were born with this chip and our enemy has merely input the current definitions of bad thoughts. 

And what if there is secret malfeasance and it is uncovered? Yeah, sure, Epstein didn’t kill himself. Nobody in their right mind believes that Epstein killed himself. The people know. What of it? They’ve conveniently blocked out the part where he was gathering and cultivating kompromat on behalf of the Mossad. But even if they haven’t, what tangible political gain has been made of this monumental drop in public trust? Is there even a path towards political gain from the public knowledge that Epstein didn’t kill himself? The fact of the matter is that the drop in public trust doesn’t bother the enemy, so long as the public doesn’t trust anyone else either, which lack of trust they can ensure by unleashing infiltrators and controlled opposition which will serve to discredit all genuine opposition. And even then, the enemy completely controls the governments of the west and even more importantly, the framework people use to think. Even people who imagine themselves to be opponents of the current regime are playing out its worn-out scenarios and functioning within its permitted oppositional roles. So, in light of all that, does it matter whether John McAfee killed himself? 

It’s probably going to be a good conversation starter in the next month or so. You can probably use talk of McAfee’s purported suicide as a first measure of how “with it” someone is, as a safe overture before turning the conversation to more controversial subjects. But as for the act itself, or any super-secret data the man himself might have uncovered, whether his suicide is related to the building collapse in Florida or other happenings? At this point, our enemy doesn’t even need to conceal their outright crimes, let alone their shenanigans and malfeasances. They set the narrative and it doesn’t matter that you disagree with it — it is the official truth and you lack the conceptual tools to even begin doubting it, but if you do, you’ll be cast into the outer darkness, where the racists live.

The silver lining, of course, is that over here in the land of the racists, we are working on developing just the kind of conceptual framework you need to think in ways the enemy dislikes. 

November: It’s that wonderful time of year again when my birthday reminds me of the passage of time and the inevitable progress of ageing, decrepitude, and decay. Having initially believed that the shock of turning 30 would be the worst of it, I now brace for the unenviable proposition of turning 31, which is like 30 except a year older and with still no resolution to the crisis of ageing in sight.

Now, my life is good enough — I’m doing what I love and I’m working for a grand cause which is deserving of my full devotion, but still, I’m getting long in the tooth and have spent the better part of this past week remembering my life as it has been up until this point.

So, in the spirit of remembering, I began taking an inventory of my life’s great and defining events, things that would make me the man I am today, for better or worse. How did I become a White Nationalist? How did I start writing for Counter-Currents? How did I start The Writers’ Bloc? Even deeper than that, how and why did I get to be so fluent in English and familiar with the cultures of America and Britain that I could intelligently speak to natives about them? Why am I Right-wing instead of Left-wing, even though I grew up in a Left-wing environment? And gradually, it became clear to me that I had chosen none of my life’s defining moments. They were all the products of either chance or society-wide movements which had very little to do with individual agency.

Let’s start with the easiest and earliest one. I learned to speak English as well as I do today because I was an Anglophile. I became an Anglophile sometime in the late 1990s because of 101 Dalmatians and The Great Mouse Detective. These two very well-made animated films imprinted into my psyche the image of England as a beautiful and civilized place at a very young age, in stark contrast to the grey reality that surrounded me. I hungrily devoured England’s language and culture, aspiring to one day visit it and share in its grandeur. The lifelong love affair was set in stone when I started playing a children’s video game, 102 Dalmatians: Puppies To The Rescue, which gave me the chance to move physically through simulacra of England in the form of a Dalmatian puppy. What began as spectatorship culminated in participation, as I would spend hours upon hours partaking of digital renderings of Regent’s Park and Piccadilly Circus. It is something we must think about: acting out behavior in video games is an even more powerful imprinting tool than passively imbibing television or films. Music that can be danced to is similarly powerful, because it seizes the body and imposes its rhythm upon it.

Everything about my command of the English language and familiarity with English (and later American) culture stems from this primary imprinting, from this deep and primal yearning to absorb as much of England and Englishness as I could. But did I choose it? No. My parents bought me these two cartoons on cassette tapes (ah, the ‘90s), among many others, but something in me responded to them in particular. The love of the cartoon led to the video game, and I was doomed to be an Anglophile.

I was 16 when I lost my accent in English — or at least could eliminate it by concentrating. But by then, I had noticed something interesting. A lot of my peers, themselves children of wealth and privilege, loved American or English culture, but they were enjoying them at the expense of their roots. At the time, this being the mid-to-late 2000s, it was also chic to be Leftist and multicultural. People were admirers of Barack Obama. While being somewhat of an Obama supporter myself (for as much as that counted), I was violently disgusted by the rejection of our native Macedonian culture in favor of the emerging global one. Moreover, I could see that what was being embraced by my trendy, Left-wing peers was not the England I’d grown to admire and love, but the multi-culti, multi-ethnic, Indo-Pakistani-Jamaican Airstrip One that replaced it, Americanized and Subcontinentalized in equal parts. It was this reaction that awakened in me what would later become the urge to conserve the old and separate the various national cultures, rather than mash them together or throw them on the bonfire to be replaced by a globalized culture. I gradually became a nationalist in the aesthetic sense, preferring the old to the new, and preferring separateness to integration. It was a whim, an impulse, and a reaction of disgust, involuntary and fated. I was doomed to become a nationalist.

The final transformation came from interacting with a friend. We were both libertarians, but dissatisfied with that ideology and what it meant for what we were trying to achieve. And so we helped each other exit libertarianism, inch by inch, through discussion and mutual encouragement of intellectual exploration. How did this come about? I had gotten close to this particular friend because one day I ran into him after work and none of us had anything to do, so we went drinking, and it turned out that we shared a passion for what we considered at the time to be esoteric libertarian and Right-wing thought: historical revisionism and a disdain for cultural globalization. We bounced ideas and directions off each other, mutually radicalizing and developing a kind of niche version of dissent consisting of two underemployed, semi-alcoholic intellectuals telling jokes about Churchill’s obesity and Franklin D. Roosevelt’s disability to each other. The things we discussed then sound rather tame to me now, but they were necessary to break through my liberal priors and allow me to become a dissident thinker, actualizing my nascent nationalism into a concrete love of folk. How different would my life have been if I had bumped into someone else that day? Would I have dared to become a dissident without my friend providing social proof, making us two lone nuts instead of one? Fortune made the choice for me once again.

Of course, these events are probably the defining moments of my political trajectory and where I am in my life right now, but who’s to say that even if things had gone otherwise, I wouldn’t have still ended up here? We know from Johnathan Haidt’s research that people’s political views are mostly determined by genetics. Thus, whatever events triggered my political development, I would probably still have ended up here, where I am — at least in the broad sense. Maybe I’d have been writing for a different nationalist publication, maybe my focus would have been on other subjects, maybe I would have come to this place later or sooner; I certainly could have gone without the eight-year detour into libertarianism. In that sense, what part of my journey was my choice and what part was fated? And more importantly, what degree of his life does a man choose to live and what is fated – or, if we choose not to believe in fate, what part is random and subject to outside forces?

We make choices in life, but as we know from electoral politics, the true decider is not he who makes the choice, but he who decides what choices will be made available: He who controls the frame of choosing (and thinking). We believe that we are making conscious choices, but the choices we make are governed by availability, both in the sense of whether we are given them and in the sense of having the wherewithal and the interpretative framework necessary to recognize them as choices, as points where decisions are made. Since we all have an interpretative framework — even those of us who are aware of it and trying to modify it to attain a specific goal — all of our choices are downstream of that interpretative framework and whoever developed it. This is the essence of proximal mind control.

And yet men persist in the idea that they are in control of their own destiny. This, I suspect, is a product of two factors. The first is selective memory. We do not really remember our lives, but merely a story about them — or a narrative, if you prefer. People in general do not remember facts, because the specificity of our memory makes it difficult to do so. Instead, we weave elaborate meshes we call stories as mnemonic devices and remember those instead. It’s simple, really. Since one event of the story leads into another, we can always pull it up by tugging on a single thread, thus greatly decreasing the concentration, and therefore energy expenditure, necessary to remember. This is, incidentally, why our memory is so malleable: We are not the authors of our stories, but merely their editors, and like any good editor, we take the crap that drunken, useless sots known as writers produce and refine it into something readable and enjoyable. And so men remember the stories of their lives mostly as them heroically imposing their will on an unwilling world, or heroically doing this or that at any rate. In reality, however, life is mostly random events and forces far beyond our understanding acting on us, and we reacting — mostly impotently — to those pressures. There are stories like this that work — and most of them are authored by absurdist authors like Kafka and Kharms. But when we read The Trial or Incidences, we do not consider the notion that we might be flipping through someone’s life.

The second factor is the atheism of our age. Even men who are outwardly religious cannot fully put their trust in God. Our ancestors knew about luck and randomness, and understood that good or bad fortune is mostly the product of luck. But our ancestors also believed in, and more importantly trusted, God. Does it really matter that we’re powerless before destiny if God has a plan and will protect us? But in a world without God, if man is not in control of his destiny, then no one is. In a world without God, which is the practical universe we all inhabit — even those of us who claim to be religious — the need for belief in control is a psychological and metaphysical necessity. We cannot give ourselves over to the ocean of fortune because we do not trust that Father Neptune is beneath the waves to ensure our good fortune, or at least some sort of method to the apparent madness of randomness. In that sense, we could learn from surfers who know to put their trust in the ocean the way our ancestors put their trust in God’s great plan.

Where am I going with this? Nowhere, really. Sometimes I’m not quite sure what I want to say, but it needs to be said. For too long we’ve entertained this conceit that we are in control of what we do and say, but in a sense we are thrown here and there by the winds of chance and bound by the fetters of destiny, all our pretense to agency notwithstanding. And yet, we succeed sometimes in our goals, or in some goals.

I started what would later become my political journey as a quest to fix the inconsistencies in the Macedonian language’s romanization rules. I pulled on that thread not because I chose to, but because of the presence of an inconsistently romanized letter in my own name. By pulling on that thread, I unraveled the tapestry of false culture that was meant to keep me blinkered and took my first step into nationalism — into particularism over universalism. I did not realize then that I was starting on a journey that would transform me into what I am today. We do not really know where we are going or what we are doing, or at least not in any understandable case. And yet we keep going and keep doing, sometimes clinging to the illusion of control, sometimes accepting that we are on a path that is both predetermined and unintelligible to us.

There’s an echo of the heroic there, a sort of contempt for danger or knowing the future. I give myself over to the randomness that is to come, putting my trust in God and fate that all shall be as it should be in the end.

I am old enough to remember a time where you could get instant laughs by saying jagshemash. It was a mythical era known as the mid-2000s. Life was simpler and slower, but it was richer than our hyper-digitized era. It was the last quarter of the Bush era; the defining political issue of the day was America’s foreign adventurism and imperialism. Tensions between Europeans and Americans were high, and the “dumb American” meme was a source of great amusement to us dirty eurotrash. I was a spry young man at the time, with a windswept mop of hair, my body was lithe and unbuilt, and my head was full of hopes, dreams, and immature dick jokes. I’d just made it into a prestigious private school, I was biking every morning by the river, hiking with my dad on weekends, and dating a girl with tits bigger than my head. I even had a MySpace page! And you know which merry tune greeted every visitor? “Throw the Jew Down the Well!” It was 2006. It was The Year of Borat.

Thirteen years later, much is different. Life is fast and getting faster while all the while feeling empty. Saying jagshemash results in zero laughs; everyone is jaded. It is the second half of the Trump presidency, and now the defining political issue is non-white immigration into the West and how the world will develop in the wake of the collapse of the American Empire. Tensions between Europeans and Americans are nothing but a dead horse meme brought up by civic nationalists who wish to rhetorically ingroup Amerindian invaders while outgrouping white Europeans, and the dumb American meme is now the preserve of Leftoid Europeans bellyaching about Trump. I am a crotchety and aging millennial, with a self-cut undercut; my body is a hearty mix of muscle and . . . heh, insulating material; and my head is full of sanity-preserving copes, nightmares, and immature dick jokes. I’ve got a tenuous grip on a sinecure, I write for Counter-Currents, I lift weights and practice martial arts, and I hike with my wife on weekends. Her tits are only slightly bigger than my clenched fist. I have a Facebook page where I post photos of puppies and horses. There are no merry tunes, though; MySpace was so much more fun. 2019 is the Year of Sacha Baron Cohen calling for mass censorship online in a keynote address at an ADL summit.

Reading through Borat’s denunciation of the evil, far-Right tech oligarchy (that’s not a misprint) feels like reading through an imam’s injunction against eating pork: It’s the screed of a religion so alien that I can’t even summarize it properly. Apparently, he wants “hate” and “fake news” to be purged and for there to be real-time control of social media posts; i.e., for busybodies at Facebook and Twitter to approve your updates before allowing them to appear on your own timeline. He also said something about limiting reach in publishing. Of course, he’s a tactical libertarian harping on about how the far-Right tech oligarchy is private, and therefore not bound by free speech laws –  but also how the government has to impose standards on them to combat this far-Right, free speech, absolutist ideology that has taken hold of the tech giants.

Cohen describes the Silicon Six, Mark Zuckerberg, Sundar Pichai, Larry Page, Sergey Brin, Susan Wojcicki, and Jack Dorsey as being “all Americans.” That’s funny, as I notice a different pattern, but being European, I could be forgiven for not knowing that “Sundar” is a name as American as apple pie, to say nothing of the, ahem, three non-eaters of shellfish. See, what Borat would have you believe is that Facebook is a cesspit of fascism, holocaust denial, racist blood libel, and fake news. He also parrots, like any good insider, the bullshit about Russia hacking the 2016 elections by purchasing ads on Facebook. The reality, however, is that Right-wing and racialist thought is mercilessly stamped out on all of these social networks – just ask our esteemed editor Greg Johnson. You have to wonder if this is chutzpah or self-delusion. At some point, I think that they’re indistinguishable from one another.

This is more than simply an expression of ethnic self-interest. The very idea of the man who made millions singing about throwing Jews down a well (“So my country can be free!”) now seeking to deny others the right to say similar, yet far less inflammatory, things is downright evil. He’ll have you thrown in Internet Jail for questioning the official narrative on 9/11, but in 2006, he used “the Jewish attacks on the WTC” as a pretext for Borat and his producers to travel the USA in a shitty van. In a nifty side effect of dissident censorship, comedians of Sacha Baron Cohen’s generation have “pulled the ladder up behind them,” in the words of Royce Lopez and Mersh of Revenge of the Cis – two fat fucks in beards who you should watch and support, especially given their recent censoring by YouTube for making fun of Andrew Klavan’s insane proposal to give the entire Middle East to Israel, of all things. I’d provide a link to the video, but remember that censorship I mentioned. Yeah, it’s very tiresome.

Cohen is adamant that his comedy exposes racism and bigotry. One of his main claims to fame is that he got the patrons of an Arizona bar to sing along to “Throw the Jew Down the Well.” As one of his fellow Hebrews pointed out:

In Borat, we see the recycling of one of the most basic stereotypes in the Jewish imagination: the viscerally antisemitic Slavic peasant (Borat frequently speaks about plowing in the old country).

Borat is not just a character. He is an apparition of Jewish neuroses. The opening scene of the Borat movie is a concentrated dose of goyishe kop stereotypes. It has everything that the Jewish consciousness regards gentiles to be: the unrestrained sexuality, the casual and musical conduct, the merriment even in poverty, Borat’s fat and argumentative wife, the petty bourgeois one-upmanship between Borat and his neighbor Nursultan Tulyakbay (he pain in my assholes). Even the kindergarten with the Kalashnikovs is basically a nursery of Jewish nightmares about the violence-prone goyim, barely restrained by a combination of repression and deception.

Kazakhstan is a Central Asian country, and Kazakhs are Central Asians, but the village where the scene was filmed is in Romania. Romanians aren’t Slavs, but are close enough. The movie uses music from a variety of sources, and not one of them is Slavic. In fact, Sacha Baron Cohen got into a bit of trouble when he used “Caje Sukarije,” originally by Esma Redjepova, a Macedonian gypsy singer, without permission. This led to a lawsuit. For a while, we were swimming in “Jew gyps gypsy, gypsy jews back”-type jokes (those were good times, I tell you). If I were the cynical type, I’d conclude that Sacha had collapsed the entirety of the East into a single Balkano-Turko-Slavo-Central Asian category of “non-denatured goyim.” There has been no clearer insight into the Jewish psyche since Seinfeld.

Sacha Baron Cohen’s claim that he’s unearthing bigotry by dressing up as Borat Sagdiyev is ludicrous. It belongs in the “FBI foils FBI terror plot” category of bullshit. Borat will harp on about how the Jews did 9/11 and how they transform into cockroaches after dark – and when you agree (mostly just to get the ranting foreigner out of your face), he goes “Aha! Found the anti-Semite! (Oy vey!)” His act also serves the vital purpose of exaggerating reasonable and empirical inquiries so that they become ridiculously outsized caricatures in an attempt to mute discussion of Jewish influence, the Jewish tendency for deception and self-deception, and other questions regarding the behavior of the Jewish people – both as individuals and collectively.

If, for example, we ask about possible Israeli involvement in 9/11, we are automatically derided as believers in a spergy conspiracy theory having to do with jet fuel and steel beams- because why the hell not? In reality, a sizeable portion of the population is ready to believe that the Bush clan was either involved or at least allowed 9/11 to happen, especially given that the attacks happened right after Rumsfeld discovered about $2.3 trillion missing from the Pentagon’s budget; and Saudi involvement in is a matter of public record. It is not a great stretch of the imagination to inquire whether a group known to be allied to both the Bushes, the military-industrial complex, and the Saudis might have had something to do with the attacks, especially given their wicked dance moves quite outside the disco.

Cohen made his millions poking fun at the goyim. He achieved world fame as the most offensive stereotype of an Eastern European one can imagine. He deceived people in order to put them on the spot and make fun of them, sometimes ruining their lives. Now he wants the government and tech giants to clamp down on “offensive” speech, making fun of people and “fake news.” He still wants to ruin people’s lives, though, as long as those people are gentiles not quite on board with the brave new world he wants to live in. The odious crybullies at the ADL have drafted a short list of people they want censored, notable among them Jewish critics of Israel such as Gilad Aztmon and Israel Shamir, academics like Kevin MacDonald, and so-called Groyper generals such as Vincent James and E. Michael Jones. Revenge of the Cis, which I mentioned before. Nobody is going to be allowed to make fun of Jews, and nobody will be allowed to propose unsanctioned ideas about the Israel-American relationship; it’s all fake news. As YouTuber RamZPaul is fond of pointing out, in the year 2019, White Nationalism is a crime, while Jewish nationalism is mandatory.

It almost makes a fella believe that Jews are horribly persecuted and would be holocausted in this terrible world of far-Right tech oligarchs and the fascist Drumpf government, if not for the watchful eyes of the ADL . . .

Not.

As usual, it starts with an anecdote — a “friend of a friend” kind of story. There was a guy who raised pigs. He wasn’t a professional pig farmer, but he raised some hogs on the side. He lived in a town with a large cakes and sweets company. So, to save on pig feed, he’d purchase the cakes and sweets unfit for human consumption and their byproducts from the factory. That’s what he used to feed the hogs. Then a friend of a friend was invited to the amateur hog farmer’s house for roast hog. Indeed, a whole crew of guys got together, since it’s apparently impossible for the average man to eat a whole hog all by himself. I’m told they killed the pig with an axe and roasted it on a spit over a great big fire. They were probably salivating something fierce as they prepared to devour this delectable meat, but the first bite of pork held a nasty surprise. The pork tasted like cookies. Not faintly. Not a sugary aftertaste. Not a sweetish aroma. The pork was sweet and tasted like literal cookies.

I could not believe my ears. I was incredulous. What universe do we live in when pork can taste like cookies? 

I was ready to dismiss this story out of hand until my friend, whose friend had gone to the cookout, set his mug of black ale resolutely on the beer hall table and assured me that he “shits me not.” That settled it. I was a believer in hog cookies.

Now, we can discuss how you are what you eat. This also applies to the animals we eat. You are what your food eats. For example, people who do not eat omnivores cannot consider themselves meat-eaters. Pigs and prawns are the most commonly consumed meat-eaters, and anyone who avoids these delicacies should be considered a vegetarian and treated with the same suspicion and distrust we reserve for these gastronomic deviants. Insofar as we are committed to health, wellness and strength, we should not only mind our diets, but our food’s diet as well. Many other people have harped on about eating grass-fed and free-range meat, rather than meat from factory-farmed animals. Eating free-range animals is also important because their offal contains those vital vitamins we’d otherwise be forced to consume through vegetables (hawk ptooey). Your physical fitness is greatly determined by what you eat, possibly to an even greater degree than your physical activity. It won’t do you much good to exercise like a madman if you consume garbage and gruel to sustain yourself. Part of the reason why the modern world is the way it is is that we are weak and complacent due to our unhealthy diets. As the data guys say, garbage in, garbage out. So, there’s a lesson for you: buy meat from sources where you can be reasonably certain that the animals are properly fed and cared for. It’ll cost more, but that’s the price of being healthy.

But I’d like to broach a different subject.

I trust that the reader understands the metabolic similarity between men and pigs. We are more similar to our pink, hoof-legged friends than we’d like to think. Hey, they don’t call it long pork for nothing. Therefore, it stands to reason that if a pig fed on cookies and cakes will taste like cookies when eaten, a man fed on cookies and cakes will taste like cookies when eaten.

While for the time being, I have no plans to eat my neighbor’s ass, the pig story intrigued me. 2020 saw me under lockdown, with no gym to go to for the better part of the year. Demons I long considered buried started rearing their ugly heads. 2020 was the year I was reminded of my ravenous sweet tooth and predilection for fast food binges, fueled by the boredom of nothing to do while everything was locked down. 2020 was the year when I reawakened my old sugar addiction and got fat.

Now, I can walk around and look for excuses. There was the lockdown, so my gym was closed. I’m genetically prone to obesity and I have an addictive personality, both traits running in the family. I also have the age-old problem of washed-up jocks: nothing in the civilian world compares to the number of calories I used to burn when I was doing pro sports. But ultimately, it was me who willingly purchased the hamburgers, potato chips, and genuinely frightening quantities of cheesecake. It was me who shoved them down my gullet, and it was me who did not avail himself of the armbars and jungle gyms around town. Man is subject to circumstance, but also in charge of his own destiny. The tension of these two contradictory statements is where life happens and in the year of our Lord 2020, I made all the wrong choices.

When I heard the pig story, my first thought was about what my flesh would taste like if eaten. The very thought of cookie dough pork made my stomach turn, but what would I taste like, given my nasty diet? For all of Nick’s piss and vinegar, Jeelvysteaks are basically candy. Believe it or not, the thought of my flesh tasting like cookies was the shock I needed to shake me out of my complacency. That was three weeks ago. I’ve removed all carbohydrates from my diet, ceased drinking, and hopefully, I’ll reach my usual levels of fitness too.

I’m sharing this story because it is interesting. Cookie hog sounds like a good name for a psychedelic rock band, but I’m also sharing this story because I hope it’ll help you the way it helped me. 

Next time you’re tempted to eat junk food or sugars, think of poor Alex Jones stringing you up by a chain, gutting you, skinning you, turning your ass into steaks of magnificent smell and color, and biting into you — only to discover that he’s eating meat which tastes like cookies.

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If you’re looking for a film to get you good and spooked for Halloween, you can’t go wrong with Event Horizon, the 1996 sci-fi horror directed by Paul W. S. Anderson. The spooky atmosphere, the gore, the violence, the senselessness of the horror, the simultaneous claustrophobia and agoraphobia of a vast, cavernous spaceship in Neptune’s upper atmosphere all add up to provide a unique experience. But more important to us is the existential meaning of such horrors as the movie has to offer.

Event Horizon was released in 1997, as the end of the 90s was beginning. We are now far away enough from that decade to have some historical perspective on what it was, what it entailed, and what it wanted to be. You’d do well to read Travis LeBlanc’s “Life at the End of History” if you haven’t already, and re-read it if you have. The long and short of it is: the 90s were the decade where there were no big worries and all we had to do was keep going until the end of time. Material conditions were good and would keep improving, technology was advanced and would keep advancing, the world was logical and predictable. The basic maxim of the decade was that the great historical dialectic had ended and it would be smooth sailing from now on.

Event Horizon is a film very much of its period. The introductory scenes where we meet the crew of the Lewis and Clarke rescue vessel are all 90s. Laurence Fishburne portrays Captain Miller, providing the black authority figure politically correct America has craved since the early 80s. His second in command is Lieutenant Starck, a white woman, because the film is set in 2047 and the future is female. The white woman has some sexual tension and banter with the very black rescue technician Cooper, but nothing more serious than that. Sam Neill portrays Dr. William Weir, who will later become the film’s villain. Rounding out the crew are the young and very white ensign Justin, the English trauma specialist D. J., and the white and female medical technician Peters. Their hairstyles, their clothes, their interpersonal dynamics, and the interior decoration of their vessel, the rescue ship Lewis and Clark (a problematic name in our day and age) all scream 90s. No sleek iPod-like surfaces here, only the rugged computers emblematic of that decade.

We see a world where the 90s never ended, or at least extended into the 2040s. We see a rationalistic, materialist world with concrete, practical issues, and problems to be solved such as colonizing Mars, asteroid mining, and developing faster-than-light travel. We see cool and calculating Captain Miller make reasonable decision after reasonable decision in an almost automatic manner. We follow the crew of the Lewis and Clark through their ionic drive procedures and listen to Dr. Weir’s lecture about the faster-than-light travel drive of the Event Horizon. We see the very 90s fascination with theoretical physics which arose in the wake of A Brief History of Time and majestic imagery of Neptune and its moons Triton and Nereid. 1989 was still not so far away, and the glorious pictures taken by Voyager were still able to excite the imagination. Compare and contrast to the gloomy and dull Neptune from Ad Astra. There has been a marked shift in how our civilization perceives outer space in the 22 years between Event Horizon and Ad Astra. Space was the final frontier in the 90s, where we would expand. An oft-repeated liberal canard was the need to overcome our divisions and “explore space.” Bill Hicks, a saint of nihilistic, Gen-X Leftoidism, was particularly capable of loading that expression with a sense of smug superiority. Nobody thinks about space travel these days except Elon Musk and delusional nostalgists.

The Lewis and Clark rescue vessel is dispatched to determine what has happened to the experimental Event Horizon space ship which is testing out a drive for opening wormholes as a means of faster-than-light travel. The ship disappeared 7 years before the start of the film and has now reappeared in degrading orbit around Neptune, skimming the ice giant’s upper clouds. Dr. Weir is taken on the journey, as he is the designer and architect of the Event Horizon and her experimental drive. They dock to the Event Horizon, which appears to be part cavern, part Gothic Cathedral, part medieval dungeon IN SPACE! The very architecture of the ship incites to fear and evil. What’s interesting is that the ship may be alive.

Sounds like a pretty straightforward haunted house story, but IN SPACE! Right? Possibly. But the setting is not a horror movie setting. It’s a remarkably hard sci-fi setting. Like I said earlier, the universe of Event Horizon is a universe where the 90s never ended, where all the big questions were answered, when all that’s left for humanity is to expand, fungus-like, across the infinite universe. It’s a universe of practical problems demanding rational solutions. And all of a sudden, out of left field, a crew of remarkably competent and rational rescue specialists find themselves stranded on a spaceship which has been to literal Hell and back, and brought some of Hell back with it. Material reality is pierced and materialist realists are confronted with the age-old problem of evil.

Now, contrary to what the New Atheists would have you believe, the problem of evil isn’t just something you use to BTFO Christians in online discourse, but a serious question of ethics, theology, philosophy, and other big-brained disciplines. Now, Christianity here has a series of theodicies, which are answers to the problem of evil, and so do all religions. But the nihilistic materialism characteristic of the 90s is one of the very few worldviews without an answer, no theodicy, not even a puny little anthropodicy or sociodicy. Even the crazy liberal SJW so mocked by the skeptic community, the contemporary intellectual descendants of 90s nihilism, have an answer for the problem of evil: white men did it. But whence comes evil in a materialist universe? Does it even exist?

Evil, genuine evil rudely inserting itself into a neat and orderly materialistic universe is like the literal boogieman manifesting himself in the middle of an Indian summer day and disrupting the barbecue. This guy wasn’t supposed to exist. Why is he now overturning the tables and pouring the beers out into the creek? Oh, God, he’s going for the cake! Not the cake!

Yes, the cake. And not just the cake. Your children too. And while we’re at it, why not inflict rape, mutilation, murder, and obscure Latin phrasing upon you as well? One of the harshly criticized aspects of Event Horizon is the excessive gore, but it serves to drive home the totality and senselessness of evil. Genuine evil will not stop at pouring the beer out in the creek, or murdering one man, or raping one woman, or bombing one children’s hospital. It exists to inflict torment, anguish, fear, and pain for their own sake.

The happy-go-lucky 90s were rudely derailed by two events that reinserted History and the problem of evil into the American zeitgeist.

The first was internal: the Columbine High School shooting, where REB and voDKa went on to play Doom in meatspace, apparently for the lulz. The materialist worldview tried to explain this event away. They tried to medicate it away. Spree shooters are now more — not less — common, as medication is more — instead of less — common, and besides, Harris and Klebold were themselves medicated. “No, no, the boys were bullied.” This has been proven false over the years. In fact, Harris was himself a bully. The sheriff investigating the matter resigned himself to impotently asking “why.” I have a neat answer for ya: evil. But we can’t shoehorn that explanation into a materialist worldview. And so Columbine shocked America.

The second event was a certain happening in Lower Manhattan that may or may not have inspired an Israeli dance party. Yes, I’m talking about September 11th, 2001, when radical Islam (with or without Israeli support) slapped liberal modernity in the face and erected itself as an opposing idea that was yet to be defeated in the great dialectic of history. The one-two punch of Columbine and 9/11 shook America out of its complacency, though sadly, the result was first full-gas-in-neutral messianic Neoconservatism that wore out its welcome pretty fast and was replaced with self-destructive antiracism and woke-ism in the second Obama term.

Event Horizon foreshadowed the impotence of materialist society to deal with pure evil. Every decision made by characters in the film leads to more suffering, more pain, and more death. This is because the living ship has entered their heads and is warping their perception of reality, with the ultimate goal of inflicting unspeakable suffering upon them. . . for the lulz, I guess. The film’s end hints that all of the efforts of the courageous black captain may have been in vain and that the evil is with the survivors.

Event Horizon was panned by critics and flopped commercially because it told a story that nobody wanted to hear. That the story was well-told and its aesthetics were very much of its time did not matter. Nobody at the beginning of the end of the 90s wanted to hear about evil. They doubted it even existed. This was a culture that took the Oklahoma City bombing in stride. But whether they liked it or not, Event Horizon foreshadowed the deep, dark evil that would burst out into the world in the sunset of the decade. The Trenchcoat Mafia and Al Qaeda barged into the barbecue, overturned the tables, poured the beer into the creek, ate the cake, and then proceeded to remind everyone present that evil exists in ways better not described here. Event Horizon, a masterfully-made box office bomb with a 28% rating on Rotten Tomatoes, was the prophetic and unheeded voice in the wilderness.

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For a long time, I thought about what sets us, as identitarians, White Nationalists, and dissidents apart from other political groups, both current and historical. It was while thinking about the phenomenon of crypsis that I came to an understanding that our defining feature is our acceptance of the concept of the absolute outsider. Allow me to walk you through my thought process.

I was thinking about the phenomenon of crypsis as alluded to by Kevin MacDonald in The Culture of Critique. Crypsis is a term from biology which describes acts by animals or plants to conceal themselves, but MacDonald uses it in the context of Jews obscuring their foreign nature in host societies. Jewish crypsis is most often mimicry, which is to say Jews will pretend to be gentiles on the individual level in order to gain the trust of individual gentiles who may treat them differently if they knew they were Jewish.

Now, while there are some Jews who could pass for gentiles, the notion of Jews practicing crypsis in any significant numbers is to me unlikely given the fact that they wear their ethnicity on their faces, for the most part. There is such a thing as Jewish physiognomy, and it is very distinctive. I’ve heard some people claim that the Jewish physiognomy is also found in Italians and Greeks, but personally, I’m not convinced. Maybe all Mediterraneans look the same to northwestern Europeans. Regardless, the behavioral profiles of Greeks and Italians is very different from that of Jews, and so through a combination of reading their physiognomy and tracking their behavior, Jews can be effectively identified even in a crowd of Greeks, Italians, and other Mediterranean peoples.

It was when thinking about these and other means of differentiating Jews from a population of Mediterranean white gentiles that I realized that the process includes a prior assumption that I make, but that is lacking in the majority of white people alive today. That is, of course, the assumption that the Jews are outsiders. But let’s not single out the Jews here (I’ve done that elsewhere). The fact of the matter is that even if we weren’t looking for a Jew in a Greekstack, the very idea of there being outsiders, understood as an ethnic category, which can be determined through observing their physiognomy and behavior is revolutionary in the modern world. Without this assumption, which provides the framework for observing the population among which we seek the Jew, the fact is that even though such people would see the exact same things I would, they would not be able to detect the outsider — because they have no conception of the outsider.

This is a bold claim, especially to make in a world where people are routinely drummed out of polite society for holding disapproved views. What do you mean, there are no outsiders? What are we, who deny the Nuremberg Moral Paradigm, then? Didn’t you yourself write an article describing the dissident as the absolute other of the Leftist mainstream not three months ago, Mr. Jeelvy? What gives?

Indeed, I won’t deny that our enemy has no conception of outsideness — a conceptual space where people like us live. In their mental maps, this place may be called Racistan, or simply be marked “here be haters.” The Z Man of the Z blog calls it “the outer darkness.” But here’s the key difference: Racistan has no natives in the liberal worldview. Racistan is populated by exiles from civilized society; people who were expelled from the community of the elect for being “haters” in a process of otherization that I’ve described in my article on what liberals mean when they say hate.

But as liberals — and conservatives — will inform you if you have the ears to hear, they do not believe anyone is born racist. Conservatives believe racism is a personal and irrational failing of man stemming from ignorance, whereas liberals have a more sophisticated — some would say more convoluted — notion of it, both of which are explored here. Both, however, contend that racism is in some way unnatural; an aberration of the human condition. In short, in the enemy worldview one is not born but rather becomes an outsider, and outsideness as a conceptual space is inhabited only by those who choose to live there.

Compare that to our conception of the outsider. When I say someone is a Jew, I don’t mean someone who chose to practice the rabbinical religion, but rather I mean that such a person belongs to the ethnic group we call Jews. I believe this person was born a Jew, is a Jew no matter what he says, and believes as and dies as and will remain a Jew even if he converts to any faith other than Judaism. There is nothing this person can do to cease being a Jew, no more than I can cease being white. He is a permanent outsider to me and all white people in my worldview. That doesn’t necessarily mean he’s an enemy, but between us is a boundary which cannot be crossed. To say that someone has stopped being a Jew and become a gentile is in the same category of nonsense as saying someone has stopped being a man and become a woman. Even if a man cuts off his penis and puts on a wig, he is still a man: a damaged one, but still a man. Analogously, a Jew converting to Christianity or Asatru doesn’t become white, but rather remains a Jew — although the degree to which he can actualize his full potential as a Jew then comes into question.

The notion of scanning a group of gentiles and finding the Jew hiding among them puts us in the frame of mind of a border guard, keeping outsiders from using crypsis in order to deceive us and move into our space, where they will carry out their nefarious work. However, there are many other outsiders, many of whom are not enemies and who are not even hostile — just not part of our group. They live outside our space, and there are many differences between us and them as well as between different groups of outsiders. Some of them are pretty cool and make excellent cartoons. But the general mental map is that of us in our corner of the world and of all the outsiders in the outlands, which form the majority of the world. The enemy’s mental map is inverted, however.

Since the enemy’s contention is that his values are universal — they’re not, but don’t tell them that, as they tend to get very angry –, he necessarily regards the entire universe as being within the perimeter fence and every inhabitant of the universe as his in-group, whether these people like it or not. In other words, even if you have a solid grasp of the concept of the outsider, you do not get to practice it in the face of a universalist creed, since they do not recognize that you may be an outsider and may even prefer to remain outside their creed. Likewise, they may lack the conceptual tools to accept that your own creed, which you understand as particular to your own in-group, is not and isn’t meant to be universalizable, which is to say meant for global adoption. You will not be allowed to remain an outsider for long, and if you resist, you will be deemed a hater and slated for destruction, and automatically declared an enemy of humanity. In our enemy’s mental map, the in-group is all-encompassing, and the outside conceptual space is pure darkness and evil — a place where we dump the haters and racists.

This means that the enemy is by necessity an imperialist entity who respects and indeed can brook no boundaries between nations, between states, between tribes, and even between the sexes. The very idea of boundaries is blasphemy in their worldview, and only a hater would point out that there are unsurmountable boundaries between men. To point out a boundary is to declare that in any situation there are two groups: one inside, one outside. To name that boundary as permanent and fixed, as we do, is to commit the ultimate sin of universalist faiths.

Coming back to crypsis, the idea that Jews try to pass themselves off as gentiles is laughable if we have the conceptual tools to identify the outsider. But what if those conceptual tools, the operational framework arising out of the concept of the outsider, is damaged by notions of universalism and all ability and proclivity for identifying the outsider as such is pathologized as “racism”? This is a far more powerful form of crypsis than simply changing your name from Rothstein to Roth. It strikes at the host society’s ability to distinguish between outsiders and insiders by problematizing the very notion of recognizing outsiders as such. This is the radical critique identified in The Culture of Critique. Jewish crypsis is more advanced than merely pretending to be gentiles, but it consists of poking out the conceptual eye which notices that they are not gentiles.

This is what sets us apart from everyone else: the notion that there are immutable differences between people, that belonging is determined by birth and cannot be changed, and that outsiders exist. Our very idea of the outsider — not as a foreigner, meaning coming from a different place, but someone fundamentally different from us — is a conceptual revolt against the universalist regime and is also the bare minimum for considering yourself fundamentally opposed to it. We are defined by our ability and readiness to point out the outsider no matter how hard he tries to conceal himself and no matter how much he tries to problematize our framework for recognizing the outsider. For this, we are hated and scorned by society, which denies the very possibility of there being such a thing as an outsider.

The way forward is clear. We must press on with reconstructing the framework for recognizing the outsider and reinstitute this notion in the minds of ordinary people. After that is done, we shall begin the far easier task of arguing that political organization should take the distinction between outsider and kin into account.

The banning of Chateau Heartiste, a.k.a. Chateau Roissy, the long-running manosphere blog, is a serious setback for white advocacy.

There’s a good deal of tension between the White Nationalist part of the Dissident Right and the pick-up artist section of the manosphere. Pick-up artistry is decried as degenerate and immoral, as well as an impediment to the reconstruction of white societies.

We are nevertheless allies in the fight against the progressive Left, insofar as both groups stand for a constituency which is named as an enemy of Diversity – whites and males. There’s also significant overlap between the groups – most White Nationalists are male, and most PUA men are white. However, Heartiste was more than your typical PUA.

Heartiste has been around for a long time in internet terms. His blog is devoted not just to teaching men game, as in the ability to pick up chicks, but also the ability to discern between women to be married or not, to differentiate between the various types of women, using such heuristics as her behavior and physiognomy – indeed, his comment sections were a treasure trove of experience with regard to female physiognomy. Heartiste was also adept at sussing out the character of males from their physiognomy. But his greatest contribution, in my opinion, was dread game – the art of keeping a woman once you’ve picked her up. You could call it the long game.

Briefly, dread game consists in keeping a woman in a constant state of mild to moderate dread of abandonment, which can be escalated if signs of disloyalty are detected. If the basic assumption of PUA, that women are hypergamous and submit to high-status, dominant men is taken as true, then what follows with regard to a successful marriage is that a woman must at all times perceive her husband as a high-status, dominant man. One indicator of male status are options and the lust of other women – many women want to be with Chad Thundercock. Dread game consists of convincing your woman, by hook or crook, that you are Chad Thundercock and that her position as your main squeeze is not secure. A woman who smells that your sexual options are limited to her and your hand is a woman who will eviscerate you, drain you of all resources, and cuckold you with Chad Thundercock.

If this sounds tough and nigh impossible, it is because it is tough and nigh impossible, chiefly for the reason that you’re in all probability not Chad Thundercock. There’s really nothing wrong with not being Chad. Alphas are few and far between, and a society consisting entirely of alphas would probably descend into constant war of all against all as the various Chads escalate their status grabs. At some point, you’re just sick of it all, and you want to be left to your private peace, so you kiss whosever’s ring and go home. That’s beta. Submission, even to an overwhelming force one’d be insane to challenge, is inherently beta, and women hate betas.

However, in olden times, the Chads needed the betas to work and fight for them. There’s also the fact that a Chad who monopolizes the females will quickly earn himself a knife in the back, courtesy of a horny beta, or find himself surrounded by 10 betas armed with spears, or get decapitated in his sleep by those same betas. So the Chads refrained from throwing their weight around and even created institutions that loaned Chadhood to betas – these being the official state and church sanction of marriage and punishment of female adultery, both secular and religious. In return, the betas kept king Chad’s peace. Dread game back then was as easy as reminding your wife that stepping out meant death, and not necessarily by your hand, but very public death and shaming at the hands of both secular and religious authorities.

Life is tougher today. Not only do you have to be the supreme alpha of your wife’s existence, you’re not even competing with just your garden-variety Chads. Hulking though their biceps may be, they’re little children when compared to the ultimate Chad – big daddy government.

There’s no way to be more alpha than the government. Status grabs against the government are categorized as ‘crime’ and punished with overwhelming force. You can’t command bigger wads of cash or vaster armies of men than the government. They take your lunch money and call it taxes. They tread on you, and you love it. It’s not the nanny state – it’s the pot-bellied, bearded 1% biker state.

Their media signaling tells your woman to reject you and become a strahng, independant whaman who don’t need no man, which essentially means a wife of the state – at best working some dead-end make-work office job while her ovaries wither away, at worst birthing a cohort of thieves and whores as a single mother – a concubine of great esteem in the vast harem of big daddy government.

We can, of course, complain, but complaining is beta. Complaining is evidence not just of having to suffer indignities (a marker of low status if there ever was one), but also of inability to take it. I suspect that’s why libertarians usually can’t get laid: if you whine about the government all day, people think of you as a whiny bitch, which is never a good look on a man.

Now, the Chad thing to do would be to resist the government and the ruling class in general, but the ruling class doesn’t really like that, so it squishes you like a bug. For all the women they’ve bedded, Heartiste couldn’t protect his blog from WordPress, and Roosh V couldn’t protect his books from Amazon. Opposing the official policies of the government and the will of Globohomo is very Chad, but marks you for destruction. Violent resistance against Globohomo gets you killed or imprisoned.

While bearing this in mind, we are supposed to practice dread game and be the dominant alpha in our women’s lives. It’s tough, but not impossible. The thing about Globohomo is, it’s big, but it can’t be everywhere. As in military matters, all it really takes is local superiority, whether numerical, material, or tactical, which is to say, be the biggest Chad on your two square feet, even if Globohomo bestrides the world like a colossus.

We have the upper hand in the tactical realm as we have maximum proximity to our wives and we can take care to be bigger Chads than any representative of the government or the broader Globohomo to them. If your wife works, make sure to have bigger biceps than her boss and to act more decisively than him. Ideally, she works for you, in your business, or her primary occupation is the raising of your children and maintenance of your home.

You must also learn to do the right thing despite your wife’s protestations – limiting her access to a circle of hens who gossip and compete to be the biggest whore is essential – or in other words, make sure she has no single friends. If you can’t afford to move out to the country, where there are fewer single women roaming the streets, this can be done by charming her friends without closing the deal. Worst case scenario – the single friend argues with your woman over how big of a dick you are, and your woman is a bit sore for several days, but develops abandonment dread in her. This will bring complaints that you’re “too controlling.” This is what’s known as a shit test – womanly bullshit to test your resolve. Do not get defensive, but rather rebuff the woman. My favorite response is a variation on “you’d crash and burn without my control.” But you can never fully control your woman in this way in the modern world. In the olden days, the king and bishop were on your side. Today’s faceless bureaucrats and media moguls are 100% against you. And even the biggest Chads cannot guarantee constant success against the full power of the government and media.

If you are on the Dissident Right, expect the women in your life to stab you in the back and betray you for Globohomo. You can have a good deal of control and project good enough dominance over your wife or girlfriend, but you’re quite open for betrayal by your female relatives or . . . heh, friends. They will side with the state, unless they are themselves under the influence of dominant men, and even then it’s just a matter of those men blinking for a second. If your female relatives are single or divorced, expect them to side with Globohomo over you. Suspect even your mother – hypergamy teaches us that a woman will fully endorse the murder of her children if it means access to the supreme Chad.

Does this mean that we retreat into the woods, build treehouses, and stick giant “No Gurls Allowd” signs on them, forming Männerbunds to fight the good fight and collectively reclaim our right to reproduce? Well, we’re already doing that. The woods are the internet, the treehouses are the various platforms, and we’re actually in possession of a far more potent woman-repellant than a “No Gurls Allowd” sign, which is to say dissident politics. The mere mention of our various tenets terrifies women because to be a Dissident Rightist is to counter-signal the supreme Chad Globohomo. And here we are in the Männerbund, girding ourselves for battle, hashing out the various ways in which we can survive and fight back. But we still want women, and more than women, we want wives.

The first line of defense is not to include women in politics. This means to stop bellyaching about “women in the movement.” Women are fickle and back the strongest side. First we win, then we get the women. Likewise, do not fall for the charms of online women who are ostensibly “based and redpilled.” Even if they are, they’ll squirm the moment they feel vulnerable, and we don’t, at the moment, have the power to protect them. Above all, do not involve women in real-life political activism where you risk being exposed as beta to the state and Globohomo. Fighting and losing is manly, and a woman will forgive, but being made to kiss the ring, as is for example the case in most democratic politics, that’s degrading and unforgivable.

Keep in mind, however, that you can only keep the political and personal apart for so long, because the personal is the political, and especially if you’re a white man seeking to get married and make babies – the state is directly interested in denying you that path in life. Expect the knife in the back, prepare for it, steel your heart as much as can be steeled, and let your resolve not waver. Even if you’re Chad Thundercock, especially if you’re Chad Thundercock, because the Globohomo is particularly interested in tearing down Chad Thundercock.

Tonight, I’ll hold my wife in my arms, and I’ll kiss her. And she’ll go limp with submission when she feels herself physically overpowered. I’ll be her golden prince, and she’ll know the joy of a woman completely owned by a powerful man, for I have, for the time being, convinced her that I am a lion beloved of God. And I’ll love her until the stars fall out of the sky.

But at the back of my mind there’ll be that demon which is equal parts jadedness and naïveté: the knowledge that even the slightest misstep, the tiniest atom of weakness shown can send her down the path of betrayal. I guess that lies at the heart of the terrible tragedy of being a man in the modern world – that you have regard with suspicion the woman you love.

You’ll often hear that the masses have no ideology, but I’m here to disabuse you of that notion. As observed by the great Arab political scientist Osama bin Laden, when people see a weak horse and a strong horse, they back the strong one. An appeal to the masses can only succeed when coming from the strong horse. In other words, the masses back a winner. This has nothing to do with “mindset,” mind you, but with the capacity to win, which is more often than not a product of physical, measurable categories. So, yes, the masses do have an ideology. It’s called strong-horseism.

The strong horse gallops across the political and global landscape and lesser beasts tremble. The strong horse cannot be ridden, bridled, yoked, or indeed destroyed. The strong horse can pull heavy loads and run great distances, but only if he chooses to do so; his strength is its sovereignty. The strong horse gorges himself on the best of foods and is bred to the finest mares. In the horseracing context, everyone wants to bet on the strong horse because victory is certain, as are payoffs, even if small due to the overwhelming odds.

Moving back to the arena of politics, the payoffs for supporting the strong horse are small because the strong horse doesn’t really need your support, but at the very least victory is certain. The strong horse does not forget his supporters, even if he does not really need them. When the strong horse gallops, the masses cheer. When the strong horse bites and tramples them, the masses reel and flee, but always come back to him; their fearful and weak nature drives them to venerate his strength. The strong horse can be of any color or breed, it doesn’t matter; what matters is that he is a strong horse.

The weak horse, by contrast, can barely be heard. He trembles when the strong horse passes by. He is ridden, bridled, yoked, and always under threat of being destroyed. Even in his enslavement, he is pathetic, unable to pull heavy loads or run fast. He is regularly beaten and poorly fed. He is not allowed to spread his weak seed to the mares, and may even be castrated to keep his temperament under control. The weak horse, if even allowed to enter the race, will face overwhelming odds and usually be used to hoover up the punters’ bets — the money of those who naïvely think that lady luck smiles equally upon strong and weak horses alike. The weak horse has no support, but even if he had it, what would he do with it? More importantly, what can he offer his supporters except the agony of defeat? When the weak horse trots along, the masses either ignore him or jeer. If he somehow finds the wherewithal to attack, he is punished mercilessly. The masses hate the weak horse and barely tolerate him, really.

Hold on, you tell me. This is not ideology. It’s not intellectually justified, not complex, not wide-reaching. It’s barely a step above a donkey following a carrot and running from a stick. Be careful, I say to you, I will not tolerate insults towards our donkey brothers. Claiming that the masses are a step above the donkey is a grave insult to that breed of animals replete in honorable stoicism. It is difficult to understand for the erstwhile nationalist who is used to imagining the common people as quaintly noble, but we wouldn’t be in the situation we are in today if men thought of more than their bellies (that they be full) and their backs (that they be relatively unscarred by the lash). Oh, sure, the common man will say that he generally agrees with dissident talking points, but when push comes to shove, he will reliably support the strong horse because he is completely awed by his strength. Power dominates the psychology of the masses, who more often than not content themselves to live in its shadows, and indeed erase the very idea of things beyond the parameters that power has set. You’d really have to be crazy to go against power.

Now for an unpleasant truth. We have to understand something as nationalists: We are the weak horse. Our power cannot be generated from the masses because the masses flock to our enemies, who are the strong horse. Indeed, the weight of the masses is on their side, no matter how much some Rightists — not necessarily nationalists — try to stoke popular rebellion or resistance against “the elite.” Indeed, these very theatrics, acting as if people power is behind nationalism or populism, is more or less a carnival act. Activists, commentators, and infotainers will act as if the great popular masses are behind them and that we’re on the verge of a revolution (“1776 will commence again!”). This is very profitable for the carnival barkers, but ultimately detrimental to our cause. These people pretend to be the strong horse and adopt his manner (or worse, “mindset”), stomp around, ride around Washington, DC in armored personnel carriers, beat their chests and howl at the Moon — but every once in a while, a strong horse must demonstrate his strength, and there are moments when strength cannot be faked.

After campaigning as a strongman in 2015 and 2016, Donald Trump governed like a whipped cur and a patsy for the Kushner crime family, pushing through Kim Kardashian’s decarceration plan, hiding in his bunker while BLM set America on fire, and then finally folding like a cheap lawn chair when the enemy dealt him a genuine blow with the 2020 election fraud (a blow he could have avoided by reforming electoral laws or running a stronger campaign). After thrashing around and declaring his overwhelming, Stalin-like power in the wake of the Groyper Wars, Nick Fuentes and America First collapsed in a heap after their ill-advised alliance with the failed Trump 2020 campaign took the wind out of their sails and the movement’s many maladjusted freaks came to the fore. After strutting around like an ‘80s movie villain for the better part of four years, Richard Spencer was reduced to becoming “CNN but racist” on Twitter, existing merely to poke holes in the more hare-brained dissident narratives. And, of course, the ultimate weak horse who pretended to be strong would be Vladimir Putin, who after 23 years in power exposed his regime’s weakness in Ukraine, where the Russia’s armed forces’ go-to strategy of using rapid maneuvers, intimidation, and posturing to bully enemies into surrendering failed in the face of concerted and courageous military resistance backed by a strong nationalist ideology.

When weak horses who pretend to be strong are exposed, the masses turn on them with a viciousness they never knew they had. The horse they once thought was strong intimidated and inspired them in equal measure; they were trampled, but worse, given false hope. For that, they will never forgive the formerly strong horse. Only by keeping up the appearance of being strong can that weak horse survive, but when it finds itself in a situation where only strength counts — political, military, physical, or even just moral or psychological, it’s very difficult to fake strength.

For the time being, nationalism is a weak horse. We do have the potential to one day become a strong horse, however. The way to do this is to attract quality people to our side — people whose ideology is not strong-horseism, but who can be turned to nationalist ideology. We need to build a coalition of people who support a cause not because it is strong or beneficial for them, but because they believe in it, consider it moral, and have devoted their lives to it. We need people who will support nationalism even if it is weak and who will sacrifice their own strength to make it stronger. In other words, we need people whose will cannot be overwhelmed by the strength of the strong horse, nor hoodwinked by the tricks of the carnival horse — the weak horse pretending to be a strong horse. We need people who will back the weak horse.

This is why it is imperative to build a moral case for nationalism and an ideological framework for interpreting the world. Part and parcel of this ideological framework will be a positive vision of what victory looks like, so that it will sustain our coalition in times of trouble and provide the hope we strive for in our time as the weak horse. Adherents of strong-horseism do not need a positive vision of the future; the very real and present strength of the strong horse dominates their mind’s eye. Carnival horse-backers likewise do not need a vision; they’ve been deceived into believing that they are already following a strong horse,that  and the strong horse will bring them victory, so all they have to do is keep following. The emergence of our own cause — the weak horse, the overcoming of great and nearly impossible odds — is what sustains a movement even when its fortunes are low. We do not depend on victory; we will bring victory, though the heavens fall.

This is why it’s also very dangerous to abuse copium and hopium. When we suffer a loss, we must understand it immediately and integrate it into our framework. We have to ask ourselves why we lost, identify the core error, and remove it — or if it’s impossible or very difficult to remove it, minimize our exposure to this error. We must never deceive ourselves, like those who back carnival horses, of our horse’s true strength. If we are weak, we are weak — but let it make no difference to our commitment. We must know our enemies and know ourselves as well, and deceiving ourselves about either is fatal.

I’ve often criticized those who mock liberals as “weak,” pointing out that those weak libtards have been winning consistently for at least 250 years. Instead of deceiving ourselves, we must work toward removing weakness, or position ourselves so that this weakness does not matter. Our legitimacy does not come from strength, but from righteousness and conviction. We shall will our strength into being.

For the last two weeks, my time has been primarily occupied by an unsuccessful bid to become a member of the Assembly of the Republic of Macedonia. Together with my fellow members of the national populist Boycott Movement, we endeavored to get on the ballot for the upcoming election in April as an independent candidate listed under the proportional representation model. We failed to do so. In this article, I will recount what I learned from my time on the campaign.

Without getting too bogged down in the intricacies of Macedonian election law, let me briefly explain the requirements. In order to secure ballot access, one needs to gather at least 1000 signatures from voters in each electoral district where one intends to run an independent candidate list. Each candidate list includes 20 candidates. Macedonia has 6 electoral districts, for a total of 120 Assemblymen. We ran candidate lists in 3 of the 6 electoral districts. The voter signatures had to be deposited by voters in person in the regional offices of the state election commission. We failed to garner enough popular support.

My experience with the campaign provided me with valuable insights into the question which has dogged me for a very long time, which is “who are we?” And by “we,” I mean the dissident Right — either narrowly those who are, as the Z Man of the Z blog puts it, on this side of the great divide, or broadly, anyone who dissents from the mainstream right orthodoxy. I will attempt to further understanding of what are our strengths and weaknesses are, what is our general behavioral profile is, and how this information can be utilized and leveraged into political success.

Art-Right

The first thing that caught my eye was the position of our candidate lists. We were running in the 1st, 2nd and 5th electoral districts. The 1st and 2nd electoral districts are dominated by the capital of Skopje and its sprawling metropolitan area. The 5th district is the home of Bitola, Macedonia’s second-largest city, as well the historic and cultural center of Ohrid, which holds the distinction of being the only Macedonian city featured in Civilization V (6th city founded by the Byzantine civilization). This told me that we are, our profession of national populist tenets notwithstanding, a primarily urban and intellectual movement. And indeed, the candidate list leaders’ professions reflected this, including a journalist, an anthropologist, and a software entrepreneur. Movement meetings were refreshingly intellectual events, though often descending into discussion of history, art, philosophy, and religion which served no practical purpose. Artists of all stripes were not only numerically present but disproportionately active and passionate. Entrepreneurs and small businessmen were also present, and to a lesser extent, skilled professionals independent of intellectual fashions, such as software engineers. I found myself in an unusually privileged position as the only lawyer officially affiliated with the movement, though other, more prominent jurists were affiliated with us in an unofficial capacity or were secretly communicating with movement leaders.

This is to be expected of a movement that bucks the trends, and especially goes against the popular religion of the day. After all, people who are used to critical thinking, ignoring the opinions of the powerful, and with a measure of independence both financial and intellectual, will form the core of any dissident movement. Hence the decisively urbane character of our movement and the low turnout in rural and suburban areas. As I have predicted in my writings for Counter-Currents, the dissident Right is a movement of disaffected members of the elite who are turning away from the present state religion of the West, whereas the overrepresentation of artists indicates that we are indeed the cutting edge, most inspirational, and perhaps, most importantly, most effective at perpetuating beauty of all the political movements on offer. There is much to be said of artists as antennae of the race — we feel depredations against our people more strongly than other men.

The skills, intellect, and connections of such people can be leveraged to achieve various objectives. From the beginning, our movement was the target of relentless attacks from the hostile media, particularly by ostensibly right-wing gatekeepers, but also the recipient of much attention from patriots and nationalists. I suspect this is at least in part due to our superbly-designed logo, created by an accomplished visual artist. Humans are visual creatures and will often respond better to symbols and images than to text or messaging. The boldly colored wolf was our standard for this battle and it served us well.

The presence of skilled software engineers and entrepreneurs allowed our movement to dominate cyberspace, not only by having a well-designed and interactive web page, but by innovations in cyber-activism. One of the issues that animated our movement is the illegal, unconstitutional and anti-Macedonian change of our country’s name. One of our earliest successes was the creation and proliferation of a Google Chrome extension which automatically highlights and/or removes the accursed “north” adjective. This extension exploded in use and brought awareness of our movement long before anyone else was in the mindset of starting to organize for election.

As a final note, I will add that I myself contributed to the movement by leveraging my experience as a penniless hipster director in directing an advertisement. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that the movement, while numerically small, included a total of 3 skilled and experienced video editors, myself included.

A different kind of success

Yes, yes, Nick. You were a very merry band of artistic and talented gentlemen, and you made a snazzy logo and a clever video ad, and a Chrome extension, but you did not secure ballot access. Where’s the success?

And I say to you: there’s your success right there. We assembled a merry band of artistic and talented gentlemen who then proceeded to make a snazzy logo and a clever video ad and a Chrome extension, among other things. What’s interesting to me is that the team which created the video ad had never before worked together on any project. It began as an insult to our movement by a cuck-right gatekeeper, that we’re willing to kidnap people from the streets in order sign for our ballot access, and then somebody suggested we film ourselves staging a kidnapping. A couple of phone calls later, a crew assembled in a nearby park, utilized a tall (6’5”) guy as a cameraman, filming in broad daylight (old no-budget trick, the sun provides free lighting) with a phone camera. Later, a crack crew of voiceover artists (no boom mikes, another no-budget limitation turned advantage) and editors turned the material into a clever, signal-boosting advertisement. But at no point was the whole operation anything more than 4 guys (and a girl) dicking around with a phone camera.

What was achieved was the creation of infrastructure, which regular readers of Counter-Currents will know is essential to lasting political success. I need now only snap my fingers and a filming crew will materialize where before there were no personnel available to do so. The interpersonal links established and the reputations developed are the meat of political infrastructure. Other successes were also achieved in gaining audiences and deepening cooperation between disparate actors within the movement, as well as unofficially affiliated movement allies.

The high quality of media produced also got us noticed by the cuck and leftoid media. I consider it a point of pride that a left-wing political humor TV show saw it fit to run a hit piece on our movement and me and use clips from the video ad and my Macedonian-language podcast to smear me. I don’t believe in bad publicity. In fact, I leaned into the publicity, as it was smears that put me and the cause on TV to begin with. This has brought me the unexpected boon of being recognized in the streets by normal people, who now feel free to ask me questions about our struggle and our cause. Whereas before I had to chase people down and tell them about my ideology, now I get cornered on my weekly hikes by enthusiastic voters.

Generally, I think that dissident movements grow by attracting interesting people who do cool things, which then attract interesting people, who do cool things and so on and so forth. So, don’t be afraid to do cool and creative stuff. This campaign had me relive my glory days as a penniless hipster filmmaker. It also put me back in the mindset of a teenage punk rocker poking fun at the establishment and reveling in the creative chaos of dissent. This is very important. As Saul Alinsky points out in Rules for Radicals, it is important that activists have fun while advocating this and that. Perhaps the greatest success we had as a movement during the campaign is that everyone had an immense amount of fun and this means that we will enthusiastically do it again in the future. Personally, I can hardly wait for the next election and might even start poking some beehives of my own accord before it rolls around.

Decentralization affords flexibility 

From the beginning, we had no central authority. This is why we refused to organize as a political party. Political parties are inherently rigid and centralized. We’d avail ourselves of the flexibility of a decentralized movement by allowing each member freedom to act and develop novel solutions to problems as they arise. Whatever coordination existed was there to prevent members from bumping into each other and to keep everyone in their lane.

Our great successes came from people showing initiative, starting work towards the completion of a goal, and then the rest of the movement rushing to their aid, insofar as that aid proved necessary. This may be the best, if not the only, way of running a dissident Right movement, given the unique limitations of our diverse neurotypes prohibit functioning in the traditional command-and-control structure of a political party. We’re not the type of people who do as they’re told — if we were, we wouldn’t be dissidents. I will add, however, that it is important to have genuine belief in the cause — only for such conceptual enormities are the otherwise indomitable men of the dissident Right willing to sacrifice their individuality. Absent the cause, absent a unifying purpose, we tend to squabble and run power plays. What I found interesting is that a lot of the men in the movement had a military background, but had served in mountaineer or light infantry divisions — positions which require a good deal of creative and independent thought, and a decision-making capability at the squad leader level, often in the absence of higher-level command. The so-called Jaeger mindset trickled down and out into even those of us without a military background.

An unexpected benefit of decentralization came about before there was even talk of election. As a national populist movement, the Boycott Movement is effectively a big tent coalition that includes patriots, civic nationalists, libertarians, ethnic nationalists and even disaffected patriotic leftists. Internal movement debates were vociferous and loud, culminating in a 4 hour (!) YouTube debate between myself and one of my compatriots who professes a conservative and civic nationalist worldview. I’ve heard it before that debates don’t accomplish much and in a sense, this is true. I did not become a civic nationalist in the aftermath, neither did my interlocutor suddenly embrace ethnic nationalism. But, publishing this debate demonstrated to outside viewers that our movement was at the cutting edge of intellectual and political developments. It raised my own profile immensely, both within the movement and with the people. And even though the response is near-unanimous that I “steamrolled” my interlocutor, he was praised for his intellectual honesty and willingness to engage in debate where others have avoided it. By devoting the last 10 minutes to amicably agreeing to disagree, we demonstrated that we have civility and the sense of purpose to leave aside differences in order to pursue a common goal. This demonstrated integrity, which as we know, is in short supply among Western politicians.

Mind your mental state

As the campaign wore on and my stress levels were spiking, I found myself bargaining with an urge to give up. It is bad, it’s gonna get worse and you will fail ingloriously. It’s ok, you did your best, but now it’s time to give up, gather the neighborhood dogs and pet them for the last time, write your last haiku and go to sleep under the old tree, preferably never to wake up. Well, maybe nothing so dramatic, but yes, now would be a good time to curl into a ball and not get out of bed in the morning. As someone of dual melancholic/sanguine temperament, I found myself looking for justifications to give up and give in to depression. During a particularly bad day, compounded by rain and forebodingly dark clouds, it hit me that my old friend — the black dog of depression — is at the very least the devil I know, as opposed to this undiscovered country of stress and anxiety.

But I soldiered on. What really kept the black dog at bay was a conversation with a voter, a 70-something-year-old man who regaled me with tales of his grandfather’s adventures during the Russian civil war. As I drove him to the polling station, I understood that he suffered from that well-known devil of old age: loneliness. This is useful to know not just in politics, but in other endeavors as well — seniors and elders are lonely people and they crave human interaction. Merely listening to what they have to say is sometimes enough for them, and they are a repository of non-replicable wisdom — no book contains the wisdom you can glean from a conversation with a senior. And for all their faults, the oldsters remember a time when the men of the West stood with pride. To see a young man fight for his people with honor energizes and electrifies them. Avail yourself of these elders.

This brings us to a big reason why you must keep your emotions in check.

Group chats spread everything

Novel communication technologies allow methods of coordination and cooperation unavailable to earlier political movements. Group chats also have the vital function of serving as a sorting ground for the movements’ internal hierarchy, especially in such movements that do not have a formal hierarchy. Disputes get resolved there, vital information shared, attacks and defense are coordinated, and meetups are scheduled. They are also places where the community can engage in two minutes hate, or better yet, collectively mock a political enemy, building essential asabiyyah.

But a poorly understood weakness of the group chat is that a single member can bring about a cascade of emotion among all involved. This is good when the times are good; we want contagious enthusiasm, but when times are bad, this represents an opportunity for negativity to rapidly spread and infect the entire movement. Doom and gloom spread even faster than enthusiasm, especially considering the psychological comfort of depression discussed earlier. Personally, I never divulged my emotions to the group chats. Part of it is my own cagey nature. Part of it is Balkan culture, which stipulates that male negative emotions are to be expressed communally, indeterminately, and with generous helpings of alcohol in one of our many taverns. In a phenomenon that possibly merits its own articles, Balkan men experience communal sadness when they sing sad songs with their friends, each silently inhabiting a private universe of lost love and unspoken passion. And indeed, for the most part, the movement keeps this tradition, which was to be expected given that it is a movement of traditional men. But nevertheless, some of the negativity wormed its way into the group chats and then spread like a virus among the membership. And those who opened the gates were women.

The Woman Question 

When I hear people bellyaching about “whaman in the movement,” I roll my eyes. Women are, for the most part, a liability to a right-wing political movement. Our Boycott Movement, predicated as it was on decentralized action, the jaeger mindset, and free-thinking men engaging in cool activities, fundamentally alienated female members who prefer communal decision-making, decision-making by committee, and full accounting. Mostly, they want to “be involved,” even though they may not be actively contributing.

Even if a movement is more centralized and hierarchical, women still cannot function within it, because a centralized hierarchical movement requires at times unquestioning obedience to the center, even if one does not completely understand the action one undertakes on its behalf. To men, even indomitable men, such hierarchies come naturally. I mentioned that many in our movement were military veterans. Even those of us that weren’t had a background in team sports and as such knew how to subsume our egos to the cause and function as a team, without demanding that whoever was issuing the directions give us full accounting. The women couldn’t hack it. They wanted the unworkable middle ground of decision-making by committee imposed upon individual activists.

The notable exceptions were the women who were, in one sense or another, sub manus (under the hand) of a man in the movement. Wives, girlfriends, mistresses, sisters, and daughters of male members acted rationally and kept the peace among the other womenfolk. The moral here seems to be that single women are dangerous to the movement, and will sow chaos and discord as a means of shit-testing movement leaders. For this reason, I recommend any prospective activists learn game, and apply game concepts to woman control. Others in the movement remarked on my success of getting women to the polls, and even convincing them to sign up as assembly candidates. There were jokes being thrown around about the irresistible sexual power of my mustache, but I can only credit the lore I learned from Chateau Heartiste on how to seduce women and get them to do what I want. 

I’d advise against actively inviting women to join any political movement, but remaining open to participation of females already affiliated with the men seeking to join. In other words, we should not complain that most of the women at dissident right events are wives and girlfriends of our guys. Single, unattached women will often do more harm than good in dissident politics. Many of them are there to gain access to dissident men, who tend to be more alpha than the average man.

Less is more 

On a final note, I want to point out that sometimes shedding members might be good for a movement. Before we decided to throw our hats in the ring, two prominent members of the movement declared that they’re leaving it, citing disagreement with our willingness to participate in electoral politics at the given time. This, of course, made everyone uneasy. Nobody likes to see desertion before the big battle, but in a sense, he who deserts before the battle is marginally better than he who deserts, or worse, defects, during it. One was a particularly annoying MAGApede (yes, a MAGApede outside America), the other was a particularly annoying wignat.

Much of my time here on Counter-Currents has been spent in tirades against wignats and cuckservatives. These people are a millstone around the neck of the dissident Right. Losing members might not look like an improvement, but it bears understanding that as things get more real, the cucks will scurry away in fear of globohomo’s judgement and the wignats will be rudely reminded of their societal dysfunction. I doubt that wignats have what it takes to drive elders to polling stations — basic presentation and sociability are requirements for such activities. If we are to succeed politically as a movement, we will have to be both courageous and civilized. The cuck and wignat represent the two poles of cowardice and unsociability.

When a movement sheds low-quality members, it gains strength. Better committed, better quality men accomplish better things when they no longer have to put out fires caused by the anklebiters. Outgrowing the MAGA cult has already allowed us to make great political and philosophical strides. Shedding the wignats might be the next big leap forward for the broader movement.

None of what was achieved would have been achieved without the campaign. While we may have failed to secure ballot access, we managed to construct valuable infrastructure, develop a viable and fun method of getting things done, and even shed some ballast. As we speak, my own and the movement’s media profile has increased substantially and is growing. We are poised to do great things in the future. I am particularly proud of having taken my own advice and eaten my own cooking from my appeal to elitists and elites to join national populist movements in their countries — skin in the game is inextricably linked to intellectual integrity. I put my name and face forward, risked my standing and physical safety, but it was worth it, it was fun and it was the right thing to do.

Electoral politics might not be the way you choose, but it is one of the many ways in which we can fight and win. Electoral success can often mean institutional cover and support for our guys doing other things, certainly a bigger platform for our ideas. If you feel your nation’s call, take it up. If you are accorded a chance to fight, to be a champion of your people, take it. I promise you, it will, at the very least, be very exciting.

 

Tim Marshall
Prisoners of Geography: Ten Maps That Tell You Everything You Need to Know About Global Politics
London: Elliot and Thompson (2015)

The physical realities that underpin national and international politics are too often disregarded in both writing about history and in contemporary reporting of world affairs. Geography is clearly a fundamental part of the “why” as well as the “what.”

Ever since I was a small child, roughly from age three or four, I remember staring transfixed at any map I could get my hands on. Atlases, globes, wall charts, everything to satisfy my voracious appetite for map-reading. It’s important to not confuse the map for the territory, but a map is a story of the territory, for those who know how to read it. I would scan maps for hours on end, learning to the best of my ability the various geographical features, the names of countries, cities, and capitals. Much of it I still remember even at my embarrassingly advanced age. So, it should come as no surprise to anyone that I was positively giddy when I heard that a book about maps that explain the world exists. And indeed, Prisoners of Geography: Ten Maps That Explain Everything About The World claims that such maps exist.

The premise of the book is remarkably solid — you could even call it self-evident: the foreign policy and geopolitical decisions made by world leaders are constrained by geography, that nations, states, and leaders are in many ways prisoners of geography. For example, no matter the political system or leadership structure, a leader of Russia has an interest in exerting influence over Poland due to the geography of the European Plain, which is narrowest in Poland — therefore, control of Poland means control of the land gateway between Western Europe and Russia. A Chinese leader, irrespective of political system or leadership structure, has an interest in controlling Tibet, given that all of China’s major and life-giving rivers spring from the Tibetan plateau. And an American state, regardless of political system or leadership structure, must control the port of New Orleans and its gates to the outside world – Florida, Cuba, and the Caribbean. Only then can the world oceans communicate with the vast inland of the North American continent through the many navigable waterways of the Mississippi-Missouri watershed. And of course, dreams of a politically united Europe remain just that: dreams. Unlike North America, a map of European watersheds reveals a patchwork of medium and small riverbeds, with the notable exceptions of the Danube, Dniepr, Don, and Volga.

But aside from the great insights with regard to geography, Tim Marshall’s erstwhile effort gives us a case study of what mistakes smart and insightful people make when they are blinded to certain realities of the world. Indeed, how can the author — a British journalist and international correspondent in good standing — do something as crass as noticing the biological realities of nation and race?

A good example of the inner contradictions within the book itself resulting from race-blindness, and more importantly, blindness to racial conflict, arise when comparing and contrasting chapter 3 (which deals with the United States) and chapter 7 (which deals with India and Pakistan).

Marshall rightfully criticizes Pakistan as having no internal cohesive mechanism outside of Islam and opposition to India given that Pakistan consists of several squabbling ethnic groups. It’s dominated by and resentful of a Punjabi majority, and Marshall predicts a turbulent future for it. But he also gleefully predicts that the United States will keep on going, even as it wanes in power, completely ignoring the problem posed by the emergence of ethnic groups resentful of America’s historic people who are now on the way to becoming a minority. The crux of the argument for America’s continued wealth and power is predicated on the assumption that the port of New Orleans, connecting the Mississippi watershed to the Gulf of Mexico and the Florida peninsula — the gateway between the Gulf and the sea — will remain in American hands. But it is precisely these lands in America that are facing intense replacement migration. A majority Hispanic Florida might choose to leverage its geographic position, possibly in concert with Cuba and other Caribbean nations, and dictate terms to America’s inland, whose navigable rivers are meaningless without access to the high seas. Marshall describes the absolute necessity of the Mexican-American war and the importance of pushing the potentially hostile Mexican state far away from the port of New Orleans, but fails to see the danger that a majority-Hispanic Texas, or even Louisiana, could have on that same port. If the loyalty of the Pakistani Pashtuns to the regime in Islamabad cannot be counted on, can American Hispanics, especially Mexicans, be counted on to be loyal to the regime in Washington?

Nowhere are the epicycles explaining away racial and ethnic differences more obvious than in the section on South America. The wealth of Chile, Argentina, Uruguay, and the Brazilian states of Rio Grande do Sul and Santa Catarina is due to the Rio de la Plata and the natural harbor of Buenos Aires, and in no way due to the white majority in South America’s Southern Cone. Or could it be that European settlers had the foresight to settle these productive regions? Hmm. Either way, a good deal of rationalization could be done away with if only the element of race were to be taken into account. Sadly, what could be an excellent exploration of African geography in chapter 5 descends into similar epicycles.

What can we, as Dissident Rightists and white nationalists, garner from this book? First of all, let’s look at the situation in America. Whites on the North American continent have leveraged the interconnectedness of its waterways to great effect and wealth, but, as mentioned before, the economic utility of the Mississippi-Missouri watershed depends on control of the gates of New Orleans and Florida. Many people assume that the Midwest, possibly the Pacific Northwest, and parts of inland Canada could become a homeland for whites on the North American continent. However, without control of New Orleans and Florida, or at the very least parts of the East Coast, such a country would have no means of entering the Atlantic and coordinating with Europe — preventing the cross-Atlantic cooperation that we have hitherto had for better or worse. Absent the Rio Grande, there are precious few natural barriers between the proposed Midwestern-Pacific Northwestern white homeland and Mexico — opening up the state to hostile invasion and infiltration. All of these factors will dictate the extent and borders of the proposed new homeland. It is important to remember that the USA and Canada took the shapes they took due to geographic expedience and constraints.

Second, we must look to Europe and her defenses. I’ve already written extensively about the possibility of a European alliance to defend the continent’s borders. Geography works to our advantage here — Europe is easily defensible from the south and south-east, and extra layers of defense can be added by exerting influence on the Mediterranean’s south and Eastern shores. The Atlantic to the West seems to be an unlikely route of attack, as does the Arctic to the north (although, as chapter 10 points out, the Arctic is now very much in play as icebreaker technology advances and the polar ice cap recedes). This leaves the East and our old friends of Velikaya Rus, whose loyalty to a potential alliance of European nations and potential imperial ambitions on Europe are something we have yet to determine. Poland will once again take center stage in world history, as it is there that the European plain is narrowest.

Thinking about maps and geography is good for its own sake, too. Obviously, it is fun, but more importantly, we who would be thinkers and rulers must of necessity take into account the facts on the ground; including the literal ground, the climate, the populations, the tides and ebbs and flows of rivers, the mountains, the woods, the deserts, and the seas. The land speaks.

But maps and lands do not tell the whole story. History and the future are tales not only of geography, but also of biology. Tim Marshall is fond of pointing out that geography is destiny, that nations and leaders are prisoners of geography. Our movement’s most emblematic maxim is that demographics are destiny. But a view of one without the other is incomplete. Just as a man needs two eyes to see properly, to perceive depth and nuance, so too does a geopolitical thinker need both geography and biology.

In any case, I warmly recommend everyone imbibe this excellent tome. Unfortunate though his blind spots may be, Marshall has much to teach us.

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There are many reasons to like Twin Peaks. Personally, I like the cozy aesthetic, the gentle color palette and soundtrack, and the mild way in which the first season is paced. It is a good show to drift off to sleep to, and goes great with a soft bed and someone special to snuggle up to. To view it in the daytime seems obscene to me.

I was late to start watching the show; I believe I started in January of 2021. It wasn’t “the greatest show ever,” as others hyped it to me. Maybe I was underwhelmed because I wasn’t there in the early ‘90s when it was unfolding. Maybe it was the 30 years of buzz about it. Nothing could possibly live up to that. I am, however, aware of two distinct reasons why I disliked the show from the very first episodes. The first was that it wanted me to sympathize with the town bicycle. The other was that it wanted me to root for the FBI agent.

I could write my Ph.D. thesis on how American media glorifies female promiscuity for the express purpose of glamorizing the promiscuous female’s life, but something else has been bothering me about the series in these trying times. When we think of the FBI in these circles, we think of bad-faith actors trying to frame and entrap dissidents. We think of agents pretending to be friends on the Internet. We think of evil men who skulk in the shadows and offer to sell us unregistered firearms for the purpose of committing terrorism. We think of cognitive infiltrators dispatched to poison discourse and sow division. But that’s us, and we’re a kooky bunch. I wouldn’t be surprised if Kyle McLachlan’s million-dollar smile and boyish good looks come to mind when most people think of the FBI. To them, they are not the enemy’s goons, but rather friendly, mildly eccentric policemen who operate at a federal level in defense of the law, hunting down murderers, Mafiosi, and terrorists – i.e., protecting Our Democracy.™

The reality is different. The FBI is the American republic’s counterintelligence agency. On paper, this means that it is tasked with disrupting foreign intelligence operations within America and attacks on America’s own intelligence networks and agencies, among other things. In practice, this means that they act as the state security agency (even though the US and other Western nations often claim that they have no StateSec), swatting down every political threat to the Republic. These can range from Islamic terrorists to certain factions of the Dissident Right. Anyone who is deemed a threat to America’s political configuration is an enemy of the state’s security, regardless of how liberal, open, and pluralistic the American state claims to be.

While violent groups of course have priority, given that the FBI is — on paper, at least — merely a law enforcement organization, all entities which oppose the current regime will find themselves on the state security’s radar, monitored, followed, infiltrated, harassed, and their finances hampered. Regimes defend themselves; the creature from Washington is no different, and like the Stasi before them, the FBI are the sword and shield of the Party.

And yet, the Stasi never attempted to present themselves as just friendly policemen, or if they did, their attempts were not recorded. Neither did the Russian NKVD. But here we have Twin Peaks trying to convince me that the FBI consists of all-American heroes like Dale Cooper who won’t rest until they’ve solved the grisly murders which plague small logging towns. Numerous other media portray the FBI as heroes, but Twin Peaks feels especially egregious, probably because Kyle MacLachlan just looks and acts so damned wholesome. In any other totalitarian regime, we’d recognize this as obvious propaganda. Comrade, it’s obvious that the KGB consists of nothing but good and patriotic men who protect our glorious Motherland from the decadent capitalist Black Lodge! I read it in the morning Pravda. They wouldn’t dream of violating your rights in order to boost arrest numbers!

America’s state security would like us to think they look like Kyle MacLachlan, but reality doesn’t bear out this (self) representation. Instead, they look like Peter Strzok, grinning creepily as he’s being questioned about illegally spying on Donald Trump’s 2016 campaign. Strzok is indeed creepy, but he’s just the tip of the iceberg. We will only really know the full extent of the FBI’s evil once the enemy is defeated and their archives are opened to the public, but I’m expecting more than one Beria to be lurking under their carefully cultivated surface. Having worked hand-in-glove with Hollywood and the media for its representation in fiction, the FBI depends on this image in order to ply its trade. Americans trust the FBI if they believe it is an organization of Dale Coopers hunting criminals. They’ll cease trusting it and make its mission all the harder if they start associating it with totalitarian regimes’ state security agencies.

It is said that the Trump presidency’s biggest victim was trust in the media. This may be so, but far more consequential in the long run may be the damage the FBI’s reputation suffered when its role in the Russia collusion hoax emerged. Furthermore, as more and more evidence emerges that the FBI is actively involved in hunting down American patriots (along with White Nationalists and other dissidents), this reputation will further degrade until it is replaced by a new one: that of the counterintelligence and state security service of an evil empire, thugs dressed in black harassing civilians for verbal delinquencies, their ears perking up whenever they hear “White lives matter” or “Let’s go, Brandon.” We can expect the Bureau and its confederates in Hollywood to try and repair its reputation, but the propaganda apparatus is itself very old and creaky — definitely not what it used to be in the early ‘90s.

I’m not singling out the FBI. Rather, all domestic security intelligence agencies, and even those that aren’t supposed to be domestic (but act domestically anyway), are guilty of such behavior. Even “our beautiful military” gets in on it; most of the slimeballs trying to cognitively infiltrate the radical Right have a background in military intelligence (see Jack Posobiec) and often work with the Mossad and other private actors from the mammon-worshiping (right) wing of Globohomo. Their image has likewise been sanitized in Hollywood as heroic protectors of the American people. 24, NCIS, Stargate — these all exist, among other reasons, to showcase the US military and intelligence agencies as heroic organizations staffed by heroic individuals instead of the nests of corruption, incompetence, and downright evil they really are. These idols all have to fall if we are to win.

When the history of the twentieth century is revised for accuracy and expanded to include the history of our own time, ours will likely be known as the era of the counterintelligence state. Intelligence agencies in the modern world correspond to Carl Schmitt’s sovereign: They operate in a permanent state of exception and often decide when the exception is to apply to the rest of society and the government. Regular laws do not apply to them, and the unlimited power for extrajudicial surveillance which they possess gives them unlimited blackmail power over the government that nominally commands them and oversees their activities. It is the intelligence agencies vying for power, both within a state and between states, that is the foundation of deep state politics. For this reason, the erstwhile dissident is forced to think like a spook — even though he may be something else constitutionally — if he is to think of matters of state in the modern world.

What’s very interesting to me is that of all the players on the stage, only one set of spooks has taken the trouble to present themselves to the world and the public which they rule as good, benevolent enforcers of the law. The Russian Federal Security Service (FSB) make no bones about what they are to their public. Why are the FBI, CIA, and military intelligence so anxious to look like the good guys to the American people? They have invested a lot in this image of themselves, and they’ve been steadily losing it for the past four years. Maybe this will lead to what the kids like to call “mask off,” where they’ll start acting like the thugs they always were — but personally, I doubt it. The mask they were wearing is the chief method by which they operate, and without it, they’ll lose their mojo and flounder. We may be seeing, for the foreseeable future in America and possibly the rest of the Western world, something not seen before in the era of the counterintelligence state: counterintelligence anarchy.

“But I don’t want to go among mad people,” Alice remarked.

“Oh, you can’t help that,” said the Cat: “we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.”

“How do you know I’m mad?” said Alice.

“You must be,” said the Cat, “or you wouldn’t have come here.”

Reading George Orwell’s Politics and the English Language, I can’t shake a feeling that Orwell, while right about the various ways in which language is used and abused to limit and channel thought, was a little autistic. While I will concede that sometimes certain constructions are used out of cowardice, I remain convinced that there is indeed a semantic difference between not unattractive and beautiful and that this nuance escapes an excessively forthright and logical mind. But alas, Orwell is right. And as we can tell from the autobiographical Shooting an Elephant, his dysfunction was probably what made him capable of such insight.

Orwell was a dysfunctional man by the standards of his time, place, and position in the world. As a socialist writer in mid-century Britain, he should have been the toast of his former employers at the BBC. As a Spanish Civil War veteran, you’d expect the Reds either in Moscow or old London town to have at least taken care of him a little bit. As a repentant colonial policeman, you’d expect him to be feted by anti-colonialist fantasists from Delhi to Washington. But none of that transpired. He lived out his days in poverty and relative obscurity (certainly compared to his talent and insight). It was because he didn’t get it. Reading Orwell, and especially The Road to Wigan Pier, makes you realize that he really didn’t get that British or even Russian (or more precisely, Jewish) socialism was never about the workers or the poor. It was always about middle-class intellectuals resenting the upper class and large industrialists.

Orwell didn’t get it, and so he managed to fail at being a middle-class socialist writer in mid-century Britain. Not by historical standards, no. Very few of the grey, boring men who repeated the party line no matter what it was are remembered today, certainly none as well as George Orwell. But by any metric of a good life, Orwell failed, and maybe that’s what matters more than such lofty and useless postmortem achievements such as being remembered and revered throughout the centuries. The later works of Orwell burn with frustration, some of which is probably personal.

Listening to Greg Johnson interview Jim Goad, I hear one describe himself as autistic, the other as sociopathic. They’re probably wrong in the clinical sense, but is there some truth to it? And more importantly, could a measure of neurodivergence be a necessary prerequisite for getting involved in dissident politics? It’d certainly help. An autist cannot see society’s disapproval. A sociopath simply doesn’t care. People have remarked that the Dissident Right is full of Asperger Syndrome types, and an often bemoaned feature of dissident politics is the prevalence of sociopathic types, especially in leadership positions. But we may be getting ahead of ourselves.

Let’s start with a very simple proposition. Humans come in a large variety of neurotypes. There’s intelligence, and then there’s personality, which yields hundreds of possible variations of man no matter how you slice it. Human biodiversity might be politically important to racialists due to the stark biological differences between the races, which result in behavioral and civilizational differences, but on a deeper level, human biodiversity within race is far more fascinating, especially if you agree with Professor Ricardo Duchesne that white people have the highest degree of within-race neurodiversity and biodiversity. Lots of different types out there.

These neurotypes did not come out of nowhere. They exist, and more importantly, persist throughout our history because they were adaptive on the individual and/or the group level of selection. Some could be overshoots of other neurotypes (autists vis a vis Aspergers), some may be proto-states of others. They’ve been with us for long enough that they’ve survived into modernity and if a particular neurotype has a name and a checklist, odds are it’s prevalent enough that it cannot be dismissed as a historical aberration, even though it may be in a sense aberrant.

Insofar as they’ve been with us for such a long time, the genes for these neurotypes have proven themselves sturdy and able to withstand the pressures of deep evolutionary time. So, why do we call some — hell, why do we call most — of them disorders? Why do we call them mental illnesses? If autism, schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, ADHD, and sociopathy are sources of dysfunction, why have they survived this long?

The fact of the matter is that traditional society was far better at accommodating the neurodivergent than modern society. The socially anxious and mildly autistic would gladly welcome a return to rigorous traditional behavioral codes and structured social life. Can’t end up with no girl at the dance if the dance is a strictly controlled environment which depends more on making the proper inputs rather than the freewheeling atmosphere of the modern club which does violence to the senses. Not good with people? Why not till the land or deal with animals; you like structured activities, don’t you? Got a manic episode coming up? Good timing! We need that row of trees cut down. So, you’re a sociopath with no fear of the law? Well, buddy, you ought to know that if you indulge your evil inclinations, God will send you to Hell to burn for all eternity, and don’t think you can deceive Him.

But back in dreary, grey modernity, the great tapestry of human neurodiversity is for the most part dysfunctional. In the world we’ve built for ourselves, the model citizen is one part consumer, one part button-pusher, and two parts ass-kisser — or in other words, the archetypal bugman. Too lively to sit in a chair and push buttons? Dysfunctional! Too autistic to understand that asses need to be kissed? Dysfunctional! Too much self-respect for ass-kissing? Downright dangerous! Won’t consume? Oy vey, call the men with the butterfly nets, we’ve got a certifiable madman on our hands!

Since you’re now certifiable, modernity will deploy its unofficial clergy who’ll use magical rituals and sacred ointments to make you function again. The shamans also make a killing on the ointments and on prescribing them to people because they show dangerous signs of divergence, especially children. What, little 8-year-old Timmy won’t sit still and listen to his shitlib teacher with the nails-on-a-chalkboard voice drone on about white privilege? Little Timmy wants to run around, play cops and robbers, build mud forts, climb trees, reenact historical battles, and throw rocks at shitlibs droning on about white privilege, as children have done since time immemorial? He must be crazy! Quick, pump him full of amphetamines before he does something — gasp — divergent!

Modern psychiatry and modern definitions of normal and abnormal are symptoms of civilizational decline in the Spenglerian sense. I suspect the endpoint of complete degeneration is a society consisting only of bugmen, presided over by psychiatrist-bugmen, where divergent mind states are controlled and attainable through drugs, both legal and illegal. Party drugs emulate mania. Weed emulates contemplative states attainable by yogis. Amphetamines emulate hyperfocus. Alcohol is the only one which is not an emulator, but rather an enhancer of personality — whatever you are, you become more of it under the influence of alcohol. It is also the most characteristically European drug. Other races can’t handle it, can’t indulge in it, don’t have our millennia-old love-hate relationship with it. This is why bugmen and the bourgeoisie dislike booze — it brings out their grey and boring selves to the fore.

Circling back to our own movement, is it any surprise that the Dissident Right is full of neurodivergents? After all, who is likeliest to revolt against the modern world than he for whom there is no place in the modern world? It’s certainly one of our biggest weaknesses. Mark Collett considered his Patriotic Alternative conference a success because of the absence of “that guy.” I listen to that speech and am glad for Mark and Patriotic Alternative, but can’t help feel a little put on the spot. I am in many ways “that guy,” with more dark triad traits than the average convict, with my mood swings, fondness for alcohol, and confrontational attitude. What if we’re a movement of guys like that? Even the smart ones — especially the smart ones? Not to say we can’t or shouldn’t put in an effort to behave ourselves. But it is who we are.

Assuming I am among fellow madmen, I bring good news and bad news. The good news is that modern psychiatry is wrong and you are not dysfunctional, merely built for better things and better times. Disentangle yourself from the web of modernity, and you will find your place in the world. While it may be small consolation while the state unleashes weaponized psychiatry on us, it’s good to know that we’re not really crazy. After all, we have social proof for our thing. We have each other. The bad news is that Foucault was only half-wrong when he said that power creates these categories — while it is indeed true that we’ve been made into this category of mentally ill by power, it remains true that we’re the men who for whatever reasons will not be normalized down to bugmen. That means that there’s something genuinely different about how our brains are wired, about how we’re put together. We won’t be able to bugmanize ourselves in order to fit into the modern world, not even to avoid punishment from power, or in attempts to infiltrate enemy institutions. There is a core essence to us which we cannot deny without destroying ourselves.

Part of our victory against modernity will be the expansion of the scope of functional neurotypes. The only way out is through.

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May have been the losing side. Still not convinced it was the wrong one.

— Capt. Malcolm Reynolds, Firefly

I remember one time, in the halcyon days of 2016, being mocked by a conservative for “fetishizing losers.” He interpreted my sympathy for the Confederate States of America, the Habsburg monarchy, and old Rhodesia as a willingness to always side with the losers. Of course, my sympathy for these and other regimes of the past has nothing to do with the fact that they’ve lost. But yeah, I can see the pattern there — and the pattern of regimes that the Dissident Right sympathizes with. They’re all losers. And losers, alas, aren’t winners.

Now you could say that the CSA, Austro-Hungarian Empire, and Republic of Rhodesia have something else in common except losing, and you’d be right. Maybe that thing is what leads me and others to sympathize with and admire these historic states, but here’s the kicker — all the states who have that other thing are also states which have lost. They are, as Mr. Kimmel so eloquently put it, losers. If you’re on the Dissident Right, there’s no state or state-type entity in the world to which you can point and say: there, that’s the way I want society run. All historic states that ran on our principles are gone, most of them defeated in wars, burned to the ground, their ashes scattered to the winds. I think it’s time to face facts: we are Team Loser.

From the point of view of our enemies, this is because “the arc of history is long, but bends towards the good,” the good being them and their ideology. The CSA, the Austro-Hungarian Empire, Rhodesia, and even mean ole Donald Trump are the hated enemies of history who wouldn’t stay still and wouldn’t play dead, so they had to be beaten into submission or killed. Their opposition to History justifies their destruction and demonization. Sadly, we do not as of yet have empirical evidence to the contrary. The Whig theory of history might be proven right after all, and we’re genuinely progressing towards an End of History which the Dissident Right foolishly and futilely opposes.

Being chronic losers, one must wonder why the hell do we even try, or even pretend to hold some sort of moral high ground? There’s a reason why Might Makes Right is a popular slogan and the title of an influential book — it’s true. Whatever Might decrees to be Right is Right, or becomes Right soon enough, through a process of selection for people who agree that what Might has decreed to be Right is Right. Our enemies have been winning for so long and have been the predominant power in society for so long that their rule has become an overriding selection pressure in human evolution, to the point where the human norm considers “the good” that which our enemies value as the good. Absent systems of objective morality, both the elite and popular consensus indicate that the good is what our enemies value: egalitarianism, globalism, secularism, or in a word, globohomo.

And yet, there is opposition. Sure, the opposition comes from states and political movements that have been defeated or are currently under siege, but there’s always opposition. The Left would merely call us bigoted (which is their word for evil), but there’s something in common between the CSA, Austro-Hungarian empire, Rhodesia, and the Dissident Right aside from the loserdom. That something is the alternative moral framework, the Right which we would impose if we were to become Might. I won’t go into what it is — that subject is way too big to be tackled here. Suffice to say that the very notion that the losing side may have not been the wrong one short-circuits the Leftoid’s moral universe. How could God, or better yet, History, allow the good to be defeated? More importantly, if the bad can win, how can any man, following his instincts to fit in with the crowd, be expected to be on the side of the good? It puts to death the notion of mechanistic morality which is imminent in the functioning of the world. If good can lose, then we cannot see what is good by means of what is victorious, meaning that morality is in a category outside of the material. This may not sound very profound, but it strikes at the very heart of the Whig/Calvinist conception of the good shared by the modern Left. 

But enough about the winners. Let’s look at what the losers have to say for themselves.

To start off, these three regimes, as well as all the other historic regimes and movement which have been defeated by globohomo, were not Sam Francis’ Beautiful Losers. In fact, it’s usually the beautiful losers (conservatives) pointing the finger at the historic and current dissident movements and regimes, probably because we are the ugly losers. See, they lost but they didn’t give in to the darkness. They did not challenge the Right, they were merely slapped down by Might, whereas we defied Right, which forced Might to crush us. In this sense, and within the framework of victim-centered morality, they are (beautiful) victims of unscrupulous Might, whereas we had the temerity to challenge Right. They were passive, unassuming, and meek, cruelly crushed by the Left, sacrificing themselves on the altar of principle. We were aggressive, rowdy, and proactive, bringing our defeat upon ourselves. Theirs is a Greek tragedy of great men undone by their greatness, ours is a Shakespearian history, and we’re the hunchbacked child-killers who dared transgress against the Principles in the Tower. And so, they call us losers.

You’d think that someone on the Right would try to get out of the loser paradigm, trying by hook or by crook to win. And we did. We had the Alt-Lite and MAGA, which followed in the golden wake of Donald Trump, the archetypal winner, who won bigly and based his entire public presence on winning. These guys were always winning, always growing, they had huge social media presences, and were mocking us as irrelevant losers who had low numbers of social media followers. 

And then they lost. And because their entire identity was wrapped up in winning, they disintegrated. Many receded into the background, and some are now trying to reinvent themselves as genuine dissidents, hoping that our memories are short enough that we forget how giddily they called us losers while we cautioned them to curb their enthusiasm about winning. But hey, loserdom is not a hat you can put on and off. It’s not a good look on them. We can pull it off because we’ve been losing for so long without being fully destroyed that we have a sort of a cockroach’s mystique about us. Our pompous and flashy friends of the alt-lite have proven themselves fragile and easily demoralized.

So, that leaves us. The ugly, perpetual losers of the Dissident Right. What’s our story? We’ve always been around, standing up for the alternative moral frameworks, for our people, for our history, for family, for hierarchy, for community. We’ve historically had states. I mentioned a few of them. They’ve all been defeated. The winners of history use some of those states and their leaders as monsters to scare each other into action against us. Where does it end for us? Does History finally end when the last dissident is defeated, or do we outlast our triumphant enemies and their gelded compatriots?

Small-h history isn’t so kind to us. Then again, small-h history isn’t all that kind to the winners either. They grow fat and bloated and are carved up by barbarians. Small-h history devours all, it is not merciful, it is not principled, and it’s still going on. Its rules are more opaque, it doesn’t use terms such as good and evil. It doesn’t even recognize losers and winners. It is the all-encompassing ocean in which we fishes, great and small, swim. It is also a thing of rapid and violent changes, where the unexpected happens with an uncharacteristic regularity.

To see the great sprawl of historic defeats which the Dissident Right has faced is demoralizing. But we had those good times while they lasted, and only a fool can claim that a history of defeat means certainty of future defeat. Obviously, we should not employ the old tactics that failed, but the future might be brighter than it looks. We live in a time of great upheaval and change, the kind of which can turn all sorts of historical tides, even for the great losers of history.

If some all-knowing, extraterrestrial school teacher sent out report cards on all the dictators who have flourished since World War I, we might be surprised to find the only one with straight A’s was a man most of the Western world has already half forgotten. I am referring to Kemal Atatürk, the fair-haired, blue-eyed Macedonian who transformed the Ottoman Empire (for centuries the “sick man” of Europe) into the streamlined modern state of Turkey, the strongest nation in the Middle East. — Wilmot Robertson, “Homage to Kemal Atatürk”

For as long as I’ve been a dissident, everyone in the sphere has been milling around, waiting for Caesar. If anything unites the entirety of the Dissident Right, from racist liberals to National Socialists, it’s that we are more or less trying to survive until such a time when Caesar arises and sweeps away the ruling regime by virtue of his world-historic significance. The Spengler readers imagine him breaking the money power’s back in a glorious orgy of violence and leading us into a comfortable civilizational retirement. The accelerationists imagine him breaking up the enemy’s death cult in a glorious orgy of violence and ushering in a new era of scientific advancement. The neo-primitivists imagine him burning down the cities in a glorious orgy of violence and allowing men to return to the land. Even outside the Dissident Right, the QAnon believers and plan-trusters hoped that Trump-Caesar would arrest the Satanic pedophile elites in a glorious orgy of sanitized violence and usher in a golden age of unlimited economic growth and ever-greater foreign aid to Israel.

I don’t begrudge people this belief. After all, to be part of the Dissident Right is to be, among other things, a recorder of the decline. This means two things.

First, we will necessarily assume that our civilization’s decline will trace the routes of other civilizations’ declines. There is an element of history-hobbyism in trying to find parallels between ancient Roman figures and modern politicians. Even the mainstream indulges in this. We have seen comparisons between George Washington and Cincinnatus, the Kennedy brothers and the Gracchi brothers, and the particularly delicious one between Donald Trump and Marcus Licinius Crassus. Sadly, unlike Crassus, Trump didn’t go to war with the Iranians of our day, so they weren’t able to plug his big mouth with molten gold, and as a result we will have to suffer his inanities for the foreseeable future. The most amusing one is from a guy I know on Twitter, who holds, among his sprawling table of analogues, that Osama bin Laden is our version of Flavius Stilicho. It’s very fun and very intellectually engaging, but, like Hesse’s glass bead game, that does not make it true or useful.

Secondly, we will necessarily look for anything to keep our spirits high. The most demoralizing notion is that all you’ve done to keep civilization afloat, all of your efforts to keep the fire burning, have been for nothing. Of course Caesar will come, of course he will take the torch from my hand and use it to lead our people into a glorious future. Just like he did in the old days, he will break the back of the senatorial class and establish an empire out of the ashes of the corrupt and decadent Republic. Our work will be vindicated — or so I’ve been told.

Far be it from me to dispute caesarism or Caesar himself. It’s a real thing, a phenomenon that arises towards the end of a civilization’s lifespan. We’ve seen it in Apollonian (Greco-Roman) civilization, and we’ve seen it among the Arabs, the Chinese, and the Indians. My chief objection to the Dissident Right’s Caesar myth, however, is that Caesar has already come and gone, we are living in a post-caesarian age.

Because the West is now entirely under American hegemony, I will focus on American Caesarism. Which populist figure in history broke the back of money power, putting the oligarchs in the service of the state, revitalized the decadent Republic, and refashioned it into an expansionist empire through military force? Take your pick. Four names come to mind: Abraham Lincoln, Theodore Roosevelt, Woodrow Wilson, and Franklin Delano Roosevelt. Teddy and FDR are even of the same gens, as Julius Caesar and Augustus were back in Roman times.

That’s a bit of a shock, isn’t it? In all variations of the Caesar myth on the Dissident Right, he is on our side. The jury may be out on Lincoln and Teddy, but FDR and Wilson were definitely not on our side. But these four men were great, world-historic figures who presided over the centralization of America and its conquest of its near neighbors. Lincoln brought the aristocratic, yet narrow-sighted, South to heel (reading George Fitzhugh’s Sociology for the South dispels some of the romanticism about antebellum Dixie). The trust-buster Theodore Roosevelt brought low the neo-latifundian class of Gilded Age robber barons and was instrumental in the United States’ takeover of Spain’s last holdings on the continent in the Spanish-American War. Wilson presided over the beginning of America’s conquest of Europe and the financial enslavement of European nations to American capital, as well as establishing the first institutions of global governance. FDR consolidated the American economy into megacorporations, put an end to labor strife, oversaw the finalization of America’s conquest of Western Europe and the Pacific Ocean, and built the vast network of bureaus, agencies, universities, corporations, NGOs, and gentlemen’s clubs which house and employ the West’s ruling class. He and his cousin-wife Eleanor were also the patrons of the new, consolidated civilizational faith. The United Nations’ first meeting is here analogous to the First Council of Nicaea. I’d call him the true American Caesar, but in my own personal analogy tables, he is America’s Constantine. If the enemy had the balls to do it, they’d call him Emperor Franklin the Great.

But, for reasons explained earlier, the Dissident Right’s Caesar myth refuses to die. We are, as dissidents, convinced that we are on the right side of history, so to speak. There’s no shame in admitting it. It is a tenet of the modern faith, as inaugurated by the early prophets of the English Enlightenment and codified by Emperor Franklin’s learned retainers. We are heretics and apostates of that faith, but much like Julian the Apostate, our own faith, which is supposedly a revival of earlier beliefs, is morphologically and organizationally a mirror image of the faith we scorned. And since only myth can defeat myth, let me plant this seed in your head to go along with the worm of doubt about Caesar.

The header quote comes from an essay by Wilmot Robertson in Ventilations, first published in 1974. It contains a brief biographical account of Mustafa Kemal Atatürk that compares his career as a dictator (Robertson uses the word without the usual moral stigma usually attached to it) to the career of other well-known dictators. Some dissidents might take umbrage with his assessments of Hitler, Mussolini, and Salazar, and I note with some amusement that Robertson had enough foresight to notice the obvious fault lines in the Yugoslav project and poke some much-needed holes in the Tito myth. He has, however, nothing but praise for “the fair-haired, blue-eyed Macedonian” — his words, not mine — who built the Republic of Turkey up from the ashes of the Ottoman Empire. He is in awe of the man who

did not, like Hitler, bite off more than he could chew, or suffer from the territorial itch that obsessed Stalin. He bit off less than he could chew. He was a retractor, not an expander of frontiers, giving up vast amounts of the Ottoman Empire to non-Turks. He did, however, cling violently to the old Turkish heartland of Anatolia and cleansed its western end of Greeks and its eastern end of Armenians.

Take what is yours, with blood and iron if need be, but do not be tempted by hubris. I don’t usually do the Balkan thing in front of outsiders, but let me indulge in it at least once. If Atatürk was indeed Macedonian, he’d be an elegant historical counterpoint to Alexander, who undid himself and his people through hubris. The genealogical evidence could go either way with Atatürk. He was almost definitely a Yuruk on his mother’s side, and they are proper Turks transplanted from the Turkish Urheimat. There has been speculation that he was Albanian or Jewish on his father’s side, and I’ve seen no conclusive evidence for or against this (the Ottoman Empire did not keep track of ethnicity, only of religion), but in my heart I still want to believe he is of one flesh with me and my people. Let’s leave that aside, however.

The Ottoman Empire was a vast and multinational entity. It staffed its civil and military administrative apparatus with Muslims, and Islam was the creed which had to be obeyed if one were to receive a state position. It was also tearing itself apart through ethnic strife, institutional sclerosis, economic subjugation to foreign powers, and simple civilizational age. The Ottoman Empire was the last of the Caliphates, the last bastion of Spengler’s Magian civilisation. Indeed, one could say that what Rome was to the Apollonian civilization, the Ottoman Empire was to the Magian: the expansionist, pragmatic civilizational stage of winter, glorying in military conquest but creatively sterile. The Ottoman Empire copied Arabs, Persians, Byzantines, and finally the West, but never found its own voice. Even the Rondo Alla Turca was written by Mozart. By the beginning of the twentieth century, it had been dying for some time and it was ready to die.

Mustafa Kemal was born and lived in the long shadows cast by men like Mehmed the Conqueror and Suleiman the Magnificent. He was forged in the crucible of Gallipoli and reborn as Atatürk, father of the Turks, after the Turkish War of Independence had secured the existence of his people and a future for Turkish children. The multicultural hodgepodge of the Ottoman Empire was consolidated into the Turkish nation, which was elevated to constitutive status in the new state. But if Atatürk is remembered for one thing in the West, it is for his secularization and anti-Islamism. He is revered for these things by all sorts of revolting people, from outright Leftists and globalists to jihad-watchers convinced Islam is the primary civilizational threat to the West. For my part, great believer in state religions that I am, I always saw it as a blotch on Atatürk’s record — but for the first time in my life, I think I understand why he did it.

The Muslim religion was the central organizing principle of the Ottoman Empire as well as of the Turkish people, who were its principal people for so long that it was no longer possible to disestablish it without dramatically changing Turkish society. The converse was also true: Turkish society couldn’t be dramatically changed without disestablishing Islam, and even discouraging it somewhat. There are no societies without state religions, however. The Republic of Turkey’s state religion was Kemalism. Islam had to be pushed aside in favor of this new faith. This happened for several reasons. Firstly, Islam is universalistic and expansionist, whereas the Republic of Turkey was conceived as a homeland for the Turkish people which would foreswear expansionism and foreign adventurism. Secondly, Islam is a religious form of the long-dead Magian civilization: It had to be abandoned, especially by Turkey, as its primary vector lest the civilization-death enveloped the Turkish people as well. Atatürk’s wisdom in replacing the Magian with Faustian forms just as Faustian civilization entered its winter stage can be debated, but the wisdom of jettisoning the old civilizational baggage cannot.

So, with all that in mind, let’s return to the American context. We have a vast, multiethnic hegemonic empire which is dying and ready to die. Its ruling class is incurably corrupt and degenerate. It has been a long time since it created anything culturally significant. It is economically subjugated by hostile foreign, international, and transnational powers. Its historically foremost people is demoralized and told it has no right to exist in its own homeland. Its central organizing principle is a decadent religion which keeps it anchored to a dying civilizational paradigm. It is territorially overstretched and can no longer protect its frontiers. New York in the twilight of 2021 does not look like Rome, recently evacuated by Pompey Magnus and the Senate and eagerly awaiting Caesar. It is Stamboul (officially still Constantinople) in 1920, occupied by hostile forces and run by degenerate merchants and servants posing as aristocrats, many of them recent converts to the Imperial cult, and many of them Dönmeh, Jewish false converts, passing themselves off as fellow Turks. Unlike Gotham, it is way past the point where its problems can be solved with an enema.

We are past the time of Caesar. There will be no civilizational second wind; it already came and went. There will be no restoration; we lack the stomach and heart for it. You will not follow Caesar to Gaul; he has already conquered and sacked Gaul (Germany) and executed Vercingetorix (Hitler).

There can, however, be survival. There can be ethnogenesis. There can be a nation which will claw its way out of the empire’s putrid corpse. And if there is a great man who will lead this process, he will not be the American Caesar. If he appears, he will be the American Atatürk. There is time for heroism yet. Young men will make their marks and live an exalted life in Gallipoli. They will forge a new religion to unite the new nation. Above all, the people will survive and have a chance to have their voice heard on the stage of history once again.

If this comes about, do not let the Caesar myth blind you to the greatness of American Atatürk. Venerate him, for he will be the great man who will define your future.

In my article on chaga nationalism, I discussed the spiritual dangers of allowing a purely negative and destructive approach to politics to take hold in the dissident’s heart. I discussed the danger of giving in to the urge to destroy without tempering it with a vision to create; a positive vision of victory towards which the dissident strives and orients himself.

Soon after, we got news of the Buffalo shooting. I am still not convinced that Payton Gendron was just a young white man at the end of his rope, and I suspect there is non-zero involvement by shady federal instigators and agent provocateurs in this sorry affair. But if I am wrong and this was indeed a young man at the end of his rope, then this incident is a vindication of my warning. In forgetting to create as he destroyed, forgetting the coagula part of the solve et coagula formula, Gendron fell victim to the demon of destruction.

What I intend to do in this article, however, is showcase the political dangers of a purely negative approach. You’d expect that demonstrating the spiritual — or if you prefer, psychological — dangers of such an approach would be enough, but I’ve found that there’s never a shortage of people in life who not only think they are more resilient than they are, but that they’re more resilient than the hundreds of generations which came before them. The tale of Boromir being tempted by the One Ring is important, because everyone is Boromir thinking they can take more out of the Ring than the Ring can take out of them. This is why we need people to understand that, though they may not care about their spiritual health, their political fortunes are also hurt by having a purely negative approach.

Let’s start by defining our terms. When I speak of the negative approach, I am talking of the operational framework which directs dissidents’ energies primarily towards dislodging the current ruling class in the West without regard for what comes afterwards, or what (and who) will replace it. Proponents will cite some advantages to this approach. Firstly, focusing on the enemy allows us to have a bigger coalition. If we are guided by positive visions, we’ll inevitably find that different groups of dissidents have differing and incompatible visions of what the future should be, and therefore refuse to cooperate. Focusing on defeating the enemy puts those differences on the backburner.

A second advantage is that by offering no vision of the future, one has no ground to defend against an ideological opponent and can focus all efforts on attack. When people have, and work towards, a positive vision, they have to defend it on grounds of feasibility, morality, and many other factors before they’ve even taken the first step towards constructing it.

A bigger force to field and less front to defend: Sounds great, doesn’t it? Well, that’s the theory. In practice, there are several problems with the negative approach.

From the earliest days of political philosophy, thinkers have almost universally agreed that a bad government is better than no government, that a tyrant is better than anarchy, and that it is better to suffer the depredations of an unjust system than to live under a Hobbesian world where man is wolf to man, red in tooth and claw, and life is nasty, brutish, and short. So, whenever someone attacks the prevailing political system, society edges one step closer to the dreaded state of anarchy.

To Right-wingers raised on liberal platitudes about that government being best which governs least, or former Rothbardian anarchists who think that a stateless society is a society of peace and cooperation, the notion that someone criticizing the system is an agent of chaos may be unthinkable, but to everyone else, it is almost self-evident. He attacks order, therefore he works for chaos. While it may be true that the King is corrupt, standing in the middle of the town square and calling the King corrupt is an attack on the order which the King personifies. The order may itself be corrupt and not particularly pleasant, but it is an order nevertheless and people instinctively recognize that it would be better than the chaos of roving gangs of bandits that would arise in its absence. This is why people are, as a general rule, wary of instigators who do nothing but criticize and attack the powers-that-be, even when they generally agree with the instigators about the state of things. Without a positive vision to promulgate in the place of the current order, all you are is a moaner.

Do we conclude from this that criticizing the prevailing order should never be allowed? No. Rather, we tailor our message so that when we criticize the regime, we then follow up on our attack with a positive vision — which is to say, we demonstrate that we are not merely agents of chaos, but that we seek to present a more orderly society than the current one. In fact, if we have a positive vision which is well-fleshed out and well-defended, we do not even have to criticize the regime directly, but by merely presenting our positive vision as an alternative, we threaten the regime’s position, as now their shambolic rule looks anarchic and chaotic by comparison. In maintaining the positive operational frame, the instigator and rebel has turned the tables on the ruler and framed him as an anarchist and himself as an agent of order.

Naturally, this sort of stratagem only works against a deeply corrupt regime, and insofar as one has a positive vision which can remedy these corruptions and provide greater order and security for society. If your vision is downright disturbing and would provide less order than the current regime, then maybe sticking to critique of the enemy is a good idea. White identitarian nationalists should have no problem with that. The positive vision of the ethnostate has several great advantages. It is feasible, it is morally defensible, and it is the modern version of the oldest and most natural mode of large-scale societal organization on the planet: the tribal confederation. Almost all problems characteristic of the modern world would be solved or rendered more easily soluble by the institution of ethnostates for the world’s various white nations.

A second problem arises when we consider the fact that building a coalition based on enmity towards something means that the coalition will necessarily represent a dog’s breakfast of ideologies and worldviews which are mutually incompatible and provide conflicting operational frameworks within the coalition. The result would be that the coalition’s public messaging would be nothing short of schizophrenic, which solidifies the order-preferring and conservative skepticism we identified at the heart of the first problem. For a practical example of why such an enmity-based coalition not only doesn’t work, but fails spectacularly, I recommend reading this article from The Visegrád Post about the failure of the “all against Orbán” coalition in the recent Hungarian parliamentary election.

But an even bigger problem arises from the negative approach in the context of a small and embattled group such as white identitarian nationalists in the West. Let’s say that we temporarily shelved the idea of the ethnostate and focused on doing as much damage as possible to the enemy. The first question we have to ask ourselves, of course, is “Who is the enemy?” This is problematic to answer, because there are multiple groups operating in the world, all vying for power. We do not have a single enemy, but rather we have multiple groups of enemies, some of whom are opposed to each other as well, whereas others pose as friends.

When we have the positive vision of the ethnostate, it provides us with an operational framework for making a friend-enemy distinction: Enemies are those who oppose the institution of ethnostates for the white nations on the planet. Suddenly the distinction is very clear, the battle lines are clearly drawn, and the enemy groups are clearly visible. But drop the positive vision and suddenly you ask yourself: Why am I opposing this group of people? What reason do I have to disrupt their plans? Why are they an enemy? The friend-enemy distinction is blurred, and now enemies can pose as friends and instrumentalize the efforts of our people for their own nefarious ends. Absent a positive vision, and understanding our own unique propensity as a people for pursuing destruction for the sake of destruction (or self-destruction), lack of a positive vision of victory leaves us vulnerable to becoming pawns of anti-nationalist forces which nevertheless may oppose the current ruling regime in the West.

Losing sight of the positive vision means that the resentful and destructive urges take over, with a monomaniacal focus on destroying “the enemy,” which is then easily coopted by other enemy groups who now pose as friends because they, too, oppose “the enemy.” The simplest of these deceptions is the mainstream Right appropriating dissident energy and efforts to elect yet more stool pigeons who will “trigger the libs.” By forsaking a positive vision, we’ve committed an act of unfathomable evil: We helped the center-Right, a movement whose entire purpose is to make the realization of the ethnostate impossible and enforce the Nuremberg moral paradigm.

More advanced deceptions include the instrumentalization of dissident movements for the purposes of empires which rival the Washington regime. The intelligence services of Moscow and Peking try very hard to influence the dissident thought space because they realize our power to injure the Washington regime, even if we sometimes don’t realize that ourselves. Opposed though they may be to Washington, it is good to remember that both Moscow and Peking are anti-nationalist imperial powers which fully comply with the Nuremberg moral paradigm, and as such can only be considered enemies of white identitarian nationalists. In the end, any political success from such an arrangement would be hollow, because all it would do is replace one anti-white, anti-nationalist power with another.

My third objection is related to the negative approach’s spiritual and psychological problems. It attracts the wrecker archetype, and necessarily damages political success. The wrecker archetype is, simply put, bad optics — and not in the ideological sense. You can get away with a lot ideologically if you present yourself as a well-groomed, well-spoken, and cultured person, but crass, weak, and slovenly people get rejected no matter how much they bow down to the Nuremberg moral paradigm.

The most didactic moment of America First’s downfall is Paul Gosar’s disavowal of Nick Fuentes for “having a big mouth.” Fuentes was ultimately rejected by the Congressman not for his radical political views, but for his weak character and dishonesty. But Fuentes’ movement never really had a clear positive vision of the future and dropped all pretense of any such vision after January 6, 2021 and the failure of the Trump reelection campaign. This is when the movement became embroiled in disputes, turned toward promoting the incel and loser lifestyles, and started hemorrhaging quality people, leaving behind only the pathetic dregs who want to burn the world down but have no idea what to do in its ashes.

The primary advocates for a negative approach to dissident politics in recent months has been Neema Parvini, a Welsh-Persian former English literature lecturer who likes to call himself Academic Agent on YouTube, and Bertie Basset on Telegram. His preferred term for this operational framework is CLEAR THEM OUT, always in capital letters. Leaving the question of who “they” are and how they’re supposed to be “cleared out” purposefully vague, he lays out the following step-by-step plan for CLEARING THEM OUT:

Step 1: Establish an intellectual vanguard capable of forming a counter-elite.

Step 2: Build a coalition based around CLEARING THEM OUT (which in practice should be done at the same time as Step 1).

Step 3: CLEAR THEM OUT.

Step 4: The vanguard moves with ruthless coordination to take power from other groups in the coalition.

It is in Step 4 of the Parvini plan that we see the negative approach’s political danger. Since the coalition is built on the basis of common enmity for the West’s ruling regime, it can theoretically include people with mutually exclusive views. Understanding that such a coalition would be greatly unstable, as seen in the Hungarian opposition’s example, let’s nevertheless assume that it survives the formation stage and actually succeeds in CLEARING THEM OUT. Every group in the coalition is now in danger of being ruthlessly purged by the “vanguard” and having its political ambitions defeated, even as it spent all of its capital — political, cultural, financial, and otherwise — fighting to CLEAR THEM OUT. It is therefore entirely conceivable that by embracing a negative approach, white identitarian nationalists can be hoodwinked into supporting a group which opposes White Nationalism and identitarianism, becoming its useful idiots.

Parvini’s association with such figures as the Jew Curtis Yarvin and Thomas Cyr, whose familial pedigrees include employees of the Department of State, DARPA associates,  and Council of Foreign Relation fellows leaves very little to the imagination when we try to conceive of what kind of vanguard he would like to ruthlessly take power after instrumentalizing the broader dissident movement, including White Nationalists. Yarvin’s presence is particularly interesting, given that presenting the man’s own positive vision for the future is the best way to dissuade people from getting involved in neoreaction; it turns out that the market for Jewish-dominated multiracial authoritarian hypercapitalism (but based) is very slim. What better way to improve its optics than by sweeping that hellscape under the rug of the purely negative approach, which plays to neoreaction’s forte: critique of the current system? Identitarianism is, of course, an impediment to this vision, but if identitarians, or even just people concerned about the demographic displacement of white people and loss of cultural identity, could be convinced that all that’s necessary is to destroy the current ruling class, then the identitarian energy could be harnessed in a way that is safe for the Judeo-reactionary program.

I don’t think Parvini is a dastardly mastermind plotting to subvert nationalism. He wouldn’t have outlined and published his four-step plan to screw everyone over if he were, but I wouldn’t exclude the possibility that he is being manipulated by a group of people who are seeking to seize power in the West for the purpose of instrumentalizing the Dissident Right, or at least those parts of it which are adjacent to him. I’d also caution that he is not the only one pushing a negative approach. Many others would like us to be hyperfocused on “the enemy” and ignore our own positive vision for the future, as well as the other enemy groups that are maneuvering for position in the weakening Washington regime’s shadow.

The key to avoid these subversions is to maintain our frame and keep our eye on the target, which is the ultimate goal of our political activity, and not allow ourselves to be enticed by the promise of a relatively easier but ultimately hollow “victory” via serving as useful idiots to any of the unscrupulous, anti-white, anti-nationalist groups jockeying for power in the complex, shadowy political labyrinths of a dying empire.

We live under a regime of lies in the modern world, but the lies are not haphazard and random. Rather, they come from a specific place, and they have a specific story they tell which is internally consistent and point to a specific place where we should take our minds. In other words, these lies form a moral-epistemic whole which we are expected to accept and implement.

This moral-epistemic whole is something you come up against whenever you try to do a little revisionist history, or maybe defend the right of white people to retain their ancestral homelands. Thus, it is something the Dissident Right knows exists, even if we don’t have a name for it. You do not need to name something in order to understand it, but naming it makes transferring your understanding to others far easier. For those of us who watch Academic Agent on YouTube, this moral-epistemic whole has a name: the Boomer Truth Regime.

You don’t have to watch the whole linked playlist (although I recommend doing so); merely the first video. In it, Academic Agent outlines his idea of what the Boomer Truth Regime is, and I gotta say, he presents a pretty compelling case for it. Of course, I’d modify his by now 2-year-old video with some insights we (and he) have gained since it has been released. Specifically, one of his insights is that “culture is downstream from law.” He speaks of the Boomer Truth Regime as a cultural phenomenon, and it largely is. The consideration that individual self-expression is the ultimate good and that collective, in-group beneficial action, as inculcated in the National Socialists and personified by Adolf Hitler, is the ultimate evil has informed the entire gamut of culture since 1945. But it did not come into being spontaneously. Rather, it percolated into culture beginning in 1960, because it was enshrined in law in 1946.

There will undoubtedly be those who object to the name Boomer Truth Regime because it unfairly accuses baby boomers of creating it. While recognizing that boomers are not to blame for the Regime’s instantiation, it is so called because the boomers were the first generation to be completely molded by it, and the one where its conditioning is the strongest. They were subjected to this conditioning when the educational-media complex necessary for such conditioning was still fresh, young, and functioning correctly. Subsequent generations haven’t been properly programmed, and therefore lack the dual aspiration toward ultimate self-expression and the messianic fervor for stamping out collective in-group preference, as in the boomer. The name also works on a rhetorical level because subsequent generations have a well-founded resentment of the boomers. All I can say to boomers who protest that they are being unjustly accused, usually by appealing to their individuality, is that the horse has already bolted.

I object to calling the moral-epistemic whole the Boomer Truth Regime, however, because while the name is nifty and rhetorically useful, it fails to properly situate the moral-epistemic phenomenon it describes in space and time. As I said, the boomer culture of the ‘60s and thereafter was a product of law codified earlier, in 1946, in the bombed-out ruins of Nuremberg. The judgements in the Nuremberg show trials codified the rules by which politics would be conducted in the future world. As Maurice Bardèche put it:

The condemnation of the National Socialist Party goes much further than it seems to. In reality, it reaches all the solid forms, all the geological forms of political life. Every nation, every party which urges us to remember our soil, our tradition, our trade, our race is suspect. Whoever claims right of the first occupant and calls to witness things as obvious as the ownership of the city offends against a universal morality which denies the right of the people to write their laws. This applies not just to the Germans; it is all of us who are dispossessed. No one has any more the right to sit down in his field and say: “This ground belongs to me.” No one has any more the right to stand up in the city and say: “We are the old ones; we built the houses of this city; anyone who does not want to obey our laws should get out.” It is written now that a council of impalpable beings has the capacity to know what occurs in our houses and our cities. Crimes against humanity: this law is good; this one is not good. Civilization has the right to veto.

Veto what, exactly? Reading Bardèche, I am reminded that on the Continent we used to believe in flowery prose, even when writing non-fiction. Sometimes we will write in a certain way simply because it is beautiful. Anglo-American authors are terse and to the point, and Russians labor through sentences like a monk labors through a prayer, but the Frenchman acts out an entire Symposium on paper and somehow, even across vast distances of space, time, and language, I see the principles incarnated as men furiously debating in the salon. I read it somewhere and see it proclaimed with a sense of tragedy and poignancy by the man defending the German position, that in Nuremberg, man forever lost the right to obey orders.

When we think of being issued orders, we do not usually think we have a right to obey them, merely an obligation. This obligation in fact comes with the threat of court martial and execution, in the military context. To disobey an order is any one of various crimes in the military context, ranging from insubordination to treason. However, as we’ve been constantly reminded by the Boomer Truth Regime, “just following orders” is exactly what those Nazis did, and it’s no defense when accused of Crimes Against Humanity.™ Therefore, it follows that if a soldier receives an order which conflicts with “humanity,” he must disobey it, thus putting himself in danger of court martial and death. Similarly, a civilian who merely obeys the law will find himself guilty of these same nebulous Crimes Against Humanity™ if this law is retroactively proclaimed unjust.

Now we can see, after we’ve lost it, that men have a right to obey orders as well as an obligation. The right to obey orders lay in the secure knowledge that as long one obeyed orders in the military context, or refrained from breaking the law in the civilian one, that one would not be considered a criminal. This principle no longer applies.

This has profound political implications. As per Carl Schmitt, the state dominates the political realm because it has the power to determine the friend-enemy distinction. In practical terms, this means that the state has the right to grab you by the ear, put you in a uniform, put a gun in your hand, point at someone, and order you to kill him, because he is the enemy, and to disobey that order means you’re a criminal, i.e. an internal type of enemy. But consider that by obeying the order, thus avoiding criminal persecution as a traitor, you might enter the category of a war criminal who commits Crimes Against Humanity.™ The the Nuremberg Trials’ practical effect, the criminalization of the act of obeying orders, severs the state from the subject and denies the state the right to delineate between friend and enemy, whilst instantiating another friend-enemy distinction. Specifically, in the post-Nuremberg world, anyone who fits Maurice Bardèche’s description is deemed the enemy of “humanity” and “civilization.” Even before the Nuremberg show trials, Schmitt predicted this in Concept of the Political:

The concept of humanity is an especially useful ideological instrument of imperialist expansion, and in its ethical-humanitarian form it is a specific vehicle of economic imperialism. Here one is reminded of a somewhat modified expression of Proudhon’s: whoever invokes humanity wants to cheat. To confiscate the word humanity, to invoke and monopolize such a term probably has certain incalculable effects, such as denying the enemy the quality of being human and declaring him to be an outlaw of humanity; and a war can thereby be driven to the most extreme inhumanity.

The concept of the ultimate evil as described by the Boomer Truth Regime aren’t just morally repugnant — they are illegal under the post-Nuremberg legal paradigm. In many European states, it is illegal to express such ideas. It is also illegal to engage in revisionist history with regard to the historicity of events that are now touted as evidence that these ideas always and without fail lead to Crimes Against Humanity.™ To put it bluntly, anyone who raises the flag of ethnic in-group preference is prosecuted on the grounds that if he is left unchecked, he will start another Holocaust. If he tries to defend himself against this accusation by pointing out that the Holocaust was a combination of the Jewish persecution complex and febrile wartime propaganda, he is prosecuted for “Holocaust denial.”

Naturally, this persecution is not reserved only for political activists, but also for culture-creators: writers, thinkers, artists, philosophers, commentators, journalists, and dreamweavers. The law is the harshest of selection pressures, and culture is the most malleable bit of the human extended phenotype. This is the key reason why culture is downstream from law. Once expressing in-group preference was made illegal for white people, it was only a matter of time before the culture became a barren wasteland where individual self-expression — sometimes known as disobeying orders – came to be seen as the highest good, and self-effacement for the good of the ethnically-defined collective as the ultimate evil. The Boomer Truth Regime can only exist downstream from the wellspring that is the Nuremberg Moral Paradigm.

What’s to be done about this? Academic Agent quotes Jonathan Bowden and recommends we “step over” people still stuck in the Boomer Truth Regime rather than debate them. I’ve certainly done so, as in my own praxis I’ve found that it’s impossible to debate someone who doesn’t inhabit the same empirical universe as you. However, this does not mean we should not engage in a deconstruction of the Regime itself — and what better way to do it than to go upstream and start attacking the Nuremberg Moral Paradigm? First of all, unless we attack it, all our attempts to assault the Boomer Truth Regime can be deflected by simply pointing out that deviating from boomer truth will lead to Nazis, and inevitably, the Holocaust. Secondly, the Nuremberg Moral Paradigm is a target-rich environment. Revisionist scholarship shows Nuremberg was built on lies, manipulations, false confessions extracted under torture and blackmail, false testimony, and procedural mayhem. Lastly, the Nuremberg Moral Paradigm provides the basis for the legal prohibitions on nationalist political organizing, which means that we’ll be permanently locked out of power until we can countermand it. Even just sitting on the sidelines and commenting on current events is dangerous in a legal environment informed by the Nuremberg Moral Paradigm; after all, it runs the risk of proliferating an alternative way of looking at things, an alternative moral paradigm.

Many of the Right are concerned about revisionist history’s “optics,” and especially that of Holocaust revisionism. However, “optics” are a cultural artefact that is downstream from law. The laws on the books, both formal and informal, prohibiting nationalist political organizing and revisionist history are the barrier which holds back effective realization of our political goals as nationalists and white identitarians, and are informed by the falsehoods enshrined at Nuremberg. We can’t do much about the laws until we seize power, but we can problematize the vertical transition of these falsehoods — or in other words, deny our enemies the ability to infect the younger generations with these lies.

The proliferation of revisionist history will not ensure that the youth become pro-white, but it will at least prevent their infection with the Nuremberg Moral Paradigm — meaning that only old men will believe in it. If only old men believe in a paradigm, then time works against it. For this reason, we must carry on with our scholarship, and above all, our moral condemnation of the post-Nuremberg world.

If you’re a long-time reader of my oeuvre here on Counter-Currents, you’ll know that I spent the last year dreading my 30th birthday. Part of it is exaggeration for comedic or dramatic effect; while I write to introduce ideas, spotlight problems, and provide prescriptions and analyses, I recognize that I also write to entertain. I took time out of my busy day when I was a humble office rat to read Counter-Currents. Sometimes, you enjoy the long thinkpieces with a big pot of coffee. Other times, you’re too knackered to do that, or you’ll appreciate an aside here and there. Hey, I didn’t invent it. It’s called gonzo, and it’s not just a Muppets character.

But the dreaded date came and went, and now I’ll have to think of a new running gag and Klagengrund. It was less dramatic than I imagined it. I had no grey hairs, my knees did not worsen or improve, and I’m still the cantankerous curmudgeon I’ve been since the late ‘90s. I was not inducted into any council of elders. Two days later, a shop assistant addressed me as “young man.” I retorted that I’m not a young man, having turned 30 only two days earlier. She laughed and asked what she should feel like, being 47. She didn’t look a day over 40. Some people have all the luck.

And yet, there is the sensation that somehow or other, a chapter of my life has concluded, and I could not shake the feeling that it had been bad. Mrs. Jeelvy is fond of asking, “Why did we have to be born in this time?”, by which she means the time of rule by anti-white globalists, mandatory vaccinations against a disease less dangerous than the vaccine itself, faithlessness in both the religious and moral sense, and simultaneous economic hardship and decadence. The first three decades of my life were what the Chinese would call interesting times. But in a personal sense, beyond all the global and even local problems we are facing, I found myself dispossessed and wronged at a very deep level.

Reading Mark Gullick’s thoughts on Herman Hesse’s The Glass Bead Game, I found what I consider to be the root cause of the deep sense of malaise in my being. Hesse wrote about the pedagogical practices which arose as a reaction to the so-called Age of the Feuilleton, and to me they’re as distant as Castallia. I am fully a child of the Feuilleton Age. I was educated in it, molded by it, and groomed to embody it — or at least what it considers as an intellectual. Hesse holds up a mirror, and like a Lovecraftian protagonist, I gaze upon my reflection and see a twisted, deformed thing.

Man is a creature whose total maturation period is the longest among animals. I’ve seen research which seems to indicate that the male prefrontal cortex isn’t fully formed until age 30, although a very religious scientist recently told me that the age of full maturation is probably 33, which is why by tradition that was Jesus Christ’s age at the time of the crucifixion. We are sexually and otherwise mature much earlier than that, but our brains are so complex that they take 30 years to complete their development — and this development isn’t merely biological. Much of human developmental biology is handled by the surrounding society; social epistasis, as the HBD crowd would call it. Growing up and maturing in a malformed, sick society is in this sense analogous to being carried to term by a crack-addicted mother.

When I read some of the other writers here on Counter-Currents, especially some of the older ones, I am seized by a mixture of envy and sorrow. Someone took them when they were younger and made them into the men they are today. By contrast, nobody saw fit to nurture my talents. Oh, I was a very smart boy, the apple of my parents’ eye, recognized as gifted by anyone who met me, and nothing came of it because globohomo has no need of savants. If you want an image of my life, imagine a man dragging his bulbous, oversized head behind him like one would a ball and chain. The great mind, when undeveloped by the surrounding society, is nothing but an impediment. I’m not a scholar because I lack scholarly discipline. I am not a philosopher because I lack philosophical methodology. What am I? I am the future of every gifted child growing up in the West today: a feuilletonista.

My education was not such as would have been given to a person of my gifts in saner times. Rather, I was caught between escalating SJW social policies and the neoliberal insistence that education produce workers with “marketable skills.” The result was alienation and truancy, and graduation through feuilletonoid reproduction of factoids unrelated to each other, or to a more coherent vision. Someone once noted that I have no method in my thought. The reason is quite simple: Nobody ever taught me any method; they all expected me to read from a textbook, repeat what I’d read, and that somehow, that would magically introduce the ability to work and think. Alas, people need to be taught to do things if they’re to do them.

We were encouraged to be “self-starters.” Within those words was our elders’ expectation that we’d somehow or other grow up to be men without their guidance and assistance. Did they really believe that old crap about pulling themselves up by their bootstraps? My parents, who provided minimal and grudging assistance to help establish my own path in life, received every possible manner of assistance from their own parents. When my mother screams at me to “become independent already,” she neglects to mention that my grandfather had found her first job for her when she was 22, bought her first house for her when she was 25, loaned her the money she needed to start her business when she was 45, and still helps her financially and with guidance.

But the curious thing about life is that it finds a way. Seeing my education, my Ausbildung abandoned by my elders, I wasn’t content to let my talents be wasted on alcoholism and hipsterdom. I became the self-starter, the autodidact I was expected to be. In so doing I discovered the alternative story of Western civilization. Always enamored of history, I discovered revisionist history. Having developed an unhealthy habit of writing creative fiction, I devoted myself to understanding language, and specifically the way in which it is used to weave stories. I did not realize it at the time, but I was slowly but surely initiating myself into the Dissident Right. I did not know there were other dissidents, but I did know that the mainstream was lying to me.

Just as a survivor of abuse learns to pick up the pieces and carry on, so did I. Despite my intellectual development having been stunted due to being miseducated at the tail end of Western civilization, I tried to overcome the challenges of my circumstances. While I’m content with the results so far, I cannot shake the feeling that something beautiful has been destroyed and that whatever my full potential was, it will never be fulfilled. The damage wrought by my miseducation is probably too severe.

That brings us here, to Counter-Currents, the university of the Dissident Right. It is also a remedial school for those of us damaged by the miseducation system. Mr. Cleary is right to note that I and others had never heard of Johann Gottlieb Fichte. Well, I’d heard of him, but never understood his importance. Before that, I hungrily devoured Mr. Cleary’s series on Heidegger. Nobody had seen fit to instruct me in this manner during the course of my miseducation. Martin Heidegger was presented to me as just one of those wacky Germans who invented postmodernism. Oh, and a Nazi. This wasn’t limited to philosophy, either. I, who had never shied away from the spooky and occult, had to become a dissident and come to Counter-Currents to learn about Neville Goddard and New Thought from the reclusive and eccentric Mr. O’Meara.

My time spent here as a contributor and compatriot has been a time of healing. The great festering wound of my miseducation has slowly been closing. I find myself engaged and interested in a way I never experienced before. Naturally, this is augmented by the purpose that has been given to my life by service to our cause. The hipsterdom of my twenties was ironic postmodernism, grinning inanely as it reveled in meaninglessness and ephemera. How silly I was — how blind, how immature — yet in my immaturity, I longed to find manhood and meaning. That period is has ended.

When I became a man, I set aside childish things.

There’s a kind of conservative article which is by now very predictable.

Leftists are doing something outrageous. Where before they did it in the shadows, they are now doing it with impunity, which is causing dissatisfaction not only among conservatives, but also among normal, law-abiding, hard-working, and otherwise platitudinal people. This dissatisfaction will soon boil over, resulting in a much-dreaded conservative backlash against the Latest Excess of Librulism™. The liberals had better heed the mild-mannered, moderate conservative’s well-intentioned warning — otherwise, they might awaken Backlash Hitler, which liberals obviously do not want to happen, right? 

Now, this sort of article serves several purposes. On its face, it is a friendly warning to Leftists that they’re overstepping their bounds, but these articles are usually found in conservative publications. Their intended audience isn’t the Leftists they’re supposed to warn, but other conservatives, usually more plebeian conservatives. The real message isn’t a warning to liberals, but a reassurance of plebeian conservatives that if the liberals transgress too egregiously, there’s always the scary Hitler Backlash option, in effect convincing the plebeian conservatives that they hold reserve powers that can be accessed at any given time. There’s also the bonus of painting the conservative writer as someone who defends the social compact from Backlash Hitler, therefore making him a good guy who is safe to invite to cocktail parties or even serve as the token conservative at a liberal publication.

Of course, at the bare bones game-theoretical level, this type of conservative article frames political life as an iterative prisoner’s dilemma, where the optimal strategy is mutual cooperation between Left and Right. Now, in the golden beforetimes, there was cooperation, although recently, the Left has begun defecting while the Right still cooperates. The warning is, of course, that further defection from the Left will result in a defection from the Right — and nobody defects quite like the Right (hence, Hitler). So this dilemma is asymmetrical. Defection from the Right results in catastrophic loss for the Left and possibly for the Right as well, given that they summoned Yog-Hitleroth who’ll soon devour their souls. 

Reality, however, doesn’t bear out this version of the game. 

Let’s first engage in a purely theoretical discussion of the classical prisoner’s dilemma. The standard game is such: two crooks are caught by the police. They’re given the option to testify against the other. If both refuse to testify (cooperate/cooperate), they each get a year in prison. If one testifies against the other, he is set free, but his buddy will get 3 years in prison. If both testify against the other, then each gets 2 years in prison.

On its face, the best outcome is to spill the beans while the other guy chooses to remain silent — the defect/cooperate result for maximum payoff, especially if there’s a stash of stolen money to be claimed once the prisoner is out. 

However, adding iteration (more games in the future) allows the chump, the guy who cooperated while the other guy defected, to defect in the next iteration and punish the other guy, even at his own expense, a behavior which in evolutionary psychology is known as altruistic punishment and is disturbingly common among whites, especially Northwestern Europeans and their colonial descendants. So, when the element of iterative games — having to live in a society with the people you fucked over — is added, people choose to cooperate out of their rational self-interest, fearing retribution. Problem solved, right? 

Let us now consider the possibility of playing the prisoner’s dilemma with someone who just will not defect, no matter how hard, how often, how egregiously, or how shamelessly you defect on him. 

But before we can do that, we must find this elusive person who just will not defect. To that, we will make a foray into personality psychology. 

We know from the research of Johnathan Haidt, Anonymous Conservative, and others that disagreements between what we call conservatives and liberals aren’t caused by differing convictions so much as different neurotypes, brain structure, and neurochemistry. I won’t go into the neurological science — suffice to say that the difference between liberals and conservatives can be spotted when comparing their split results on the Big Five personality traits test. Specifically, the dominant conservative trait seems to be conscientiousness, which has the two aspects of industriousness and orderliness, whereas liberals seem to be more defined by their openness to experience. An image emerges of the stalwart, disciplined, hard-working conservative and the freewheeling, head-in-the-clouds liberal. Indeed, the existence of such stereotypes shows us that folk wisdom comports with the scientific findings. 

This is nice and informative and tells us that the conservatives like order and work hard, while liberals like new experiences and are more intellectually inclined (though not necessarily more intelligent). It tells us what people like to do, but personality psychology also tells us what deeply wounds and psychologically destroys people. As I painfully learned during the coronavirus lockdowns, denying a highly extroverted person the opportunity to mingle with people and frolic in the sun causes severe depression, sometimes leading to indulgence in the few hedonic pleasures left with devastating consequences. If you want to see what highly agreeable people act like when they have nobody and nothing to care for, look no further than your nearest refugee-welcoming, pitbull-keeping white woman. Leave open people without new experiences, and they wither on the vine, going slowly insane out of boredom. And if you really want to drive a conscientious person crazy, disrupt the order of their surroundings and deny them the opportunity to contribute to their societies. The opioid crisis in America is fueled by a sense of purposelessness in the highly conscientious white Americans who’ve lost their jobs to globalization and diversity. 

Now, I mentioned that the conservative is highly conscientious and conscientiousness fragments into the aspects of orderliness, which describes a preference and propensity for following rules and imposing order on one’s environment; and industriousness, which describes a preference for working (or at least a lessened disutility of labor factor, in economic terms). Denial of order and labor to these people is torturous.

So, let’s go back to our game-theoretical discussion. The conservatives, who wither on the vine if they live in disorder or stop working, are supposed to defect on the ruling class. 

I want to advance the idea that they physically cannot do it.

What does defection entail in political relations? It entails breaking with the way things have been. It means primarily a shift in the way in which the world is perceived, of a sudden realization that the old order is not your friend and that the sooner it is dismantled, the better for you. Defection also entails no longer feeding the beast, which means at the very least looking for ways to sever oneself from the beast’s economic system, shifting the focus of economic activity more on independence from the system rather than being the best you can be (which is often only possible within the system). 

So, basically, it’s asking people who are very orderly and very hard-working to become achievement-avoiding anarchists. Ours is not a cause that seeks to eliminate order, but to replace the existing, bad order with a good one, so we aren’t anarchists. But to someone who cannot exist outside an orderly society, we might as well be. Compounding the problem is that no serious overhaul of any system can be accomplished without a little bit of chaos — and whether we like it or not, until globohomo falls, we are on team chaos. The conscientious conservative cannot brook chaos. He is disgusted and disturbed by the very idea of chaos. Conscientious people also tend to be risk-averse, and our thing is nothing if not risky. 

“It can’t be like that,” you say. Who could keep on trucking after being as thoroughly and utterly betrayed as the people of the Right? You’d have to be a blind fool or a masochist not to have enough and just stop indulging the Left. Well, it’s not as simple as that. We do see conservatives flung into uncharted territory after the Left commits another hitherto unthinkable transgression, but there’s always a coterie of quasi-preachers ministering to them in order to nudge them in the direction their neurobiology already favors. 

I’ve observed and will advance as examples three such philosophies of life which appeal to conservatives and serve to provide for them a narrative of heroic cooperation while the Left and the ruling class defect on them. 

The first is the philosophy of Jordan Peterson, whose response to iniquities against white young men is to have them take upon themselves the burden of finding a need in society and filling it, to “sort themselves out” so that they may be useful to the system which humiliates and seeks to eliminate them. 

The second is a nasty outgrowth of American-style social conservatism that blames young white men for the recent decrease in marriage rates, advising them to “man up” and marry that 37-year-old single mother with the triple-digit body count. Really, this is nothing more than the old Cosmopolitan magazine tripe about “commitment-phobic men” that mainstream social conservatism has seen fit to accept. 

The third exhibit in our sad procession is none other than our old friend QAnon, a narrative which convinced Trump supporters to heroically cooperate (“trust the plan”) even in the face of multiple and egregious defections from Donald Trump. And sure enough, these philosophies and screeds have millions of supporters, whereas the Dissident Right screed of defection from the system carries no coin with them. To them, we are losers, Nazis, and other fine epithets. 

The neurology of the conservative will choose order and labor, even self-destructive order and labor (there’s that altruism characteristic of whites again) over dissent and defection. The marketplace of ideas will always provide a narrative on why cooperation in the face of repeated and blatant defection is heroic, as well. Remember, the marketplace of ideas doesn’t produce the best or truest ideas, because value is subjective. Rather, in this marketplace, those ideas that are the most subjectively valued by people will receive the most traction, and so comforting lies — and few things are as comforting as the notion that following your neurological biases is heroic — will soundly outcompete uncomfortable truths. 

Let us circle back to game theory. With this information in mind, we now understand that we’re playing the prisoner’s dilemma with someone who cannot defect; ergo, they cannot punish us for our previous defections. So, even in the iterative game, the most rational strategy becomes defection, given that we are certain that the other guy will cooperate. Grudgingly, with much grumbling, with many dire warnings of Backlash Hitler, but he will cooperate. And if this is true, it may be possible that we have reached peak redpill — that even if mainstream conservatives receive all the relevant facts, they still won’t effectuate the radical change in Weltanschauung necessary to defect — their neurology won’t allow it. They will be satisfied with merely their theoretical ability to summon Backlash Hitler, make a lot of noise, maybe even take a stroll through the US Capitol, but they won’t really defect on the Left. 

This leads me to conclude that the real political battle will be fought over the heads of these permanent cooperators by the political Left on one side and the Dissident Right on the other. Conservatives will not win because they’re not in the game. They’re not just unwilling, but might be neurologically incapable of taking the plunge into the strange world of defection from the system. Someone who just will not defect is always someone’s serf. 

The word “elite” is thrown around a lot these days. From the context of what they’re saying, I gather that a lot of people seem to conflate it with positions within government and society. I see things differently. Elite are those who have the option of defection. The normie Right cannot defect. The bioleninist client coalition is so addicted to chaos that they cannot cooperate. The elite are those who can choose and therefore engage in an actual battle of wills. Whoever wins in this battle of wills gets to impose an equilibrium of his own choosing on the so-called normie who cannot defect, who hasn’t got the neurology for it, who watches a TV program because it’s on TV. 

With that, I leave you to think. Knowing all we do now, seeing history sprawled behind us, understanding human psychology and game theory, I ask you: can we really redpill the normies? What can we accomplish by redpilling them? Could the impossible have happened? 

Have we reached peak redpill? 

I am, at the Federal level, libertarian;
at the state level, Republican;
at the local level, Democrat;
and at the family and friends level, a socialist.
If that saying doesn’t convince you of the fatuousness of left vs. right labels, nothing will.
— Nassim Nicholas Taleb, Skin in the Game

One of the most inane dilemmas of mainstream political discourse is the question about the size and power of the government. More often than not, conservatives and libertarians who try to get a grasp of where I stand politically will ask me whether the government should do this or that, or how big it should be, or whether it should have the right to do whatever.

Lately, I answer their questions with a question of my own: Which government? It stops them short. They’re used to thinking of “the government,” not of “a government,” even though nobody alive or dead has interacted with “the government”, always with “a government.” My usual rhetorical follow-through is that current governments, for the most part, should not even exist, whereas a hypothetical monarchy with myself as King should be omnipotent. It’s crude, but it helps recenter their worldview on what really matters: who, not what or how.

However, since we inevitably have these discussions on the Dissident Right as well, even though we are centered on the who rather than the how, it might be a good idea to devote some time to exploring how big the government should be — maybe even to have a second recentering of the discussion frame. As usual, the answer lies in history.

Thanks in no small part to Hans Hermann Hoppe’s Democracy: The God That Failed, the idea of the medieval king’s lack of power relative to today’s government has reentered the discourse. Libertarians will point out that in the past, people were freer than before; that the King had to gather investment and men for offensive wars on his own private time and dime, much like an entrepreneur rising capital for a business venture; that he did not interfere in the lives of his peasants; and that he certainly did not take their children away from them and place them in indoctrination camps (sometimes known as schools), nor did he engage in wealth transfers to parasitic client populations.

In fact, the King’s duties and powers were relegated to being supreme commander of the military, chief diplomat of the state, chief law enforcement officer, and supreme judge of the land. He didn’t even have legislative power beyond the power to interpret and apply existing law (as supreme judge). This has led people to believe that life in medieval times was basically ancapistan plus the King.

However, the fact of the matter is that the King was not the only part of the government. Sure, he was the guy in charge, but medieval society had many layers of government; many dukes, counts, and barons, and each lord, petty or small, was supreme master in his own demesne: the head of law enforcement, the military, and the highest judge — basically a king in miniature. Furthermore, each city and town had a local government headed by a lord mayor which busied itself with the day-to-day maintenance and administration of the city and its common areas, the city watch, and any other infrastructure. City government was augmented by guilds, which functioned by royal charter and had a de facto monopoly on a certain trade, so that trade was regulated through the guild in exchange for the right to extract monopoly profits. Each village had a local government, which was organized along familial/tribal lines for the most part and headed by elders.

A final layer of government was the Church, which had vast holdings all over medieval Europe, both in the West and the East. Bishoprics and monasterial estates functioned similarly to lordly demesnes, with the bishop or the abbot of the monastery performing many of the functions of the Lord and functioning like a feudal land-holder in many instances. The Church had its own canon laws and ecclesiastical courts which were separate from the King’s laws in the West, or integrated into Imperial law in Byzantium and Russia.

Between themselves, these many layers of government built and maintained roads and infrastructure; provided defense and law enforcement; provided for the sick, the old, and infirm; provided for the poor, both in material and spiritual help; educated children; regulated commerce; levied taxes; planned economic and cultural life; financed arts and sciences; built cathedrals and castles; and founded cities and made possible all which we call civilized life. But the King’s government did little outside the military, police, diplomatic, and judicial areas. The monarch was a true minarch, even though he did not preside over a minarchy.

The great question of what the government should or shouldn’t do is predicated on the notion of “the government.” We think of “the government” because we live in the modern age. In the Age of Enlightenment, monarchs started centralizing government, mostly because they were jealous of the power held by feudal lords and the Church, but in the process, city and village self-government also suffered. In order to centralize government, kings instituted the centralized bureaucracy which gradually took over the powers and prerogatives of the feudal lords, the Church, and the local self-government. They gradually took over the governing and administration of the entire state, and soon, the kings found themselves superfluous in the system. The bureaucracy could function perfectly well without them, and so they went away — in France by guillotine, in England by defanging.

The calls for the abolishing of privilege and the cries for equality were merely signs of a system trimming the fat, retiring institutions which no longer served a purpose. If the bureaucracy can defend the land, enforce the law, conduct diplomacy, build roads and bridges, shelter the poor, regulate commerce and trade, heal the sick, and even provide moral guidance, then why do we need kings, lords, churches, or even guilds? The states which resulted from these liberal-bureaucratic revolutions were almost totalitarian — the totality of governance from the previous era was concentrated in a single entity: The Government.

It may appear we’ve come full circle, that my question about “which government” is mere pedantry and rhetoric. Here is someone having a serious discussion about the size of government, and then I try to show what a clever boy I am by demonstrating that ekshully, historically, what we call the government wasn’t the government (or something like that). Honestly, I’d punch myself in the face if it were so — but it ain’t so. The existence of multi-layered, multi-modal government in the medieval period tells us something about human nature and the nature of government, which is something that is still with us and still pertinent.

The institutions of the feudal lords, of Church authority and estates, of city and village self-government, and of guilds arose because a need for them existed in human society. The basic social unit may be the family, but the basic biological unit of man is the community, by which we mean the village, a Dunbar number-compliant human social agglomeration. Villages may further be agglomerated into counties, or if very close together conurbated into a city, but because this is the level at which humans interact and exist, this is the level at which they must be governed. A city government is a government of conurbated villages (neighborhoods), each of which should have a layer of government for itself so that it may provide local solutions to local problems, and local government is an organ of the community itself, as the brain is an organ of the body.

The problem of centralized bureaucratic government is that it is blind to local problems at best, trying to solve them with one-size-fits-all solutions at worst. When people complain about “muh big gubment,” unless they’re repeating Koch brothers talking points, they’re usually complaining about the various stupidities that centralized government bureaucracies impose on communities they do not understand. The bureaucracy, for example, will impose Critical Race Theory top-down on schools because it has discovered, through a very intellectual and difficult process which has no connection to reality, that white people created a white society, and that this constitutes racism against non-whites for which all white people must be made to pay and hate their own whiteness (which is a social construct made specifically for the purpose of justifying slavery and exploitation), regardless of the actual educational needs of the community. Critical Race Theory, for one, would be impossible to implement and promulgate if education were handled at the local level.

What we’re left with are unsolved and wrongly-solved problems, because they can only have local solutions, and modernity’s local government is defanged and quivering before the central bureaucracy. However, devolution to local government is more or less impossible, because the central bureaucracy holds all the power and will not relinquish it – otherwise, it may fall victim to foreign bureaucracies, which remain centralized. The result is a sort of hollowing-out of society with the power to solve problems accumulating at the absolute top, and the unsolved or wrongly-solved problems gathering at all levels and sucking the vitality out of civilization. It’s how you get a country with ten Nimitz-class nuclear supercarriers, but where you can’t get a train from Dallas to El Paso.

Does this answer the question of whether “the government” should do this or that? No, and that question doesn’t really deserve an answer, because it is nonsensical. During my time as an attorney, people would often barge into my office and start rambling about what they wanted me to do. It could take up to fifteen minutes before they stopped rambling about the great and detailed plan they had for their legal proceedings. One has to wonder why would they come to an attorney if they already had a plan, but experience has taught me not to begrudge them this. People will often try to implement a solution without regard for the problem. So I’d let them ramble on until they felt they had unburdened themselves, and would then ask them what problem they were trying to solve. Once I knew the problem, I’d offer them the appropriate solution, but as they were uneducated in law, they could not even frame their problem properly — hence the need for a recentering of the frame.

The question isn’t whether the government should or shouldn’t, but whether it is or isn’t — whether it consists of those who are willing and able to solve our problems rather than hunt down abstractions such as “whiteness” or build a global empire based on sexual transgression. We have a way of creating a government capable of solving problems, and that is by having governors with skin in the game — who are themselves beset by the problems they are trying to solve. As the government scales up to the county, regional, or state levels, the government entity’s breadth (though not depth) of power will naturally decrease, as defense and law enforcement problems always present problems of greater scale than local sanitation or infrastructure.

Most of what the local government will do from day to day is the stuff that is decried as socialism (pronounced soshulism) by the liberal Right. Socialism’s biggest problem — the thing that kills it whenever it is tried in modernity — is the free-rider problem. By governance at the local level, the free-rider problem is eliminated. It’s easy to free-ride off of foreigners or people you never meet. It’s much harder to do that if everyone you know hates you for not pulling your weight. Naturally, the polity would have to be ethnically homogeneous, such that taking one for the team and not free-riding would make biological sense.

I’d add to the sentiment expressed in the opening quote that aside from all those things, I am an anarchist at the global level, meaning that I believe there should be no global government or governance: There is no category of problem which can be effectively solved at the global level, unless we are invaded by space aliens or threatened by a planet-killer asteroid. But even then, the degree of international cooperation displayed by historic kingdoms would be quite essential to defeat such threats. When medieval Europe was menaced by the might of the Caliphate, the kingdoms put their differences temporarily aside in order to unite under the banner of Christ and break the back of Muslim power in the Mediterranean. Christendom under the spiritual leadership of the Pope was an example of internationalism done right: a specific solution to a specific problem which took advantage of existing commonalities between the European Catholic kingdoms.

Whites today face similar problems as we did in the Middle Ages. This doesn’t necessitate the construction of a racial imperium, but merely an alliance which would beat back our racial enemies. Our racial commonality, which creates a temperamental and spiritual communality, lends itself well to white cooperation in the face of anti-white adversity. And before you ask, yes, the government should protect the racial interests of whites — with all means available, at all levels, the government should be pro-white.

Picard: Well. . . I suppose that is the end of Q.

[with a flash, Q appears on the bridge with a trumpet, accompanied by a mariachi band] 

Q: AU CONTRAIRE, MON CAPITAINE! HE’S BACK!

[Trumpet blows, the band starts playing]  

One of my favorite topics of discussion in the Dissident Right, and a perennial pet peeve of our circles, is the QAnon phenomenon. I’ve written about it all the way back in 2018, others have written about it, Devon Stack of Black Pilled and now Morgoth of Morgoth’s Review have made videos about it. There are many Twitter threads trying to get to the bottom of what Q is, who is behind it, what its purpose is, and what its eventual fate will be. They’re all fascinating, because whodunits are always fascinating. Without hard evidence, however, we can only speculate. That’s a lot of fun, but here at Counter-Currents, we are all about serious business. And yet we cannot ignore Q as mere silliness. Therefore, I have resolved to blackbox the QAnon phenomenon, leaving aside its inner workings in order to observe its effects on the political scene and the Dissident Right specifically.

I won’t pretend to know who Q is. He could be some Midwestern kid in his mom’s basement hawking shirts, hats, and mugs; he could be one or several American (or other Five Eyes countries) federal agents wasting taxpayer dollars by gaming the political system; he could be an intrepid Macedonian content farmer hiding out in a converted industrial loft in Veles, making piles of cash off of ad space; or, as some have speculated, merely a rudimentary engagement-maximizing AI developed by Midwestern kids, federal agents, or Macedonian content farmers (or all of the above) for the purpose of selling hats, mugs, and shirts, gaming the political system, or making piles of cash off of ad space. But who Q is is less important than what Q does. And by that, I don’t mean the shadowy figure, figures, or AI posting the cryptic messages on imageboards. Rather, I mean the movement of QAnon true believers.

In my trawling of Twitter dot com (truly a goldmine for the enterprising people-watcher), I’ve noticed that QAnon people talk back to the blue checkmarks with a good dose of courage, even smugness. They’re dunking on what they perceive to be condemned men and women. Because a key point of the Q narrative is “the storm,” in which the white hats in the American government will purge the black hats and all the pedophile satanist child molester globalist elites who have hijacked (hijacked, I say!) America, Q-believers feel confident in mocking elite Leftists with blue checkmarks. The blue checkmarks themselves are stunned by the sheer suicidal bravery of someone daring to talk back. The response, if it ever comes, is usually some variation of “where do you get your balls?”

Now, here’s an aspect that Vox Day of all people has managed to get right. It doesn’t matter that a narrative is false — even blatantly false — if acting on it delivers success. His Arch-Enemy and King of the Gammas Jordan Peterson would call it “darwinistically true.” And indeed, if we define success as having the balls to openly antagonize Leftists and humiliate them in public, yeah, QAnon is a successful narrative. It also serves as a useful means for coordinating and rallying populists of a certain variety. One interesting aspect is that the QAnon narrative might have gotten out of the control of whoever started it. There are unconfirmed rumors that it was indeed started by some cynical kids with the intent of selling mugs and shirts, but has since been blown out of proportion and that parts of it are variously run by grifters, feds, and those pesky Macedonian content farmers. But it’s bigger than them now. It’s bigger than just America, too.

“It’s just dumb boomers LARPing!” you say. Well, that may be so. Except it’s not just boomers — young people are repeating the QAnon narrative, too. And as Morgoth pointed out in his video, the QAnon narrative has become the central folkish thrust of the Trump campaign, just as the immigration and race replacement narratives of 2016 were the animating power of that era’s meme magic, even though its memes are unbelievably cringe. However cringe and stupid we think this thing is, it has gotten a life of its own. It animates a large number of people who show up to Trump rallies, even though it is transparently false to anyone with two brain cells to rub together. What gives?

We are the HBD crowd here, and we like to harp on about race differences in intelligence, but we tend to forget that there’s a whale of variation within races too. A large number of white people are of IQ 90 and lower. An alarming amount are in the midwit range. Most of them are apolitical and just want to grill, for chrissake. But even those who just want to grill can’t help but notice the politicization of everything. So they enter politics reluctantly, to defend themselves from politicization and depredations against their way of life, mostly to defend their creature comfort and peace of mind. Very few have a class consciousness — after all, when you just want to grill, the racial makeup of the country is of no importance, only that grills and meat remain legal. If you don’t really want to get involved in politics, you won’t get into the nitty-gritty of the concept of the political, collective action, or organization. Rather, your biases will lead you to seek out narratives in which good guys are already on the job, and they merely require your thoughts and prayers, or at most your vote. It’s the ultimate in slacktivism — just far enough from your comfort zone to make it feel like sacrifice and “doing something,” but close enough that you don’t cede core comforts.

Do understand that I’m not knocking these people. They were born with average or below-average IQ and a weaker will than others. This is something they have zero control over. Low IQ and low thumos aren’t crimes. These people very prudently do not want to be involved in politics — they’ve neither the ability nor the inclination. Indeed, they are forced into politics by the republican-democratic system and the concordant liberal culture of “the good citizen” who is engaged with grand ideas. Really, the best these people can muster is local politics, which is why they expect small institutions to scale up. To them, the American federal government is a massive homeowner’s association and the FBI is their local sheriff’s department writ large. Small minds (which are small through no fault of their own) cannot comprehend the nature of macroentities. If they knew what we know about globohomo’s various institutions and agendas, they would be so thoroughly demoralized that they’d either be too depressed to leave their homes or the human submission instinct would kick in and they’d immediately convert to globohomo.

As an aside, this is a good thing for accelerationists to consider. While a highly engaged Dissident Rightist might just hack the idea of powering through to the next Spenglerian civilizational cycle, some people just don’t have the capacity to think outside of the framework which they’ve been raised in. Asking them to abandon the framework of American liberalism is like asking a fish to ride a bicycle. Asking them to accept that the American liberal paradigm is against them, evil, and must be destroyed is like asking a pious Christian to take a dump on a crucifix. Something like Q is probably the best we can do to engage them and the democratic system dictates that these people have to be engaged, even if only as a votebank.

So, that’s it, right? All the snickering aside, Q is good and beautiful and it serves to moralize the normies when otherwise they’d be eaten alive by woke. So what if it’s stupid and false and everyone with two brain cells to rub together not only rejects it but is also irritated, and not only because of the low-IQ and repetitive nature of Q believers?

Remember when I said that Q memes are cringe? There’s a reason for that. It’s because everyone with two brain cells to rub together rejects and is irritated by the Q narrative, and the creation of dank memes requires two brain cells to rub together and that certain je-ne-sais-quoi that sets a memelord apart from a cringetard. Apparently, you can’t beat meme magic out of glorified normies.

I’ve suspected for a while that the Dissident Right consists mainly of the disaffected sons of the ruling and upper-middle class. The 2016 meme magic and subsequent emergence of /pol/ as an unofficial police, intelligence, and counterintelligence agency, embarrassingly better and more effective than its official counterparts, has convinced me that the Dissident Right is full of unemployed and underemployed bright men who’d have formed the political, security, financial, educational, cultural, and intelligence elite in times past. Since IQ, thumos, and other elite-characteristic traits tend to be heritable, I suspect that many of our elite enemies are harboring a Dissident Rightist fifth column in their basements and upstairs bedrooms.

To the federal fuckheads, NGO nincompoops, and Antifa aardvarks reading this: your son is probably a secret Nazi.

Turns out that alienating the cognitive and creative elite of the movement, the people who got into the Dissident Right precisely they do not believe shoddily-constructed narratives about the government, is a bad idea. What seems to be even worse is calling them shills, feds, brainwashed, or my personal favorite, insinuating that their lack of fervor for Q Jesus is due to depression, effectively trying to ascribe skepticism about a political position to mental illness — a method favored by the Soviets. It engenders a contempt for the Q believer in the Dissident Rightist and activates his old elite biases against the proletariat. What if my professors and mother were actually correct, and the Right really consists of genuinely stupid, uneducated people? I mean, who but a foolish ingrate would not only blindly put his faith in QAnon, but also call you a Federal Depressed Antifa shill for doubting the narrative? What if I’ve been blinded to the astounding stupidity of Right-wingers in the 2016 era by our perceived successes and camaraderie? More to the point, the content of the narrative itself disgusts someone who wants to fight for his people. Sit tight and do nothing while our beautiful military and white hats in government perform a little bit of magic and purge the pedophile satanic globalist elites. Really, this is just Alex Jones, hold the charisma, entertainment value, and personal integrity.

Nothing really gets done without the elite, disaffected or otherwise. 2016 was a struggle between the old elite and their underemployed progeny, and the young bloods won, for a given definition of the term “victory.” 2020 thus far has been the story of the Leftist elite running wild to little opposition, aside from quixotic Q people talking back to them (and losing their Twitter handles). Without memes produced by the dissident rightist cognitive elite, the footsoldiers of populism are memetically powerless, unable to invigilate themselves into the political discourse the way the 2016 era Dissident Right forced the issues of immigration and identity to the forefront.

One of the most important things I’ve written for Counter-Currents is my essay on multimodal ethics. I keep telling myself that I need to rewrite it for clarity and coherence, but for the time being, take it as is. Whatever political formula we employ in the future will have to solve for these two variables: the necessity of constructing a narrative for the lower classes so they remain happy and reliably vote for whomever serves white well-being best without alienating the movement elite. That the elite needs a different ethical and narrative system I believe is at this point self-evident. Ideally, the Dissident Right would be a formal initiatic society and higher degrees would come with ever-greater and more profound redpills. As it happens, it is an informal initiatic society and status is unregulated — higher degrees do not command as much clout as lower degrees can (indeed, the most redpilled are usually the most obscure), inverting the power relations.

In the meantime, all we can really do is observe the QAnon phenomenon from a distance. As we know from the Seventh Day Adventists and other Millennial Protestant sects, non-manifestation of the eschaton does not discourage the faithful — one cannot be reasoned out of a position they weren’t reasoned into. It may already be too late and Q-belief might already be a requirement for any foray into populist politics in America.

The best we can do is construct an alternative, less false narrative for the white normie — and hope he finds it more compelling.

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The US midterm elections have come and gone and not much has changed in the world because of them. The consensus among my esteemed colleagues here at Counter-Currents is that the GOP’s lackluster performance reflected its lackluster nature. Aquilonius’ devastating rhetorical body blow sums it up best: “What is the one thing that is less cool than a dude who cut off his own frank and beans? Answer: A stuffy Republican in a suit droning on about the free market and political decency.” Indeed, the GOP performance was uninspired, uninspiring, formulaic, and above all, boring. Call me old-fashioned, but a revolution against an evil ruling class should be at the very least mildly entertaining.

In the aftermath of the midterms, Donald Trump announced his intention to once again run for President of the United States. In stark contrast to his grand entry in 2015, the announcement was very low energy, opening with appeals to low black unemployment and reeking of an old man’s desperation. And hey, who can blame him? At 76 years old, he’s no spring chicken. Then again, neither is his presumed opponent, President Joe Biden. America, it would seem, is out of young men to entrust with leadership. But the players’ age is not the only problem we can see in this tragicomedy we call America. No, our problem may well be with the times.

Them’s the times. Strange expression, isn’t it? It’s used as a quick and dirty sociodicy when something is going badly. Them’s the times. Indeed, them it is. But maybe if them’s the times, we need new times. Ah, yes, that old chestnut. Turn a new page, let bygones be bygones, start afresh, hit the reset button, or in simpler terms, let the old times die so the good times can roll.

When we speak about good times and bad, we speak about chaos and cosmos: a state of hostile nature opposed to a state of order. Normally, this division manifests in space, but when we say them’s the times, we observe this distinction in time. And here let me quote from Mircea Eliade’s The Sacred and the Profane about the nature of time as experienced by religious man:

It was from the body of the marine monster Tiamat that Marduk fashioned the world. Yahweh created the universe after his victory over the primordial monster Rahab. But, as we shall see, this victory of the gods over the dragon must be symbolically repeated each year, for each year the world must be created anew.

The underlying meaning of all these facts seems to be the following: for religious man of the archaic cultures, the world is renewed annually; in other words, with each year it recovers its original sanctity, the sanctity that it possessed when it came from the Creator’s hands.

Marduk created the cosmos from Tiamat’s dismembered body and created man from the blood of the demon Kingu, Tiamat’s chief ally. That the annual commemoration of the Creation was in fact a reactualization of the cosmogonic act is shown both by the rituals and in the formulas recited during the ceremony.

Since the New Year is a reactualization of the cosmogony, it implies starting time over again at its beginning, that is, restoration of the primordial time, the “pure” time, that existed at the moment of Creation. This is why the New Year is the occasion for “purifications,” for the expulsion of sins, of demons, or merely of a scapegoat. It is also a matter of abolishing the past year and past time. Indeed, this is the meaning of ritual purifications; there is more than a mere “purification”; the sins and faults of the individual and of the community as a whole are annulled, consumed as if by fire.

Our ancestors saw the cosmos as being worn out by the passage of time. They considered movement in time away from the cosmogony — the act of the creation of the world and defeat of the chaos-dragon — as a process of degradation, of moving away from the sacred. They therefore resacralized their existence through the ritualized reenactment of the cosmogonic acts. The King, standing in for Marduk, would fight an actor standing in for Tiamat, or sacrifice an animal standing in for the demon Kingu. In so doing, they revitalized the cosmos and regained that sacrality which time and temporal distance had worn out during the preceding year. They moved closer in time to the Golden Age, fondly referred to in Macedonian folklore as “the time when God walked on Earth.”

In modern times, our annual religious celebrations aren’t usually in the service of our cosmogony’s reactualization. This is because we no longer believe in religious cosmogony; not in any substantial way, at least. When we say cosmogony, we don’t just mean “he who created the universe,” but also the notion of where the institutions such as work, marriage, property, dinner, fatherhood, war, family, city, nation, and sundry others come from. In past times, men believed that the gods had created these institutions, and that at one point the goddess of agriculture taught man to work the land, the god of justice taught laws to human judges, the god of war taught them how to fight, and the goddess of peace taught them how to stop fighting. Each human organ, each human activity, each aspect of life was sacralized, or in Eliade’s terms, given a sacral homology. We jokingly refer to the sexual act as “ploughing,” but in many cosmologies the world began exactly in that way, in a sacred union between woman-Earth and man the ploughman, their sexual organs being a fertile field and a phallic plough, respectively. We do not go to our supposed gods for that wisdom anymore because the old religions are no longer our actual and practiced religion.

Our actual and practiced religion is derived from that which we believe instituted these things that we do. Even atheists have a religion in this sense. Oftentimes we don’t have a specific personage to whom we can tie these institutions’ founding, but we do have the concept. Thus, “rational self-interest” instituted these things in the Randian and libertarian religions, and the Church in her infinite wisdom instituted these things in the TradCath religion, whereas the liberal (or derisively, libtard) religion — which is followed by an overwhelming majority of the population and the entire elite — believes that the god Enlightenment, whom the ancient Mesopotamians knew as Marduk, slew Superstition (Tiamat) and the demon king Ignorance (Kingu) and made the world out of their bodies. But the passage of time wears the world out and each year we are again at risk of chaos seizing the world, thus necessitating the ritualized resacralization of the world by a reenactment of the cosmogonic myth.

I believe that the liberal religion and its two largest sects, the progressives and conservatives, and whose major organizations in America are the Democratic and Republican parties, have a peculiar way of reactualizing their cosmogonies: by reenacting the founding of their respective states as an expression of the cosmos in the realm of law and politics. Let’s take a trip through them.

In a previous text, I chastised those Right-wingers who sought an American Caesar, counselling them to seek an American Atatürk instead. My chief reason was and remains the fact that America has already had its Caesar. In fact, it has had four Caesarian figures, by my reckoning, the latest one being Franklin Delano Roosevelt, who is most analogous to Emperor Constantine.

In the progressive sect of the liberal religion, he is the great founder. His are the institutions which make governing possible, and each generation of Leftists must find for itself a sacred, youthful reincarnation of FDR to vote for in order to “usher in a new era” — a New Deal, if you will, for every 20 or so years, the Deal must be renewed lest the forces of fascist Tiamat devour the cosmos. And so Emperor Franklin the Great has been reincarnated no less than four times — as John Fitzgerald Kennedy, as Jimmy Carter, as Bill Clinton, and as Barack Obama. Each slew an incarnation of Tiamat in order to heal America, and each defeated the forces of entrenched and reactionary interests by being young, cool, and sexy. This was true of Kennedy in particular, since he was killed while in office, becoming something of a minor deity to older progressives; not to mention that his time, the 1960s, is considered a Golden Age for the Left, a sacral time to which we must annually return by constantly “breaking boundaries.” And of course, who can forget the messianic fervor that surrounded the election of Barack Hussein Obama, the man who was supposed to absolve America of her racist past?

The conservative sect of the faith chooses rather to venerate Abraham Lincoln, America’s first Caesar, as the state’s great, mythical founder. While they may pay lip service to America’s Founding Fathers, they see them as the ancient Greeks saw the Titans in relation to the Olympians. Guided by the Jewish prophet Harry Jaffa’s myth of the civil war, and especially the Gettysburg Address, as the second founding, just as the ancient Babylonians expected their kings to embody the god Marduk, the GOP expects each of its leaders and presidential candidates to embody Lincoln. When they wax poetic or nostalgic about The Republic, they speak of The Golden Age of Lincoln. When they gather in their boring suits to pontificate to each other about individual freedom, low taxes, and their love for Israel, they strive to emulate what they imagine to be Lincoln. Despite reaching back further in time for their inspirational figure, the conservatives are the younger sect, and have so far only managed to inaugurate three reincarnations of Lord Lincoln, those being Ronald Reagan, George W. Bush, and Donald Trump. Since this is the younger sect, and the one catering to their civilization’s less religious portion, it is less formal and more lax with its rules in how the cosmogony is to be reactualized. The incarnation of the godhead, Lord Lincoln, is supposed to own and/or trigger rather than slay the libtard Tiamat, just as Lincoln defeated those Democrat racists in the Civil War, and thereby liberate the sacred blacks — or Mexicans — from their oppression by the racist Democrats. Since he is the god of downmarket worshippers who like to think of themselves as practical and down-to-earth, he shouldn’t be too eloquent or appear too intellectual, especially if his lack of intellectual chops annoys the libtarded Tiamat. Evn here the theme of rebirth is constant and even stronger, however. It’s Morning in America. We’re gonna Make America Great Again. We’re returning to the global stage after a long Holiday from History. With this election, with this triumphant return of Lincoln reborn, the twin specters of racism and libtardism will be kept at bay once more, the world will be resacralized, and the Republic will be founded anew.

I believe that these ritualized reconsecrations serve a very important secular purpose, aside from anchoring the faithful to their ancestral and sacred Tradition. I believe that they give each generation of the faithful the illusion of having made their own world and fought their own struggle. Does it really matter that the system treated the flower children of the sixties with kid gloves and was already on its way toward adopting their positions if they believe they defeated it? They earned their right to rule, goddammit, by dancing naked in Haight-Ashbury or tripping on LSD at Woodstock. It ritualized the routine changing of the guard, with the New Deal-era elders being replaced by the New Left youngsters as revolution lit a much-needed fire in these youngsters’ bellies. When you’re simply given something, you take it for granted. It therefore behooves the wise elder not to bequeath power without a struggle, so that the young one may at least believe that he has earned, rather than received, the power and honors he acquires. The grand narrative of revolution and overcoming is what serves as a self-legitimizing myth for the flower-child generation, and they see their own glorious struggle played out again and again. Maybe such a powerful myth will someday exist for us benighted millennials as well.

Now that we more or less understand America’s religious landscape, we have a better idea of why it is so moribund. The Right has not had a resacralization ceremony since 2016. The Left has not had a resacralization ceremony since 2008. America’s politics are dominated by old men who refuse to yield the stage. In 2016, the Democratic Party disrupted the ceremony by nominating Tiamat herself, unleashing chaos on the world, although one wonders if it could come up with a plausible reincarnation of FDR at all. In 2020, the Republican ceremony was disrupted when Lord Lincoln’s avatar was defeated by the dragon of chaos, but there was no resacralization on the Democrat side: Joe Biden is many things, but he is not a cool, young rebel who is showing these old fuddy-duddies what’s up. The faith and both of its major sects are in crisis, and Trump’s announcement that he’ll run in 2024 tells me that the crisis is here to stay.

There will be no reinvigoration, and there will be no reactualization of the cosmogony. The faith is worn out, and even though the people still want to believe, they cannot bring themselves to do so. Who in their right mind thinks that voting changes anything anymore? Who in their right mind thinks that a cool, slick Democrat will destroy a decrepit and ageing system and usher in a New Era? Nobody on that side has Kennedy or Clinton’s effortless charisma, nor do they have Obama or Carter’s messianic image. Who on the Republican side will take up the top hat and beard to be another Lincoln and bring the lowest-ever unemployment to America’s increasingly hostile and greedy non-white masses? The will to rebirth isn’t there anymore. Faith was not lost because of a lack of will to believe; it was lost because of a lack of will to practice — because orthopraxy was violated, and because someone, somewhere got greedy and proud and stupid and violated the ritual’s rules.

We are now in a transitional period. Many people, including an overwhelming majority of the elite, want nothing better than to have a proper resacralization ceremony and return to sacred time. Many people can feel in their bones that they’ve lived in a profane, dirty, sinful time for a very long time now — much longer than they’re supposed to. Part of this is the Internet’s time-dilating effect and its attendant informational abundance: We feel that decades pass in the short years that actually do. Part of it is the realization that an orderly resacralization ceremony is impossible; Tiamat is already rampaging through the city’s outskirts.

What is necessary is an actual sacralization. What is necessary is for the god Marduk himself to destroy the dragon and remake the world anew — for real, this time. In practical terms, someone must put an end to the raging chaos and impose a new political and moral paradigm upon America from which the renewed institutions of daily life will spring forth and a new Golden Age will commence. That someone will not come from the decrepit Roosevelt and Lincoln cults, but rather from outside — from a hitherto ignored or hated minor sect which has its own ideas on how to organize society.

This is the chance for white identitarian nationalism to be that sect. With our ideology acting as the asabiyyah that binds us together and informs our movements against chaos, we stand in a position to seize the initiative and take upon us the role of Marduk, of the cosmogonic god-king who defines the new sacral paradigm for people in the West, but especially America. Having correctly identified Tiamat, the dragon of chaos, as the presence of non-whites in white homelands, with a special focus on a certain tribe of chaos-addicted troublemakers, we must act as a force of order against this beast, remove it from the our people’s homelands, and forge a new order out of its bones.

As longtime readers of this august publication will know, I’ve been haunted by the process of my ageing in this past year. During this time, I’ve thought again and again of a phrase in Cat Stevens’ “Father and Son,” spoken by the father to the son: “You’ll still be here tomorrow, but your dreams may not.”

The romantic is always prepared to die for the cause, and he is therefore always punished more harshly, to live a long life after his cause has been shattered, to live as a man among the ruins. Having recently debated the viability of our struggle to save the white race with a skeptical friend, my thoughts turn to the fate which faces those who fight for lost causes. I believe a glimpse of this fate is visible in the 1994 Studio Ghibli animated film Pom Poko.

Pom Poko is the story of Japanese raccoon dogs, or tanuki, fighting against the encroachment of housing developments on their ancestral forests. I do not believe it is possible for outsiders to Japanese culture to fully appreciate the film’s subtle references to the tanuki as a creature of folklore. Even the film’s name, pom-poko, refers to the sound that raccoon dogs make when beating their bellies as drums. Throughout the film, we’re reminded of the sheer alien notion of the raccoon dogs’ magical transformative power being especially pronounced in their testicles. Nevertheless, the commonalities of the raccoon dogs’ struggle to maintain their home and our own revolt against the modern world bind us to them and demand that we give them respect. There’s also something deeper, something gentle about the idea of mischievous forest critters protecting the woods that appeals to the white man’s aesthetic sensibilities, themselves forged in reverence for the forest. Hey, there’s a reason that uncle Adolf named the Japanese honorary Aryans.

The story begins with a tribe of raccoon dogs being driven from their lands and coming into conflict with another tribe over territory. They struggle and fight, but are interrupted by the wise grandmother Oroku, an elderly raccoon she-dog who sings a song about how they’re both doomed because they can’t confront the humans, who are their common enemy. Humbled by her song, the raccoon tribes make peace and resolve to fight against human encroachment together. Thus Tanuki nationalism is born.

The raccoon dog elders then hold a council and decide to seek out the transformation masters, who’ll teach the tribes the lost art of transformation — which is to say, they have endeavored to return to tradition. Some tanuki can transform at will; the males in particular can transform their testicles into objects many times their size, and this power is soon put to use fighting the human construction crews encroaching on their territory.

The tanuki assault the construction site during a storm and manage to kill or injure five workers. They celebrate, but the Japanese government refuses to stop the development. In the process, the bravest of raccoon dogs and chieftain of the Tama tribe, Gonta, is severely injured, forcing field command onto the Shoukichi’s shoulders. Rather than aggressively seeking to kill humans and destroy equipment, he prefers to frighten them away by transforming into youkai and convincing them that the woods are haunted, however. Tellingly, this does not work, but the raccoon dogs are having so much fun that they do not stop to reconsider their strategy. Does this remind you of something we tend to do — those incredibly fun things that nevertheless do not help our cause? You can’t stop a development by pretending to be ghosts, and you can’t build a political platform by owning the libs.

Unlike us, the tanuki have a problem with overpopulation, or more precisely, of being forced into ever-smaller patches of forest, and then find food and space to be in short supply. They soon institute a practice of celibacy in order to control their population, but the ever-spirited Gonta retorts that they do not have a problem of having too many raccoon dogs, but rather a problem of too many humans. I believe that white populations in our ancestral homelands are in a similar predicament: The problem is not so much with decreasing white birthrates, but rather with too many racial enemies in our lands. The falling white birthrates have many causes, but the rising costs of living and raising children caused by the influx of hostile racial aliens is one of them. Removing them will provide much-needed breathing room and resources, which are ours by right.

Not all raccoon dogs are capable of transformation. A majority of them, in fact, are only ordinary animals. But a small minority — an elite, if you will — is capable of transformation, and is therefore able to take the fight to the humans. One of these transforming raccoon dogs is sent to bring the Transformation Masters, three elder tanuki, from far away. They soon arrive and begin directing the transforming tanuki in Operation Specter, a ploy to scare the humans away by putting on a parade of demons.

Operation Specter causes a big fuss in the human world, but its effect is diminished when the owner of the Wonderland amusement park claims that it is a publicity stunt. After this it is clear that the raccoon dogs have failed to chase the humans away. But then a fox arrives, and offers to show the raccoon dogs a way to transform into humans so that they can live in the big city disguised as them, as the foxes are already doing. He even offers them jobs in the Wonderland amusement park as entertainers. The price would be abandoning those raccoon dogs who cannot transform, and the fox quite nonchalantly claims that they have already died out, anyway, calling it survival of the fittest. The tanuki council rejects this offer, mostly out of solidarity with those who can’t transform. It is then clear that the raccoons simply cannot save their way of life.

Gonta and his hardliners elect to revolt against the modern world directly and fight the humans head-on. They are confronted by loggers, construction workers, private security guards, and finally, riot police. The dogs are killed, but not before they inflict casualties on the humans and destroy a significant amount of their construction equipment. Gonta dies as he lived: with honor.

Meanwhile, Master Hage, the oldest and wisest of the Transformation Masters, organizes the non-transformers into a cult based on dancing in order to keep their spirits up in the time of lost hope. Here we see another parallel with dissident politics. What is the Q-Anon cult and related manifestations of blind hope if not a dancing cult — a kind of white man’s ghost dance where if we wave the flags hard enough, things will go back to normal? Master Hage transforms his testicles into a treasure ship onto which he loads these lesser raccoon dogs and sails with them down the Tama River, those aboard believing that Buddha himself will come to take them up to the heavens. Nothing of the sort transpires. When Master Hage runs out of energy, the ship disappears and the lesser raccoon dogs drown.

The remaining tanuki put on a final show for the humans and themselves, transforming the now-developed land into what it once was: an idyllic forest dotted with traditional farms. The humans are amazed and frightened by the spectacle, and the vision is so powerful that it even conjures up the tanuki themselves as they were before the developers arrived. Seeing themselves as cubs overwhelms them and breaks their concentration. The vision of the hills as they once were is then lost forever, but not before little children can see the tanuki. Then they begin new lives, like the foxes before them, as humans. The modern world is victorious. The raccoon dogs furiously chug energy drinks so that they can remain in human form. Shoukichi, having assumed the role of a human salaryman, wonders how humans could live in the exhausting, unnatural way of the modern world.

The three responses – those of Gonta, Master Hage, and Shoukichi — are the three courses open to the standard-bearer of a lost cause: die with honor, lose yourself in fantasy, or bend the knee, continuing to live on in an unnatural position and running at full speed just to stay in the same place. The destruction of the forest means that there is no longer an authentic existence for the raccoon dogs. Those who can transform live as humans; those who cannot end up as urban pests, eating garbage and depending on the people’s kindness. We as white people are faced with a similar threat. Now, I do not believe our cause is hopeless or that our defeat is inevitable, but with every passing day, I am faced with the possibility that I may never live to see my own glorious self-destruction. Life, wretched and unnatural, will go on.

More and more I am convinced that if victory comes, it will come from transformative processes which we employ on ourselves. More and more I am convinced that it will require the extraordinary efforts of extraordinary men to bring our cause to victory. Can I transform, as easily as the raccoon dog, into an entity of my own choosing? Having little access to the spirit world, my efforts to transform my testicles into a golden ship have so far been unsuccessful. But I can transform myself into a more perfect man, and more specifically, I can transform myself into a weapon in the hands of our cause. This is a question of willpower, and even more than that, of mental discipline. I’ve discovered in my praxis that the two are not the same thing, even though they may be related. Willpower is akin to anaerobic resistance, the ability to sprint in short bursts, whereas discipline is akin to aerobic endurance, the ability to remain active for a longer period of time, and also depends more on structure and method than sheer force of will.

Pom Poko is one of those films that has to be seen to be understood. Film is always a visual medium, and animated film even more so. Anime, being characteristically Japanese, owes much to that culture’s fanatical and almost self-destructive devotion to beauty. You can read Jeelvyan jeremiads about revolt against the modern world, anaerobic resistance, and raccoon dog testicles, or you can treat yourself to Studio Ghibli’s masterful and loving depiction of tanuki folklore and western Tokyo before it was western Tokyo. I warmly suggest you do the latter.

The people of the ancient Mediterranean had a peculiar belief. They believed that malodorous air, or bad air, was a cause of a particular disease which, owing to its origins, they named malaria. This was called the miasma theory of disease. Guided by this theory, they sought to build their cities away from sources of bad air, such as swamps and other bodies of stagnant, foul-smelling water. In doing so, they successfully avoided large-scale malarial infection.

The European civilization which followed the Mediterranean likewise held this belief. This led to the renovation of Paris in the mid-nineteenth century, giving us the now-familiar vistas of the broad boulevards which cities the world over emulate. Ignaz Semmelweis’ introduction of hygiene protocols in hospitals were in part informed by miasma theory (he believed that odorous particles emanating from cadavers, transferred by the unwashed hands of doctors and medical students, were causing puerperal fever in birthing mothers). Nor were the ancient Mediterraneans and nineteenth-century Europeans alone in this belief. It was shared by the ancient Chinese and Indians, who likewise followed the advice proferred by miasma theory in their own medical and urbanistic decision-making.

It all sounds very pleasant, except for a tiny detail: miasma theory is false.

What causes malaria, as well as its good friend and cousin cholera, are germs: microscopic creatures that enter the human body and disrupt its normal functioning. Owing to their small size, however, they were not discovered, nor could they be proven to exist until the invention of the microscope. Their connection to infectious disease remained a mystery until the work of the German physician Robert Koch in the late nineteenth century. And yet, we are here because men before the formulation of the germ theory nevertheless had an idea of how to avoid and combat infectious disease, mostly thanks to the false and discredited miasma theory.

So, where am I going with this? Let’s dispense with the history of medicine and talk about bears and rocks for a while.

Imagine that you’re walking down a road in the countryside. Suddenly, out of the corner of your eye, you glimpse something that looks like a bear. Unburdened by such mind-killers as “skepticism as to the true nature of things,” you bolt like the devil himself, running from the honey-eater as fast as your feet can carry you, discovering that you are far nimbler and faster than you initially believed. Once your fear of the bear propels you a sufficient distance away, you turn to discover that there is no bear; in fact, there never was a bear. It was only a rock that, when observed in your peripheral field of vision, vaguely resembled an upright bear. Congratulations, you’ve just committed a Type 1 error: a false positive.

Let’s examine a different scenario. You’re walking down the same road. Suddenly, out of the corner of your eye, you glimpse something that looks like a bear. Knowing full well the low statistical likelihood of encountering such a wolf-to-bees in your clime and region, you do not allow this apparition to disrupt your serenity and continue on your merry way. Then, in the space of about two seconds, you are bisected, disemboweled, and devoured by the bear, who proceeds to tell all of his bear friends at the bear pub what a stupid, arrogant human it had the privilege of eating that day. Congratulations, you’ve just committed a Type 2 error: a false negative.

These things happen for a very simple reason. The human instinct, when confronted with bear-shaped apparitions at the periphery of one’s visual field, is to run first and ask questions later. This means that those who find themselves in the first scenario, who commit a Type 1 error, survive, whereas those in the second, who commit a Type 2 error, are slaughtered and devoured — if not by bears, then by other creatures or even other men. The human animal has evolved to be wary of strange figures and suspicious movements in peripheral vision. The mechanism of this evolutionary trait has been that those who aren’t wary are culled before they can breed more people like themselves.

Notice that both scenarios involve the unfortunate subject committing an error. For good reason: To err is human, and we’re dealing with human creatures here, some of whom are more error-prone than others. Absent societally-mandated procedural behaviors, people have to make decisions, and more often than not, they have to make them under conditions of uncertainty; i.e., they have to make judgement calls. The ancients, Julius Caesar included, mockingly envied their slaves for whom every decision was made — and theirs was not to reason why. For good, reason too: Fear of error is the mother of indecision. He who resolves to be a decision-maker, a free man, must therefore be prepared to make errors: wrong decisions and bad judgement calls. Anyone unprepared for this will be a slave, implementing protocols and procedures developed by better and more decisive men. An overwhelming majority of people are slaves, and there’s nothing wrong with that; you accept that someone else knows better than you and implement his decisions. In this way, even if you find yourself in error, it’s not your fault: You were but an instrument in someone else’s hands, and his is the heavy burden of decision-making under uncertainty.

Please do not read the above paragraph as sarcastic. It sounds sarcastic because we, like our entire society, are part of the liberal and egalitarian world which tells us that All Men Are Created Equal. When applied in this case, this means that every human being is an adequate decision-maker and therefore would not relish the opportunity to become enslaved — to turn his decision-making process over to someone else who is better and more decisive. The liberal idea – counterintuitively — liberates not the masses (they remain slaves, as is their natural station), but liberates the decision-makers from responsibility for their judgement calls.

Witness the brouhaha over student debt forgiveness in America. The indebted — one could say indentured — masses complain that they were deceived, and that all they did was obey their societies’ protocols. They did no wrong in implementing these protocols, which were given to them from above — above here meaning both their parents and their society at large. The response of some is that they all “freely” made the choice to go to college and incur debt, which is to say that at age 17 they should rather have rebelled against their parents, all their teachers, and all the messaging in society telling them that they’d become irredeemable losers if they didn’t go to college. The implicit demand at Nuremberg that every German soldier should have disobeyed orders actually seems reasonable by comparison.

Rather, what we are observing in the above example is the abdication of duty by decision-makers who made those decisions for those who are now saddled with student debt: the banks, the universities, the federal government, and the media and culture moguls. This infinitely smaller pool of people who made the decision that the students then implemented will never be held accountable. Not even Joe Biden’s student debt relief plan will do what is necessary: Tell the banks and universities to pound sand, declaring a debt jubilee.

Seeing as how we White Nationalists are a vanguard group which seeks to become the white nations’ ruling class in the future, we need to have useful heuristics for decision-making which take into account the fact that we will make errors. Our models of thought and action must be such that they minimize loss from error, not try to avoid error altogether. A quest to eliminate error is a fool’s errand, and worse, leads to indecision, dithering, and therefore loss of opportunity for growth.

For this reason, I don’t judge models of the world on their power to accurately predict events, but rather in terms of the effect they have on their practitioners. For example, when I believed that a world-ending war was imminent, I was motivated to quit smoking, get myself into the best shape I’ve been in, and educate myself in the use of firearms, small-unit tactics, and wilderness survival. The world didn’t end, but the fitness and knowledge I gained stayed with me, and it has been very useful to me, even on my intellectual journey.

Similarly, many people believed that the Covid vaccine would result in mass deaths due to deleterious side effects. Indeed, there have been many cases of vaccine-related deaths and injuries, though not nearly as high as was claimed by some of the vaccine skeptics. Indeed, as Mrs. Jeelvy is fond of remarking, we should have been so lucky that all the vaxxtards would have dropped dead by now. It’d certainly go a long way towards solving the Libtard Question. But alas, they’re still running around. And yet, in our resistance to the vaccine, we found friends and allies and forged networks that we can utilize to further our own agenda as White Nationalists. We have also taken steps to become less dependent on the system, seeing as it showed its inclination, if not full capacity, to fully control access to public services, making it conditional on obedience to a specific diktat.

Over the past two years, the so-called schizos were predicting doom and gloom from an omnipotent, world-encompassing bureaucratic nightmare which is totalitarian and ineffective in equal measure. Such a nightmare did not transpire, but believing the schizo narrative and implementing the schizo program still puts you in a better condition and position than not. The incidence of cardiac events from the vaccine is apparently low, but it’s there, and people who have not taken the vaccine are fully protected from this risk. Note that we don’t know the long-term effects of the vaccine, and may not know them for some time. Ten years after its rollout we will have some idea of what it did — if we’re allowed to look at the data, that is. More importantly, we’ve seen the global governing structures exert themselves to impose measures of even tighter controls on us. Using the schizo framework, we’ve managed to see the outline of this enemy that was hitherto unrecognized. The so-called Great Reset seems to have been put on hold, probably owing to its technical unfeasibility at present, but the enemy has shown its willingness to implement this program in tandem with its desire to replace whites with invaders in their ethnic homelands.

Correct belief and correct prediction are overrated. It is better to believe an epistemically wrong thing that nevertheless leads to action which improves your position rather than believe the right thing at a given moment. The man who sees a rock and not a bear is right — until he is eaten. A man who, having mistaken a rock for a bear, acquires a weapon capable of stopping a bear is in a better position because of his error. And when bandits later attack him in his home and he successfully defends himself with the weapon he obtained to fend off a bear, he has benefited not once, but twice from his error. Likewise, when we overreact to Covid tyranny by developing more independence from the system, especially in a collective manner, we also gain the strength to resist white racial displacement in the future. This is not to say there’s no room for the rational, strictly evidence-based approach, but it lies in the analytics after the fact, in the refinement of the heuristics already proven and the deconstruction of those that have proven insufficient.

In this sense, there ought to be a humility among those of us who are more cerebral and more concerned with correct belief (orthodoxy). We should recognize that there is a place for people who, while they may believe wrong things, still do the right things (orthopraxy). Our aim as analytical thinkers must be to pave over the errors in their behavior, using reason as a tool rather than as an end. In philosophical terms, this is the approach favored by American pragmatism.

Note that I’m not saying that we should believe what’s useful — that’s impossible; people believe what they believe, and trying to force yourself to believe something you don’t is a fool’s errand. Pascal’s wager is not valid because it’s not a bet that can be hedged. Rather, I am speaking here about the outside observer of a false, yet orthopractic, belief — someone who observes someone else committing a Type 1 error. He shouldn’t mess with the belief unless he can refine and improve it. He should only attack those false beliefs which are also dangerous.

There’s also some humble pie to be eaten with regard to the construction of predictive models: Predicting the truth is meaningless if we have not moved towards greater power. In simpler terms, it’s better to win than to be right, although there is room for being right. Always be aware that winning can be a Type 2 error as well: You win something, but it’s meaningless, so in the grand scheme of things all you did was expend resources and time.

To the scholarly type who is concerned with truth — empirically verifiable, Aristotelian truth — believing the wrong thing cannot possibly lead to proper behavior. But the real world is different. It usually consists of people believing falsehoods that nevertheless lead them to proper behaviors. For those few who are genuine decision-makers, a feedback loop where acts based on belief, whether true or false, lead to feedback: winning or losing, which informs the belief, which refines the acts. Men who can change their belief and behavior after receiving falsifying feedback are precious gems, true representatives of the judgement caste who can be genuinely free rather than merely implement procedures given to them from above.

The scholarly type could be one of the judgement caste if he could overcome his fear of error, and thereby his indecision. The man of action could also become one if he would accept the value of contemplation and analysis. A man fit to be a master is both experienced and learned, uniting thought and action, cognizant of the impact of error and yet ready to exercise judgement.

You’d rather see me in the pen
Than me and Lorenzo rollin’ in a Benz-o
Beat a police out of shape
And when I’m finished, bring the yellow tape
To tape off the scene of the slaughter
Still getting swole off bread and water
I don’t know if they fags or what
Search a nigga down, and grabbing his nuts
And on the other hand, without a gun, they can’t get none.

— N. W. A., “Fuck tha Police.”

Hands up, don’t shoot: Who here has listened to gangsta rap? Who here has felt energized by gangsta rap? Who here is a little bit nostalgic for the 90s, N.W.A., Geto Boys, Biggie Smalls, and other luminaries of Negro criminality? Who else considers poseurs like Slim Shady and Kanye to be spiritually inferior to all those niggas of yore, despite producing technically superior and even (gasp) original music? Check your skin color. Are you white? Are you less white for liking these tunes, savage and low-quality though they may be? I grew up with a dislike of rap. Only in my 20s did I realize that I didn’t hate rap as much as I hated Kanye and Eminem. Those violent-ass ghetto niggas from the early 90s were, on the other hand, dope.

The reason why millions of young white men emulate these violent criminals, pimps, and dope peddlers who set some naughty words to sampled (stolen) beats is because gangsta rap is the only warrior music out there, outside some of the blacker NSBM. Your typical rap is a conqueror’s badass boast about sovereignty and power. Sovereignty from the white man and his police, sovereignty over other niggas armed with Uzis and AKs who are his posse, immense power to injure the white man, including the po-pos, rising in part from the loyalty of the aforementioned posse of niggas with uzis and AKs, a vast cornucopia of material goods, including but not limited to lowriders, bling, dope, and dead presidents, which power and wealth, in turn, attract oodles of bitches and hoes, who can then be turned towards the accruement of ever more power and wealth through the mystical arts of pimpin’ and ballin’. In short, a gangsta rapper describes the life of a man who bows to no one, especially not the hated white man. A gangsta rap is a princely boast of wealth, power, and sexual capital acquired through violent strife. Each rapper dreams himself in his heart King Nigga, all-powerful, obeyed by the niggas in da hood, feared and respected by the pigs, in possession of unlimited narcotics, money, and vehicles which jump up and down, commanding the sexual lust of all the bitches and hoes, and even the white women, which are all his to do with as he sees fit. Even the stereotypical “hands off my man, bitch” clash between LaTrine and ShaDynasty is part of the boons of being an inner-city Prince. Few things boost the ego as seeing two women fight over who gets to experience your overwhelming sexual prowess first.

The pimps so glorified by the gangsta rapper embody the spirit of the ultimate alpha, of a lion who doesn’t have to work, who is surrounded by women, who work for him and are his property. A lion does nothing but sleep all day and wait for the lionesses to bring him food and then submit to his sexual will. He will, of course, also kill any competing lions and even the male cubs of the lionesses he conquers. This makes perfect sense from a Darwinian point of view. Monopolizing the sexual marketplace is the ultimate Darwinian success. Don’t believe me? Ask our good friend Genghis Khan. Or any of his millions upon millions of descendants.

Gangsta rap is high-thumos warrior music, extolling those who kill their enemies, break free from the white man’s law, and get paid and laid doing it, winning the loyalty of their fellow Negro. Weihan Zhang on Twitter (sadly banned) was fond of characterizing it as “high criminality sports shoe music” in his endearing pidgin. While a chuckle-worthy example of unbridled East Asian racism (all hail), it betrays a Sino-Mammonist’s reductively materialist view of the world. It’s not about the shoe. It’s about power; the power to steal and kill and get away with it, humiliating the police. Even if you get caught, what are they gonna do? Throw you in prison? Prison is nothing more than an opportunity to “get swole,” and maybe learn some more tricks of the trade from career criminals if you are on the younger end. It’s how a bitch-ass nigga gets transformed into a bad motherfucker.

Believe it or not, this is the natural way in which Negroes function. Africa is just the ghetto writ large. In fact, I look at African ultraviolence and the only wrong thing I can see about it is the white man’s involvement. We shouldn’t be dumping aid into Africa, nor should white people be in the line of fire. I doubt aid to Africa does anything but jack the stakes up to the sky, because now, not only will you get the loyalty of niggas and a harem of bitches and hoes, but you also get to become a billionaire milking the white man for his guiltbucks.

What, therefore, is to be done with the ghetto? Two schools of thought are socially acceptable in the West. The progressive liberal will have you believe that more money must be poured into the ghetto in order to make those niggers act white. He, or more likely she, will also make some noises about the sexism and homophobia inherent in rap music, preferring such gelded, tame Negroes who respecc whamen, such as Kanye West, or even the much-promoted authentic Detroit wigger Marshall Mathers whose shtick of being a (gasp) white rapper reminds me of Milo Yiannopoulos’ caterwauling about being a gay Jew on the Right. Snoop and Biggie are too saucy for our blue-haired elite. The second school of thought is the cuckservative school of thought, which believes that the Negro was peaceful and productive, uninterested in violence or promiscuity, until that mean ole racist Lyndon B. Johnson invented the Democratic welfare plantation to make those niggers vote Democrat for 200 years. They, of course, are on the side of the vast majority of peaceful Negroes who are the model of sexual probity; they make noises about “the black family,” as if such a thing existed in the white sense of the word, and will support a police crackdown on “the criminals,” as if it were the violent Negro Princes who were the dysfunctional ones.

Here I want to address the usual objection that pre-1960s American blacks were peaceful, productive good boys, who apparently had a Wall Street in Oklahoma City or someplace. Few understand that this regime privileged the white-admixed blacks who effectively ruled over the blacker blacks, the real niggas, with the backing of the white police. With incentives and with a measure of force, the American Negro was made to act white for a period of some years. And then it all fell apart in the 60s because of that mean ole racist LBJ.

This arrangement fell apart because the Darwinian interests of the blacker blacks, of the real niggas, were threatened by the hegemony of the white-admixed blacks. The violent conquest of power, wealth, bitches, and hoes comes naturally to the African. Little wonder that he made an alliance with the Leftist elite in order to defeat the middle, consisting of whites and white-admixed blacks.

And indeed, in a world where labor is rewarded and violence is punished, the white-admixed black has an edge over his purer co-racial, but without segregation, he’s too much of a Negro to effectively compete with the white man. Contrast that to harsh Africa, where labor is punished and violence is rewarded (not always, not even a majority of the cases, it’s a payoff rather than a probability calculation), where his work ethic and impulse control count for nothing. Racially-segregated America is the only environment in which he can survive.

I contend here that the pathological blacks aren’t the violent and shiftless ones. Indeed, what is referred to as black criminality is the normal and healthy behavior of a young Negro who jockeys for status within his community, striving to better emulate the archetype of the Princely Nigga put forth by the gangsta rapper, which emanates from the Dasein of the African soul. Indeed, the pathological Negroes are the white-acting ones, who lose their African authenticity in order to become poor facsimiles of white people, carved in ebony, shunned by their fellow Africans and coddled by their white “friends” tokenism. Black pathology doesn’t look like Ahmaud “Jogger” Arbery, or even this Shaniqua ranting about “Donald Trunk.” It looks like Candance Owens, Clarence Thomas, and Kanye West. Whether grifting off of the white man’s fantasies of a unitary human nature, or being a genuinely gelded house Negro, these men and women are abominations unto Africanness.

White America has been trying and failing to make blacks white for 400 years, and the track record shows 400 years of utter failure. In Hegelian terms, the dialectic between black and white in America is a struggle; on the white side, to defeat the black by turning him white, which is to say, to rob him of African authenticity and turn him into a pallet-swapped white. If the white man is to win in this duel, the black man doesn’t even retain the honor of having fallen in battle, but becomes the slave of the master-slave dialectic. Gangster rap was a refusal and rejection of this dialectic. No, the black man will not act white, and he will, in fact, inflict death and destruction upon the white man and his law. And if it means the death of the black man, then he welcomes it as preferable to being an “Uncle Tom,” the slave who forgave his master.

Gangster rap is the music of people who choose death over dishonor. It is the music of people who are authentically they. The great defeat of American blackness were the sellouts of the late 90s and 2000s, and the de-fanging of rap by such bitch-ass niggas as Yeezy and Slim Shady, or the newest bumper crop of degenerates and pussies spitting out turd after overproduced turd. What’s left is only the criminality and the rejection of the white man’s law.

White America has only three honorable ways forward with regard to the black question. Kill them all, ship them all to Africa, or give them a piece of America to be the black ethnostate, preferably in confederation with Haiti. I’m inclined towards option 2, as the least bad for everyone involved. Letting the African be an African in Africa means no interracial conflict in either America or Africa. Segregation, apartheid, integration, multiculturalism; these are all pipe-dreams and half-measures. Either all blacks or all whites; anything else means forcing the one to live like the other, which is a sure way to have perpetual conflict.

Anything except separation — a clean break between the races — is to continue on the wrong-headed and dishonorable path of trying to turn the black man white, which is just a fancy and roundabout way of enslaving him.

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A widespread debate made the rounds of the broader Dissident Right some time ago on the subject of whether the primary enemy grouping should be called ZOG (Zionist Occupation Government) or a new term, originating from the MAGA and post-MAGA space. The new term was GAE (pronounced “gay”): Globalist American Empire.

The divide was as predictable as it was tiresome. Commentators who minimize the enemy’s Jewish and Zionist character strongly favored GAE. Pro-Russian commentators, ever willing to demonize America and Anglo-Saxon peoples in general, merrily jumped on the GAE bandwagon. Non-white and non-racialist commentators whose primary gripe with the modern West is its “degeneracy” or its promotion of the LGBT agenda strongly favored GAE. ZOG, meanwhile, remained the mainstay of the committed anti-Semites, counter-Semites, the Jew-aware white identitarians and nationalists, as well as of the enemies of multiracial society more generally.

To call GAE dead on arrival would be an understatement on just how badly it performed. Even though it came out of the edgy post-MAGA sphere which attempts to usurp that part of the political spectrum which is to the right of MAGA, where the American nationalists are, it was soundly rejected by American nationalists. Even though there was much pleading that the “America” being denounced in the GAE acronym was the imperial entity in Washington rather than the Historical American Nation (a very poorly-chosen term, as far as acronyms go), these pleas fell on deaf ears. And indeed, if I were an American nationalist, I wouldn’t want America insulted. If we want to differentiate ourselves from the American nation, then ZOG, implying an occupation by a foreign or foreign-loving element, is a far superior and clearer term. The nation of America is under an occupation government. Their actions are not our own. Their ideology, Zionism, is not our own (American nationalism). They are not us, after a fashion.

The response by GAE’s proponents was nothing short of libtarded. They immediately began accusing those who defended the term ZOG of being “obsessed with the Jews,” “basement-dwelling incels,” “low-IQ wignats,” and other choice terms used by deradicalization agents to mount a psychological attack against a person’s self-perceived status in society. Accusations of mental instability followed these usual insults and attacks, blaming the recipient of being paranoid and “lumping all Jews into the enemy category.”

The tricks and deceptions of deradicalization agents and weak-willed cowards who nevertheless want to dip their toes into radical politics are nothing new for regular readers of Counter-Currents, but in observing the term ZOG and the response it generates provides a teachable moment. Allow me to conduct a little exploration of this concept of the Zionist Occupation Government.

When I made the case for ZOG, I was accused of being “obsessed with Jews.” Now, I’m sure many of you have encountered that accusation in the past and know how to defend against it. The problem I want to spotlight here is that in order to have a Zionist Occupation Government, there needn’t be any Jews in the government or even involved at all. The problem which the term ZOG points to in describing our enemies isn’t that the American government is full of Jews (not to imply that it isn’t), but that it is full of Zionists. Call me a stickler for precise language, but a Jew is not the same as a Zionist. Jews are a people, an ethnic and biological category. One doesn’t become, but rather is born, a Jew. Zionism, on the other hand, is an ideological disposition; it is Jewish, or more precisely Israeli, nationalism — the belief that the Jews should have their own state in the area which was historically the kingdoms of Judea and Samaria, with Jerusalem as its capital. It is a view held by many, but not only by Jews. Crucially, the majority of Zionists on this planet are not Jews. Rather, they are for the most part white gentiles. And lo and behold, the governments of the white nations of the world are full of them.

Okay, so some governments are full of Zionists, some of whom are Jews. Fair enough, but that doesn’t make said government ZOG. In fact, it is possible that while everyone in a certain organization is privately Zionist, the organization itself isn’t Zionist because it doesn’t work toward the establishment and maintenance of a Jewish state in what is today called Israel. Indeed, even if a government were Zionist, in the sense that it supported and worked towards maintaining a Jewish state in Israel, it would only be a Zionist Government. To get the full ZOG designation, a government has to be full of Zionists, working towards Zionism’s political ends and, indeed, working towards its ends to the detriment of the native population it rules over. This detriment must exceed a certain threshold which brings such a government to the point that it cannot be considered a legitimate government, but rather an occupation government. In short, a Zionist Occupied Government is a government that bleeds and pauperizes the people it rules over, destroys the state it administers, and erodes its strength and prestige, all for the propagation of the Zionist project. Naturally, the term also implies a moral condemnation, given that a zeroth assumption inherent in every polity is that it will put its natives first, and that even when it does help other states for a variety of reasons, it does not do so to the extent that it imperils its own population. I therefore believe ZOG to be an excellent description of the American government, as well as of the governments of many other Western nations. They all put Israel first, even ahead of their own security and economic considerations.

We can argue all day about the exact proportion of Jews to gentiles in the West’s various governments, but it is irrelevant. The far greater problem than Jews in the government is the fact of white gentile judeophilia and judeolatry. Indeed, how else could Jews enter these institutions, which were founded by white people, and find themselves at home in them — even to the point of rendering their own nationalist ideology the state’s defining ideology — if the white gentiles who staff these institutions aren’t welcoming them, or at least indifferent to their national origin? In the context of historic anti-Semitism, this would have kept them out. They didn’t all change their names from Goldstein to Jones and then sneak through the gates (in fact, few probably did). No, they were let in by white people who were either blinded by ideas of meritocracy or judeophilia.

Judeophilia and white Zionism, specifically the kind of white Zionism that occurs at the highest levels of government and props up Israel at the expense of white nations, is just one of the many symptoms of what historians of the future will probably call the White People Disease: the absence or loss of the ability to conceive of a categorical outsider, a foreigner, or a man “not of our tribe” without first running the friend-enemy calculus through a moral lens. When an earnest white liberal thinks of “the other,” he imagines some cruel reactionary bully: a caricature of a bigoted Baptist preacher, or a skinhead beating up helpless blacks. When a conservative conceives of the “other,” he imagines an effete, lazy rich kid looking for handouts, or a cruel Communist bully, someone who’ll take away his freedom and prosperity, most likely in order to feed the lazy rich kid. In both cases, the other is more often than not someone of his own ethnic category. Both will willingly embrace a racial outsider if he mouths the correct moral platitudes.

The Jew, in this sense, stands as the absolute Other with regard to the white man. This is not because he’s been “otherized” or made into the “other” through the magic of Orientalism, but rather because he is almost diametrically opposed to the white man in the sociopolitical sense. The Jew does not consider morality a binding political and social identity, but rather relies on blood, joint membership in a tribe, and an ethnic category to form his political and social identity.

White people, surviving the harsh European winters as we did, evolved in an environment where sin was equivalent to death. In the dead of winter, he who steals from his neighbor kills his neighbor, and he who hoards and does not share with the tribe kills the entire tribe. Those of us who were morally lax, and those tribes which did not punish moral laxity, have all died out. Those of us who survived and were selected in the cruel Darwinian game are those who are both morally upright and willing to enforce moral uprightness, often at the cost of our direct kin.

Contrast this with the much milder Levant, where success or failure depended on the willingness to cohere together as a clan, regardless of what an individual had done. To a Jew, a Jewish criminal and lowlife is first and foremost a Jew, “one of us,” and no matter how deserving of punishment he may be, the goyim — the outsiders — must not be allowed to pass judgement on him. To white people, white criminals are the outsider, however, and an upright and law-abiding foreigner — whether Jewish, black, or brown — is part of the in-group. A social situation where whites and Jews coexist asymmetrically favors the Jews, who will always cooperate with each other, whereas the whites will cooperate with anyone to exclude those they deem to be moral outsiders, including and especially white people.

Many white identitarians have a sort of morbid admiration for the Jews, wishing that white people were more like them in the sense that we would be willing to put ethnicity and race first, before all other considerations. No amount of wishful thinking is going to reprogram the white man, however, given that he is a socially and politically moral animal. Rather, white identitarians must construct a moral paradigm which condemns out-group preference and prescribes in-group preference. It is nigh impossible for white people to “simply favor their own”; rather, a moral case must be built for our survival and for white-exclusive spaces, both actual and conceptual, as well as for the exclusion of non-whites, including (and especially) Jews. He who turns against other whites must be seen as a criminal and a moral reprobate, worthy of condemnation and exclusion. This is why the term anti-white has gained so much traction, because it is a term of moral condemnation for those who injure white people. It pushes all the right buttons in nice, suburban white women who are galvanized into moralistic outrage against the anti-whites, just as their grandmothers once campaigned against “demon rum.”

For this reason, I still favor the term Zionist Occupied Government. It points to a specific ideology that has to be attacked, and the immoral way in which it is imposed on white people in the West by our very own governments, which are full of Zionists, whether they’re Jewish or not. I once erroneously believed that the term ZOG originated with William Luther Pierce, although it likely predates his activism. Nevertheless, whoever came up with it was either a master of communication or very, very lucky. It contains so much information: political, factual, and most crucially, moral. It is one of those info-dense phrases which can communicate more than hundreds of thousands of paragraphs of heady philosophy. When the history of this movement is written from the standpoint of victory, the invention of this term will probably be considered one of our most important achievements.

On January 24, Andrew Torba made the announcement that Gab will be sponsoring AFPAC 3, the America First (AF) conference modelled after Conservatism Inc.’s CPAC (Conservative Political Action Conference), to the tune of $20,000 dollars. He claimed that “AFPAC is group of grassroots young Christian thinkers who, like it or not, are the future of right wing politics in this country.” The announcement was met with a wave of people scrambling to cancel their Gab Pro subscriptions, regretting that they’d given Torba their hard-earned money just to see him donate it to a group which tried to derail Gab and insulted its long-time user base not one month ago. The reactions from groypers were that they now run Gab and soon, they’ll convince Torba to start banning “wignats.”

Donating to AFPAC is pretty uncontroversial in Right-wing circles. Donating company money to AFPAC that was given to the company so that it could keep the Gab service running looks like a betrayal of Gab Pro users and donors, however, especially given that the America First groypers actively despise a good percentage of these users as “wignats” and would ban them from the platform given half a chance.

Before proceeding further, I’ll say loud and clear that I am a “wignat.” By this I mean I am a White Nationalist, and I believe that white identity politics are the way forward. I am also a big believer in the power of revisionist history and in the importance of countering Semitic lies. This is apparently what wignat means these days. I remember a time when wignat meant “wigger nationalist,” which is to say a White Nationalist or other white dissident Right-winger who has a behavioral profile of being low IQ, prone to criminality, self-destructive and self-defeating, often a habitual drug user, and unnecessarily violent and conflict-prone. Nowadays, a wignat is anyone who calls out the conservative grift machine — and increasingly, Populist Inc. — while espousing white identitarian politics, supporting revisionist history, and professing awareness of the Jewish problem. Either that, or anyone whom the groypers and Nick Fuentes don’t like. Which includes me and everyone else on Counter-Currents, apparently.

Believe it or not, I’ve listened to Nick Fuentes since before the Groyper Wars. I defended him against charges of cuckery: he’s got all the relevant information, as he used to say back then. I’ve written in support of America First when they were fighting against Turning Point USA and disrupting their attempts at corralling Right-wing youth into the Conservative Inc. establishment. I’ve spoken in support of Fuentes when others were ready to denounce him for his aesthetics, for his support of Donald Trump in 2020, or for his agitation against the 2020 election theft, which ultimately led to the disastrous January 6 Stop the Steal rally.

It took some truly egregious behavior from Baked Alaska and Beardson Beardly, which went unsanctioned and tacitly supported by Fuentes, in order for the America First movement to lose its luster for me. Even so, I still gave it a fair hearing on The Writers’ Bloc, even pulling out all the stops to get notorious recluse Travis LeBlanc to appear on the show, just so there would be an America First sympathizer there to make the case for them. After that episode, I was done with the groypers. To them, I’ll always be a wignat.

But hey, if they normalize pro-white talking points, who cares? Let them make their noises. Let them trot out their based Jews and negroes. Maybe some of these kids will level up from mestizo incel edgelordism and start on the road to white identitarianism. Even their hysterical woman-hatred can be forged and tempered into a red pill on the woman question, something which is sorely lacking even in hardcore White Nationalist circles. (The trick is to be indifferent to or bemused by female antics rather than shaking with anger at women in general, but that’s a story for another day.)

About a month ago, AF-related accounts, led by Fuentes himself, tried to “take over” Gab, generally by being obnoxious to the already-established community by calling everyone wignats and declaring themselves “in charge” of the place. Hence the outrage on Gab over Andrew Torba’s decision to now give company money to the very group which tried to disrupt the website and insulted many of the people paying for it. Still, even within the context of this immoral act, the fierceness of the reaction surprised me. The degree to which people despise Nick Fuentes and America First was astounding.

It could be a case of many enemies, much honor, or genuine distaste for Fuentes’ habit of picking fights with other Dissident Right people over trivialities, or maybe fears that his particular brand of he-man woman-hating mestizo conservatism serves as a deradicalization agent, bringing young radical men back to supporting the GOP and other anti-white cuckservative organizations. His support for Donald Trump in 2020 and participation in the Stop the Steal grift certainly makes the last allegation believable, but then again, it is entirely possible that he serves as a gateway rather than as a gatekeeper — or at least did up to a certain point. A massive percentage of AF’s resources and attention are directed at fighting “wignats” — which I will remind the reader also includes everyone on this website by their definition (yes, even you, Mr. LeBlanc, no matter how much you defend them). Thus, all I can conclude is that at this point, Fuentes and the AF higher-ups are more concerned that people will accidentally stumble onto explicit white identitarianism than with scoring tangible victories against the anti-white forces.

This is all well and good, but ultimately it’s about Gab. If it remains a free speech website where the Dissident Right can have its message heard, all is well. However, this comes on the heels of prominent black AF member Philip Anderson publicly asking for ways to sanitize Gab and “filter out the most intensely racist and anti-Semitic posts that wignats make.” This gab, posted before Torba’s announcement about sponsoring AFPAC, caused no end of controversy in itself, considering that this self-proclaimed free speech king was apparently upset at the idea that newcomers might encounter racist and anti-Semitic content (it could be argued that this is the point of a free speech website), especially considering that he’s part of an organization which attempted to disrupt Gab.

This has some of the most prominent users on Gab worried that the alliance between Gab and AFPAC will lead to the introduction of censorship on the platform which would favor not only AFPAC but also elements of Populist Inc., such as federal agent and known grifter Wendy Rogers (currently running for the State Senate in Arizona) or unreconstructed adulteress Marjorie Taylor Greene. Gab users, myself included, have questions. Many groypers were indeed celebrating their “victory” by proclaiming that soon, Torba will be purging “wignats” from the platform. If Gab’s free speech credentials are now to be called into question, then it is no longer just a question of immoral conduct on Torba’s part, it’s whether there will be a space for White Nationalists even on alternative tech platforms.

On January 26, the groypers mass-reported longtime Gab user Joe Prich while he was streaming on Dlive, and his Dlive account was terminated mid-stream. Joe is among the biggest critics of Torba’s donation to AFPAC and his promotion of the AF/groyper brand on Gab. This for me is the final piece of evidence I need that AF and the groypers are dangerous and hurtful to the Dissident Right and our cause.

Torba has since come out defending his decisions as “generating controversy.” He has also written that it’s his website and he can do with it as he wishes, and I agree. Gab depends on our traffic and donations to keep going, however. Since there’s now a real chance that money donated to Gab will end up in America First’s coffers, I will not be upgrading to GabPro, joining GabTV, or donating any money to Gab. I will also discourage anyone who’ll listen to me from doing any of those things.

I had high hopes for Gab, and Torba may yet change my mind, but the Dissident Right must learn to walk away from people who hate us. Sadly, in the year 2022, this includes the fellow Right-wingers of America First.

There’s a fashion channel on YouTube that Mrs. Jeelvy is fond of watching. I remember once when I was trying to write but was distracted by the things the fashion designer lady on this channel was saying about fast fashion, which is the inadequacy of modern fashion material and the disgusting practices of the globalized garment industry in general. I commented that this gangly French lady was, in a sense, revolting against the modern world almost as much as I am — perhaps even more. After all, as Internet Men of Action ™ have told me that all I do is write and talk, but at least Justine Leconte makes clothes and jewellery.

Certainly, I could be, as usual, noticing patterns where there are none. There cannot possibly be anything linking this French fashion designer with the arch-curmudgeon that is Counter-Currents, except in themost general sense that we are both dissenting against modernity.

We are dissidents from the current political regime in the West. We question the ontological basis on which it bases its existence, and the moral basis of its legitimacy. We want to defeat and replace it with a regime of our own choosing. We are its enemies in the Schmittean sense. For our enmity, the system rewards us with persecution, curtailment of rights, surveillance, infiltration, financial deplatforming, arrest, and ultimately criminal prosecution. We, being dissidents with relatively little power, work very hard on deconstructing its narratives, denying it the ability to hold sway in the hearts and minds of men, skulk around in the shadows pointing out that the emperor has no clothes, and hold out for better days.

The romantic in me visualizes this as the weekly edition of Counter-Currents, printed on stolen government paper with stolen government ink in the government printing house in the middle of the cold Warsaw night, and then bought by dissident readers out of 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. You buy it as a package deal with real coffee, real sugar, hookers (his sisters), and plastic jug vodka. (I wrote those words in October 2020 as an exaggeration and a joke. That was before all the shortages and supply chain fuckeries.)

But we’re not the only people dissatisfied with the state of the modern West. Indeed, there’s a whole host of people out there who are, in one way or another, dissenting. Most of them are apolitical or have mainstream political views overall. However, as the regime grows ever more totalitarian — and here I am using the original meaning of totalitarian: demanding total submission in every realm of life, rather than merely political submission –, it will generate a growing body of non-political dissidents. It is these cohorts of people that I’m interested in.

Here are some examples of non-political dissidents. Let’s begin with people who dissent from the regime’s position on sexual mores, which combines promiscuity, anti-male hatred, and puritanism (#metoo). The sexual dissidents would include the manosphere, here including the pick-up artists, the men’s rights activists, and so-called MGTOWs (Men Going Their Own Way), the tradwives and traditionalists more generally (especially those seeking a return to traditional male-female relationships), and finally, TERFs (trans-exclusionary radical feminists), who dissent from the regime’s position on transsexuality.

Moving forward, we have what is possibly the largest cohort: the nutritional dissidents. These are people who dissent from the regime’s position on dietary health. This is also a very wide and diverse cohort, including everyone from anti-GMO activists, organic food enjoyers, carnivore and keto dieters, slow food enthusiasts, and nutritional localists. Many of these people are even Leftists, and some of these dissenting positions are strongly opposed by the philistine section of the mainstream Right. Certain sections of these nutrition dissenters are also racially conscious, having observed racial differences in metabolism and optimal nutrient distribution. The fact that the gut is varies widely across races can prove to be an interesting way of broaching the race issue with them.

Overlapping with the nutritional dissident cohort is the sports and fitness dissident cohort. Since the regime’s position on fitness is that people are “healthy at any size,” anyone who strives to become fitter, stronger, faster, and overall healthier through physical fitness and sports is a dissident from this position. I will also include here all men who seek to practice martial arts and thus defy the regime’s ideal image of the man as a non-martial figure. This may be a smaller cohort than the nutritional dissidents, but it should be theoretically easier to win them over to dissident politics considering that men with high testosterone – and working out increases testosterone levels — tend to be more Right-wing than average. The stereotype of the Right-wing gymbro is certainly borne out in my experience. Gymbro culture has its own problems, but it is nothing that should discourage the earnest dissident from recruiting those muscle-bound freaks to our cause.

A group in which I wanted to classify the fitness dissidents before ultimately deciding against it are the lifestyle dissidents. Here we see the bulk of dissent against the modus vivendi that modern Westerners are propagandized into. As the regime increasingly pushes electric cars on the population, we’ll see a growing body of internal combustion engine enthusiasts. People who revolt against modern pod living or soulless suburbanism by electing to live in rural locales and engage in traditional agriculture or crafts could also be grouped here, as could anyone running away from the so-called Great Reset and Fourth Industrial Revolution.

Related to the lifestyle dissidents and every other group are the health dissidents. Here we can include almost everyone who dissents from the mainstream position on the coronavirus vaccines, especially people who refuse to take them for medical reasons (while excluding people who refuse to take them on political grounds). Other people also belong to this category, including healthcare and pharmaceutical industry skeptics, psychopharmacology skeptics, dissenters from psychological and psychiatric consensus, people who are fighting and trying to mitigate the opioid epidemic’s effects in the US, as well as those fighting for wellness in the face of ubiquitous pharmacological escapism, people concerned about excessive medication, and the medicalization of societal ills. The latter particularly oppose the pathologization of dissent as well as any other group which, for whatever reason, distrusts the medical and pharmaceutical establishment, also including the regulatory agencies. This group necessarily include many doctors, and these doctors should always be treated with respect and reverence, since they’ll undoubtedly be facing harsh repercussions for daring to speak out against institutions as powerful as Big Pharma and Big Psych.

There are also economic and technology dissidents. These could be open source programmers and hobbyists who remember the hacker ethos of the ‘90s, before the government colluded with Big Tech to strangle innovation in that field with onerous intellectual property laws. There are also those who respect the industrial base and would prefer prefer that Western countries have control over their own production lines rather than outsourcing them to hostile and incompetent countries in Asia; and finally, technology skeptics and Luddites who may not be happy with our ruling elite’s runaway technomania and neomania.

The next group I will name as dissidents is probably going to cause controversy. I call them cultural dissidents, and they include everyone who dissents from the regime’s cultural positions. These would be people who oppose the war against white people in media, video games, advertising, and all other cultural realms. Here we have the old Gamergate crowd, as well as the Critical Drinker and other critics of modern Hollywood. But I’m going to make some waves here and include hipsters and fashionistas like mademoiselle Leconte in this group. Hipsters may look like the foot soldiers of globohomo, and they’re certainly very involved in its political side, but they are also for the most part white and dissenters from the regime’s approved music and fashion styles, which tend towards black. At some point in the future, hipsters and fashionistas will be forced to choose between Stuff White People Like and Mulatto Perm culture. Even erstwhile, liberal-minded fashion designers like Justine Leconte will have to either resist the negrification of fashion or remain true to their art. This is the toughest crowd by far, but the one with the most potential, seeing as these people are already a sort of elite-in-waiting (many are part of the second echelon elite already) and have what is necessary to participate in high culture.

Let me finish my short list with the hated and scorned Karens, white women who demand that service personnel be held to standards of behavior typical of civilized societies. I classify them as behavioral and etiquette dissidents, and this group includes anyone who still cares about politeness, respect, and good manners as opposed to the regime’s preference for rudeness, disrespect, and profanity. As someone who’s no stranger to crude language myself, I find myself baffled by just how often the words “fuck” and “fucking” are repeated in mainstream speech. It’s a strong curse, and to be used sparingly, but everything nowadays is fucking this and fucking that and fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuckaroo until it no longer signifies anything, least of all fornication. Then there’s the rudeness of young children and their enabling parents. Our civilization is crumbling, and the behavior of the youth (and increasingly, the elderly) reflects this. Whoever dissents from this state of affairs is a behavioral and etiquette dissident.

This list is incomplete, of course. As I said, because we live in a totalitarian society, the regime seeks total submission, and therefore every aspect of life has to be regime-approved, which will create dissidents in all walks of life. All of these people will have a measure of distrust for the system. It is up to us to nurture this distrust and use it as a handle to pull them into political dissent. The following is how I envision that can be done.

The first message that must be imparted to the non-political dissident is that there are no non-political solutions to their problems. This might be counterintuitive, coming from a movement that often claims that there are no political solutions, but what needs to be understood is that we don’t mean political in the sense of day-to-day electoral and party politicking but political in the sense of the state’s constitution and its ruling class’ composition. No amount of self-improvement will secure access to the reproductive line for the beta male (here I use beta as a descriptive term rather than as an insult given that the vast majority of men are betas, meaning followers); only a society which enforces patriarchal rules and uses the full force of secular and religious law to control female hypergamy can do that. No amount of independent farming can stop Monsanto and other Big Agribusiness monstrosities from inflicting their mutant GMO crops on the world; only a strong state which breaks the back of these anti-nutritional calorie purveyors and particularly their stranglehold on proprietary seeds can ensure the future of organic and ancestral foods. Gymbros and fitness enthusiasts must be made to understand that without serious and focused physical education of the youth, as well as a crackdown on anti-fitness cultural mores, we’ll be forever playing catchup rather than producing consistently fit men and women, and so on and so forth. All categories of political dissidents can be persuaded that by joining our coalition and helping us win, they can then use the power of the state to ensure the achievement of their desired goals. Since we intend to construct an illiberal state when we win, we’ll be much freer in using state power for our stated goals than our enemies.

The second step that must be taken is to deconstruct the racism narrative. Since we are ethnic and racial nationalists, whichever non-political dissident we approach will have to accept us as such and, if not reject the egalitarian frame, at least learn to live with us as non-egalitarians. To this end, we must relentlessly deconstruct, mock, and counter-signal the racism narrative to the point where the non-political dissident no longer believes it, or at least no longer believes in it strongly enough that they have an allergic reaction to racialist thinking.

The third act, and one that will synergize with the second step, is to demonstrate to the non-political dissident, using evidence and argumentation, that their desired goal would be more easily achieved in a white ethnostate, that their non-political dissident movement is already overwhelmingly white (this is true in almost every cohort enumerated), and that their own form of non-political dissent is a form of implicit white identity politics — or at least a phenomenon found among uppity white folk. Rather than fret, as the Left wants them to, that open-source coding and powerlifting are too white, they should accept that these are white people things (dare I say, stuff white people like) and work at them with renewed focus. How much wasted effort could be spared if people would only accept that nothing is going to get blacks interested in organic food or anti-GMO activism?

The most important reason that I think we should start courting these non-political dissidents, however, is because they have already internalized the idea that the system — or at least one part of it — is lying to them or is in some other way hostile to them. In my experience, this is the hardest barrier to shatter in the so-called normie; they implicitly trust society’s institutions, whereas the non-political dissident distrusts at least one of them. Obviously, non-political forms of dissent cluster with each other and with political dissent. I know many gymbros who are also nutritional dissidents, culture dissidents, and techno-economic dissidents. Many are full-blown ethnonationalists. The owner of my favorite artisan chocolaterie is a handsome, friendly middle-aged woman who’s also a fitness freak, a stickler for etiquette and a fierce opponent of our government’s anti-Macedonian policies. You’ll have more success winning over someone who’s dissenting on more than one count, and political dissidents who are also strong non-political dissidents are less likely to give up the struggle when the going gets tough.

Courting non-political dissidents likewise gives us access to those real-life infrastructure and networks that they have already formed, as well as their contacts, and if we successfully manage to bring them into our coalition, the resources they command as well. For this reason, we should target prominent non-political dissidents who can use their sway and authority to bring greater numbers of their followers and respecters into our coalition. Unsurprisingly, non-political dissident leaders are often the most open-minded of non-political dissidents, and since they know the kind of adversity a dissident experiences, they can empathize with political dissident and admire our courage (insofar as we show it) even if they do not initially agree with our positions.

While the ideal is to eventually unite all dissent against the regime under the political dissident banner, we must start with the leaders of non-political dissidents and those non-political dissidents who are most dissenting. The organic food-eating open source programmer gymbro who defends The Lord of the Rings against diversification and turns away from the degenerate sexuality of the modern world is a better candidate for political dissent than an otherwise normal person who’d prefer culture to go back to the way it was in 2006.

My final comment on non-political dissidents is that they must not be allowed to co-opt the White Nationalist movement for their own ends. This should be a natural corollary to the first rule, that there are no non-political solutions, so that all focus is on seizing political power — but it has to be reiterated very forcefully, for reasons outlined in Greg Johnson’s “Against Right-Wing Sectarianism” and elsewhere. They will follow our lead. They have an agenda, while we hold the key and know the way to that agenda’s fulfillment. This sets the political dissident above the non-political dissident in the coalition’s hierarchy, because we can implement the ethnostate without their agenda, but for the most part they cannot achieve their goal without first establishing the ethnostate.

With that, I give you this mission. Seek out the malcontent, the dissenter, the refusenik, the gymbro, the hipster, the masculinist, the organic food lady, the arthoe girlfriend of lore. Tell them about how good it could be if there were only white people around. Tell them of their chance to break their corporate enemies’ backs, and ask them to envision a world of good food, fit men, and women producing children, as well as of dynamic technological development unrestrained by the greed and power-lust of IP rentiers like Bill Gates and Jeff Bezos. Preach not to the normie who accepts negrified culture and calories posing as food, but to those who are halfway to enlightenment already and who doubt the ruling class and their lies. Lead them to a full understanding of the world and allow them to take part in our struggle. They will thank you for it.

If you’re a regular in Dissident Right circles, you’ll probably have heard of Curtis Yarvin, also known as Mencius Moldbug, and his idea of the Cathedral as the decentralized system of control which rules the West today. The basic idea is that the media, academia, Hollywood, and that part of the United States government which Moldbug calls “the Blue government” form a decentralized and leaderless network which is the source of all — or most — of our woes. You can find a good summation of the concept here.

The concept of the Cathedral has been criticized before. The most glaring objection has been reduced to the easily digestible meme format. Depending on your preference, you can peruse it in the Ay, Tone format, or read it in Heath Ledger’s dulcet tones as the Joker. Both versions pose a very obvious question: If it’s a Cathedral, why is it full of Jews? Andrew Joyce levels his considerable intellectual heft at criticizing Moldbug’s unwillingness to discuss the Jewish question here, and I consider the Joyce essay to be the most cogent critique of Moldbug’s evasion of the Jewish question. But in this essay, I want to attack the very idea of the Cathedral as nonsensical, at least from the standpoint of reality, while simultaneously exploring a (false) model of reality where it would make sense.

To people who actually read his blog, it is pretty clear that old Moldy uses the term Cathedral to refer to the power center in the West not because he’s trying to let Jews off the hook and slander Christians, but because he’s referring to The Cathedral and the Bazaar, a book which was popular among computer nerds in the late 1990s and 2000s. The book itself is about differences between two open source software production processes, but we’re less interested in that. We’re interested in the Cathedral: Bazaar duality itself.

The ideas that these two terms are meant to evoke are that of centralization and decentralization, of top-down institution and bottom-up emergence. In the cathedral, what the bishop says, goes. In the bazaar, people vote with their dollars. The bazaar is therefore more agile than the cathedral and can better serve the people’s needs, whereas the cathedral is where stodgy old men in outdated robes talk about abstractions and other matters which have no relation to reality. You’ve heard this song and dance before; libertarians in particular love to repeat it (and we should never forget, Moldbug was and still is a libertarian, no matter what else he may claim).

Of course, this image of the bazaar being a consensus of private actors is rather romanticized and probably comes from people who’ve never seen a bazaar or souk-style marketplace, much less traded in it. As someone who comes from a country with a bazaar tradition, I can affirm that bazaars are rarely a product of spontaneity, or indeed, decentralization. They depend on sovereigns: historically sultans and city-states, while these days they tend to rely on the local government for their security, standardization of weights and measures, and for providing the marketplace itself, as well as access to it.

A market hall or a souk is specifically “the place where trade is done,” and its grandeur, security, and standardization, which all come from the government, specifically attract both traders and purchasers, precisely because they know that this is a place where their goods and money are secure and where they will get a fair deal — on pain of death — and where there is a great variety of goods to choose from and vendors to purchase them from. Once a desert prince or municipal government provides a good marketplace, security or standards, as well as the means to enforce the security and standards, both people and vendors will flock to it, thereby increasing its attraction to even more people and vendors.

Bazaars are also distinctly urban phenomena which historically benefit the elite merchants, the urban elite consumers of luxury products and the sovereigns who collect taxes on the transactions. The king sets up a bazaar and secures trade routes, which allows rich merchants to make expeditions to foreign lands to obtain goods which are then sold to rich people at the bazaar. The same can be said about the stock exchange or Wall Street and the City of London-type institutions; they are in essence a private-public partnership between a select group of people who can permeate the alleged public-private barrier because of their interpersonal relations due to membership in the social class, shared religion or ethnicity, or simply by virtue of the fact of having gone to college together.

Contrast that to churches, which can indeed be bottom-up, or at least more bottom-up than bazaars. The history of Macedonia and other Christian countries in the Balkans abounds with stories of villagers raising a church without any assistance or even direction from the priestly hierarchy, and often the bishop would only learn about the new church once the faithful would summon him to sanctify the completed building. The reason for this is simple: The church is a localized axis mundi, it is a place where the sacred manifests itself in profane reality.

As we know from Mircea Eliade’s work on religious history, religious man needs a sacralized locale and gateway to heaven in order to orient himself in the world. It is a need as essential as food, water, and shelter. Churches in the East in particular, which were often subject to devastation by invading Turks and Mongols, would often be rebuilt by peasants who would choose between their next meal and another brick in the church’s wall. More often than not, the clerical elite, comfortable in their positions as lapdogs to the foreign conquerors and themselves being urban sophisticates, would ignore the peasantry’s spiritual needs. Now, of course I’m not implying there that the Church in its entirety is a bottom-up phenomenon — it is top-down as well — but there are more elements of the Church that are bottom-up than there are of high commerce of the kind usually conducted in bazaars and their modern-day equivalents.

Moldbug’s Cathedral is supposed to be a decentralized and leaderless network, which leads us to question why he would choose the word Cathedral to describe it. A normal cathedral functions strictly hierarchically. The word refers to a church which is the seat of a bishopric — literally. The Latin word cathedra means “chair” and refers to the bishop’s chair. Everyone involved in the cathedral is subordinate to the bishop, who controls the clerics through a strict hierarchy and enforcement of canon law. A cathedral is founded for a specific purpose, and it has a charter, a crest, a flag, a specific mission, and geographical boundaries. It is a very formal institution and one of great dignity — “a bishop on rollerblades wouldn’t be a bishop,” as Nassim Taleb would say. However, the West’s ruling entity in the West is not such an institution. I strongly recommend people read the linked essay by Petr Hampl. It has all of the insights of Moldbug with none of the attendant wankery.

Instead, the West’s ruling entity far more resembles the bazaar as it actually is rather than the never-neverland bazaars of libertarian fantasy. It is an entity of the elite, built by the elite and for the elite. It is “decentralized” in the sense that there’s no single center directing action, but rather multiple competing groups jockeying for power and influence while the controlling center provides the marketplace (institutional framework), the weights and measures (grammar of the dialectic), and protection from bandits and outsiders (censorship and arrest of dissidents). As in the regular bazaar, where the humble customs agent can hide among the opulence of the silk-mongers and spice merchants, so here does the framework controller seem small and drab compared to the pompous professors stroking their luxuriant beards or the faux-intrepid celebrity journalists trying to be Hunter Thompson.

Hence, Moldbug’s notorious conclusion that the world is ruled by professors and journalists. Indeed, if you look at a bazaar, the silk merchant may look very rich, very fat, and wear the finest vestments, but he trembles at the sight of the customs agent: a small, balding drab man in an official uniform whose one word can make the silk merchant’s wealth disappear.

There is still a market, and market dynamics are still applicable, so in that sense, yes, you could say that things are still more or less decentralized because multiple “centers” are competing with each other for power, but this is really no different from courtiers jockeying for the king’s favor. The competition is decentralized because each courtier acts independently of all the other courtiers, but what they’re competing to do is flatter the king and avoid his punishment. Because the king is the fount of all rewards and all punishments, the system is ultimately more centralized than a formalized, top-down organization such as a bishopric.

A bishop may displease the archbishop and lose his position. He may be caught performing egregiously impious acts by the peasants, in which case Macedonian tradition dictates he be dragged out of the church and into the village square, forcibly dry-shaved, and then divested in a literal and violent fashion; his vestments would be literally ripped off by the angry mob. The bishop may annoy the secular authorities, which may lop off his head, burn him alive, or simply have him removed by either the archbishop or the peasants (depending on how badly he annoyed the authorities). A bishop therefore has to be very careful not to egregiously annoy at least three power centers and strike a careful balance between them. By contrast, a high financier or rich merchant needs only please one center: the framework controller (sovereign). The age of “too big to fail” means that companies no longer need to please their customers. All they have to be is in with the “it crowd.”

So, the question here arises: Why use the term Cathedral to refer to an entity which is very obviously a bazaar, or a king’s court full of flattering courtiers (they’re the same thing)? Why go to all the trouble of trying to prove that something is decentralized when it very obviously orbits a center and we can very easily deduce this center, not only because of gravitational waves in the accretion disk (market movements in the bazaar) but also because it is plainly written in black-and-white in the bazaar’s charter?

The two reasons I can think of are the following:

Personally, I think that option 2 is likelier, given the man’s familial pedigree of service to the nastiest bits of the US government. It’d also do him and his friends in Silicon Valley, as well as their patrons in the US government, well to conceal the center around which the bazaar-constellation orbits. Like the devil, they too would like to convince the world that they do not exist, or at least that they really are as powerless as the drab, balding customs officer who could ruin the merchants with a snap of his fingers. Or maybe he really believes the libertarian bullshit, as do a majority of the people in Information Technology; I wouldn’t be surprised if the bosses and employees of Silicon Valley’s gigacorporations really do think they’re courageous entrepreneurs bringing about whatever Randian fantasy, even as they survive on defense/intel contracts and direct government subsidies.

These misconceptions all stem from a very wrongheaded idea about markets and commerce — that somehow they arise “spontaneously” and are not top-down. In reality, there is no such thing as a non-palace economy, as all commercial or productive activities depend on the framework and infrastructure which can only be provided by the sovereign to a degree that liberal economic ideology is loath to admit. Far more than the simple peasant, the high financier and wealthy merchant depend on the king’s whims, his money, his standards, his soldiers and policemen, his courts, his roads, his economic power as a guarantor of their solvency, and his diplomatic clout insofar as they trade abroad. For the most part, they don’t mind this, and in this day and age, where the personnel staffing and running the financial and commercial concerns are the same people as the personnel staffing the sovereign, the state is more or less run for their own benefit. In other words, it is a kind of sovereign corporation of unclear ownership and control — just like Moldy wants it.

If you’re milling around Counter-Currents, you’re probably savvy to the notion that human beings are biological creatures, that we are shaped and molded by our environment’s ruthless Darwinian pressures into our present form. To think this way is heresy in the contemporary West. To consider the possibility that man is subject to the laws of nature offends the prideful sensibilities of our Gnostic and Luciferian elites. To think of oneself as a thread in the great tapestry of being offends the petty individualism of the modern Westerners. We reject human biodiversity, we arrest speakers at human biodiversity forums, and such forums are besieged by vile, black-clad political terrorists. And yet we need to think that way, and men persist in thinking, researching, meeting and discussing because we are drawn to that most ancient of philosophers’ dictum – Know Thyself, so that we may live in accordance with ourselves.

The first order meanings derived from the facts of human biodiversity are well known: there exist racial differences in IQ, probably racial differences in behavioral patterns, and also sexual differences in behavior. This has enormous implications for every human endeavor where the races and nations of man have to be considered in common. You can always take the reductionist and uninspired route which I like to call Rue du Molyneux after its baldest and most obnoxious traveler, but has been pithily named “IQ nationalism” by cleverer men than me. It entails, among other things, welcoming our new Han overlords because their average IQ is marginally higher (or more exactly, the average IQ of a fellaheen China is higher than the average IQ of a severely degenerated West). Or you can delve deep into what makes the Western soul different from that of other men.

The second order meanings derived from the facts of human biodiversity are not to be found in charts of IQ by race, in FBI crime statistics, or in GDP per capita rankings. Rather, they are to be found in thick, dusty books, in soaring cathedrals, in religious fervor, in thunderous symphonies and the infinite vistas of visual art. Acknowledging our debt to the Taylors, Duttons, Sailers, and Rushtons of the world, we seek out the Spenglers, Evolas, Vicos, and Duchesnes, who can teach us the how, the why and the whence of the Tolkiens, Michelangelos, Bonifaces, Tchaikovskys, and Toulouse-Lautrecs. I find that awe is the sense of being humbled and uplifted at the same time. To experience beauty is to experience the numinous. To experience the numinous is to feel human and alive, to have a momentary respite to the suffering and alienation inherent in modern life. Beauty is to the soul what bread is to the body. Whence this outpouring of incomparable beauty? Do lend me your ears, friends, for I have a theory.

White people are ice people. Our ancestors lived in some of the coldest regions of the planet. They lived through the coldest and darkest of winters by the skin of their teeth. Cold winter theory explains our high IQ and low time preference. But once you’ve built the stout hall and kindled the great fire and loaded the storehouse with food to last until the distant spring, what do you do? And here, I believe, the uniquely European love of beauty arose – beauty was something to think about in those long winter nights, where to leave the house meant death. Beauty of tale, song, and vision. Beauty of togetherness. Beauty of warmth.

Man in deep winter is man under siege. Man the hunter, man the walker, and Indo-Aryan man the horselord in particular is a creature which craves the thrill of roaming. The all-American cult of the open road, the steppe nomad’s reverence of the open sky, the Mediterranean reverence for boat and sea, the pilgrims’ journey to Canterbury, all speak of our love of travel, all reflect the great urge to move about unmolested and unconstrained. Western man’s soul is entwined with the Spenglerian prime symbol of a force vector hurling its energies into infinite space. Western man the explorer, Western man the conqueror loves movement. Winter is a hard limit on that urge. The boxed energies of Western man then turn inwards. I believe that the immeasurable depth of the Western soul is derived from this immense energy burrowing ever deeper into the self, in the dark, dead of winter. The claustrophobia of winter creates the dreams which fuel art, faith and joy. Cold is a prison cell. The body is entrapped by low temperatures, it tends towards motionlessness in winter. To move is to expend valuable energy, to leave the house is to expose oneself to the deep darkness of winter. And yet the mind can be neither slowed down nor stopped.

In this deep winter, we find ourselves dependent upon our family and friends. I imagine that the long halls of the old kings were full of huddled people, relying on one another to live through the dead of winter. To be white, to be a creature of the North, meant being with others. Alone, man is easy pickings for Jack Frost and his many ravenous nasties. When philosophers talk of a social contract (or more correctly, a social compact), they do not speak of a document which has been signed and notarized, as the autistic libertarian would have you believe. I’ve observed that relations among friends, and lesser financial obligations function much like the electron cloud theory of the atom. Because of Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle, one can either measure the momentum or position of the electron, but not both with sufficient precision. For this reason, the electron cloud represents various probabilities that a given electron is in a given position vis-à-vis the atomic core. I believe that petty obligations between friends, including financial ones work in the same way – minor expenses are not exactly tabulated, but a certain amount of giving is expected from those who mean to take in the future or past, adjusted for the ability to give. This is a good way of accounting for the unaccountable, which is to say living in a society of informal giving and taking with a tolerable dose of uncertainty. For this reason, we have the typical European altruism. In its degenerated form, it is the bane of our people, but this is true of every virtue – it becomes a vice in its excess. But I believe that the electron cloud model of mutual obligations among friends is applicable to the mutual obligations between members of human society, especially European society, which relies on communality and altruism far more than other societies.

In order to avoid this very inhumane accounting for giving and taking, in order to not live as slaves to ledgers, we have cultures of giving. And giving, I wager, is one of those things that keeps us sane. We are paradoxically the people most evolved to be communal, due to the harsh winters, and yet the most individualistic, due to the inward direction of our expansionist energies in the days of dark winter. In the dead of winter, Western man falls prey to solipsism and navel-gazing, alienating himself from his friends and family. This inward thinker has somehow found that it is impossible to prove to oneself that other conscious beings exist. I do not know if my friends exist – they might be fever dreams cooked up by a demon intending to deceive me, as per Descartes. How do we square this circle?

It is my belief that love, in all four of its manifestations, is the answer. Love is the soul’s response to the increased perceived probability of the existence of another soul. And love of one’s neighbor must be reinforced – I do not believe in love without physical action. We who intend to live as men, and not animals, must give if we are to take in the future. We give, even without reward, because we hope, in the future, to receive. We give because we want to live as men among men. And the darkest of days, when we are most at risk of forgetting our place among our people are the days of our festivals of giving. Christmas is a celebration of our nature as creatures both individualistic and communal, of men as threads in a great tapestry, but each king under his roof and each dreamer in his soul. We give to feel human.

A grey chill descends upon my city. It looks like another snowless December, as a dense fog envelops the senses and penetrates deep into my garments. I leave my office for my lunch break to meet my wife. We take a stroll by the river. We see some ducks and a black waterfowl which is larger than a duck, but smaller than a swan. We kiss. “Your mustache is wet.” The fog gets everywhere. It carries the cold with it. The sun looks quite eerie through the fog, a whitish ball of light, like the disembodied eye of some ungodly deepwater fish. I hug my dear. The warmth of her body radiates through many layers of clothing. The warmth of her soul reassures me that I am not alone in the universe.

Orthodox Christmas doesn’t come until January. But in deep December, at the Solstice or thenabouts, we celebrate the feast of St. Nicholas, bishop of Myra, Miracle-worker. I am personally associated with St. Nicholas and his feast for more than one reason. St. Nicholas was born to wealth, but he became a monk and gave away all his wealth to the poor. He gave his wealth to three poor girls so that they may have dowries and find husbands and find joy. He snuck gold coins into their socks as they were drying out. But when the youngest was getting married, it was the dead of winter and the house was boarded shut, so St. Nicholas shimmied down the chimney to drop the gold coins in the girl’s socks, which were hanging from the fireplace.

In the West, St. Nicholas is Santa Claus, and Santa Claus is a composite figure – not only is he the kind and giving Bishop of Myra, but he is also an avatar of the All-Father, of Odin, who was himself a wanderer and miracle-worker. Santa Claus is many things, but he embodies the principle of giving, of belonging and good cheer even as the days grow ever shorter, even in the longest nights around the Solstice.

The cold, the snow, the darkness, the endless sky have sculpted European man. We are children of winter in a way no other people are. We love winter like no other people do. We fight with snowballs, we ski, we sleigh and we build snowmen. American children look to snow to give them respite from the tyranny of government schools, if even for a day. There is a beauty to a winter night that is to be found in no other landscape image. The European soul is the product of the winter night. It is warm, tender, yet rough and adventurous, both individualistic and communal, at peace with contradiction and uncertainty, basking in that greatest joy of winter — the communal dream of spring.

 

Part 2 of 3 (Part 1 here, Part 3 here)

Whiggery vs. Abrahamism

First of all, let’s say that there’s been no systematic exposition of Propertarian philosophy, either from Curt Doolittle or John Mark. There’s no book to read and precious few online resources to peruse, and so we’re left with trying to discover the philosophy from Curt’s many Facebook updates and online interviews. This paucity of information has already been criticized by The Distributist here, an intrepid YouTuber who has few kind words to say about Doolittle or Propertarianism as expounded by Doolittle. Thus, I’ll base my critique on what I’ve learned directly through my personal interactions with Doolittle on Facebook, and what little information there is on the Propertarian Institute’s Website.

One of the first things that jumps out at us about Propertarianism is that it is decisively whiggish. It sees history as a list of wrongs being gradually rectified by science and knowledge. While it recognizes the character of European man as described by Ricardo Duchesne in The Uniqueness of Western Civilization, it splits the intellectual heritage of modernity into Western (good) and that which is external to the West, usually Semitic (bad). Doolittle is particularly fond of denouncing “Abrahamism” with the ridiculous contention that Christianity is Semitic and thus exogenous to Europe. This is manifestly false to anyone with even the slightest knowledge of Christian and Jewish conceptions of the world, and specifically, man’s place in it and how it relates to natural law. Indeed, what differentiated Christianity from Judaism, got Jesus crucified, and inspired Saul of Tarsus to become St. Paul was the fact that logocentric Christian forthrightness cut through the proto-Talmudic mental gymnastics of the Pharisees, who were attempting to violate the spirit of the law by twisting its letter to mean its opposite.  Doolittle flippantly claims that Abrahamic faiths invented and industrialized lying, specifically in replacing explanatory pagan faiths with “authoritarian mystical faiths promising utopia after death. “ That pagan religions don’t promise rewards and punishment in the afterlife is news to me, as is the claim that systematic storytelling (which is nothing but eusocial deception) is somehow unique to Abrahamic faiths or exogenous to Europe.

This is leaving aside the clear fact that Christianity as it was and still is practiced in the West is a European faith. Anyone who thinks that European Christians do not still venerate Odin should look very closely at the celebration of St. Nicholas, or thinks that we’ve forgotten Hercules should consider St. George. Genetics trump memetics, always and inexorably. Christianity practiced by Africans has more in common with Islam practiced by Africans than with Christianity practiced by Europeans. Similarly, living in the Balkans, I have the privilege of interacting with Muslims whose genetics aren’t so dissimilar from my own – yet we cannot be lumped together into the same racial subgroup. They go to mosque like I go to church, and just as my pagan friends salute the Sun and my Thelemite friends do their weird “Freemasonry but with titties” thing, we all do it to signal belonging (in the Schmittean political sense) and to engage in aesthetic transcendence (psychodrama). This is not to say that there are no noticeable differences between the various faiths – especially as regards the ability to build civilizations – but all faiths practiced by Europeans take on a European character. We cannot escape the basic biological fact of our neural architecture, which is fundamentally different from that of other peoples.

I agree with Doolittle that Judaism – especially Talmudic Judaism – is not a good faith, and not one conductive to the construction of great civilizations. However, I disagree with Judaism’s purported role as the progenitor of Christianity. Christianity was in large measure a reaction to Judaic legalism; Jesus’ ministry was a swift sword cutting through the Gordian knot of pharisaic legalism. Once combined with European genetics, Christianity energized the great potential of pagan Europe, and specifically German Europe. Rome was great, but declined as it grew old; German, Faustian civilization was stratospheric, and even as it is dying before us, we can only stand in awe of the glory that it once was. It began to decline when its Christian faith was Judaized, first by Luther and then by Calvin and the English Puritans, who hated all that was pagan in European Christianity – including Christmas, maypole dancing, grand cathedrals, liturgy, salvation through deeds, the divine right of kings, and patriarchal marriage.

Propertarianism sees not only this history, but all good as coming from white Europeans, and all bad coming from Semites. This is possibly the worst position on our current troubles one could conceivably take, short of actually being a supporter of globohomo. The fact of the matter is that our troubles come from within; from the arrogance and Gnosticism of white people. If Semites are involved, they are mostly acting as opportunists, taking advantage of an already sick civilization. Jews or no Jews, we’re approaching civilizational winter, and it is due to our own sins. Liberalism, altruism, the utopian lust for heaven on Earth, and the lust for empire, greed and usury all came from white Europeans when Jews were still under the thumb of rabbis in their shtetls. To be blind to our own complicity in our demise is to repeat the mistakes of the past. Yes, Jews have acted in bad faith in our societies. Yes, they have taken advantage of our civilization’s winter, and they’ve done so more proficiently than other non-whites. But let’s not think that getting rid of the Jews, or even “Abrahamism,” will fix what’s wrong with the West – if we can indeed fix what’s wrong.

Massachusetts Bay Propertariansim

Propertarianism’s best idea by far is extending the definition of property to include intangible commons. For example, interpersonal trust is something which is painstakingly built, of self-evident value, and worth protecting. Therefore, Propertarians argue, we should protect it as we would any other form of property. Since interpersonal trust cannot be individuated the way land and cattle are, it can only be considered common property. Who will defend the commons? How do we avoid the tragedy of these intangible commons, even as we suffer through the tragedies of tangible commons? Courts of law and torts. Doolittle proposes granting universal standing to citizens to protect the intangible commons from assault. Therefore, he who threatens social cohesion, interpersonal trust, the genetic integrity of the nation, and so on will be prosecuted, and the prosecutor will be remunerated for his service to the community in rooting out this assault on the commons. Of note is the innovation in torts which Propertarianism proposes in order to make these intangible commons easier to defend, specifically making untruthful speech actionable, or rather, speech where the speaker hasn’t performed due diligence to make sure that what he is saying is truthful to the best of his ability. This will also extend to business dealings, where any sort of informational asymmetry will be grounds for nullifying a transaction. Transactions which do not satisfy criteria for productivity will also be circumscribed, as will those that have externalities pertaining to the commons of others’ property.

In effect, Propertarian law will empower the community to root out lies, informational asymmetry, memetic warfare against intangible commons, and unproductive or asymmetrical business transactions – it would create a moral busybody’s wet dream. This will ironically endanger one piece of intangible property almost everyone can agree exists and must be defended with the full force of the law: privacy. To make sure nobody is engaged in nefarious activity against the commons, an interpersonal surveillance state must be established, and people will have to self-police for speculative speech so that they won’t inadvertently speak an untruth, as per the testimonial standard of truth. Indeed, a search for privacy on the Propertarian Institute’s Website reveals no relevant articles. It is strange that a system of law concerned with protecting intangibles which soak up investment and are worth defending would ignore this glaringly obvious example, which is quite visibly under attack in the modern world. But maybe this is a feature rather than a bug. After all, Curt makes a big deal of having “completed the scientific method.” The scientific method is a very bad way of learning things under conditions of imperfect or limited information. Privacy is a gigantic impediment to the free flow of information for a society which subjects every truth claim to a scientific/testimonial validity test. I imagine that a Propertarian Facebook would quite confidently declare your personal information its own private property, to be defended even to the point of suing you for fun and profit if you attempt to protect yourself. What have you got to hide, Abrahamist? Hiding is a precursor to speaking untruth or not performing due diligence – which is to say, informing the community of all the possible and foreseeable consequences of your speech and actions (!). Not saying “the whole truth” as per a witness’ oath is an actionable offense under Propertarian law. Privacy and the right to remain silent (which is a right to keep your thoughts private) are impossible under such a system. Tellingly, Curt Doolittle is skeptical of black swans, or unforeseeable events which bring about greatchange, as befits someone who believes that the world can be completely understood by empirical means. A Propertarian system will compel you to speak all the truth and nothing but the truth, all the time.

Propertarians might counter that there’s no stipulation for compelling speech, but this is a hidden fragility in the system which will become apparent in the event of a Propertarian purity spiral. All movements eventually have purity spirals which can only be halted by the rulers taking decisive action against its perpetrators. This cannot be done if the law restricts the rulers and does not allow them to use the big stick of repressive power with some degree of arbitrariness. And that means allowing the rulers (and, under reciprocity, everyone else) to make judgment calls in situations where there is incomplete information – thus rendering such decisions incompatible with the “completion of the scientific method.” In the event of incomplete information, the scientific method stipulates taking a neutral position, but in real life, not acting because you don’t know everything is suicide.

Contrary to the predictions that “we will permanently defeat the Left,” we can expect that in a Propertarian society, the church lady-type women who are currently busy rooting out political correctness wherever it may hide (and who in Puritan New England were busy rooting out sin wherever it was hiding) would find themselves busy rooting out Abrahamism, mysticism, informational asymmetry, and inadequately performed due diligence. John Mark will try to sell you on Propertarianism by promising you the opportunity to sue Leftists for fun and profit, but human psychology doesn’t really work like that. The Rightist mind fundamentally simply wants to be left alone to live, work, and have children, tending a garden and quietly and privately praising his god. Leftism is a hack of the human social status module; it allows otherwise weak and useless people to rise in status without deserving it, by signaling holiness against a foil: a Rightist. It is the Leftist who busies himself with what others think, feel, and believe, and who uses gossip, rallying, shaming, and moralizing to undermine his social betters – something that Curt despises when he witnesses it in modern populations, but which will inevitably arise under a Propertarian system. He likes to imagine Propertarianistan as a shining Indo-European city on a hill, but it’s likelier to look like the actual, historical “shining city on a hill”: the petty totalitarian nightmare that was the Massachusetts Bay Colony.

The key reason for this, of course, is Doolittle’s personal history. We can scarcely expect an old-stock Connecticut Yankee to understand that his ancestors were evil men who undermined the greatness of the West for their own personal lust for power, and that their Puritan fantasies of a city free of sin led to an entire country built entirely on that mother of all sins: pride.

Cracking heads: Propertarianism vs. fascism

Propertarianism’s biggest promise is the suppression of parasitism. The Propertarian Institute identifies several forms of parasitism, both on private producers and on common property, as well as parasitic ideologies, such as Marxism, libertarianism, and neoconservatism. The means of defeating them would be the implementation of Propertarian law, which will be accomplished through the completion of the scientific method – which is to say applying scientific, or at least testimonial, rigor to every public statement. This is a profoundly bad idea for any society which intends to survive for two simple reasons. Firstly, science is allergic to Type 1 errors (false positives) and tolerant of Type 2 errors (false negatives), given its strictly empirical basis, which makes science vulnerable to subversion through the Type 2 error, as we know from Gould, Freud, and other (((scientists))). However, in practice, Type 1 errors usually bring small costs, whereas Type 2 errors usually have gigantic costs – mistaking a rock for a bear while on a hike is a Type 1 error, while mistaking a bear for a rock is a Type 2 error. Science will claim that there’s no conclusive evidence of a bear being present (assuming a rock null hypothesis) and thus carry on with the hike, while testimonialism will claim that, to the best of one’s knowledge, there is no bear. Conversely, the paranoid would proceed with caution, justifying it by saying, “Well, shit, it weren’t no bear, cousin, but imagine if it were a bear, then you and I would get ate.” This is the proper way to behave in bear country – and it’s a world of bears out there.

Indeed, any decision-making under conditions of uncertainty is likely to be the opposite of scientific conclusions: allergic to Type 2 errors and tolerant of Type 1 errors – insofar as they are actual Type 1 errors; you don’t get to cry wolf for fun. We can see how science and testimonialism fare in the real world; there’s still a great deal of uncertainty about aspects of our world simply because there’s insufficient evidence to say anything about them. Similarly, criminals regularly escape justice because the criminal justice evidence standard (a cognate of testimonialism) is exceptionally high, chiefly due to the teleological/ethical orientation of liberal justice systems, which hold that it is better to have a hundred criminals at large than a single innocent man in prison. But to correct this abject absurdity, we don’t need a complicated new legal system with a specially-designed “grammar.” We only need to restore the teleological orientation of the justice system – to remind it that its purpose is to suppress criminals, and that a certain number of innocents jailed are an acceptable cost, given that crime is the primary internal threat to any civilized society. Moreover, suppression of crime is the one of the state’s primary raisons d’être, and thus one big reason why people are willing to tolerate living in the shadow of a state to begin with.

As a researcher of organized crime, I feel obligated to point out that Cesare Mori, the Iron Prefect of Palermo, didn’t use Propertarian testimonialism to crack down on the Sicilian Mafia. He used good, old-fashioned mass arrests, intimidation, humiliation, house-to-house searches in known Mafia strongholds, and other strongman tactics, including winning the favor of the local population – no mean feat given that Sicilians harbor a justified and deep resentment of the Italian state to this very day, after being given carte blanche by Mussolini to do whatever the Iron Prefect deemed necessary to clean up the Mafia. Indeed, so effective was the Iron Prefect’s campaign against the Mafia that it took the defeat of the Fascist state and the subsequent occupation for the Mafia to reassert its presence. The half-measures taken by Falcone, Borselino, and others who availed themselves of the liberal justice system to suppress the Mafia in the 1980s and ’90s don’t even come close to what was accomplished by the Iron Prefect. Indeed, the latter was in all likelihood only effective in suppressing the obviously evil and needlessly brutal Corleone gangsters – and the Mafia persists in Sicily to this very day, as an underground force. Falcone and Borselino were hamstrung by the need to meticulously prove every detail. Mori could arrest on slight evidence and arrest en masse; Type 1 errors abounded in his method, but the Mafia was defeated.

Information as a thing

One of the examples bandied about by Propertarians of the idea’s effectiveness is its prohibition of blackmail. This gives an opportunity to examine Propertarianism by contrasting it to two other systems in the realm of information commons and information protection, blackmail and intellectual property. Blackmail is the act of using one’s possession of a piece of private information for extortion. Propertarianism would declare such information to be property and deem it worthy of legal protection in a court of law, as opposed to classic libertarian approaches, which deem blackmail not to be a violation of the Non-Aggression Principle. Libertarianism would also legalize insider trading, given that no coercion is involved in this supposed crime, whereas Propertarianism would keep it illegal given that it constitutes a form of parasitism on private information (which can be defended as intangible property).

However, strangely enough, the Propertarian legal system would crack down on the only form of intangible property our current system recognizes: intellectual property (IP) and copyright. The libertarian position on IP is crystal clear: it is impermissible, given that it relies on a government monopoly. Let us reiterate: libertarians would allow blackmail and insider trading, but prohibit (or rather, not enforce the law) due to the ethical prohibition of aggression. Myself, acting as a reactionary lawmaker, would prohibit blackmail and insider trading while tightly controlling, but still allowing the existence of IP as a means of outsourcing quasi-statal priestly and mercantile activities, given that the state isn’t well-suited to activities which do not involve force. However, they would still be kept under tight control by the state. I would also retain the requirement for state-issued incorporation charters for the same reason. The Propertarian position is to prohibit blackmail and insider trading, given that they involve violations of intangible property (which I agree they do), but prohibit IP rights because they are a subsidy to entertainment concerns, which encourages pandering in the media. This is a confused and inconsistent position for a system which correctly identifies that there is such a thing as intangible property. However, what’s missing is that the state is in practice the only entity which can mediate between tangible and intangible property owners to reach a solution acceptable to everyone.  It won’t always decide fairly, but at least it will decide, and not leave us in a state of indecision, wrongheadedness (there’s a difference between unfair and wrongheaded), or just plain refusal to acknowledge such property, as libertarianism would.

I suspect what’s going on here is that Curt rightfully dislikes what the various corporations are doing with IP and copyright protections, but this can be accomplished with reasserting state authority over these corporate entities, or better yet, removing their recalcitrant owners and operators and replacing them with men loyal to the state. To do this, we need to seize power – Mussolini came before Mori, but the key is to hold power and use it as power is meant to be used, not to think up analytical systems of law which attempt to fix language and immanetize the eschaton, but leave us with glaring inconsistencies.

For two entire weeks, my social media profiles have been inundated with hand-wringing over critical race theory, which is now apparently fought over within the halls of education in America. Apparently, people have had enough with critical race theory and are engaged in a struggle to remove it from educational institutions. The push is remarkably non-partisan, but curiously white. People have taken to pointing out that critical race theory is anti-white, which has summoned condemnation from conservative talking heads. Apparently, we are to oppose critical race theory on the grounds that it is Marxist, not because it is anti-white, because there’s no such thing as anti-white. Not even claiming that all white people and all societies they have built are evil is anti-white because that’s just not a thing, and if you believe otherwise, that’s racist, which is collectivist, which is ekshully Leftist. Furthermore, it’s wrong to want it banned from schools and universities, because that, apparently, is censorship and authoritarian and therefore haram. 

There will be a push to describe critical race theory as convoluted intellectual Marxist anti-whitism, but it’s quite brutishly simple. White people have created Western societies, and the rules of Western societies discriminate against non-whites, who therefore fail and such failure constitutes oppression. This is what is meant by “systemic racism”: the system itself is racist, requiring no racial animus from white people. There are no crypto-klansmen, no ninja-Nazis, just the dispassionate and cold white system which in its whiteness biases whites towards success and nonwhites towards failure. What is this systemic whiteness which permeates the system? Rewarding skill, delayed gratification, rule-following, working, self-sacrifice, and hedonic continence.

Now, these things may not sound particularly white to you, but apparently, they’re found in greater proportion among whites than among “people of color,” and so any system which favors these traits is systemically racist — discriminating against the nonwhites while favoring the whites. This allows for the existence of “racism without racists,” meaning that there’s no need for gangs of white ruffians prowling the streets and lynching negroes in order for racism to take place. All whites could be perfectly colorblind — hell, they could even be pro-black or supportive of other nonwhites — and still, the system would be racist, because it is calibrated to favor the white behavioral model as opposed to the nonwhite behavioral models. 

Apropos, if the whites in the system will not see its systemic bias towards nonwhites, or see it but rationalize it by appeals to equal treatment, colorblindness, or legal egalitarianism, then the whites do not genuinely oppose this system. And this is the racism of the non-racist. Racism under conditions of systemic racism does not look like the klan running around setting crosses on fire, or even rowdy youth posting nigger towers on social media, but rather like white people doing nothing while persons of color suffer under the weight of the racist system. It’s analogous to watching a man getting crushed by a machine, refusing to rescue him, and when accused of letting the man die, protesting that one did not have any part in the construction of the machine, putting the man in it, or turning it on. 

Hence, all attempts by honest and well-meaning white people to deny their racism do nothing but add insult to injury. As the frightened white man scurries to produce evidence of his good behavior towards nonwhites, a token black friend or charity to Africa, the nonwhite is aghast at the sheer unawareness of this whitebread who does not even see that it’s not him that’s the racist, that the problem isn’t getting called nigger or even not having black friends, but the system under which white prospers and black suffers. The rules of the system itself, with its prohibitions on what the white man calls “crime” and exhortations to “delay gratification” and “work hard” go against the very fiber of nonwhite and especially black being. It’s all racist, the white man built it, the white man set it in motion, the white man benefits from it, and then the white man has the balls to insist that he is not a racist because he never said the n-word. 

Well, excuse me here, white boy, there’s things far racister than saying the n-word.

There’s precious little theory here, and surprisingly little Marxism. It’s just nonwhites trying to articulate their unease with white society — the Marxism is there for the benefit of the white and Jewish critical race theorists who like to wrap up their petty resentments in fancy-sounding theories.

Now, the typical dissident response to this is that of course white societies favor white people. White people built them after all, and all people build societies for themselves — that favor themselves. Usually, someone will mention that the Japanese system is biased in favor of the Japanese and that the Israeli system is biased in favor of Jews. Others will speak at length about how well East Asians and high-caste Indians have done for themselves in white societies. What’s probably not understood here is that the critical race theorists will agree that white people built their societies for white people and that this is racist because it produces unequal outcomes and if white people just built their societies like that, well, then white people, ALL white people are racist. Maybe that’s the stratagem here, to have the critical race theorists herd the cowering and fearful whites kicking and screaming into the racist camp, whereupon they’ll be forced to turn to racial egalitarianism in order to survive, but personally, I’m a pessimist. We know that in the Stalinist period in the Soviet Union, many political prisoners yelled “long live Stalin” as their final words, even as they were executed on Stalin’s orders. Oh, we might see some impotent opposition, but it’ll likely fail. 

From what I’ve seen, the focus is on the theory itself, claiming that its pernicious anti-whitism creates racial resentments. This isn’t true. The reality is that the anti-white resentment predates the theory, and is the result of inequality between whites and nonwhites, which inequality isn’t so much “systemic” as is genetic. Whites have higher IQs, better modes of social organization, more stable personalities, and crucially, we are the most beautiful race. Anti-white resentment exists because we make nonwhite people see their own ugliness and misery by our presence. This existing resentment is then stoked and weaponized by the progressive left, in order to destabilize white institutions and further its own power. Sounds like an academic difference and for the parent fighting critical race theory in his PTA it might not be as important, but here’s why we mustn’t lose sight of it. 

When medieval peasants or even nobles revolted against the king’s authority, they never revolted against the king personally, but always claimed to be rescuing the noble king from his wicked advisors, because to do otherwise would be to destabilize the very idea of monarchy. This allowed them to have a change of government without regime change — a nifty trick if your problem is bad governance. But our problem in the west is far greater than just bad governance. Our problem is that we believe in racism. The conservative rebellion against anti-whitism always claims to be rescuing the noble Negro from the wicked real racists in the Democratic party because it dares not upset the fundamental guiding principle of the post-war West, which is egalitarianism, or you might want to call it anti-racism.

However, once you accept the very premise of racism — that preference for the ethnic in-group and distaste for the ethnic out-groups is bad, and of egalitarianism, that all men are created equal, you cannot in good faith deny the charges of systemic racism. The western system, such as it is, produces unequal results across races, distributes material and spiritual rewards unequally across the races and no amount of goodwill, colorblindness, equal treatment, or other platitudes will make that go away. These are undeniable facts, but they’re only problematic if we take the basic moral assumptions of egalitarianism and anti-racism. Once we’ve defeated the concept of racism and expunged anti-racism as a moral imperative from the discourse, then we can build the moral case for defending our societies as we make them

If we want to defeat critical race theory, we must first problematize racism as a concept. This will require something outrageous: actually acknowledging differences between races, and furthermore, asserting that preference for the in-group and distaste for the out-groups isn’t a bad thing, but rather good, natural, and healthy for all people, but especially white people.

In medieval terms, it means we have to actually take up arms against the king. Not his wicked advisors who are the real racists. The king. 

Unless you’ve been living under a rock in recent weeks, you’ve probably heard of the groyper rebellion against Conservative Inc.

What started off as college kids messing with cuckservative grifter Charlie Kirk and his Turning Point USA (TPUSA) fake-right organization has spiraled into a full-blown invasion of cuckservative and grift-right events by young men cloaked in courage, armed with the truth, and posing uncomfortable questions to the controlled opposition.

So far, the groypers have caused the resignation of the TPUSA’s President, Vice President, and Secretary at Kansas State University (one of its largest chapters), forced cuckservative gasbag Sebastian Gorka off the Internet, and manipulated Charlie Kirk into purging TPUSA of anyone who supports the groypers – or at least their right to pose difficult questions. This means that he’s essentially expelled the brightest, best-adjusted, and handsomest people from his organization (if population genetics are right about the kind of people who are conservative).

I believe Robert Hampton has done a stellar job of covering the nitty-gritty of the groyper war from a political perspective. What I want to do is provide insight into the metaphysics and ideology behind the war, offer a partial profile of the combatants, and address the first serious threat to groyperdom which now looms on the horizon, courtesy of one M. Yiannopoulos.

We begin by observing the reactions of the neocons, grift-right, and the various tentacles of the Kochtopus and allied monsters to the groyper phenomenon. Amidst the oy veys, nudda shoahs, the wailing and gnashing of teeth, the rending of garments, and ever-escalating charges of racism and Holocaust denial, one thing is clear: The concerns of the groypers are not typical of American conservatism but are rather closer to the European Right, whereas American conservatism is really just a defense of liberalism, as Jeremy Boreing recently made clear:

What these retrograde losers don’t understand is that what American conservatives want to conserve is American liberalism.

American conservatism is not European conservatism. https://t.co/PkBpCNTgku

— Jeremy Boreing (@JeremyDBoreing) October 30, 2019

You’ll see the purple-pilled reaction to that, and on the face of it, that’s that. But here’s a radical thought: What if that odious and aptly-named carbuncle is right?

If you’ve read your history, you understand that, yes, the United States is a constitutional and liberal country. It was founded in rebellion against a monarchy, based mostly on conspiracy theories that’d make David Icke blush; its Constitution is used as the classic example in constitutional law textbooks to illustrate the premise of liberal constitutionalism; and it rejects traditional religiosity, hierarchy, and corporatism in favor of the secularism, egalitarianism, and individualism of liberalism. But the liberalism of the Founding Fathers is now a bit passé, having been replaced by a more advanced form which now concerns itself primarily with tearing down the white man rather than uplifting the Negro – which still pops up now and then, wearing a ridiculously fake moustache and calling itself “libertarianism,” or sometimes more brazenly “conservatism.” It was and is a Leftist movement which stands opposed to the traditional worldview and traditional society. It does have Rightist elements, but only insofar all Leftist movements need some Rightist policies in the event that they win – quite simply, the Left is a vector of chaos and incapable of governance. Every revolution is followed by the sobering emergence of a pragmatic, relatively Right-wing ruler, often authoritarian: Stalin followed Lenin, Napoleon followed Robespierre, Hamilton followed Jefferson. Nevertheless, the core of the ideology remains Leftist, liberal, and hostile to the genuine Right. The United States was literally conceived in sin: the sin of the prodigal son, although unlike the Roundheads, Jacobins, and Bolsheviks, the Americans did not commit that combination of patricide and deicide that shatters the soul of a people: regicide.

Thus, when the normiecon blabbers on about “muh constitution,” “muh American values,” and whatever else, he is signaling his allegiance to this Leftist and liberal ideology, which was America’s central ideology in a time he considers better than his own. A new, fast, and sleek version is available to Leftists, but even the conservative jalopy will get us to the endpoint of liberalism eventually, which is a dystopian hellhole where there are no families, no joy, no American nation, not even fancy future cars – just armies of bugmen munching on bugburgers and living in rows upon rows of grey pods.

Did I say American nation? Huh? What is this racism and anti-Semitism? As long as they come here legally, I don’t care what their color or creed is! This is Uhmerica!

Even though the US was conceived in sin and tainted with liberalism from the get-go, there was at its core an American nation, which served as the springboard for the American empire. From this historic American nation sprung America’s counter-currents which opposed the inherently decadent US. There is a Deep America, which is made of flesh and blood, which believes in blood and soil. There is an America which conquered the continent from sea to shining sea – a white America, if I do say so myself; one concerned not with the welfare of the negro, but with the existence of white Americans and a future for white children. From this Deep America arose such men as Andrew Jackson, Robert E. Lee, Madison Grant, Ezra Pound, Robert E. Howard, Huey Long, Pat Buchanan, John Wayne, and Ross Perot. This is the America of hearth and home, not of marble columns in DC and dangerous utopian nonsense in dusty tomes written by dustier men.

From this America do the groypers arise. They are of the Right, most definitely. They are not, however, of American liberalism. They do not dream about the long-lost 1776 (even though Alex Jones assures me it is about to commence again). The groyper dreams, in his questioning and quest for truth, of something that is yet to emerge and take shape. The groyper dreams of an American nation qua American nation, which has thrown off the yoke of liberalism and exists for itself rather than as a vehicle for an outdated, Enlightenment-era ideology. The groyper wants America to exist as the nations of Europe exist. He is an enemy of empire, because empire blurs the borders between peoples. Any nation which has had the misfortune to be at the core of an empire has fuzzy borders; Turks and Russians come to mind, with Turkish identity meaning little more than “non-Albanian Balkan/Anatolian Muslim” at the end of the nineteenth century, and with Russian identity being little more than “Russian speaker” even today (though it is rapidly differentiating itself). The groyper naturally crosses rhetorical swords with the cuckservative, the normiecon, the libertarian, and the Boomer, all of whom are vectors of liberalism and empire. The aforementioned groups would like Deep America to not ask questions, but rather to stoically carry on her burden as a vehicle for liberalism and empire. The groyper is the dissenting American who would like to know why there is a transgender named “Lady Maga” being propped up as a conservative personality. The groyper would like to know why his nation’s blood and treasure are being expended on a tiny country in the Middle East with a massive lobbying operation in DC. The groyper would like to know why his nation is being invaded by swarthy and hostile foreigners, and why the alleged conservatives support a legal version of that invasion, even if it means the death of the historic American nation.

In a sense, we are witnessing the conflict between liberalism and a form of European-style conservatism – which is to say, the conservatism of a particular European nation: America. It is clumsy and undefined, and there are no elaborate national myths, but I think that the American nation has yet to crawl out from under the American empire’s shadow. (I believe the American empire is still alive, although its prognosis is not good.) In time, its identity will become differentiated and it will become a coherent group; in other words, the process of ethnogenesis will be completed. We are observing such a process of ethnogenesis in the wake of an empire in Russia today, whereas studying the history of post-1924 Turkey can provide us an example of a more-or-less completed ethnogenetic process.

The groyper army is to a great degree self-directed, though from what I can tell, the major figureheads of the movement are Nick Fuentes, Vincent James, E. Michael Jones, and Patrick Casey. Some patterns jump out: All four of these guys are some combination of Mediterranean and Hibernian. All four are Catholics. All four took the side of optics in the Optics War. All four look for political solutions, eschewing fedposting and calls to violence. There’s a reason for all these common traits.

First, it’s important to remember that liberalism is to a great extent an Anglo phenomenon and that the English people have shown an unfortunate predilection for it. Insofar as Anglo thinkers are fundamentally illiberal, we usually find Celtic admixture in them. It stands to reason that if a nationalist and illiberal Right is to arise in America, it would arise among non-Anglo whites, and with the German-Americans completely subsumed into Anglo culture, it’s up to a scrappy crew of Micks and Eye-talians to git r’ dun. Catholicism dovetails with illiberal nationalism in two important ways. Firstly, it is inherently hierarchical, entry into its priesthood is restricted (you at least need to pass seminary), and it can trace its roots back to the Roman Empire – to the crucifixion of St. Peter in Rome. It is a living reminder that there was a world before liberalism and, for those who have eyes to see, it is prima facie evidence that goodness and beauty can exist without liberalism.

Secondly, Catholicism does not necessarily suffer from the American Protestant disease of philo-Semitism. In this long and exhaustive article, we see that American Protestantism is incurably Zionist and philo-Semitic and has been since before the founding. It is therefore unlikely that an American illiberal nationalist movement, insofar as it is America First rather than Israel First, would arise out of Protestantism.

Of note is that the groypers seek to usurp Conservatism Inc. Conservatism Inc. is morally bankrupt and at the very least an accessory to the evils committed by the anti-white and anti-family Left, but it is very good at rooting out anything which even smells of illiberalism. The groypers are optical not because they want to infiltrate and subvert Conservatism Inc.; they are very much aware that this cannot be done. Rather, they seek to demonstrate to the conservative American – who is an American nationalist in the making – that Conservative Inc. does not have his best interests at heart and that it is willing to be as censorious and as shrill as the Left when asked polite questions by clean-cut, if green, young men. Charlie Kirk’s panicked disavowals, Dan Crenshaw’s smug dismissals, Rob Smith’s effete passive aggression, and Sebastian Gorka’s bloviating paroxysms are all revealing Conservative Inc. as a group of corrupt and capricious bullies whose haughty outrage at having been asked a question (a question, I say!) by the unwashed masses red-pill more people than a thousand spreadsheets with crime statistics.

I wish the groypers well in their endeavor. As a European-style nationalist, I welcome them and the rising American nation to the club. I am eager to help them with any wisdom I can impart. Let me therefore begin by warning the groypers that Conservative Inc. may look like a bunch of morons, but that these people can be surprisingly cunning when it comes to guarding their income streams.

Milo Yiannopoulos has just leaked a recording of Richard Spencer throwing a temper tantrum in the wake of the Charlottesville rally:

Milo just uploaded leaked audio of Richard Spencer reacting to the death of Heather Heyer and the negative press it did to his movement.

Just in case there was any question of the so-called “dapper white nationalist” being a raged fuelled hateful monster.

Explicit warning. pic.twitter.com/KpVk2fLYSu

— BAILEY, THE LIBTARDTARIAN ???? (@atheist_cvnt) November 4, 2019

It shows us that Richard Spencer is one narcissistic puppy. Still, I have to disavow the recording and its leaking because I, too, have had my heated gamer moments, and I’ve said much, much worse about people of other races, faiths, and ethnicities in my angry rants. But I’ve not ever, to my knowledge, claimed to rule the effing world. See, what I find contemptible in this rant is not the rage against “kikes,” “midgets,” and “octoroons,” but its petulance and megalomania.

In case you’re wondering, no, the editor did not splice two texts together. The Milo leak is relevant because of its timing. It is late 2019 and Spencer has been a spent force for over two years now. His various problems are well known to the Dissident Right, and nobody outside our movement has any regard for Spencer. So why am I bringing it up now?

Given rumors that Milo Yiannopoulos is dead broke, I would not be surprised if this were some ploy to taint Nick Fuentes as the groypers’ most visible leader. It is easy to forget, but Nick Fuentes was present at Charlottesville. This two-year-old clip could very well be the beginning of a smear campaign against Fuentes, which would taint the entire groyper movement by association. Spencer, for his part, is visibly bitter about Nick’s success with the groyper uprising, whereas all his creatures on Twitter have been trying to link Milo with Fuentes and make people believe that Spencer is the actual target. At the time of writing, there is no evidence that Milo is planning to strike at Spencer, but it is important to bear in mind that he is a recently impoverished man of extravagant taste, that he probably has audio recordings of a lot of people in the movement, and that Conservative Inc. has a lot of money to spend – and a grudge against the groypers and especially Nick Fuentes.

If true, this plot will fail. Firstly, Nick Fuentes has already been as defamed and attacked as any member of the Dissident Right. He is, in a sense, robust and even antifragile to censorship and abuse because he has anchored himself to the truth. His groypers will follow him into the maw of D-live, if need be. The second reason is even simpler. The groyper movement is far more than a Nick Fuentes fan club. It is the primal scream of Deep America, of an American nation which intends to make itself known and rise on the world stage. Fuentes is riding this wave – how far, I cannot tell. Vincent James, E. Michael Jones, and Patrick Casey are also riding this wave. This wave has the power to sweep away the cuckservative establishment. This wave has the power to cleanse America of liberalism. A biblical plague of frogs has descended upon Conservative Inc., and with every question croaked, a true American nation edges closer to its birth.

About a month ago, a friend suggested I check out The Punisher, Netflix’s 2017 series. Wary though I am of the Marvel Comics Universe and modern entertainment, I must say what he said about the series was rather appealing. So, I bit the bullet and watched the thing. Now, recently, Netflix announced that it would be canceling the show due to attempts by Disney (which apparently owns Marvel’s intellectual property) to build its own streaming platform. Read all about it here, if you so wish.

My concern is with the canceled show itself. We Rightists love our vigilantes, as the many pages devoted to Batman and the Death Wish movies on Counter-Counter-Currents. Now, I’ll have to come clean with you, friends — I’ve never read the Punisher comics, nor have I seen the previous two Punisher movies, not even the preceding show — the Daredevil, where this incarnation of the Punisher debuted in the MCU. In fact, I only know of the Punisher because he once appeared in the Spiderman animated series which I followed fanatically as a child. This, I believe, gives me a clearer perspective on the show, much like those Chinese Star Wars viewers who could tell that the new films were bullshit because they didn’t have the cultural attachment to the franchise.

The series finds us after Frank Castle, the eponymous Punisher, has punished (killed) those responsible for the death of his family — who are part of a plot to smuggle heroin from Afghanistan into the USA. He lies low, assuming the identity of Pete Castiglione — a construction worker. However, he has not eliminated every conspirator in the aforementioned criminal enterprise. Loose threads remain, and there’s no official conclusion to the investigation. Frank, however, seems content to break walls with a sledgehammer, look like a hipster with his gigantic beard, and take shit from the predictably white jerkasses who comprise the rest of his construction crew. But fear not, true believers — heroic persons of color are on the job!

Firstly, canon immigrant Dinah Madani, a DHS agent and strang, independant wahman of color is racking the muck at the New York DHS field office, chafing under the fascist boot of her white male alpha boss, Carson Wolf, who evils around with his big smile and privileged goatee like some white male privileged alpha Special-Agent-in-Charge. Her backstory is that she used to be the DHS liaison in Afghanistan and then an Afghan cop, one Ahmad Zubair was killed after uncovering the aforementioned heroin smuggling racket.

Heroic Dinah is however the favorite of the DHS for reasons relating to her race and gender, and she also has a powerful ally in the person of Rafael Hernandez, a fellow member of the POC ascendancy and a big shot in the DHS. This prevents evil fuck Wolf from firing her outright. As Morris V. de Camp recently mentioned with regard to one Ali Soufan, our enemies in the Globohomo have a desperate need for heroic g-men of color. Netflix and Marvel deliver a heroic g-woman of color.

She also has a degree in Islamic studies, but even moderate, booze-drinking Muslims I know would condemn her conduct and dress as slatternly and un-Islamic. Maybe I’m just hanging around the wrong kind of Muslim, and the prog orthodoxy has managed to synthesize a new kind of woke Muslim.

She is assisted in her endeavors by (((Sam Stein))), a fellow DHS agent who has the physical readiness and feminine disposition of the average bugman. Indeed, if a state relied on such specimens for its law enforcement needs, it would pretty soon find itself displaced by other violent actors, as demonstrated later on when Sam is killed by one of the bad guys in no small measure due to his own stupidity. He also serves as a beta shoulder for Madani to cry on when her feminine wiles are foiled by her main romantic interest — one of the show’s villains.

The second nonwhite hero fighting against the evil white men who conspire to smuggle heroin from Afghanistan to the USA is (((David Lieberman))), a.k.a. Micro — an NSA whistleblower who has been forced to go underground and is believed dead, thanks to evil white man Carson Wolf who is, we learn, in on the heroin smuggling conspiracy. He’s gone a little bit stir crazy after having been isolated from his family and human contact in general and is indeed a fine specimen of hebraic neuroticism. He is, of course, Frank Castle’s main hook into the plot of the show.

When Frank’s jerkass white co-workers at the construction site decide to augment their incomes by holding up a mob poker game, they cajole Frank’s nice guy coworker Donny Chavez, who is a good kid getting mixed up with the bad white crowd. And like a good kid, he’s very nervous while holding up the poker game, drops his wallet, allowing the mobster to see his ID and identify him. Realizing they have a serious security risk on their hands, the construction crew try to kill Donny at the construction site, but Frank’s there, and he kicks their asses and then proceeds to massacre the mob guys so they don’t harm Donny. His actions put him on Micro’s radar and the main plot is kicked off.

Those are our heroes. Now, let’s take a look at the side of the villains.

Aside from the aforementioned alpha jerk Carson Wolf, we also have William Rawlins, a.k.a. Agent Orange, the CIA Director of Covert Ops who is the ringleader of the heroin smuggling conspiracy and was in the past the handler of the covert death squad which included Frank Castle. Also, he is the one who executed, or rather ordered Frank to execute Ahmad Zubair, the Afghan cop who was working to uncover the heroin smuggling conspiracy. Also, he is shown, in flashbacks, to have no empathy for the US Marines who do his bidding for which Frank Castle punches his eye out. It happens.

Rawlins is the ultimate boogeyman of privilege. He’s not merely a white male. He’s a white male scion of Virginia gentry, that American caste which readers of David Hackett Fischer’s Albion’s Seed will recognize as the descendants of the second sons of the English aristocracy — the Cavaliers who have for centuries been the commanders of America’s armies, men such as George Washington and Robert E. Lee. Rawlins probably has an ancestor whose statue the diversity brigades want torn down in the name of justice, the privileged fuck. He is, however, secretly weak and gets off on torturing people. Also, he lies to his very tough female boss — the Director of the CIA, Marion James.

In this old woman who displays inordinate amounts of wrinkly and liver-spotted cleavage, the showrunners want us to see a strong and stalwart strang, independant whaman who would be great at her job if not for those pesky and corrupt white men like Rawlins. Also, she has girl-talk moments with our heroic gynoPOC Dinah Madani and takes her under her wing, in a rare honest fictional portrayal of female and bioleninist entryism into the system of government.

Nipping around Rawlins’ ankles is colonel Morty Bennett. Despite having the first name of an aging Jewish comedian, this despicable specimen is pure white male. He assisted the heroin smuggling operation in his capacity as a mortician, by hiding the heroin inside the dead bodies of slain US servicemen in Afghanistan. Also, he enjoys being spanked by a dominatrix. Cowardly little fuck, easily dispatched.

The third bad guy of note in the conspiracy is another white guy. Billy Russo, a squadmate of Frank’s in the USMC and the deathsquad under Rawlins’ direction. He owns a private military company and is brought into the show’s plot when Dinah Madani patrons his training services as a ploy to get closer to him and therefore to Castle, while she’s still not wise to his involvement in the heroin conspiracy. They become romantically involved.

Oh and Billy Russo is actually the guy who killed Frank’s family. He also kills Sam Stein the scruffy-bearded, fat, and ineffective Jewish DHS agent. It’s really complicated — there are themes of betrayal that are alluded to, but we don’t really see how close Frank and Billy were before the show until much later, so the betrayal doesn’t quite sting the audience.

Also, the showrunners try to pass off the relationship between Russo and Madani as something more than casual bumping of various uglies, and it falls flat, so Russo’s contrived betrayal of Madani falls even flatter. Russo and his PMC [Private Military Contractor] goons serve as the main physical threat against the heroes. In the first season finale, Russo gets his face obliterated by Frank and becomes the villain Jigsaw, as in the comics.

Bonus: Billy Russo is the son of a single mother who was a meth head hooker. He’s given a bevy of freudian excuses for his criminality, but it’s clear to the astute observer not taken in by psycholophastry that whatever evils Russo commits are the result of greed and pride. But that would be just a wee bit too normal for our clownworld where criminality is the fault of society, not the criminal. Then again, absent an elder elephant, how’s a boy to control his pride and greed?

Season one has a subplot in the character arcs of Curtis Hoyle and Lewis Wilson. Curtis is a Navy Medic, squadmate to Frank Castle and Billy Russo. He’s a somewhat different, somewhat more believable Madani — a heroic g-man of color. Like Madani, he ticks two diversity boxes — he’s black and disabled — having had his leg blown off in an incident Frank blames himself for.

In an inversion of reality typical of TV show produced in the current year, this black man is given a caring and nurturing role as the leader of a support group for veterans suffering from PTSD. Portraying once again the yearning for a g-man of color, much of the support group is nonwhite and whaman, whereas in reality, the US military is overwhelmingly white, southern, and male.

There are two white guys of consequence in the group, though. One is O’Connor, a fat boomer who allegedly fought in Vietnam (later proven false) and an unstable young white man named Lewis Wilson who’s been on the business end a bad case of PTSD. O’Connor is portrayed here as a typical MAGApede, mouthing off about muh liberties, about gun rights, about outsourcing, and about immigrants taking our jobs, and he hangs Lewis out to dry when they have a run-in with a corrupt cop.

Lewis is taken in by this cowardly, silver-tongued liar and becomes a domestic terrorist, bombing government facilities all over New York with homemade bombs, and releasing a manifesto which might as well be topped off with MAGA.

Frank Castle has to put this loose cannon down, especially after he ties Curtis the disabled black medic hero to a bomb. Lewis gets a good death, though. He kills himself with a homemade bomb after trying to assassinate a gun-grabbing senator, dies on his own terms while reciting Kipling’s “The Young British Soldier.” Hey, it’s a little on the nose, but if it keeps the kids away from boomer conservatism and gets them reading Kipling, I ain’t against it.

The second season is even more on the nose. It kicks off with Frank trying to live some semblance of a normal life in Michigan, which apparently means having a one-night stand with a tattooed single mother who tends bar at some dive. Unfortunately, she is shot in a shootout where highly trained PMCs try to kidnap a teenage girl named Amy Bendix who has mysterious items of value. Oh, and she’s on the run after these PMCs killed her entire ersatz family, a multiethnic group of friends (with implied benefits) who all lived together, committing various petty crimes in Chicago under the auspices of a criminal matriarch, now dead.

Now, one would ask, where are their families, but from what I know about the life of triggerkin, big city millennials in the US, these weird living arrangements are not unusual. Oh, and she has another coalition of the fringes bona fide — aside from being whaman and having weird living arrangements with nonwhites, she’s also physically underwhelming — a 6 in good lighting, a 5 at best. Chunky and with those stupid googly eyes popping out above protruding cheeks. Amazing to see how a dumpy a 21-year-old woman with access to professional makeup and lighting can look, but I guess that’s what a culture gets when it tolerates, nay, promotes female ugliness.

Frank, naturally, protects this girl and flees with her to Larkville, Ohio, where they’re taken into custody by the local sheriff, a heroic black man (notice a pattern here), who presides over a sheriff’s department staffed by a sassy black guy (who bravely takes a bullet for the protagonists), a diminutive white woman (who holds her own in the firefight), and a very fat old white guy (who barely knows enough about weapons to keep him from blowing his foot off). The PMCs pursue Frank and Amy and besiege the sheriff’s office, but he calls on Madani who swoops in and whisks him and Amy to New York.

The PMCs pursuing our heroes are revealed to be in the employ of a pair of evangelo-cons named Anderson and Eliza Schultz, who, despite the misleading name, aren’t Jewish, but very, very Evangelical. They apparently have a gay son who is a US senator, and the mysterious item of value is a picture that Amy’s multiethnic gang of fuck-buddies took of him swapping spit with another man at a funeral. Oh, and the Schultzes are basically George Soros, but promoting the Alt Right. Yes, the showrunners have found us out. We’re 100% funded by aging evangelocons who hire PMCs to murder people who find out their son is a poof. As with season 1’s attempt to shoehorn MAGA populism into boomerite conservatism, we see here that Alt-Right White Nationalism is the domain of Bush-era Leftoid caricatures of the evangelical Right.

The Schultzes have as their attack dog a reformed white supremacist by the name of John Pilgrim. His 1488 and iron cross tattoos have been lasered off, and he has given himself to Jesus, but still has to kill and scheme for the Schultzes. Naturally, the Punisher punishes these evil Right-wingers for their evil Right-wingery. Needless to say, the homosexual son is not complicit in the plot, but is rather an upstanding, courageous, and honest man.

Parallel to that, Billy Russo rises out of the ashes as Jigsaw. He falls in love with his strang, independant, wahman of color therapist, breaks out of the prison hospital where he’s treated for the injuries and amnesia that Frank inflicted on him at the end of season 1, and forms a band of brothers from former military personnel who are likewise dissatisfied with the way society treats them. While they have their token POCs and one whaman, this band of brothers is mostly white and male.

Their first move is to rob a cash and carry joint. Pretty soon, they draw the attention of the Punisher, who has to punish them and Billy Russo. In a rare moment of sanity, the series realistically portrays the life of a gang of men with the means and tools to wreak havoc. Russo is a gang leader and a cult leader at the same time — the group has a primitive set of rituals and the beginnings of a mythology.

This is perhaps what globohomo fears the most about white men — especially those who know their way around a combat zone — that we organize into groups capable of violence, or in Nietzschean terms, groups whose purpose is the violent imposition of our will and realization of our will-to-power.

That the leader is someone who in the past was driven primarily by greed and pride, but has been humbled by defeat and is now redeeming himself on a quest for truth — Russo rediscovering his self in the wake of his amnesia — makes them all the more dangerous. Recognizing the danger, Frank and Madani work in concert to destroy them.

So, what have we learned? Well, we have learned that government corruption is only a problem when white men do it. When heroic whamen in government lie to the public, let dangerous criminals walk free, or have sex with men guilty of multiple murders, that’s not corruption. We’ve also learned that white veterans are either ticking time bombs (who make ticking time bombs) or one step removed from criminals, whereas POC veterans are nurturing, pure, and honorable men. And the only way to be a good white man is to do the bidding of the heroic whamen of color, Jewish leakers, fat millennials and POC veterans — in other words, to be a golem for globohomo.

And we’ve also learned that rightism is orthogonal to vigilantism. While we like to think that the very existence of the vigilante has grave implications for the liberal world order, the reality is that liberals can just as easily claim the opposite. They live in a world where the government is really full of Rawlinses and Schultzes and that the liberal utopia can be achieved if these evil, reactionary white men are removed from the government and that the immense power of these white men must be countered by vigilantism of either white golems like Frank Castle, heroic g-wahmen of color like Madani or the motley crew at the FBI that has been trying to stage a coup against president Trump in our own universe. As my good friend the Thain of Shire pointed out in an article some time ago, the globohomo leftists LARP as underdogs and this LARPing is a tenet of their religion — a hierophanic mystery of the ruling class. They really think they’re the ones sticking it to the man and therefore consider all vigilantes to be their own.

To clarify, I still consider Christopher Nolan’s Batman movies to be essentially Right-wing movies, but for other reasons. Nolan’s Batman cannot be anything but Right-wing, but Batman as such is a vessel for whoever feels wronged by corruption and inaction on the part of the state.

There’s enough shootouts, blood, gore, and intrigue in the series to make up for the Leftoid morality play in the series, thank God. It’s not as cartoonish as the Avenger films, but it’s not exactly realistic either. I’ve known a few combat veterans in my time — not one of them would just walk up to five armed men with nothing but a pistol in his hands and hope he’s fast and accurate enough to shoot all five of them in about a second. The series has this gritty and “real” aesthetic, which I guess appeals to a civilization in decline which has lost its capacity to dream, conceptualize, and watch a TV show without having the gory details of a gut shot showed in its face.

Being new to The Punisher has freed me from attachments which would cloud my vision with nostalgia. But I didn’t know before writing this article that not being American would give me even clearer vision. I do not have the reverence which patriotic Americans have for US military personnel and veterans. Neither am I isolated from manly men in the way a modern bugman is, so I do not stand awed by anyone who shows up with a furrowed brow and bulging biceps.

Yes, Castle is a Marine. Yes, he’s very manly and tough, and his strength deserves respect. But he’s a golem, a mindless puppet for the forces of globohomo LARPing as oppressed victims of corruption and inaction. He crushes white resistance to the POC ascendancy, whether haphazard as with Lewis Wilson, or organized, as with Billy Russo’s gang of warriors. Unlike Nolan’s Batman who uses violence to impose his princely order upon the forces of chaos, Frank Castle uses violence to stamp out resistance to the chaos of the nonwhite, antinomian assault on the West. He’s not /ourguy/.

Ever since I was a small child, I was fascinated by organized crime. Sure, what kid hasn’t dreamt of being a robber in the eternal conflict between cops and robbers, but there was a deeper connection there — I marveled at the organized, hierarchical, and methodical ways in which organized crime groups went about committing crime. And what crime at that — it’s one thing to plan a bank robbery, quite another to run a smuggling operation which lasts decades. I was familiar with the theory and practice of money laundering at age 8.

Now, part of it was due to the influence of my father, who had a similar interest in organized crime. He, however, had a better excuse for his morbid fascination: he was in criminal justice specializing in organized crime cases. In practice, this meant that any time precocious little Nicky Jeelvy would ask that perennial question which vexes parents across the world: “Daddy, whatcha doin’?” a lecture on the various clever ways in which mafiosi operate was forthcoming.

The former libertarian in me is quick to remember the Rothbardian quip of “The state is a gang of thieves writ large.” Yet that same libertarianism made me blind to the nature of the gang of thieves — I sometimes allowed myself the fantasy of considering gangsters free-market heroes setting their entrepreneurial sails to the wind of supply and demand, the law and state be damned. Al Capone is Andrew Carnegie with bigger balls. My father suffered from a similar myopia — he assumed that an organized crime entity is fundamentally an economic actor and that strangulating its resources can defeat it. What libertarians like to forget, what the public servants tasked with fighting organized crime tend to forget, is the symmetric property of algebra, that if a=b than b=a, or translated from nerdeese — that the gang of thieves is a state writ small. Or mathematically, for s-state, g-gang of thieves, then if s=g*x, then g=s/x, where x is the scale factor (writ large or small) of the organized group. This means that while there is an economic element to both the state and gang, the defining characteristic of both groups is the ability and willingness to use violence.

When looking closer at what an organized crime group does, we can draw various conclusions as to their primary source of money. Thus, we say that Al Capone ran liquor, the cartel smuggles drugs and migrants, the (((Russian))) mafya deals in guns and white slavery, and the CIA traffics heroin. But all of these groups don’t do that – they have people who do that for them. They’re running protection rackets on these illicit businesses. To get a better picture, let’s look at this ridiculous case of academics blaming lemons for the rise of the Sicilian mafia. They do a good job of gathering the data, that yes, lemons as a cash crop attracted the mafia, but the rather sensational claim that lemons gave rise to the mafia misses the way the mafia was associated with the lemons. The mafiosi were running a protection racket on the lemon groves. Analogies are drawn to the cartels controlling lime production in Mexico and coca growing in Colombia, but the researchers and the journalists don’t seem to understand that power is the primary resource of gangs and that violence is a gang’s primary activity.

Power is the chief characteristic of the state as well. As libertarians are fond of pointing out, the state has no resources of its own — it taxes businesses and people to cover its expenses. Or to put it on a human scale, the state takes from he who has grown, by virtue of its greater might. Now, this is not necessarily a bad thing — this tough guy who takes your shit, as they say on the street, might actively defend you against even bigger demons out there — gangs of thieves who’ve not deigned to remain stationary and tax. Crime offers us an analogy again — organized crime gangs will often crack down on lone criminals and lesser gangs who operate on their turf. A monopoly on the use of force is a wonderful thing to have, and force doesn’t brook plurality. If there are two or more gangs with overlapping territory, they fight over turf. If there are two or more states with overlapping territory, they fight a war. If a hegemonic state senses a threat to its sphere of influence from either a rival hegemon or a refractory nation seeking sovereignty, it fights a war, either directly, or through proxies. And there’s of course a special case, wherein a gang of men attain sufficient power to challenge and vex the state while simultaneously acting out on territory they control the role of a state — a civil war.

Power, or as they say on the street, muscle, is what makes a gang or a state function and rival power centers aren’t tolerated. We are, of course, talking about hard power centers here. Soft power centers such as companies, churches, families, unions and other corporate bodies aren’t threats to the state or the gang directly, though their influence can vex such powers. More often than not, soft power bows to hard power and the aforementioned types of organizations do the bidding of the state or gang, whoever pulls the strings and whoever has the bishop’s balls in a vice. Sometimes, the bishop or CEO will go mad with soft power and promptly get put in his place. For a cinematic example, see Moe Greene. For a real-life example, see the Avignon papacy.

Concentrated muscle is the chief skill of the gang/state. The ability to raise, attract, cultivate, organize, arm, motivate, and direct muscle is the stuff of leadership. Therefore, it’s important to understand not only the nature, but the source of muscle.

This article was conceived from a humorous exchange I had with my wife. I was being a rather naughty boy, and she threatened to tell my mother. I stuck out my tongue at her. Then my better half threatened to tell my grandfather. Believe me, friends, there’s not been in the history of coquetry a faster-vanishing grin, to be replaced by somber clouds and a heavy brow. Triumphantly, the wife exclaimed — “Aha! That’ll fix you! I’ll call the elder elephant to teach you manners!” referring of course to the tale of adolescent elephants who were raised by elephant cows alone running wild until the appearance of the bull elephants, who taught them manners. Absent their elders, the adolescent elephants formed into violent gangs. As in human society, the sons of single mothers unleash hell on earth.

That tale is the favorite of civnats in explaining away racial differences in crime rates. Ya see, it’s because the blacks’ fathers are gone that they turn to crime. Checkmate, racists! Of course, that blacks have a greater propensity to abandon their children is not touched upon. Oh, and gangs are obviously bad, right?

Wrong.

What I suspect goes on the mind of a fatherless adolescent, whether elephant or man, is that it craves structure, a hierarchy, a sense of belonging, and a sense of purpose. A gang provides all four. But what of the adolescent with a father? Does he not crave those same things? And if so, why doesn’t he join a gang? Well, who says he doesn’t? He joins his father’s gang, which in the contemporary West is civilized society — that which exists in the shadow of a state. Absent a father, or a significantly strong male influence, a young man has no way of being initiated into the structure of society, he has no sponsor and mentor to guide him through the various degrees. He is outside of the society, milling about with the foreigners and women in that great, sticky amorphous goop which constitutes they who aren’t part of the club. Now, women, that’s just the way they like it — they can hack it. Men, on the other hand, need a brotherhood. Absent acceptance into the lodge of their fathers, they form their own clubs. They form the state writ small — a gang of thieves. Gangs are important. As the meme goes, individually we are weak twigs, but together we form a mighty faggot.

Something as simple as cleaning out the garbage from the basement is a nigh-impossible task for a man acting alone, but add a sidekick, and the heroics of hygiene commence. More important still is companionship. Set two or more men to working a single task and sooner or later, they’re gonna start busting balls — and they’ll be closer than brothers for it. Where I come from, there’s always a guy riding shotgun in public buses. He’s the bus driver’s buddy, and his job is to shoot the shit with the bus driver, and his payment is free transportation, often for shady wheeling and dealing around town. Life’s tough when there’s no one to talk to. For a man shut out of the official hierarchy, out of the big gang, life is a lonely place and he is exposed to the whims of the world.

I’ve often been annoyed by cuckservatives and civnats bellyaching about rap “glorifying gang culture.” Now, don’t get me wrong — there’s plenty wrong with rap, if you accept your own whiteness. It’s dull and repetitive, it unlocks energies best left hidden, it’s pathetically lowbrow, lower than all but the lowest whites, it doesn’t even begin to unlock the great universe of music, but there’s nothing inherently wrong with it, insofar as one is black. Rap is an authentic expression of blackness.

Gangs, for their part, aren’t bad either. They are the basic form of male self-organization and those things we derisively call gangs are “bad” insofar as they stand opposed to the biggest gang of them all — the state. How typical of cucks to find that there are white people victimized by black gangs, and then condemn gangs as such.

But gangs are tools — young men bring the muscle and leaders direct, organize and marshal the muscle and all attendant resources which muscle requires.

And here we come to our own current situation. Some of us have lost our fathers for various reasons and we are denied entry into the big gang. But increasingly, we are shut out of the big gang for the very simple reason that the big gang doesn’t want our kind. And by kind I mean race and nationality.

Well, what did you expect? You don’t get to be a mafioso if you’re not of Sicilian descent, and you don’t get to pull the levers of power if you’re not of any of the approved ethnicities. Even mind-boggling cuckery isn’t enough to mollify the anti-white censors, as the white, male Democrats in the US are finding out. Not even the levers of power — you don’t get to be anywhere and not bow your head to diversity. How long before a white janitor is out on his ass for questioning globohomo dogma?

When the big gang itself is compromised, when its values are against our survival, we no longer owe it allegiance, even though our fathers may implore us to join. No matter the admonition of the bull elephants, we have to run wild for now. Our fathers had good-+-+ lives in the shadow of a somewhat sympathetic state, whereas we can only languish under the rainbow-colored boot of multiracial democracy. A parallel from organized crime: it’s one thing to sell olive oil under the watchful eye of Don Vito Genovese, quite another to shake in your boots as bloodthirsty blacks and Hispanics devour entire neighborhoods, flood cities with drugs, and steal everything that isn’t nailed down.

We, as the melancholic in me is fond of pointing out, will not have the good life. We white elephants running wild, we are incorrigible because we know it. No wife, no children, no house is forthcoming if we behave. So, why behave? Elder elephants be damned, we won’t go quietly into the night. Our trunks arrayed in Roman salutes, we’ll rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Before I get accused of anything untoward, no, this is not a call for forming a violent armed gang to overthrow the state. But it is a call for forming a männerbund. Reach out to fellow travelers in your area, convert friends and family. At the very least, you’ll have people ready to help you move, clean out your basement, pave your driveway, haul your laundry across town and fix your wife’s computer on a Sunday night. And make no mistake, the turd neareth, ever so certainly, the fan. Pretty soon, the last vestiges of the big gang’s protection against the elements and enemies will disappear and you’ll find yourself in need of an organization both fraternal and military to protect you and yours. You need muscle. Start pumping iron. And more importantly, surround yourself with muscle.

And who knows? Leadership is a skill that can be learned, and the best teacher of leadership is adversity. In this crazy day and age, you, my dear reader-friend, might end up being the capo di tutti capi, the boss of the White Elephant Mafia.

 

We know from Spengler that each great civilization goes through a cycle: hard times create strong men, strong men create good times, good times create weak men. On the Dissident Right, our belief is in personal responsibility, in taking ownership for who and what we are. If we accept this intellectually, it gives us a blind spot with regard to biology and just how immutable heritability is, however. Blood trumps culture and policy, even naked power. Heritability is the ultimate red-pill, and in some ways the ultimate black-pill (and then a white-pill).

Recently, I’ve been listening to Dr. Edward Dutton, who goes by the moniker The Jolly Heretic on YouTube. He’s quite a pleasant chap, bright and jovial. What’s even more important is that he brings a whole load of data we’ve previously lacked from the HBD angle. We can recite by heart the racial differences in intelligence, but human biodiversity doesn’t end there. What’s of particular interest in this article are the intraracial differences in religiosity and mutant loads.

Dr. Dutton has produced a remarkable research paper, “The Mutant Says In His Heart – There Is No God.” You can read the article, or watch Dr. Dutton’s summary on YouTube, but here’s my dime-store summation: atheism (and other forms of non-conformist religiosity) is the result of a high mutant load, which is to say, the amount of the genome of a particular human who has mutated. The paper establishes this by exploring religiosity rates in people who have high mutational loads (determined through phenotypic expressions such as autism, left handedness, fluctuating asymmetry, poor immune systems, autoimmune disorders, etc.), finding that they tend to be irreligious or hold beliefs in the paranormal. Yes, you read right, folks. The fedora-tipping types who use terms like Christard are mutants, and not the kind that shoot lasers out of their dicks, but rather the type who are unfit to live in a pre-industrial society. The red A on their lapels doesn’t stand for adultery as in days of yore, nor for atheism as they claim, but rather for autism, asthma, or autoimmune disorder.

While it’s always good to relive the old high school glory days and do Darwin’s will by putting the nerdy mutants in their place, we have to  move on to the serious problems this implies for civilization. Dr. Dutton’s paper is based on research by Dr. Michael Woodley of Menie, which speaks of “social epistasis.” Its dictionary definition is that “epistasis is an interaction between nonallelic genes, especially an interaction in which one gene suppresses the expression of another,” according to its dictionary definition. Essentially, what is meant is that expression of mutant genes retards the expression of non-mutant genes in other organisms by disrupting the social group of the organism with the mutated genes, or in even plainer language, mutants spreading unhealthy memes among non-mutants decreases the reproductive success not only of mutants, but also of non-mutants who are part of the same social group. Again, this is concisely explained by both good doctors on YouTube.

I was immediately reminded of Jason Köhne’s (better known as No White Guilt) idea of meme pathogens infecting the minds of young white people and forcing them to behave in anti-white, anti-natalist ways. Atheism is such a pathogen: it radically reduces fertility and ethnocentrism. Feminism is such a pathogen for much the same reasons. Democracy, socialism, xenophilia, materialism – these are all dangerous ideas which can decrease fertility and fitness even in otherwise healthy, unmutated men and women through this process of epistasis, where the mutant genes in one person express themselves as pathological memes which proliferate throughout society.

Whence these mutants, then? Parental age, especially paternal age, seems to be one big source. Otherwise healthy men possess more errors in the meiotic process when they produce sperm at an older age, and 35 seems to be the cutoff for older. This should motivate you boys to reproduce early – yes, of course we’ve technically got more time than the women, but not really, especially if we want strong, masculine sons who can do a foeman in with a single punch. And we sure as excrement do not want sons who tip their fedoras and respeck whamen while shaming the family name with their asthmatic wheezes, in the middle of the footie match, no less. So, get to breeding, lads.

But more importantly, we’re no longer subject to pre-industrial – which is to say Malthusian – selection pressures in which the aforementioned fedora-adorned mutants would die en masse before their first birthday due to their weak immune systems. But now we live in a crystal-clean world full of antibiotics, where there’s nary a germ to bother these gammy half-men, and the ruthless gods of nature cannot touch them, leaving them free to spread their memetic poison. And their memetic poison is killing them, for the mutants depend on civilization to survive. They can’t survive in the dirt, they can’t survive without penicillin, and they can’t survive without steroid inhalers. Even more importantly, without the mostly non-mutant police to shield them, they can’t survive the righteous retribution of the faithful for the incessant mocking of our gods.

What’s more, these meme pathogens that they spread undermine the very industrial civilization that they depend on, given that they tend to infect the highest IQ non-mutants. Intelligent women, who’d normally have many intelligent children, put off reproduction while they quixotically pursue the privilege of being the most productive slave of global capital. They call this empowerment. Intelligent men shun churchgoing, where they’re likely to meet intelligent, healthy women and reproduce, instead engaging in various forms of degeneracy. Even if they resist globohomo by being masculine, they’re sidetracked by carving notches on their bedposts, playing videogames, or other release valves for masculine energies. The meme pathogens also undermine the ethnocentrism even of non-mutants, making the social group vulnerable to infiltration and immigration/invasion. It’s not just society’s IQ, but rather the willingness to survive which mutants and their meme pathogens sap.

And here we go back to Spengler, and we have to reformulate his central insight to explain this new biospenglerian paradigm:

Surely, something must be done about these mutants. How about a eugenics program? Well, no. As the good doctors Dutton and Woodley of Menie point out, the result of any attempt by a government to institute a eugenics program is a foregone conclusion in a democracy where mutants vote, and more importantly, have the ability to release meme pathogens and manipulate low-IQ voters. In effect, the expression of mutant genes ensures the proliferation of mutant genes until society collapses.

This article began as an attempt to refute Hunter Wallace’s response to my earlier article on the accelerationism of the Yang Gang, as well as Greg Johnson’s essay on money for nothing. It was supposed to restate Mencius Moldbug’s insights into industrial society’s employment problem, specifically the issue of what to do with all these low-IQ people who are unemployable in an industrial and post-industrial society. Moldbug offers us the following six solutions: Option A – let them die. Option B – give ‘em money for nothing (which includes Universal Basic Income [UBI]). Option C – create government make-work. Option D – do what the US government is doing now (you gotta read Moldbug’s post to get a full picture, I’m afraid). Option E – restrict foreign trade in order to protect jobs (and beyond just the token tariffs and concessions which Trump has won). Option F – restrict technology to protect jobs.

Moldbug prefers a combination of options E and F to solve the problems. However, the reason why these things would fail, as would any other option except a combination of options B and D, is hidden in his objection to option C, which isn’t really an objection but rather a realistic description of the impossibility of implementing it. Option C, creating make-work, is an option open only to strong governments. By the way, so are options E and F. Options C, E, and F also solve many of the problems of degeneracy. Personally, I support option B for the same reason that Moldbug opposes it. Idle hands do the devil’s work, and I want many idle hands to perform much labor in service of Old Scratch, right in the heart and spine of the American hegemony. YangGang, Hail Satan, and secure the bag.

Our illustrious Editor-in-Chief, Greg Johnson, tries to avoid the problem of idle hands increasing productivity in Lucifer’s Workshop by suggesting a eugenics program, but as we learn from the biospenglerian paradigm, this cannot be done, because the mutants will ratchet up the meme pathogen generation to rile up the low-IQ masses against it. Only a strong government can implement this program, but then we wouldn’t really have to have UBI. If we have the muscle, we can just as easily restrict foreign trade, technology, or just invent make-work.

Ultimately, it would appear that only the cleansing fire of a civilization-ending war will purge the mutants from among us. Once the mutants are dealt with, we will have a strong government again. I’ll reiterate my desire for a Yang victory here, for accelerationist reasons. Money for nothing doesn’t solve the problem of idle hands, which are a much bigger threat to public order than financial destitution – Toyotomi Hideyoshi sent the many ronin of Japan off to Korea to thin out their numbers, because he feared what armed, trained men struggling to break the tedium of a peaceful life could do. Boredom can drive men to stupid stunts; sometimes, even to anti-social stunts.

I still welcome the YangGang as a sign of the Dissident Right repudiating whiggery and Americanism. To support $1,000 dollars a month for nothing, even ironically, is revolutionary, especially for someone who three years ago would have thrown you out of a helicopter for supporting state-built roads. But let’s not kid ourselves here. The mutants are among us and will prevent any form of restoration that doesn’t include lots and lots of bloodshed. That’s the black pill. The white pill is that if the gods have smiled upon you, and you have the kind of immune system that can withstand the onslaught of germs in the absence of modern hygiene and medicine, you’ll live a glorious life of internecine tribal warfare, where women glow and men plunder. And out of that festival of violence will arise something new, something that will replace the decadent and dying West. Make that something white.

Czech version here

One of the most fascinating phenomena in the world are cargo cults: new religions that emerged on the islands dotting the Pacific Ocean after the departure of Japanese and American forces which had occupied them during the Second World War. In these cults, the adherents would emulate the actions of airstrip ground crews in order to conjure cargo airplanes and attain precious cargo. Perfectly replicated airstrips, complete with runways and control towers made out of wood, seaweed, mud, and bamboo staffed by natives playing ground control staff popped up all across the Pacific Ocean, hoping to replicate the magic of the white man who could summon great birds from the sky to lay great square eggs full of food, medicine, clothes, and weapons.

It’s easy to feel smugly superior to those savages and their silly superstitions regarding the nature of cargo planes, but lest we become too arrogant, it’s good to remember that a disturbing number of white people, especially on the political Right and both mainstream and dissident, have a habit of engaging in cargo cultism – or more precisely, in activities whose nature we do not, or at least do not fully, understand.

The essence of the classic cargo cult is that the true nature of the things emulated is not only not understood, but is beyond their ability to understand. The Pacific Islander sees the white man, he sees the white man constructing an airstrip and a control tower, he sees the white man going out with flags and flares, and he sees the big metal bird landing from the sky, from which other white men emerge bearing cargo. What the Islander doesn’t see, however, is the massive industrial civilization which exists far away and which manufactures all the materials for an airstrip and control tower, the metal birds, and all the precious cargo. These things are not only invisible to the Islander, but are beyond his ken. And at a certain level, he is right: It’s all magic, or might as well be.

This same schema of things persists in today’s political cargo cult. People uninvolved and inexperienced in politics observe political happenings. They observe politicians making speeches, holding rallies, making promises, running for office, and claiming to represent certain people. They assume this is politics, when in fact it’s only the very public facing side of politics. They see people voting a certain way, and see that certain way reinforced in the media and in culture, and assume that “politics is downstream from culture,” when in fact reality seems to show us it’s quite the opposite. And so when people have “finally had enough” or have “woken up,” they decide to take matters into their own hands and engage in politics.

However, because they cannot see the deeper side of politics, they only engage in the performative, visible aspects. Well-meaning, hard-working, mostly middle-aged men and women who believe in forthrightness, equivalences of giving and taking, clarity of purpose and expression, and all the nice things which come from living in a high-trust, homogeneous country decide to engage in political activity, and in a sense they build their own political airstrip and try to wave down the great metal birds from the sky without first constructing the vast industrial civilization necessary to provide the political cargo. Soon, they get their asses handed to them by the advanced political machine whose moves they’ve been copying.

In this way, Right-wing political action has all the bells and whistles of political action, but lacks the infrastructure and the real machinery of power on which globohomo relies to enforce its will and win tangible political victories. Its inevitable failure leaves the participants destitute and demoralized, many disengaging from politics altogether, surrendering to despair, and believing the cause to be doomed. Others persist in the cargo cult, believing they haven’t performed the rituals well enough, and may even try to refine them, excusing the cruel whims of the gods of democracy. These mysterious gods reward the Left, but not the Right, the latter of whom nevertheless proclaims moral victory when they lose because they at least performed the ritual correctly.

Sometimes the ritual is so laughably ineffective that you have to wonder if these people are stupid, or if they’re perhaps controlled opposition. Depressingly, neither is usually true. They seem to genuinely believe in the cult and are genuinely unable or unwilling to study the actual machinations of power.

It doesn’t take a genius to see the cargo-cultish nature of the mainstream Right. What’s tougher is to come to grips with our own cargo-cultism on the Dissident Right. We see the things that Leftists do and we ape them, believing they’ll give us power. The Left manipulates language, so we have to come up with an entire lexicon of our own. The Left holds rallies and intimidates the middle class with their violence, so we have to do that as well, because that leads to power. The Left creates music, films, books, and video games to push their message forward, so we have to do that, too, because that leads to power (politics is downstream from culture, dontchaknowit?).

Missing from this picture is the fact that the Left can manipulate language and impose culture because of its omnipresence: Every media and cultural outlet simultaneously begins using the new word, the new concept, the new whatever, and so it becomes part of the “culture,” Without that omnipresence, nobody could be pressured into using it. The Left can riot, burn, and loot – or have its bioleninist clients do that – and they’ll get off the hook because they have the legal infrastructure to shield them from prosecution. The problem is that the media hegemony and legal infrastructure are not visible, or at least not immediately visible, and even if they are visible, they’re incomprehensible if we’re working within the liberal-democratic political framework.

I suspect that the phenomenon of political cargo-cultism arises out of a peculiarity of the human brain, which is niggardly with energy expenditure. This translates into a restriction of cognitive activity, which is a big energy sink. This means that, whenever possible, the brain will default to recognition and implementation rather than observation, analysis, concept manipulation, or other forms of deep thought, because deep thought takes effort, which expends energy. Many of our daily thoughts are prefabricated, more often than not by others who’ve implanted them in us during our education.

This is not a bad thing. An inability to function in this proceduralized way using prefabricated thought patterns is a symptom of a serious mental illness we sometimes call autism. Autistics cannot easily put concepts in the “finished” bin and then fish them out by means of recognition whenever necessary, but rather need to think them all the way through every time – or, as Temple Grandin put it, she cannot think of “a church,” only of specific churches. In a sense, the inability to recall and implement prefabricated concepts is analogous to a pilot who’d have to relearn flying every time he sat down in the cockpit. This reliance on prefabricated, simplified concepts is, unfortunately, necessarily a simplification of the concept which compounds with the simplification already present from conceptualizing the thing observed, leading to inaccuracies in perception, decision-making and implementation.

To put this in plainer language, when the normal human being encounters a problem, he doesn’t observe the problem and its context in order to inductively develop and implement a solution to this problem, but rather engages in recognition: perfunctorily comparing the observed problem to a prefabricated library of problems, selecting a match, and then recognizing from the matched problem-concept a solution-concept from the solution library which is then implemented. If it works, all is well and good, but when it doesn’t, I’ve observed some very strange things happening. After the above protocol is executed and the problem doesn’t give way, the person trying to solve the problem either looks for an authority to give him guidance, which is to say to correct any errors he may have made in the implementation of the protocol in recognition, recall of solutions, or implementation of solutions, and so on. In a professional setting, the authority figure will either solve the problem by correcting the protocol or pass it off to a skunkworks-type entity within the professional context, which then develops a solution to this problem by observing it and working from it towards the solution. Said solution is then added to the solutions library of people who need to know about it.

But what if there is no skunkworks-type entity to solve the problem for our normal human? He has to rely on his own problem-solving ability, which is sadly lacking. The ability to solve a problem, rather than implement one that has already been prepared to an already-known problem (what most people call problem-solving) is very rare. From my own observations, I’d guesstimate that the cutoff IQ where problem-solving is even possible is depressingly high – somewhere in the mid-120s (the average IQ is 100 in white populations.

Then you have the necessary personality requirements for actual problem-solving. Without a functional solution, people just keep implementing the closest thing they know, even if it doesn’t work, sometimes even putting considerable effort into defending their futile activity and taking genuine pride in the correctness of the application of this wrong solution (think of the engineer in Chernobyl repeating “we did everything right” like a mantra). They end up smacking into reality like a malfunctioning roomba smacking into a sofa and gearing up for another crack at the problem with the same old, tired solutions. After a while, sunk costs take root, and still people are unwilling to let their solution go, convinced that they’ve not implemented it correctly. Even if a skunkworks is finally established and tries to work from the problem to arrive at a solution, people will fight the skunkworks, invoke seniority over the skunkworks, and defend the failed solutions because they have nothing else and would have to admit that they wasted time trying to force a square peg into a round hole.

This is further compounded by two problems which are specific to the Right. Firstly, the political Right is mostly made up of people who are very good at following orders, which is to say implementing known procedures to known problems, and who are inherently skeptical of innovation while valuing discipline, industriousness, and conformity. However, discipline, industriousness, and conformity are not traits found in people capable of developing solutions.

Secondly, the political Right, being mostly reactionary and bourgeois, doesn’t have the resources for the long and arduous process of developing solutions. Right-wingers will actually be proud of their political inexperience, or of the fact that they are not professionally involved with it. They’ll strut around saying, “I have a day job, you know,” like it makes them better than professional political thinkers. Due to scarcity of time and cognitive resources (working eats up a lot of them), this will inevitably produce a bias towards “we know the problem, we know the solution, now shut up and implement harder”-type thinking and philosophies.

Hence, the Right engages in political cargo cultism, endlessly playing out the rituals it believes will bring it to power even after they fail for the umpteenth time. If we are to win, this has to stop. I am asking you, whenever you think about a problem we are facing as a movement and as a people, to resist the temptation to treat it and the possible solution as a known quantity. If you catch yourself doing this, stop and think about it. I’m not asking you to develop solutions of your own. Very few people can do that. Rather, resist the urge to reinforce the cargo-cult message that we’ve simply not performed the ritual hard enough. Keep your eyes clear, and try as much as is possible to observe the situation as it is. Only clarity can get us out of this.