Counter-Currents
936 words
I remember you.
We used to hang out together, back at university. So many years ago. You in your mossy dreadlocks (symbolic of progressivism and love), the stone-washed jeans, the Boho sandals, and the anti-Reagan “End of an Error” T-shirt. And me? Well, just me. I never stood out like you.
You always walked with authority, a kind of worldly determination, as the chicks followed faithfully in anticipation of some potential uprising. Maybe even a sit-in near the business building. Or a protest for free coffee. The campus was your arena, your domain. I just watched, never quite able to grasp the plot, and really not all that interested in the script. I was merely your audience. A spectator. Even a friend at times.
I tried to understand you. Seriously, I did. That time you stormed the podium and unplugged the microphone at the Students for Pat Robertson rally, or when you organized the Earth People garden project and one-room Freedom Apartment for low-income students. That was heavy. I was in awe, befuddled slightly, but still in awe. You were committed, a stalwart with icy firm intentions, effortless command, and really good stage presence. It was a magical time, and nothing seemed too outrageous or off the charts.
But that was then.
And so we finished college and parted ways. The gradual drift set in. You’d call once in a while, and of course the “subject” would come up. The test. I could feel your uneasiness, the tone of someone starting to distance himself. Someone stuttering inside from disbelief. My answers were the wrong ones, and over time you knew who I was. You’d figured it out, and it seemed to really gnaw at you, especially when I asked you to read a few Pat Buchanan essays. There was a hesitation in your speech, a shortness of breath, a kind of silence in between sentences. I knew I didn’t fit in, and soon I wasn’t worth the effort of a few finger taps anymore. You went one way, and I went another. But it was bound to happen anyway, and frankly, I just didn’t care.
I definitely remember you, though you’ve most likely forgotten me by now. That is, me the person.
So where are you these days? I’d say everywhere, and you’ve done pretty well for yourself after all this time. You and your culture warrior clones are impossible to avoid. I honestly can’t get away from you. Really. Everywhere. On TV. In our public schools. In the universities (naturally). On the Internet. On the radio. In NGOs. In practically every federal agency imaginable. In the press. In parades (which used to be fun family things but have now morphed into social justice soap boxes — yuck). In Hollywood. On city councils. On “citizen” panels. In corporate boardrooms. On political action committees. In PSAs. In ethnic-identity, anti-White movements. In Congress. In the White House. And even making headway into our military and police forces. Quite an accomplishment.
Because of you, America has already perished, and that hurts.
You see, what motivates guys like me–and there are tens of millions of us–is a sense of country. A country isn’t only an economy producing widgets, or an international employment agency for cheap Third World labor. It isn’t just a giant bargain bin. It’s more than that. Despite what you say, despite your lies, we are driven not by hate, but by a longing for a homeland, a place to feel at home. If you take the time, you will find a lot of decent people discussing and writing about this. And they do a great job explaining it all. But you will never try to understand, because you have no sense of country. You have no understanding of a people. You are too obsessed with selective tolerance and selective diversity, rather than the natural balance of community, race, and folk. You know, country — the entity you helped destroy.
And me? You remember. Well, maybe not. I’m now persona non grata. I haven’t changed much since college, and I really thought you wanted to do good. You know, help people. But you’ve made me the target of your hate. You used to talk to me back in the day, but now you talk to my boss and attempt to get me fired. You try to destroy my livelihood for exercising my (former) First Amendment rights. You ridicule me because I have traditional beliefs. You troll social media looking for an opportunity to pounce on me or anyone else who may fit your sick profile — generally people you disagree with. You act one way yet expect others to blindly follow whatever you say. And that’s it. That’s you and your ilk. Today.
You have no idea what’s at stake. None. And for the record, I have nothing to do with hate. That’s your domain.
So if I am persona non grata, then my absence shouldn’t matter to you. You prefer me gone, right? Your social experiments would go a lot more smoothly without me, right? You’d be a lot happier living in your world, and me living in mine. I mean, let’s be honest. We went our separate ways after university, and the sky didn’t fall, did it? Isn’t this what you really want?
I know what I want. I want back what’s been taken from me. I want a Homeland. And the message I’ll keep repeating is the same – we don’t belong together. It’s time for a divorce. It’s time to move on.
And I think it’s time to forget you. So why are you following me?
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14 comments
This was awesome. Thank you.
Was this a real experience with a guy you knew?
“there are tens of millions of us”.
……..and building!
Oh I’ve sent this email a dozen times. I know where you are coming from, Jeff.
Thanks for sharing.
I can’t relate to much of this. Born in the mid-50’s I remember tree-lined streets in Los Angeles’ working-class neighborhoods (58th Place and Verdun Ave), the suited ice-cream man with a nice shiny truck and spit-shined shoes, mothers dressed up for housework, white kids everywhere, photographers taking pics of children on ponies, every woman in the neighborhood a stand-in mother to a hurt child, adults in general could be trusted, etc., etc. I’m told nowadays these things I remember are “imaginings,” “fiction,” and “lies.” Nope. From the mid-60’s on I had a street-level view of old America’s death spasm.
As a child I did my best to resuscitate America’s corpse. In ’64 I walked neighborhoods dispensing cans of “Goldwater,” put signs up in shopping centers for Gerald Veregge against Jesse “Big Daddy” Unruh, handed out literature for the AIP’s George Wallace. My “conservatism” was political, it never reflected my fundamental nature. I never feared awakening in the morning to another day in America’s decayed flesh, try new things, confront or receive an ass-whooping from my (increasingly) non-white “peers.” Unlike James Dean I was always “the rebel with a clue.”
During this time my working-class neighborhood was destroyed. I learned teachers couldn’t be trusted, that rules existed for me and not others, that schoolyard authority figures would literally turn away from the sexual molestation of white girls by “colored boys.” I realized that religion – especially my mother’s Christian Science – was a crock. I could never observe and not act, unless gathering intelligence and strategizing. No libtoad was or ever could be my friend. I never stood in awe of them or was too afraid to tell them to go fuck themselves with a roughcut 2 x 4. Then, from the mid-70’s onward, I realized that con$erva$hit$ were unreliable and cowardly, focused entirely upon themselves, greedy, and with race taken out of the equation – completely stupid.
No, I can’t relate to very much in this article. For me there was no divorce from libtoads. I was never one of them, voluntarily suffered their company, or kissed their asses. I did divorce the con$erva$hit$, however. I’ve been primed for a Homeland for decades. Unfortunately, I will never see it. Hopefully my children or grandchildren will.
Wonderful, absolutely brilliant!
Very nice essay, Jeff. You’ve really captured something.
It brings back memories of my own college days in the late 80’s. There were a handful of “freakish” types with purple hair and “progressive” views, and they were pretty much laughable in the estimation of most. To the College Republicans, they were simply bizarre and utterly inconsequential. To the Young Democrats, they alternated between being worth a mere chuckle, or perhaps an outright annoyance.
Today, the thinking of the freaks, if not their hairstyles, dominates the Young Democrats and is definitely present in the Republicans.
At the time, I would not have believed that the freaks represented the early glimmerings of a wave that would wash over the entire society, transforming it utterly. But that is exactly what they were. I simply didn’t see it coming.
I was too busy promoting a different wave. I was a libertarian (in my defense, I was young, and the racial calamity that is presently engulfing us was not nearly so advanced at the time). Being a libertarian in that era wasn’t all that much above laughable itself, so I suppose I had something in common with the freaks. We actually had decent relations with them, though they were never any great help. But I digress.
To date myself, my group helped arrange for Ron Paul to speak at the university in his 1988 campaign. We got a decent crowd by the standards of that time and place, but nothing close to the rock star reception that he would receive in more recent years. Back then he was, at best, a mild curiosity. Outside of a few core activists, there was zero passion. Twenty years later he would have groupies.
There are no doubt many alumni from those years that, today, are rather stunned by the rising star of libertarianism in general, and Ron Paul in particular. They simply didn’t see it coming. I empathize with them. Even funnier, probably some of them have sent Ron money.
Point is, crusaders and dreamers and fringe-dwellers can, in fact, triumph. We white nationalists can be that next triumph. Increasingly, this thing of ours has the intellectual chops and moral confidence that successful causes require. We can indeed change the world. Really, we can, hard as that may be to believe at times, just as it was hard to believe for the outliers of yesteryear.
That’s why it’s particularly important that Jeff mentioned a land of our own toward the end of his essay. It’s crucial that we have a clear goal that cannot be subverted. We need to avoid the fate of the libertarians who, despite dramatically increasing the visibility and appeal of their cause, ultimately end up as a sort of gutter religion with Rand Paul groveling before Israel and any non-white that he can find, while carrying water for the corporate oligarchy that promotes it all. I suppose the world moves forward by irony.
In any event, not exactly what we wild-eyed dreamers of yore were going for, trust me. Well, at least not this wild-eyed dreamer.
The United States will never be a libertarian society. It’s impossible, given the population that makes it up (and that’s not to mention the internal contradictions within libertarianism that would destroy it anyway, and those contradictions are legion). But the libertarian, in part because his gutter religion does not allow him to recognize even the most basic of racial realities, or any sort of group dynamics for that matter, can’t grasp this. So he ends up carrying water for the very system that he set out to oppose, and finds himself utterly unable to effectively oppose his enemies.
We can’t make the same mistake that the libertarians have made. Just as the United States will never be libertarian, it also will never be white nationalist. Earlier in its history, it was close to both of those things, but that ship has sailed, for both causes.
We need a land of our own, a true ethnostate. When our star rises, and it will, we need to make sure that our eyes remain firmly on the prize. Anything else will end up as a gutter religion, probably fawning over the very people that promote our genocide. Without a lodestar, things get twisted and perverted fast.
A land of our own is that lodestar, and we haven’t won until we have it. We want to make history and secure the existence of our people, not become an ironic and vaguely bizarre footnote in somebody else’s story. So the ethnostate, it is. Again, Jeff, nice piece.
Yes, one of the betrayers of South Africa asked Mandela if the Whites could have their own state. He said he’d think about it. I’m sure he though long and hard, as hard as OJ did looking for his wife’s killer. Ultimately power is not granted but taken. The granting is a legal formality after the fact.
I would like to not understand or relate to a single word of this essay, but when one is honest with oneself, and with others, and seeks to follow the path that his body urges him to follow, many friends forsake one… In the background Dolly is singing, “Only the memory remains”. It is painful to see how friends and loved ones leave you alone, but to us, Rosenberg’s maxim should resound louder than ever every time we are betrayed by those who turn back when the road darkens ‘I alone will Triumph!’
Wenn alle untreu werden, wir noch treu.
“I would like to not understand or relate to…”
Yeah, the article was soooo above my head.
Of course I can relate to betrayal. Politics is not a romance novel. It is low intensity warfare with very real casualties. Long ago one of its casualties was a 7 y/o boy who was threatened with juvenile hall by trusted authority figures if the boy didn’t admit to having done something that he did not do. At a very young age I learned that real politics was not a spectator sport.
What I can’t relate to is the 10-, 20-, or 30-year longing for a traitor. There is something almost narcissistic about it. I’ve known cuckolds with the same problem. My simple-minded, lowly working-class advice is to “learn the correct lessons and move on.”
Here’s a mini-lesson, free of charge: The libtoad’s con$erva$hit “friend” is only an acquaintance. He rejoices in sacrificing this acquaintance, for doing so “proves” he’s on a higher plateau.
This reads like a testimony of a victim of psychopathy – not good…Seriously, but I know it too well, unfortunately, for me.
Is this for real? Or creative writing? Don’t be confused or sad because he/they or “those in power” are NOT remorseful and do not value your world view or care…
Furthermore, He/They do not Feel, and YOU are the Fool.. Why are you hurt? You hurt but they do not!
Get use to it – Get over it, dust yourself off, move on now and do not ever write anything like this again, PLEASE.
I come here for masculine clarity not victimhood! LOL.
Great article, only one flaw. I can speak from twenty years of experience that they haven’t just made “progress” in the military. I think that they have had complete control of the military since 1945. As with the government and christian institutions, the jews were smart enough to take out the military before the street campaigns began in the 1960s. Again, great article; I hope you’re right about the tens of millions.
Brilliant.
Even we females have similar experiences.
Mine was a girl named Allison who was a year younger. She and I met in high school and bonded over our lack of religion. I was raised an atheist and she was rebelling from her mom being part of that wacky Church Universal and Triumphant. (The ones who bought land in Montana and build bunkers in caves to survive the coming Apocalypse. )She thought her mom was a nutty control freak and I thought it was cool how all her brothers and sisters had names like, Chastity, Honor, Mercy, Faith, etc.
When I went to college Allison moved to the same city and lived with her grandmother. She kind of went wild. I remember her locking me out of my dorm room while she screwed some random guy she had just met, was found half naked in a cemetery after passing out from alcohol poisoning, blew me off for random sexual encounters with various horny college guys,etc and continued to test the limits of feminism in the 80s. I remember how she mocked me when I tried to explain why I couldn’t date a guy who was a quadroon from a rich Haitian family.
Once I told a mutual friend about my concerns for her, AIDS being a big one, and the equally feminized friend said ” Allison HAS no morals, she does what she feels”.
Anyway now she is a bigwig in NPR in Portland. She apparently married a man ( somehow I expected her to become a lesbian as a final show of rebellion) and has two kids. I am pretty sure she would not want to have anything much to do with me now that I am a known nazithatwantstokillsixmillionjews.
Whatever.
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