James J. O’Meara
Green Nazis in Space! New Essays on Literature, Art, and Culture
San Francisco: Counter-Currents, 2015
“As the PC crowd grinds on relentlessly, one ‘radical’ after another becomes a ‘cretinous reactionary’ the embarrassed teacher needs to justify to the outraged student, and ripe for reclamation by the alt-Right. . . . Reading Burroughs’ letters makes him seem less Wise Old Junkie and more the embarrassing old fart at Thanksgiving who rants about the darkies stealing from him at the home.” —James O’Meara
“Club 60 judged a man not by the color of his skin, but by the contents of his closet.” —James O’Meara
Before we get to the most interesting (to me) theme in James O’Meara’s latest essay collection—enthusiastically titled Green Nazis in Space!—let’s hack through the (relatively) commonplace. This may seem odd, considering the volatility of the topic, but I have the same beef with writers who are convinced by various theories of Jewish domination (or-whatever-it-is) that I have with most writers in the bundle of Internet silos we now call public discourse: I can never find the head, tail, or anchor of their arguments. Show me the Elders!
Any writer willing to stoop to writing about the political sphere these days can usually find enough readers to balance his various needs (notoriety, ten bucks, feeling like a troof-teller) without ever really explaining his main theses. If one reader isn’t sold on the face of it, there are a billion more; therefore everyone is able to write under the assumption that his niche is cheering on his central premises—whether these include white privilege, the Jewish elite, or the sacred value of human life. Unfortunately, most of these premises are more like conclusions than axioms to my mind, and everything on the web is therefore written backwards. No wonder I have bleeding ulcers.
Readers of this site will be aware of James O’Meara’s lively and entertaining critiques of pop culture and, more often than not, how they relate to the Jewish superstructure of globalist society; the volume in question is no exception. Normally the main eyebrow I raise at critiques of the Jewish . . . well, in O’Meara’s case I don’t think one should use the word “conspiracy,” as he’s enjoying himself too much, and addresses plain old nepotism too often, to be that cartoonishly paranoid; he calls it being “Jew-wise.” But anyway, most conspiracy theories about Jews smell to high Valhalla of ressentiment, running straightaway as they do into both human biodiversity and Occam’s Razor, two ideas of which most autodidact (or cyber-didact) audiences can hardly be unaware at this point.
High verbal IQ, in other words, multiplied by bloody obnoxious levels of nepotism, could handily explain New York City and resultant tentacles; no shadowy or even conscious conspiracy is required. (Not that the equation doesn’t have sickening results, at least if you’re not benefiting from it, but sickening results are the consequence of practically everything.)
If you throw out HBD when explaining income and power imbalances, then “white privilege” looks as viable as a theory as the Jewish conspiracy does—and you can’t decide to pick and choose which half of HBD suits you. I mean, you’re physically able, I guess; you can throw out the law of gravity or say the earth is flat and still find an audience, but then let’s hope your minions don’t decide to run a space tourism company.
Perhaps, however, I only think I can afford to be sanguine because I was raised in Wisconsin and now live in Chicago; I’ve never been around high concentrations of the “tribe” nor anything that matters to globalism (funny how globalism made almost the entire globe depressingly unimportant, even to its own locals); in all likelihood there’s a giant tentacle hanging over my head of which I am blissfully unaware.
But who needs conspiracies? Wherever it strikes, nepotism is annoying as hell. To my irritable mind, Chicago’s swamp, where the good media jobs are cronified by the now-native Wops and Irish is just as pestilent (corrupt contractors’ dumb granddaughters were in line ahead of me?), because, like Daffy Duck, I’m not like other people—my pain hurts me.
The only job here that I’ve (knowingly) lost here to Jewish nepotism was in a sports bar—boo, hoo—and there was nothing secretive about it at all. The old schlub in line ahead of me said, “I’m a Jew, they’re Jews, you might as well go home,” and he was right. To my amusement, the establishment was replaced by a brand-spanking new bar a year later, so the conspiracy must have failed to bail them out when the clientele tired of being served by crusty old men.
Another thing I learned from working in the newspaper industry in Chicago with (mostly) non-Jewish White liberals is that these types tend to have the sort of background that keeps them insulated from anything that hurts the working class—and even those who aren’t so fortunate are too busy morally preening to know what’s in their self-interest. I’m a bit more likely to believe that liberals in general would shoot their own civilization in the foot out of the fear of being a bad word than I am to believe that Jews are conspiring to bring in millions of Muslims, who, after all, particularly enjoy killing da Heebs. Jews are supposed to be cleverly self-interested, right? More likely, White and Jewish liberals alike are so blinded by arrogance that they can’t believe things like the rapecaust can happen here. (Fat lot of nerve they have calling anyone else a white supremacist: Even Nazis don’t think they’re freaking invincible.)
But like everyone I complain about, I’m mostly compiling anecdotes (and being largely a shut-in I don’t even have many of those). If there is a Jewish conspiracy against my goy ass it would no doubt be in my interest to know about it, yet I remain unconvinced, possibly because no one is actually trying to convince me (see above), and in the absence of proof I would rather worry about obvious threats—insofar as worrying does me any good at all. At this point in history’s cycle o’ fun, one’s best bet might be to tell the troof (that might help), stay cleverly amused, and hope the flaming shit-balls take a bounce over one’s house.
This is where O’Meara’s work comes in mighty handy.
Green Nazis contains serious and interesting material on traditional Indo-Europeanism, but the irresistible attraction of these essays is the dizzying gallows humor that O’Meara draws from the pop-cultural bog. Though exhaustingly interested in Jews, O’Meara suffers no quivering phobia, so his never-ending visions of Judaic pushiness behind every rock and bush become a kind of comic performance art: nobody could see this much Jewish meddling everywhere and still find it so amusing.
Except—he does. Rather than ressentiment, these digressions (oh, the digressions) into anecdotal evidence smack of giddy relish: There goes another one!! You can hear O’Meara cackling from his trench as he tallies the movie producers whizzing by overhead, adding to the tally on the muddy wall. I haven’t read his entire oeuvre by a long shot, but sometimes I get the impression that once I’ve read his final word on the subject, the true shape of the conspiracy will suddenly emerge from the static, like one of those magic 3-D pictures I could never quite use right back in the 1990s.
The effect is achieved not only through multiple digressions within the text, but through reams of footnotes. Oy vey, the footnotes! On many pages they outweigh the text itself; it’s worse than one of my novels. (Indeed, to my delight, one of my footnote-heavy novels even showed up in the footnotes—adding a few more layers of digressive note-itude, should you care to go down that rabbit hole.) I hate postmodernism as much as any decent person, but the meaning of the text really is inextricable from all of this interplay: the fractured reader response that the rabbit holes demand reflects the Jewish distraction from the roots of non-Jewish culture that O’Meara is discussing in the first place. (Deep breath.) One gets the feeling that O’Meara is simultaneously writing several texts simultaneously in his mind at any given time.
And finally we come to the most interesting facet of O’Meara’s idea of What the Jews Are Up To: it’s an extension and solidification of his thesis from his 2012 book, The Homo and the Negro. The Homo is a must-read, if you would get the most out of the current volume; the central idea in Homo is the titular one. Throughout, he argues that modern cultures are inevitably herded into a choice between modeling themselves on black men (girl crazy; prosaic) or gay (masculinist; poetic) ones.
O’Meara picks homo—in part because “going Black” stigmatizes, as a side effect, all whiteness as “too faggy” anyhow, so why bother arguing? More important, however, the traditional Germanic Männerbund  is stigmatized as faggy too—and the Männerbund is indispensible to really civilized life. It is, “as Evola emphasizes . . . outside the State, as it is outside the family structure [i.e., outside of matriarchy on two counts], but also prior to it, being the true origin of the State itself.”
Instead of remaining locked in the struggle between the state and the free market, in other words, the Männerbund provides a third option. Seems like I’ve been trying to dream up a third way forever; just my luck, someone cooks one up at last, and I ain’t personally invited. Then again, full-on separation of men and women as two different species is more of a metaphor in Burroughs-as-interpreted-by-O’Meara than an actual political recommendation. As for O’Meara himself, it seems he might hope for a rewind to the ancient virtues of the Greeks, or earlier: in traditional Indo-European societies, he claims, homosexuals existed at least in parallel to the breeding stock, and ideally on a higher spiritual plane. Perhaps with a strong enough system of man-bands you don’t need full-on free market manipulation or statist depredation. Maybe.
Therefore homophobia, O’Meara says, is not a conservative value the Jewish elite is trying to root out of us in order to destroy our family values. Rather, it’s something the elite invented to destroy male bonding. The Männerbund protects men and society at large from what James Neill, as quoted by O’Meara, calls “premature heterosexuality,” even if they aren’t going to stick around to be man-band lifers.
In the traditional model, instead of getting their teenage girlfriends knocked up and ruining society, young men bonded with the Männerbund till they were ready for the rigors of fatherhood . . . but then the religions of the book came along and started snickering about Daisy Dukes and butt-fucking.
It wasn’t that easy, though: O’Meara notes in the eye-opening essay “Welcome to the Club” that the Männerbund wasn’t completely ruined till midway through the 20th century, when mass media sold teenagers on the fun of being “girl crazy.” (Damn, everything went straight to hell seconds before I was born. Why aren’t I even more paranoid?)
Here’s a passage from Green Nazis on the tactics of Judeo-Christian homo-hatin’-on, followed by its amusing footnote:
[R]educe the exoteric shell to moralism, and ultimately, to the Judaic obsession, sex. And a large part of that obsession, coincidentally or not, is what’s come to be known as homophobia.23 As a result, the natural elite of the Aryan peoples [homosexuals] is rendered into un-persons, and waiting to fill the vacuum is . . . the Jew.
23 Yes, I know, the Right complains about “all our disagreements with the Left get pathologized and tagged with a diagnostic term” but here at least the virulence and single-mindedness does suggest something of a syndrome rather than an opinion. …
The above sets the reader up for the punch line of my favorite footnote:
32 Using the patented one-two, heads I win tail you lose Judaic strategy of rigging the debate to include only the false alternative of homophobia vs. gold lamé hot pants.
To hear O’Meara tell it, the Judaic Left seems to have invented modern homophobia only to let it off its leash precisely long enough to become a monster for the Left to valiantly slay. You’re welcome!
Now, before everyone starts hootin’ and hollerin’, let me just make it, as William Burroughs would say, country-simple for ya’ll. The origin and the handing down (traditio) of culture, at least in the Aryan world, lies not in the family (the subject of the “family values” so dear to the Jews and their Neocon contingent, including the Christian Right), essential though it may be in itself, but in those who have broken from it and established their own groups for those purposes: the various Männerbünde of warriors, priests, scholars, vigilantes, etc.
The pathologizing of male bonding is the downfall of all that is nice, you say? Like that 3-D picture popping into focus, this makes a shocking amount of sense. Also intuitive is the idea that that mandatory girl-craziness—for example in the more joylessly tail-chasin’ corners of the manosphere (to elucidate which point O’Meara appropriately quotes my friend Andy Nowicki)—wastes a lot of young people’s time. Supposed red-pillers seem to spend as much time studying the finer points of “isolating” a bar slut from her friends as old-timers spent learning composition and carpentry. If the point is a display of mastery, why not master something that rats and poodles can’t get done, and with less fuss at that?
But my reliance above on buzzwords like homophobia and male bonding risks obscuring the very center of O’Meara’s thesis: the idea that transmission of a culture isn’t only—or even mainly—in the hands of its breeding stock.
Transmission and flourishing require the para-breeding activities of those with no personal interest in offspring of their own, but who nonetheless take a vivid interest in the group’s culture, even if only as fodder for their own artistic production: the loyal opposition to evolution—those whose dog in the fight is more principled than personal. For a less controversial example than the Männerbund, look at all the stuff nuns traditionally do for children. It makes mommies look terribly selfish.
In other words, David Bowie is more crucial to civilization than Mom.
Your permanent Peter Pans are there to provide both continuity to the Männerbund and innovation to the culture—an escape valve from what otherwise may appear as a senseless, animal repetition of reproduction. The elimination of the free-ranging homo is at least as dangerous to a culture as attempts to outbreed that culture. O’Meara doesn’t articulate the connection in this volume as he did in The Homo and the Negro, but the push for gay marriage is blindingly germane: can you imagine William Burroughs writing about the Wild Boys with an adopted baby strapped to his chest and a yuppie husband yapping in his ear about Glee?
O’Meara adds, further embroidering his “hot pants” remark:
Of course, it’s perfectly understandable that anyone would want to exclude and dissociate from the kind of people put forward by the Left and the Liberal Media as representatives of this minority [homo-erotic males]. But this, as I’ve argued elsewhere, is precisely because of the fake “gay” identity, manufactured by the Left in order to corral the homosexual into their Rainbow Coalition of culture-wreckers.
Monotheistic family values stole our pagan mojo: Even Christianity is a Jewish trick. Would this make the importation of Jew-killing Islamists a Jewish plot as well? Talk about an attack dog that got off the leash . . .
Except that in other essays, he seems to disdain such generalized disdain for religions of the book as betraying a blanket rejection of Western tradition. But once again O’Meara’s levity inspires less of a “Make up your damn mind!” reaction than a curiosity as to what really underlies his shtick, or whatever you would call it in goyische. Entertainment value aside, he touches on my own bête noire—the behavioral sink—often enough to keep me interested in what he’s up to:
Evola, as usual, seems to be unique on “the Right” for understanding that the modern “population crisis” is both quantitative—too many Untermenschen—as well as qualitative—too few of the elite. The answer to the first is abortion and birth control, to the second, homoromantic Männerbund (Evola calls them “celibate”) . . . Needless to say, both are anathema to the “conservative” who counsels instead: more girl-craziness!
Whether you think there’s a conspiracy of so-and-so’s or not, a healthy disdain for knee-jerk worship of the “natural” is—particularly in a globalized hell that’s a billion times too large for natural tribal dynamics to play out anyway—dependably salutary, like a bucket of cold water to the face.
1. And every writer who would find an audience must write about current politics, however much he would rather be doing something less filthy and more amusing, since pretending to be able to control events by “being informed” and fighting with strangers in comment sections is among the most beloved herd superstitions at the moment.
2. O’Meara discusses the Männerbund repeatedly in both books to great profit, but the best explanation comes in his quote from Wulf Grimsson’s Male Mysteries and the Secret of the Männerbund: “The Männerbund is a system of social ties found in traditional Indo-European societies [in which they tortured each other by memorizing Sanskrit irregular nouns?] which is very difficult for men living in a modernist (and/or monotheistic) society to understand. . . . Among our Germanic ancestors these groups were composed of sexually mature male youths who under guidance of an elder formed a closed cult or society. They were dedicated to Odin, had special rites of pedagogical training, initiation and esoteric practice and combined the functions of a sorcerer or shaman and a warrior.”
3. Did I mention the digressions into long quotes he includes from other texts, often not even the ones he’s reviewing in any given piece?
4. “There is, I think, something essentially degraded about a mindset which takes it as self-evident that sex in itself is a thing to be prized and sought after and salivated over, simply because cultural forces scream to us that indulging our appetite is some kind of biological imperative. It is, of course, no revelation to admit that the male libido is a potent, often growlingly insistent force, but this does not mean that it must be placated, or that it defines who we are as men. In fact, is there not something appalling in the prospect of being led by the nose to do the bidding of our loins? Think of how easy it is for this drive to be harnessed and manipulated by those who, for one reason or another, seek control over us! I am in fact astounded that fewer manosphere-scribes and readers haven’t wised up . . .”
Mark Gullick’s Cherub Valley
Blacks in Tennessee Williams’ Works
Jesus, We Hardly Know Ye
Superstitious Minds: The Importance of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter
Scott Howard’s The Open Society Playbook
Higher Education: Hermann Hesse’s The Glass Bead Game
Hari Kunzru’s Red Pill
Lothrop Stoddard’s Into the Darkness, Part 2