whimpering faggots and angry blacks when one steps out of the security perimeter to enjoy a smoke between speeches.
Perhaps Jared Taylor will manage to fail upwards yet again when the professional anti-whites find a way to run us out of the state-run venue, but given the picturesque lake view, romantic catwalk stepping out over the lake, dense virgin forest, humble rural Tennessee charm, and over-abundant deer population scurrying about, I really don’t see how. Had it not been for Matt Forney drunkenly shouting “Deer!” each and every time one neared the road, I might have run one down with Matthew Heimbach’s car on the way back from the honky-tonk.
The first thing most folks generally ask about with these events tends to be the opposition presence. Uncomfortably perhaps for both sides, the AmRen attendees were more racially diverse than the anti-white protesters, most of whom Daryl had apparently plucked at random out of bean bag chairs in Nashville’s community college dorm rooms. The first protester to show up a couple hours before the rest carried a poorly crafted sign declaring that, “Racists are Buttheads!”
No. You, sir, are a butthead. The rest of the signs were almost as bad, though none of them were as awful as the one from my previous conference which celebrated the horrific bombing of Dresden. I suppose Daryl’s made some progress with message control, though it’s an uphill battle when his minions are comprised of drug-addled…buttheads…who are only dimly aware of what they’re protesting or why. We attempted to sit down with DLJ for a quiet and gentlemanly discussion and debate which the state troopers chose to disband. All was civil on all sides, and the troopers were imminently professional and courteous with all sides (if disturbingly omnipresent).
All in all, big picture, it can’t really be disputed that American Renaissance is growing in size and gaining in momentum while the opposition is losing heart and focus with each passing year that they’re goaded to waste a perfectly good spring day achieving nothing but showcasing themselves as objects of ridicule for both the attendees and locals alike.
Sam Dickson’s well-stocked villa featured a who’s who of celebrities in our circles, including Bulbasaur and Michael Enoch of The Right Stuff‘s very popular Daily Shoah podcast. I’m not quite sure how he manages the logistical feat, given the hundreds in attendance; but it seems that every year just about everybody I’ve spoken with who attends gets to enjoy some brief face-time with Jared himself. The Derb intimidated me multiple times with his classical education, razor-sharp wit, and stuffy accent.
Matt Forney brought a fellow Return of Kings writer with him, and the two managed to concisely demonstrate a “Goofus and Gallant” contrast of the positives and negatives of the Manosphere movement in general. Forney thoughtfully argued his anti-feminist and male-empowering positions until he was too drunk to thoughtfully argue. Meanwhile, his fellow attendee boorishly irritated both male and female attendees alike until he was too drunk to contain his frustration about women and pushed one of the local girls at the nearby bar.
Here I was at the bar vigilantly watching Heimbach to ensure that he wouldn’t make an ass of himself when I felt pushed by a nearby scuffle and saw the short, balding, swarthy guy being physically thrown, black-and-white Western-style, out of the bar. I ran outside and then ran to go stop him from running down the pitch black country road into the night. We kept him off of the property and got him back to the conference safely, then spent the next hour or so effusively apologizing for him, buying the girls drinks right and left, and promising the locals we would avenge their girl in short order.
I briefly considered leading the guy back to the bar to be served what he ordered up while he was sitting there in the grass explaining how the girl was fat and had no right to reject his advances, but I thought better of it when I realized how, since the guy’s (arguably) not exactly white, I would be facilitating the single most bizarre “hate crime” incident in Tennessee’s history. Reportedly, Forney privately handled the situation, which I trust he did, and by all accounts from the locals, the ladies, and my fellow attendees, the matter is now resolved.
The kid’s still young enough to steer himself right. He’s bright. He’s red-pilled. And he’s quite salient on matters not relating to gender issues. I look forward to him having a change of heart, coming to an agreement on matters of basic chivalry, and being welcomed back next year. And that’s kind of my opinion on a lot of the manosphere in general. They’re on the right path in many ways, and they’re correct about more than they’re incorrect about. But they’re missing a critical sense of stewardship and chivalry which the informed gentleman keeps in one pocket while he keeps a keen awareness of the harsh realities of gender politics and the nature of the sexes in his other pocket.
There are some reports that the locals goaded me, Scott Terry, and Matthew Heimbach to sing karaoke the following evening. These allegations are false.
To pick a winner among the speeches would be tough, but I land on Matt Tait’s speech. While RamZPaul blew him and everybody else out of the water with his hilarious and informative presentation, Tait wins in my book because he not only argued for a more neo-tribalist approach to building our strength and numbers but actually managed to demonstrate via video a proof-of-concept of this theory in practice with his British nationalist martial arts studio. He noted in his speech that we can brag all we want to about how awesome whites have been historically, but it’s all for naught if we don’t figure out how to rediscover our vitality and will and deliver that here and now.
There was a panel on whether or not white interests (defined very narrowly) can be achieved through the mainstream political process. While both Sam Dickson and Richard Spencer very intelligently argued the politically pessimistic position, they were up against the positively brilliant John Derbyshire and Peter Brimelow. The fact the Dickson and Spencer were capable of handily defeating the Derb and Brimelow is, in my mind, the final word on the matter. If the Derb can’t manage to convincingly hold the position, despite a vigorous effort, then the position is lost.
Brimelow’s standalone speech was frustrating, as it drove home just how convinced he is that some way, some how, he believes that the American public is going to “wake up” on the immigration issue in time to turn things around for the country as a whole. It’s more than a bit ironic, in this twilight of the United States of America, that the last two men of vision and substance in all of Western Civilization who still hold out hope for America are Englishmen, born and raised in the land we fought to achieve our squandered freedom from.
I missed out on the requiem for Sam Francis which occurred on Sunday morning due to scheduling conflicts, so I’ll note my respect for the man and his contributions and sacrifices for our cause here. He played a pivotal role in my early intellectual development way back into my teens. I never got to meet the man, as he passed away shortly before I became nationally active, but his positive impact on our struggle reverberates into the present and will echo on for generations to come.