Feb 10, 2016

On Invasions, Traitors, and Gathering Storms

via The Occidental Observer

“The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?” -Percy Bysshe Shelley, Ode to the West Wind

In older, less materialistic times our people would often look to the natural world for portents. In the passing of comets, the flight of ravens, and the ominous tinge of an evening sky, any number of divine warnings and directions could be read. In one very famous example, the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle records that in 793 the scholarly colony of monks at Lindisfarne observed unusually high winds and lightning flashes: “Here were dreadful forewarnings come over the land of Northumbria, and woefully terrified the people: these were amazing sheets of lightning and whirlwinds, and fiery dragons were seen flying in the sky. These signs were soon followed by a great famine.” Shortly afterwards, these omens seem to bear fruit when devastation fell on peaceful Lindisfarne in the form of a war band of Norsemen who sacked the cherished monastery, and arbitrarily drowned or enslaved its occupants. As similar attacks and colonizations took place along Britain’s coast in the following months and years, it appeared to many Christian contemporaries as if the world itself were coming to an end. An end, some thought, that had been predicted in the convulsions of the earth itself.

I shrink from superstition, especially of a primitive kind such as this. However, this passage of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle came irresistibly to mind as I surveyed the latest news on the invasion of Europe — a continent that in recent years has endured unusual weather. Just as the sudden winds and lightning prefigured the blitzkrieg attacks of the Norsemen, since 2013 Northern Europe has been beset by warm and wet winters, and colder summers —  resulting in severe floods. These seem eerily to have anticipated the waves of dusky hostile invaders that now incessantly crash upon its shores, raping and murdering Europe’s sons and daughters. The holy ancient motherland appears to cry out in warning to its children.

Although possessing no religious faith, as I write this I find myself feeling a great affinity with the eighth-century scribes who survived or recorded what happened at Lindisfarne. My heart is heavy with a growing daily record of new robberies, new desecrations, mass rapes, and new murders in the land that I see as being holy and sacred in every sense of the word. I see the monk, quill and scroll before him, and I share with him his feeling of bitter dispossession, helplessness, anger, and sorrow. Like him, I look at a world that seems on the verge of its end: a twilight if not of the gods, then of the god-seekers, the Prometheans. Like the monk, I also ask myself why. The eighth-century Christians questioned why their god had forsaken them, blaming the local adoption of pagan hairstyles and a general lack of piety (the Christian mass slaughter of Saxon heathens never came to mind). Many centuries later, I sit at my electronic version of the quill and scroll, questioning why our people continue to slumber, despite their latent might and ingenuity. Blame for this impending Götterdämmerung can be disseminated among so many, even among one’s own kin, that the process serves only to increase despair rather than contribute to clarity, let alone solutions. 

There are, of course, myriad differences between my position and that of the monk. The raiders from the North eventually wrought peace and progress from the cinders of conflict, something that we can be certain will not be on the horizon for us. The reasons for the differences are fairly straightforward. The invasion of the Great Heathen Army (of ‘the pagan race’) in 865 was felt by contemporaries to have brought about a vast demographic change in England. The treaty drawn up by the Anglo-Saxon King Alfred and the Norse chief Guthrum established the ‘Danelaw’ in East Anglia by acknowledging a split between the lands occupied by “all the English race and all the people which is in East Anglia.” A difference in the nature of the peoples was assumed. But it was an extremely superficial difference. A genetic survey, carried out for the BBC by a team from University College London in 2000, “found it impossible to distinguish between the DNA of the fifth-century Saxon invaders and ninth-century Vikings.”[1] The process of Norse cultural assimilation ushered in by the expulsion of Erik Bloodaxe from York in 954 was made so easy and inevitable by the fact that genetic assimilation wasn’t required. Despite brutal battles, enslavements, murders, and dispossessions, one thing remained constant — the genetic profile of the inhabitants of Britain. Thus, while all the world seemed to the Christian monks to be on the verge of ending, what was actually occurring was not an invasion of the ‘Other,’ but rather a particularly brutal brawl between brothers over land, and for prestige.

There will be no treaty with today’s invading force, composed of genuinely foreign and distant races. Peace and progress will not arise from the coming of brutalized low-IQ masses who burden welfare systems and commit crime on an unprecedented scale.  Cultural assimilation will be impossible, being so deeply dependent on genetic similarity. Most importantly, the demographic changes they are bringing about in European nations are not the fiction of Alfred and Guthrum, but a harsh reality that spells nothing less than destruction for indigenous inhabitants. The battles, enslavements, murders and dispossessions that now lie sadly and inevitably on the European horizon will not leave the genetic profile of the inhabitants of the continent unaltered. This isn’t our Lindisfarne moment — this is something infinitely worse.

There is another stark difference between my experience and that of the monks of Lindisfarne. During the early incursion of the Norsemen there were none who assisted and guided the raiders. Despite the identical genetic profiles of the opposing factions, loyalties were assured and interests were clearly defined. Extremely close ties of kinship, a vibrant code of personal and familial honor, and a belief in something higher than Man all contributed to the vigor of the fight waged by both sides. Treason was a crime of cosmic significance, bruising the soul of the folk and offending even the gods or God. Its punishment was often extremely severe, and frequently took on a sacrificial aspect. It has often been said that the Aryan, when pressed, has a talent for dispassionate cruelty. The Anglo-Saxons, among the most creative in this regard, devised the method of “hanging, drawing, and quartering” their traitors, finding social and religious catharsis in their death agonies.

By contrast, across Europe today there are scores of thousands of traitors who are cheerfully assisting the invasion force without consequence, either through short-term motives of self-interest or a badly corrupted sense of morality. Our close ties of kinship, admittedly always tempered with an individualistic streak, have been rent asunder. Our sense of personal and familial honor has been smeared and pathologized. Our belief in something higher than Man has been replaced with a vulgar Oriental materialism; a primitive fascination with comfort, shiny baubles and flimsy trinkets. Much of this has come to pass because there is another crucial difference between us and the monks of Lindisfarne. We have within our walls a foreign people that has, on so many occasions, played its hand as the facilitator of incursions into Europe, as the histories of Cordoba, Seville, and the Arab conquest of Spain in general so strongly illustrate. As the storm rages and the waves crash in, our efforts to stem the tide have been hampered by a group intent on putting holes in the levees; who are working unceasingly to find new channels for the water to pour in. Their tactics may be diverse, but their mentality is monolithic. They are tireless and ruthless in their efforts to ensure that the Old Continent continues to leak like a sieve. They cherish dreams of its final vanishing beneath the waves.

Hans Breuer
Hans Breuer

Hans Breuer has been described by journalists as an Austrian shepherd. He may occasionally guide sheep but the man is no Austrian. During the last six months this individual has made a habit of assisting the invasion of Austria via the Hungarian border. I will let Breuer himself explain why he is betraying the nation he calls home, in the form of his self-description: “I am a shepherd, a singer, and a Jew.” Not even bothering with the charade of claiming to be an Austrian, Breuer by his own admission harbors a keen sense of historical grievance. This has been nurtured since childhood, and as a result he possesses no sense of the moral right of native Austrians to protect their homeland. This is a man as incapable of being assimilated into the Austrian nation as his distant forebears were. He cannot empathize with a people that he is among but cannot ever be of. By accounts “beaming with pleasure” at smuggling four more Syrians into Austria, this Hebrew informs his interviewer that “friends of my mother escaped the Nazis by pretending to be members of the SS. Hearing this story all my life is what has prepared me for this situation.” Breuer’s parents, described even by friendly media sources as ‘Jewish dissidents,’ had already absconded from Austria to Britain prior to World War II. They were victims of no-one. And yet their son burns with a keen and familiar sense of victimhood. He claims:
It makes me cry again and again if I think of my father, of his situation, and of other immigrants — and I put it together with these people. Friends of my parents, Jewish people, tried to emigrate to Switzerland, but the Swiss put them back to the Nazis at the frontier. There is too much similarity between these two situations, one 70 years ago, and one now.
But of course the only similarity in these situations is that of unwelcome, self-interested ethnic extremists, possessing a strong sense of entitlement, sneaking across borders in a continent that doesn’t belong to them. Any other ‘similarities’ present in Breuer’s mind are the products of biased education, victimhood indoctrination, a natural talent for deception of the self and others, and a sense of morality based exclusively on ethnic concerns. Unfortunately, rather than being thrown in jail for his unlawful endeavors, Breuer has been eulogized by the Jewish press and even became a brief YouTube sensation for a video in which he sings Yiddish songs to his Palestinian passengers. The Israeli press covered the video with glee, welcoming with predictable joy the deportation of malcontents from their borders to the land of the hated Europeans. And what contributions are these invaders making in Austria? Perhaps we should consult the ten-year-old Austrian boy raped and horrifically injured just days ago by an Iraqi at his local swimming pool. This is Breuer’s gift to Austria.

If I can be so bold as to borrow one of the SPLC’s cash-phrases, Breuer is no lone wolf, since organized Jewry is nothing if not a pack hunter. The Huffington Post declares that “Jews are on the frontline of the European immigrant crisis.” Such rare honesty! No religious group, proclaims Huffington Post writer Paul Brandeis Raushenbush, “has responded with more passion and sense of identification than the Jewish community.” I couldn’t agree more. But inevitably Mr Raushenbush and I come to our disagreement. You see, according to our august Jewish journalist, Jews have been motivated to take such a leading role solely by their intense emotional reaction to “heartbreaking images of men, women, and children risking everything for a better life.” Quite why this astounding level of empathy seems to dry up at the boundaries of the Israeli state or when European women and children are raped and murdered is left unanswered. Perhaps it’s ‘a Jew thing’ and my simple Nordic-Saxon goyishe kopf, PhD or not, isn’t sophisticated enough to understand it.

Nevertheless, I’m intelligent enough to see that across Europe this magical Jewish empathy has been assisting the entry and accommodation of non-White hostiles on a scale that would have made the blood run from the face of King Alfred himself. Presumably to commemorate the millions of Jews who were shot, gassed, electrocuted and turned into soap and household decorative items there, the Italian city of Milan apparently became convinced of its urgent need to possess something called a ‘Holocaust Memorial’ two years ago. Symbolically situated near the city’s main train station, due to supernaturally innocent Jews having once travelled the railway, the memorial now provides accommodation gratis to 3,500 so-called ‘refugees.’ Here, in what is commonly described as the “starting point” of the “Migrant Express” to Northern Europe, invaders from Africa and the Middle East can eat free food and charge their iPhones, getting some much-needed rest in preparation for an arduous evening of theft, sexual assault and murder. This is Jewry’s gift to Europe.

In a shocking piece of honesty that almost made me spit out my coffee, Robert Jarach, Vice-Chair of the Milan memorial, explains that the bands of invaders residing at his facility are “mostly men.” Meanwhile Renzo Gattegna, President of the Union of Italian Jewish Communities, proposed to dedicate some hideous creation called “the European Day of Jewish Culture” to the invading force, declaring: “Welcoming and respecting other faiths and cultures dates back to the very origins of Judaism.” Is this the welcoming and respectful stance of the Tanakh, wherein the Jewish god chooses the Jews as a people “above all others,” and permission to lend at interest is only given in respect of loans to non-Jews? Perhaps he is referring to the charming book of Leviticus which welcomes and respects other peoples and faiths by permitting their enslavement by Jews (25:44-46). Or maybe he is actually talking about Psalm 137, which discusses the joy that can be had from smashing the head of gentile infants against rocks. But I could be doing Mr Gattegna a disservice by merely focussing on the warmth of the Tanakh. Other ancient Jewish sources, the Talmud for example, are even more generous to other faiths and cultures. This respect is evidenced throughout, for example, in those sections where non-Jews are described as “non-human, beasts” (Baba Mezia, 114b), “like a dog” (Eereget Raschi Erod. 22.30), “animals in human form” (Midrash Talpoith), and “pigs” (Jalkut Rubeni gadol). So given this heart-warming history, it makes perfect sense that Jews are acting out of an age-old love for the foreigner, as Gattegna claims, rather than out of an aggressive desire for the subjugation and displacement of hated Europeans.

Scratch even lightly beneath the surface and you will find this familiar, ‘loving’ hand behind all efforts to galvanize and propagandize the pro-invasion cause among gullible Whites. In Britain the pro-invader groups have coalesced under the ‘Support Refugees’ umbrella organization. The group quite openly admits in its ‘About Us’ section that it was set up by The Jewish Council for Racial Equality (JCORE) and the West London Synagogue of British Jews. JCORE had earlier distinguished themselves by writing to the British Prime Minister, David Cameron, in August 2015. In their letter/petition, 200 leading Jews including 20 rabbis described the British reluctance to permit entry to German-level numbers of invaders as “appalling.” Support Refugees was established as a “One-Stop Shop for Those Seeking to Respond to the Refugee Crisis.” The website apparently ‘got off the ground’ thanks to the Jewish Lads and Girls Brigade, who presumably took time out from mundane teenage pastimes in order to contribute their own little part to the overthrow of the Europeans. The idea for the website, I should add, is stated as originating with the Jewish Social Action Forum. Perfect patterns are normally very beautiful, but I can’t help but perceive in this one something dark and twisted. Support Refugees’ main backers are listed as:

I may be returning to superstition, but I feel that a turning point in a great struggle is now not too distant. Churchill once said that “This is not the beginning. Nor is it the end. But perhaps it is the end of the beginning.” Whatever lies in store for Europe in the next decade or two, I have a sense that we are witnessing the end of the beginning, much as even in the depths of Winter we can perceive the faintest hint of Spring. The invading floods have arrived in many cases bleating like lambs, playing the gullible for what they can get — free clothes for the victims, free homes for the victims, free cash for the victims. It is easy to see why the ‘refugees’ may be feeling quite complacent at the moment; assured by their sponsors that their settlement in Europe will be a permanent one. When a lamb is lost in the mountains it too will cry, piercing the air with its noise. Sometimes the mother comes. Sometimes a wolf. Europe has a habit of very quickly changing from the mother to the wolf, and its enemies would do well to remember that.

As long as we remain predominant in these lands, we have a chance of surviving the Winter and on into Spring. To get there we will need further awakening, but this is not an impossible task. The invading hordes and their sponsors, in their vulgarity and hubris, will do more for us in this respect than we ever could with all the prime television slots and media outlets we could handle. Nothing propagandizes quite like personal suffering. The cost of this awakening will be great, and the naïve and the trusting, perhaps justly, will pay the greatest price. Let the foolish and the pathologically altruistic sacrifice their daughters to the cherished false gods of equality and “collective guilt.” Their awakening will arrive in the harshest form imaginable. To the rest of us is allotted the task of educating our children and keeping them safe, making quiet preparations, recording wrongs, and above all holding onto a thread of optimism — no matter how thin it may be.

The scholars who recorded the events at Lindisfarne ended their entry with an appeal to God: “Save us O Lord from the wrath of the Norsemen!” It is true that Europe will need to rediscover its capacity for wrath if we are to regain dominance over our political and cultural life. But when it does, we may yet hear these words again, and this time not from the mouths or pens of brothers.

[1] R. Ferguson, The Hammer and the Cross: A New History of the Vikings (Penguin, 2009), 217.


via Kevin Alfred Strom

Listen Now

It was July 3, 1778 — almost two years after the signing of the Declaration of Independence by the racially-conscious founders of the American Republic. The foe was the multiracialist System of their day, the British Empire. The place was the rich and beautiful Wyoming Valley of eastern Pennsylvania, sparsely settled by pioneering farmers and their families. And coming down in force from New York to kill them was a band of British soldiers and a large number of Indians and half-breeds they had recruited with promises of plunder, more than a thousand strong.

The White American farmers there consisted at that time entirely of women, children, the disabled, and old men — the men of fighting age had all been called up by Washington’s army and were engaged in distant battles. Some of these fighting men, just 25 in number, stationed in New Jersey at the time, got wind of the impending attack and returned to Wyoming just in time to lead the defense of their wives and children. The defenders of Wyoming numbered just 300 souls, including the returned soldiers, and were mostly elderly men and teenage boys.
Ironically, the Indians and British on the one side, and the White American farmers on the other, were both led by men named Butler, both colonels. The Tory Butler was John Butler — loyal to the Empire and willing to use savage non-Whites to murder his own blood kindred if they refused to submit, and the American was Zebulon Butler — a man loyal to his own people.

The British and Indians first made their presence known in the northwest extremity of the valley by murdering three White men who were working at a mill, and then proceeded to burn one of the forts, Fort Jenkins, that the settlers had built to defend their farms. The 17 elderly men who manned the fort were no match for the thousand troops and savages arrayed against them. Four men travelling to their work near Fort Jenkins, unaware that the invasion had begun, were killed. A young boy in their company hid among the undergrowth on a riverbank and survived to warn the Whites farther south and east.

The troops of the patriots bravely assembled and marched on the invaders. They found the bodies of the men who had been killed and saw they had been scalped and mutilated.

According to the account by Milo Acker, who had spoken with family members of survivors, “[I]n the face of the overwhelming numbers of the enemy, the little army of three hundred marched out of Forty Fort. Grandfathers took their muskets and stood side by side with grandsons in their teens. Nothing could have been more pitiable than the mustering of such troops, and dire was the necessity that compelled it.

“As the American troops approached [Fort] Wintermoots, they perceived it was in flames…. But near the burning fort both [sides] formed for battle. Five companies were placed in crescent form, and Zebulon Butler said, “Men, yonder is the enemy. The fate of the Hardings tells us what we have to expect if we are defeated. We come to fight, not only for liberty, but for life itself, and, what is dearer, to preserve our homes from conflagration, our women and children from the tomahawk. Stand firm at the first shock, and the Indians will give way. Every man to his duty.”

But the loyal White Americans were vastly outnumbered and out-gunned, and, despite their desperate bravery, they were forced to retreat. The Indian marksmen, armed with British weapons, deliberately shot the retreating Whites in their thigh bones, so they would be disabled and unable to fight back while being tortured, clubbed, and scalped by the hundreds.

According to Acker, “Many fugitives were lured by the promise of quarter to stay their flight, and then were put to torture too terrible to be described. Captain Bidlack was thrown upon a fire and held down with pitchforks while he burned; and as the shades of night fell, fires were lighted here and there, whose purpose was plainly proved by the odor of burning flesh, which sickened those who were so fortunate as to lie concealed.

“Among the most savage and relentless of the Indians was, alas, a woman, Queen Esther as she was known, a half breed who had lived in Philadelphia, and was supposed to be at least partially civilized and friendly to the whites… She held almost despotic power over her tribe, and led them on to cruelties, each more ingenious than the other. Queen Esther’s rock is still pointed out, about which sixteen or eighteen men were forced to kneel, while this fiend in woman‘s shape danced slowly around the ring and crushed out their brains in turn, to the rhyme of a monotonous and blood-curdling death chant.”

More than half the White force was killed that day: “Hardly a household but had lost father, son or brother. From the house of a farmer named Weeks seven men went out and not one returned. Next day the aged owner was ordered by the Indians to decamp. ‘How can I go?’ he cried; ‘you have killed all my family.’ But they gave him three days’ grace and then burned his house before his eyes.

“Many women and children who had been left in the forts on the east bank of the river, hearing from the fugitives of the dreadful massacre, fled at an instant’s warning into the wilderness, hoping to reach the Delaware settlements sixty miles away. They fled alone, or in twos or threes, though in one party there were one hundred, with only one man to help them. Behind them were the savages; before them the wilderness. Their sufferings were almost incredible, and the swamp through which the great body of the fugitives passed has been called until this day the ‘shades of death.’ To the credit of the Tory, Col. Butler, let it be said, at least, that he was much agitated by the work of his Indian allies, and said in the presence of Daniel Ingersoll, his captive, ‘It is not in my power to help it.’ Neither was he able to control their greed, after the surrender of the valley, when he had promised that the property of the remaining settlers should be protected. In his very presence, Indians and squaws, with scalps hanging to their belts, or brandished on long sticks, seized whatever took their fancy, and destroyed what they did not care to take.”

Even after the surrender — and the departure of the Tory Col. Butler who claimed he could not control his Indian “allies” and who had apparently given up trying — the massacre continued. All those who did not escape were killed, and every farm was looted and then burned.

One of the chiefs among the murderous Indian force was a man known to history as Joseph Brant, whose Indian name was Thayendanegea. He was rumored to be the half-breed son of a squaw and a British agent. Among his several wives was a White girl who had been captured as a child by savages and taught to “go native.” The survivors of the Wyoming Massacre called him Monster Brant. Even after the massacre of the Whites of the Wyoming Valley, he was lauded and honored by the British Empire. He travelled to Britain was a received with royal praise and approval. His portrait was painted by George Romney, Charles Wilson Peale, and Gilbert Stuart. The town of Brantford, Ontario was named for him. Statues were erected in his honor.

But the victory of Brant and his savages was short-lived. Loyal White Americans, many of them Pennsylvanians and relatives of the murdered farmers, under the command of General George Washington returned and ousted the murderous tribes from the Wyoming Valley. By their loyalty, they set the stage for the meteoric rise of European civilization on this continent.

Even when circumstances were so dark as they were in the “shades of death,” victory was already on the horizon. Loyalty to our race and its incomparable civilization won the day over a corrupt Empire and its savage mercenaries. We White Americans today can learn a lesson from the loyalty of the men and women who fought for the freedom and independence of their race and nation in the Wyoming Valley of Pennsylvania.

* * *

What is loyalty? Loyalty is a natural quality, and, for human life to continue, it is a necessary quality.

Man is not a solitary creature. Though our race has a strong streak of independence and a need for space and freedom, we are still social beings, like it or not. The Jewish establishment knows that we have an individualist tendency, and, like our other tendencies and weaknesses, they exploit that: Their promotion of radical individualism is one way to atomize us and make us weaker. It is only by virtue of organized society that the individual is able to exist.

In simpler times the isolated individual was unlikely to survive even one severe winter or an attack by an enemy tribe. He would have no one to assist him when he was sick or injured or otherwise threatened. He would be unable to implement even the simplest kind of division of labor, so his life would not only be short but also brutish.

The writer Martin Kerr taught us about concentric rings of loyalty that must be intact for us to live full lives and for us as a people to achieve our destiny. He inspired me to think on the concept.

The first ring of loyalty is loyalty to oneself. Without this, there is nothing to give, including loyalty.

The second ring is loyalty to one’s family. Our families are the cells of our people’s body. Without them, there is no future, no people, nothing. Even when our families do not understand the nature of our struggle, we mustn’t give up on them. Be patient, be loving, be kind, be willing to do what it takes to show them by your words and by your actions and by your course through life that our Cause is a just cause, the thing that matters most.

The third ring of loyalty is loyalty to our nation. To us, this doesn’t mean the false patriotism of the wavers of plastic flags. This means loyalty, not to economic or political abstractions or to the criminals and aliens who now rule us, but to the people themselves, to the true descendants of those who pledged their lives to each other in what was then a wild new land called America. We are their great-grandchildren; we are their representatives; we are their life-essence brought into the future — in a very real sense, we are they. We should stand together and do what is right for the next generation, and correct the serious mistakes committed by the preceding generation.

As modern America has ceased to be a true nation, united by common blood and heritage — and instead turning into a mere economic zone of the Jews’ global plantation, a feeding and breeding ground for whatever cheap labor is needed at the moment — this loyalty assumes an ever-greater importance. We mustn’t confuse non-descendants of our people with descendants, even though they reside in America and mistakenly call themselves “Americans.” The Founding Fathers explicitly said this land was for their “sacred posterity.” Their posterity means their descendants; their children and their close kin’s children. When a Nigerian athlete enters the Olympics on the American team and is competing against a Frenchman, which athlete represents “us”? Which one do we cheer for? When an all-White Russian team defeats a largely-Negro team of so-called Americans, have “we” been defeated? These are questions of loyalty.

The fourth ring of loyalty I see is loyalty to our race as a whole. This means that we recognize a greater loyalty than our narrow individual and family interests, greater even than our loyalty to the extended family of White Americans. It means we recognize our kinship with all the Whites of Europe from the Urals to Mediterranean to the North Sea, and with the Europeans who colonized South Africa, parts of South America, Australia, New Zealand, Canada, and other areas of the world where our people have settled. These men and women are our kin and their destiny is our destiny.

There is still yet another, outer ring of loyalty. The National Alliance, almost alone, recognizes this outermost ring, which goes beyond — far beyond — loyalty to the White race as it is presently incarnated. This loyalty can be expressed in several different ways.

Dr. William Pierce would have called it loyalty to the Life Force. The ecologically-minded might try to explain it to the layman as loyalty to this evolving planet in an ever-evolving Universe — or, more correctly, as loyalty to Life itself.
You might also call it loyalty to the future.

This means that we recognize that our race is part of larger, evolving whole. It means that we recognize that our race is more, far more, than just a biological entity taking up space and eating and reproducing and trying to be happy as we live our lives and try to make those lives as long and as trouble-free as possible.

We recognize that we exist not only in the dimensions of space but in the dimension of time as well, and that it is the future of our race — what our race has the potential to become — that holds promise beyond imagining.

It means that we recognize that, led by the Jews and following their false values, present-day American society will kill the future of our race and lead us into the dead end of death and extinction via wars, catastrophes, and genetic decline.

It means we recognize that the future of this planet — and Life itself — depend on our victory and the radical transformation of society which the Alliance embodies.

This is loyalty to Life. This is a higher loyalty to our race: not as an end in itself in its present state, but as an agent, the only possible agent, of our future.

The fifth ring of loyalty has always been the province of a small elite who understood the monumental implications of genetics and evolution.

And so I come to the National Alliance. With the widespread destruction of true loyalty to nation and race by our enemies, we pursue our goal of reaching every single White woman and man on this planet with our message of hope and inspiration. In this new Dark Age, the last three rings of loyalty appear to be gone. But, as the scribes of the old Dark Age preserved the writings of Classical times, so the third, fourth, and fifth rings of loyalty are kept alive for future generations by the Alliance. And we not only preserve those values and ideals — we live them.

The work of the National Alliance is based on a full understanding of our position as a people and as a race; a full understanding of who we are and who is trying to destroy us. The National Alliance embodies the future.

We have joined together in a new ring of loyalty which embodies the old, but in an even stronger form: a new steel ring of loyalty to our race and to our race’s future.

These are dark days for freedom and self-determination. These are days of increasing repression. But these are also days of greatly increased opportunities for us. Hundreds of thousands, even millions, of people on all sides of the political spectrum are coming to an understanding of the Jewish question. The more these rapacious vultures and professional fake “victims” demand obedience, the more people awaken and see them for the liars and parasites that they are.

What do we face if we lose? — or if we take the coward’s path of imagined “safety” and do nothing to stop the destruction of our race? — if we fail to be loyal? In a Third World future, we will face what the farmers of the Wyoming Valley faced — and what the farmers of South Africa and Zimbabwe are facing now. Be loyal. We can prevail.  Unlike the forces of the Empire, we are not motivated by money or plunder. We are motivated by ideals and by our very survival. As Elbert Hubbard said, “An ounce of loyalty is worth a pound of cleverness.”

We also need to be persistent. Ours is a task for people who will stay the course for decades, not months. Those who jump from project to project, from organization to organization, will have little permanent impact.  It’s easy to be discouraged. Our enemies have a great deal of money, and the power that brings. But we have the truth on our side. And a passion that our Divine Spark will never be extinguished, and the knowledge that the fate of Life in the Universe depends on what we do today. We will never give up. Remember the words of the Roman poet Ovid:

“What is there harder than stone? And what is softer than water? Yet hard stones are hollowed out by soft and flowing water. Only persist, and you will overcome.”

When I think of William Pierce’s devotion, persistence, and loyalty to our Cause, and what he bequeathed to us who came after, I think of what John Wesley Crockett, the son of Davey Crockett, said after his father died at the Alamo:

“He is gone from among us, and is no more to be seen in the walks of men, but in his death… he slew more of his enemies than in all of life.”

Let’s make Dr. Pierce’s revolution come true in the hearts and minds of our people. And then we will remake the State. It will be a revolution of which Washington and Pierce would both be proud, a revolution worthy of the words of Francis Scott Key. A revolution which remembers the Wyoming Massacre and lessons it teaches.

Stick to the task at hand, whatever comes. It is dark now, but the Jews cannot stop the sun from rising.

You’re a Keen One, Mr. Finch, Part 2: An Analysis of "Go Set a Watchman"

via Faith & Heritage

Part 1

Go Set a Watchman1

As mentioned before, Go Set a Watchman was famously touted as being the ‘long-awaited’ follow-up to Mockingbird. It also generated some rather tepid controversy when it was ‘shockingly’ revealed that the book depicted Atticus as a racist this time around. The result was about three days’ worth of discussion from Al Sharptons-in-training, rabbis, Morris Dees, and various other talking heads on CNN and MSNBC’s morning shows, but nothing further.

Let me assure you that both these claims are utterly false. Watchman was actually written about five years prior to the publication of Mockingbird and very obviously served as the first draft of that novel, with passages being repeated verbatim in both books and inconsistencies in plot and characterization being rife in the second. But don’t worry: Atticus is still presented as the same old lovably stentorian and pretentious slab of granite we were presented with in the original. First drafts don’t make the bestseller lists, though, so both angles were fraudulently played up by HarperCollins. Such sleazy marketing ploys demonstrate amply the need to support small independent publishers who are not averse to releasing genuinely controversial and thought-provoking material. But again, I digress.

Even if we treat this novel as a standalone work, though, it isn’t anywhere near being a literary ‘landmark’, as the blurb on the dust jacket tells us. To put it succinctly: Go Set a Watchman is one lame read. It apes the structure of Mockingbird, presenting us with a series of recollected childhood episodes from Scout’s past, mostly of a lightly comical nature, wrapped around a more serious racially-tinged main plot. However, this time around it isn’t even complex enough to qualify as effective propaganda. It reads like an extended short story, complete with one of that format’s most irritating qualities: a Deus ex machina of an ending. Lee wasn’t too eager to have Deus anywhere around her machina though, as we shall see.

The main plot: it’s twenty years after the events of Mockingbird, in the mid-50s. A twenty-six-year-old Scout (called ‘Jean Louise’ throughout – the novel thankfully drops the cutesy Southern name motif) returns to Maycomb from her New York home for a visit to Atticus, who is now in his seventies and ailing. She reestablishes ties with her old boyfriend Henry ‘Hank’ Clinton and starts to consider (none too seriously) marrying him. However, she is distraught to find out that both he and Atticus are members of the Maycomb County Citizens’ Council, a racist states’ rights organization. This revelation throws her into paroxysms of rage and nearly leads to a nervous breakdown, but after a firm talk from her uncle Jack Finch and a confrontation with Atticus where he explains his reasons for belonging to this group, she is reconciled with her father. Also, she rejects Hank’s advances for good. The end.

Upon this flimsy structure is hung a good deal of detail that is completely alien to readers of the original novel. At the end of Mockingbird we were well convinced that Scout was just rarin’ to go getting blacks registered in Maycomb County and running for lieutenant governor of Alabama at least just as soon as she was of age. Here, her history in New York is not explored in detail, but it is hinted that she lives a life somewhere in between a Greenwich Village beatnik and one of the secretaries on Mad Men. ‘Hank Clinton’ is described as her lifelong boyhood friend who she’s always had a crush on, yet he shows up nowhere in Mockingbird. We are also told, quixotically, “Love whom you will but marry your own kind was a dictum amounting to instinct within her.”2 Really? After a lifetime of Atticus’s polemics, plus a long stint in egalitarian New York, this is instinctual with her? Hank does come from a broken home, though, thus keeping up a consistent theme with Mockingbird on that front at least. Upon reaching home, Atticus and Alexandra both call Scout ‘sweet’3 and Alexandra calls her ‘hon’4 – again, not likely in such a coldly proper family where the slightest grin from any member is considered pregnant with meaning. Scout is also able to say such sophisticated things to Alexandra as “Aunty, why don’t you go pee in your hat?”5 without the old lady slapping her in indignation. This, despite the fact that Alexandra is frequently described as ‘the last of her kind’6 in reference to her Southern matronly ways – which must be true, as she does not display anywhere near this amount of latitude in Mockingbird! ‘Levy’, the heroic Jewish milliner from the first novel, is here called ‘Ginsberg’.7 Atticus’s legal career is described as consisting of very little criminal law, but one of the few times he did take on a criminal case, Tom’s, he won his client’s acquittal.8 Underwood, the agnostic editor of the original, herein is a devout Christian who is mortally offended by a woman who wants to post an obituary of a cow in his paper.9 You get the picture. This is not a sequel.

Scout’s character, though, perhaps represents the most radical departure from Mockingbird. In the original, you will recollect that her rabid egalitarianism was aided and abetted by an underlying statist streak. Here, that egalitarianism is just as odious – but she seems to have morphed into a states’ rights advocate herself in the interim. HUH?! But ’tis true! The following passage even directly avers that it is so:
Maycomb did not have a paved street until 1935, courtesy of F.D. Roosevelt, and even then it was not exactly a street that was paved. For some reason the President decided that a clearing from the front door of the Maycomb Grammar School to the connecting two ruts adjoining the school property was in need of improvement, it was improved accordingly, resulting in skinned knees and cracked crania for the children and a proclamation from the principal that nobody was to play Pop-the-Whip on the pavement. Thus the seeds of states’ rights were sown in the hearts of Jean Louise’s generation.10
Sure, the passage is written with tongue planted firmly in cheek. But one page over, when Hank notices Scout isn’t thrilled about Maycomb’s postwar gaudy character, she describes her reaction as ‘Conservative reaction to change, that’s all.’11 And towards the novel’s climax, during Scout’s final confrontation with Atticus, she expresses her indignation of the Supreme Court’s violation of the Tenth Amendment in ushering in federal desegregation statutes with these words:
“…all we have is the Constitution between us and anything some smart fellow wants to start, and there went the Court just breezily canceling one whole amendment, it seemed to me. We have a system of checks and balances and things, but when it comes down to it we don’t have much check on the Court, so who’ll bell the cat?”12
To which Atticus responds, “Sweet, you’re such a states’ rightist you make me a Roosevelt Liberal by comparison.”13 Which is precisely how Atticus was depicted in Book #1, but…oh, never mind. Suffice it to say that in other respects, Scout resembles the lady we suspected she’d grow up to be. Her feminist streak is fully developed, for one thing – she drops rather crude comments to Alexandra when the latter criticizes her dress (“Maycomb knows I didn’t wear anything but overalls till I started having the Curse…”14). Likewise, during a ‘coffee’ that Alexandra puts on in Scout’s honor so she can reconnect with her old hometown friends, Scout is repelled by the small talk about children and housekeeping that is prevalent amongst the group – Lee expresses this repugnance by recording snippets of unrelated conversation at random – and begins to have serious second thoughts about marrying Hank on those grounds alone.15 She has also developed into a functional agnostic or, at best, a willful Bible illiterate. She has trouble differentiating between Jacob and Israel in one passage.16 In another, she seems to suggest a growing agnosticism in describing the ‘discrepancy’ between Maycomb’s racist and Christian characters:
“Why doesn’t their flesh creep? How can they devoutly believe everything they hear in church and then say the things they do and listen to the things they hear without throwing up? I thought I was a Christian but I’m not. I’m something else and I don’t know what. Everything I have ever taken for right and wrong these people have taught me – these same, these very people. So it’s me, it’s not them. Something has happened to me.”17
Something indeed has happened to you, little miss – you have become the prototype of what in the far-off future will be described as a ‘cuckservative’. Perhaps it is no coincidence that the release of Watchman coincided with that term’s introduction among the traditional Christian right.

Other than her Trotskyite racial notions, another aspect of Scout’s character remains unchanged from Mockingbird: her elitist attitude towards working-class and agrarian whites. This, of course, is the demographic that Lee herself believes most likely to engage in prurient prejudice towards blacks to such an extent that its malevolent influence will waft upwards and taint the Quality, rather than the other way around. All of Watchman’s female characters and most of its male ones display this characteristic. Witness Alexandra’s description of Hank:
“We Finches do not marry the children of rednecked white trash, which is exactly what Henry’s parents were when they were born and were all their lives. You can’t call them anything better. The only reason Henry’s like he is now is because your father took him in hand when he was a boy, and because the war came along and paid for his education. Fine a boy as he is, the trash won’t wash out of him.”18
She then proceeds to line out precisely how Hank is scheming to take everything the messianic Atticus has for his own. These are not the mere ramblings of a lady whom time has passed by, either. Nowhere in the novel is Hank presented in an especially sympathetic light.

Alexandra consistently displays considerably more aristocratic disdain towards poor whites than she ever does towards blacks, and this trait has metamorphosed into a more liberal strain within Scout, as demonstrated by her explanation of her core tenets during her coffee:
“You will not believe me, but I will tell you: never in my life until today did I hear the word ‘nigger’ spoken by a member of my family. [Inconsistency: Jem uses the word in Mockingbird. – CM] Never did I learn to think in terms of The Niggers…They were poor, they were diseased and dirty, some were lazy and shiftless, but never in my life was I given the idea that I should despise one, should fear one, should be discourteous to one, or think that I could mistreat one and get away with it…I was taught never to take advantage of anybody who was less fortunate than myself, whether he be less fortunate in brains, wealth, or social position; it meant anybody, not just Negroes. I was given to understand that the reverse was to be despised. That is the way I was raised, by a black woman and a white man.”19
This is the kind of high-minded tolerance that eventually leads to the creation of mass social engineering disguised as philanthropy once one has amassed sufficient resources. Scout addresses these thoughts towards her acquaintance Hester, a bubblehead who reads Good Housekeeping, talks about dumb, cause-crimping things like children, and voices allegedly wrong-headed opinions on communism and the goal of the NAACP to create a new race of easily-controlled mongrels. She represents the tumor wrought among the aristocracy by the racist redneck rampage from below, if we are to accept Lee’s hypothesis.

Thus, the class consciousness of Mockingbird is presented here in an even more condescending light. Which brings up another interesting inconsistency: despite the fact that Watchman contains numerous flashbacks to Scout’s childhood, not once is Boo Radley mentioned, despite the major role he played in Scout’s transformation in the first novel. Given his symbolic meaning as the complacent poor white whom the New South was obligated to take by the hand and lead, it seems that Lee chose to tone down her near-Rockefellerian outlook on the South’s yeomanry in order to make her masterpiece more potable to the public as a whole.

Her snobbishness still does not extend towards her black charges, though. A key example of this occurs when the son of Zeebo, Calpurnia’s son, runs over and kills a white man while drunk, which reduces the old maid to a state of near-catatonia. Making this all the more tragic is that Frank, the grandson, has been on the waiting list to the Tuskegee Institute.20 Arriving at Calpurnia’s house (where we learn that foxy ol’ Zeebo has been divorced at least five times, a fact that causes considerably less revulsion in Scout than the Ewells’ large brood of children in book #121), she is shocked to discover that Calpurnia treats her in a cold and aloof manner. This prompts Scout to ask her in a pathetically mewling tone whether she hated the entire Finch clan all these years. She magnanimously shakes her head no, after taking a seeming eternity to think about it. This causes Scout to run back to her car and lament bitterly about her white state of being and how that fact alone played no small part in creating Maycomb’s racial tensions.22 Sorely misguided as these feeble attempts at self-recrimination and reflection are, they represent far more than Scout has been shown willing to employ in favor of her own volk.

And what of Atticus? Has he developed racial consciousness in his old age, as the talking heads seemed to suggest? This constitutes the major plot line of the book. It begins with Scout finding a copy of a pamphlet entitled The Black Plague in Atticus’s study one afternoon. Barely being able to bring herself to touch it, she presents it to Alexandra and snippily declaims its contents – black skulls being thicker than white skulls and their ‘brain-pans’ shallower, all world rulers being white since time immemorial and who have a duty to dominate blacks and Jews, and things of that nature.23 Learning that this pamphlet has been distributed by the Maycomb County Citizens’ Council, and that Atticus and Hank are both at a meeting of that body at precisely that time, Scout rushes over there to make a horse’s ass of herself, as demonstrated by this sanctimonious stream-of-consciousness inner monologue regarding the meeting’s denizens:
…a familiar story: same people who were the Invisible Empire, who hated Catholics; ignorant, fear-ridden, red-faced, boorish, law-abiding, one hundred per cent red-blooded Anglo-Saxons, her fellow Americans – trash.24
Why did she bother coming home, again? Was there a freedom march being arranged by Maycomb’s wealthiest citizens or something? At any rate, she bumbles into the midst of a diatribe being given by a red-faced, boorish, law-abiding, one hundred per cent red-blooded Celtic cad named O’Hanlon who earns her instant disapprobation by declaring that he has dedicated his life to upholding segregation. His speech is presented in the same broken phraseology as the ladies’ conversation during the coffee, and is fairly (if inadvertently) amusing. A sample:
…a race as hammerheaded as…essential inferiority…kinky woolly heads…still in the trees…greasy smelly…marry your daughters…mongrelize the race…mongrelize…mongrelize…save the South…Black Monday…lower than cockroaches…God made the races…nobody knows why but He intended for ‘em to stay apart…if He hadn’t He’d’ve made us all one color…back to Africa…25
This patter goes on for several more paragraphs and completely destroys whatever bonds the not-overly-emotionally-stable-to-begin-with Scout ever had with her father for his attendance there. The remainder of the novel consists of a dull slog through her feelings of despair, peppered with random flashbacks to the good ol’ days when her anxiety attacks didn’t get the better of her. Also, peppered, naturally, with insufferable speechifying such as this gem:
“I wonder what would happen if the South had a ‘Be Kind to the Niggers Week’? If just for one week the South would show them some simple, impartial courtesy. I wonder what would happen. Do you think it’d give ‘em airs or the beginnings of self-respect? Have you ever been snubbed, Atticus? Do you know how it feels? No, don’t tell me they’re children and don’t feel it: I was a child and felt it, so grown children must feel, too. A real good snub, Atticus, makes you feel like you’re too nasty to associate with people. How they’re as good as they are now is a mystery to me, after a hundred years of systematic denial that they’re human. I wonder what kind of miracle we could work with a week’s decency.”26
At the novel’s conclusion, though, just as we suspect she’s getting ready to shimmy up all of Maycomb’s flagpoles naked in order to rip down Confederate flags, Atticus finally reveals his reasons for belonging to this group. He is doing so only to stand in solidarity with his town against the Supreme Court and the NAACP. He then proceeds to paint a picture of himself entirely at odds with what we were presented with in Mockingbird, saying that blacks are too enfeebled to be able to build a civilization themselves and might always be that way, that the Court’s decision would result in a second Reconstruction, likely with Zeebo being elected mayor of Maycomb due to the preponderance of the black vote, and that the Court is out to destroy the South, not merely to slip around the Tenth Amendment.27 He even has the temerity to refer to himself as a ‘Jeffersonian Democrat’ at one point!28 Scout can only parley this onslaught with weak, whiny rejoinders about how ‘something must be done!’ and even grudgingly admits her fellow hatred of the Court’s decision, as mentioned above. Atticus does concede that he finds the group’s race-baiting odious, but resignedly goes along with it because life is not ideal. He has done this before – earlier, Hank dropped this most implausible of all bombshells in our laps:
“A long time ago the Klan was respectable, like the Masons. Almost every man of any prominence was a member, back when Mr. Finch was young. Did you know Mr. Finch joined?…Mr. Finch has no more use for the Klan than anybody, and didn’t then. You know why he joined? To find out exactly what men in town were behind the masks. What men, what people. He went to one meeting, and that was enough. The Wizard happened to be the Methodist preacher – “29
So there it is. Atticus joins white heritage groups so he can spy on their members and keep running dossiers on them. How can he get away with this in a close-knit, insular community such as Maycomb? Oh, right, because whites of humble station are only autistic children blinded by malevolence and would never pick up on his machinations. At least that’s a consistent theme between the two books.

Scout still isn’t convinced by Atticus’s explanation and begins to call him a coward and a hypocrite. This goes on interminably until Uncle Jack Finch shows up to set the record straight once and for all.

And now, a word about Jack, as he is, far and away, the most interesting thing about the entire novel. In Mockingbird he played a role as a relatively minor character – the easygoing, party-loving MD younger brother of Atticus. Needless to say, his character is entirely different in Watchman. He’s still an MD but is of a considerably more serious and thoughtful (albeit sarcastic) persona here. His demeanor is now decidedly more intellectual and philosophical, with a decidedly Southern nationalist bend. Not a trace, no not one, of modernism is to be found anywhere on his person. I would go so far as to say that Lee has presented us with a close approximation of a Kinist here. The publishers of Watchman, observing his decidedly Victorian airs, might have played him up in order to appeal to the ‘steampunk’ audience but apparently decided against doing so.

Jack’s first big scene comes during a service at Maycomb Southern Methodist Church (okay, he’s not quite a Kinist) when Scout simmers in resentment over the liberal pastor’s decision to ‘jazz up’ the singing of the Doxology, fearing that this heralds a return to Anglicanism. (Not to beat a dead horse, but, again, is this the character to whom we were introduced in Mockingbird?) Dr. Finch takes up her cause and complains about the changes to Jemson, the church’s music director. Jemson makes mention of the fact that these changes were sent on high from the General Conference, prompting Dr. Finch to growl in disgust, ‘Apparently our brethren in the Northland are not content merely with the Supreme Court’s activities. They are now trying to change our hymns on us.”30 He then goes on to predict soon they’ll all be restricted to singing Yankee hymns like ‘Onward, Christian Soldiers’.31 Hey, I like this guy!

This church episode, too, provides us with the book’s title, taken from Isaiah 21:6: “For thus hath the Lord said unto me, Go, set a watchman, let him declare what he seeth.”32

The novel’s high point involves Scout’s visit to Jack’s house in order to pick his brain over what is wrong with Atticus, and Maycomb in general, and the South even more in general. His response is a sociopolitical defense of Dixie that, with a touch more theological trimming, could easily pass for Dabney. He opens his treatise thus:
“…all over the South your father and men like your father are fighting a sort of rearguard, delaying action to preserve a certain kind of philosophy that’s almost gone down the drain.”33
Which would pique the interest of any Kinist worthy of the name. He then goes on to note the close ties of kinship and ‘near-kinship’ that exist throughout Maycomb County. When Scout expresses confusion over what this has to do with her concerns, Jack snaps that that’s because she has ‘never opened her eyes’ – an expression that startles her and drives home the point that she is supposed to be the Watchman of the title, but has been derelict in her duty. This motif is referenced several times during the course of the novel, with the most notable example being when Scout piteously avows that she was ‘born color-blind’ at the end of Part III.34

Jack continues in a strongly Kinist vein:
“In the 1770s, where did the white-hot words come from?”
“Virginia,” said Jean-Louise, confidently.
“And in the 1940s, before we got into it, what made every Southerner read his newspaper and listen to newscasts with a special kind of horror?
Tribal feelin’, honey, at the bottom of it. They might be sons of bitches, the British, but they were our sons of bitches…”
“Go back to the early 1800s in England, before some pervert invented machinery. What was life there?…it was mainly an agricultural society, with a handful of landowners and multitudes of tenants. Now, what was the South before the War?”
“An agricultural society with a handful of large landowners, multitudes of dirt farmers, and slaves.”
“Correct. Leave the slaves out of it for a while, and what do you have?
Your Wade Hamptons by the scores, and your small landowners and tenants by the thousands. The South was a little England in its heritage and social structure.”35
Jack points out that it was this strong sense of cultural identity that made the Confederate army a powerhouse when most of its members had never so much as seen a slave:
“Has it never occurred to you…that this territory was a separate nation? No matter what its political bonds, a nation with its own people, existing within a nation? A society highly paradoxical, with alarming inequities, but with the private honor of thousands of persons winking like lightning bugs through the night? No war was ever fought for so many different reasons meeting in one reason clear as crystal. They fought to preserve their identity. Their political identity, their personal identity.”36
And it is the descendants of that self-same army that now face a new shibboleth – one that seems a hopeless battle, enough so that Jack prays, “It’ll be a comparatively bloodless Reconstruction this time.”37 To wit:
“Look at the rest of the country. It’s long since gone by the South in its thinking. The time-honored, common-law concept of property – a man’s interest in and duties to that property – has become almost extinct. People’s attitudes toward the duties of a government have changed. The have-nots have risen and have demanded and received their due – sometimes more than their due. The haves are restricted from getting more. You are protected from the winter winds of old age, not by yourself voluntarily, but by a government that says we do not trust you to provide for yourself, therefore we will make you save. All kinds of strange little things like that have become part and parcel of this country’s government. America’s a brave new Atomic world and the South’s just beginning its Industrial Revolution.”38
And the danger is especially potent towards Scout’s deluded generation, whom Jack calls ‘the apples of the Federal Government’s eye.’39 Sounds like a regular firebrand, doesn’t he? Will he follow through with some good old Rebel advice on how to fight Leviathan? Is this the man we’ve long been waiting for to shut Little Miss Priss’s negro-loving yap for good?

Nope. Are you kidding? This is a Harper Lee novel we’re reading, after all! All he can offer is one gigantic metaphorical resigned shrug:
“Human birth is most unpleasant. It’s messy, it’s extremely painful, sometimes it’s a risky thing. It is always bloody. So it is with civilization. The South’s in its last agonizing birth pain. It’s bringing forth something new and I’m not sure I like it, but I won’t be here to see it. You will. Men like me and my brother are obsolete and we’ve got to go, but it’s a pity we’ll carry with us the meaningful things of this society – there were some good things in it.”40
A eulogy rather than a battle-cry. Talk about anticlimactic. Worse still, it doesn’t silence the increasingly obnoxious Scout, who immediately begins complaining about this ‘diversion’ into stodgy old irrelevance and demands answers to her questions. They aren’t forthcoming. That must wait until the story’s end, to which we must now return.

Dr. Finch slaps Scout when she reverts to hysterics again41 – an act which repels him but produces a sigh of relief from the non-liberal readership. He then proceeds to get her drunk on extract so that he can engage in a little Freudian tapping of her gray matter, eventually ensuring her that despite her emotional retardation in regards to her obsessions with Atticus, she is ‘her own person’ who is capable of overlooking shortcomings in those closest to her. In so doing, he offers these words, which serve as the novel’s moral (and is also quoted verbatim on the back of the cover):
“Every man’s island, Jean Louise, every man’s watchman, is his conscience. There is no such thing as a collective conscience.”42
(Also cribbed by Lee for use by Atticus in Mockingbird.)

This is, of course, utter nonsense and completely contradicts his earlier Confederate analyses – how can one fight so ferociously for an ‘identity’ that is a mere chimera? For that matter, how could God chastise the congregation of Israel as a whole if ‘individual conscience’ is the only reality? But this represents the logical end of Scout’s (and, by extension, Lee’s) fraudulent brand of ‘con’servativism, where all collectivism, including familial, societal, and cultural units, are decreed shams and all that is present is the atomized individual. (Jack’s mention of America entering the Atomic age can thus be read as a pun.) This, too, was demonstrated earlier when Scout explained why she chose to live in New York:
“In New York you are your own person. You may reach out and embrace all of Manhattan in sweet aloneness, or you can go to hell if you want to.”43
Now that her eyes have been opened and she realizes she can continue her existential angst in Maycomb, too, she begins to heed the advice given her throughout the novel and considers moving back to the ol’ homestead. She makes her reconciliation with Atticus…but, tellingly, not with Hank. She uses his lack of purity of motive in attending the meeting as a convenient excuse, but in actuality because she fears losing her own identity within the ‘constrictions’ of a marriage, as she told him earlier.44 It might be a stretch to suggest that we have the makings of a proud lesbian in Scout at this point, but it is certainly true she has a plethora of single women in Maycomb from whom to choose.

Thus we close the Saga of the Finches on the final lesson Scout has gleaned:
Dear goodness, the things I learned. I did not want my world disturbed, but I wanted to crush the man who’s trying to preserve it for me. I wanted to stamp out all the people like him. I guess it’s like an airplane: they’re the drag and we’re the thrust, together we make the thing fly. Too much of us and we’re nose-heavy, too much of them and we’re tail-heavy – it’s a matter of balance. I can’t beat him, and I can’t join him…45
…but if 9/11 taught us anything, it’s that there is a time to take down the plane in order to meet your ends, Scout. Always remember, though: timing. Timing is everything.


With that, we have reached the end of our perusal of the Complete and Unabridged Canon of Harper Lee. A mixture of Karl Marx and Herbert Marcuse placed in a box of Faulkner Lite and wrapped in nostalgic hues of sepia so that it looks appealing to the kiddies underneath the Christmas tree. It would perhaps be unchivalrous to heap anathemas upon Miss Lee’s head now that she is suffering from the ravages of Alzheimer’s. We can only pray that she repented herself of these abominable works decades ago. God knows the heart, either way.

The truly disheartening thing is how many white Christians have embraced To Kill a Mockingbird in particular as a Christian novel, simply on the basis of its depiction of noble churchgoing blacks, kind children, and a ‘wise’ father, all sprinkled with garbled and vaguely biblical subtext and allegory in an attempt to present this work as something it most decidedly is not. Yet how many pastors have quoted the book’s text verbatim from the pulpit? How many vacuous celebrity ‘Christians’ have named this their totally, like, favorite read ever? How many homeschool curriculums include this book on their English text lists?

If you want to read a novel that accurately depicts racial relations between blacks and whites, you’d be far better off reading George MacDonald Fraser’s Flash for Freedom! instead.

  1. All quotes are taken from the HarperCollins hardcover edition, 2015.
  2. p. 9
  3. p. 19
  4. p. 33
  5. p. 38
  6. e.g. p. 33.
  7. p. 89
  8. p. 109
  9. p. 193
  10. p. 45
  11. p. 46
  12. pp. 239-240
  13. p. 240
  14. p. 22
  15. pp. 168-169
  16. p. 14
  17. p. 167
  18. p. 37
  19. pp. 178-179
  20. p. 157
  21. Ibid.
  22. pp. 160-161
  23. pp. 102-103
  24. p. 104
  25. p. 108
  26. p. 252
  27. pp. 238-247
  28. p. 244
  29. p. 229
  30. p. 97
  31. p. 98
  32. p. 95
  33. p. 188
  34. p. 122
  35. p. 194
  36. pp. 195-196
  37. p. 197
  38. pp. 197-198
  39. p. 198
  40. pp. 199-200
  41. p. 260
  42. pp. 264-265
  43. p. 180
  44. p. 227
  45. p. 277

Programming Chaos: The Arab Spring

via Soul of the East

Thanks to an advantageous geographical position set between the world’s two major oceans, Americans have been in large measure immune to the consequences of war, upheaval and terror in the Eurasian Great Game. Since Vietnam the United States military-industrial complex has managed to prosecute expeditionary wars across the span of the globe while maintaining losses at a level acceptable to an American citizenry manipulated through its patriotism and distracted by an entire synthetic universe of amusements. Yet on occasion, even in a disneyfied haze of pornography, sports, and television, moments of clarity on America’s mission in the world do arrive, even from the most unexpected quarters. Director Michael Bay’s 13 Hours: The Secret Soldiers of Benghazi, a film portrayal of the September 11th, 2012 Benghazi disaster, is one such instance.

Bay, known for his love for combining cartoonish explosions, high-tech firepower, and swimsuit models, wouldn’t likely be the first man on anyone’s radar to deliver a hard-hitting indictment of Washington’s foreign policy in the Middle East. His ridiculous Transformers series, after all, has enjoyed enormous popularity with both adults and children, with its content paralleling the fantasies of your average third-grader. But Bay must be commended for his work on 13 Hours, and not only for a skillful reiteration of the jihadist attacks on US facilities in Benghazi and the death of Ambassador Chris Stevens.

Libya Benghazi Michael Bay
Bay’s usual pyrotechnics are accompanied by an unusually wise message of non-interventionism. Image: Paramount Pictures

Telling the story through the eyes of the CIA security contractors who fought to protect their fellow countrymen that day, Bay convincingly shows the seeming purposelessness of US Middle East policy. The contractors, hard men who have already served in the military as special operators, are thrown into a cauldron of revolutionary tumult, corruption, and double-dealing, all in the midst of a firefight with terrorists who seemingly came from nowhere to unleash hell. In truth, hell had been unleashed by their very employers, the policymakers, strategists, and covert operations planners who set the celebrated Arab Spring, an ostensible chain of “people-power” revolutions, into motion.

Throughout 13 Hours, the maelstrom builds as jihadist gangs, without any real explanation, go about their murderous work and lay siege to the US consulate and a CIA operations base. (It must be noted that no mention is made of CIA arms transfers from Libyan stockpiles to Syrian rebels – jihadists – run with the assistance of Turkish intelligence, a likely factor in the attacks.) Many of these urban guerrillas are cut down with cold precision by the veteran contractors, but Bay isn’t making a case for chest-thumping American “exceptionalism” or further misadventures abroad. Rather, these brave men with families at home are fighting and dying in “a country they know nothing about for reasons they don’t understand.”

As they withstood wave after wave of frontal assaults, it is unlikely the contractors were aware of the whole sordid history of US intelligence’s support of jihadist movements from the 1970’s onward for strategic advantage, beginning with Zbigniew Brzezinski’s carefully-laid Afghan bear trap. They probably didn’t know the full extent of Langley and the Pentagon’s continual use of Al Qaeda in Central Asia, the Caucasus, the Balkans, and the Middle East over decades and right up to today, all in the quest to dominate Eurasia and its resources. With Libya overrun by Islamic extremist militias sponsored by none other than NATO after the unjust overthrow and murder of Muammar Gaddafi, a year later the American operators came face-to-face with the monster their masters had created. So often treated to propaganda for the next war, Americans should see 13 Hours not just as a well-executed action movie, but a sobering, much-needed call for non-interventionism.

Terror, conflict, and chaos – these are the fruits of the Arab Spring. What Bay depicts so well in 13 Hours needs intellectual grounding, however. The chaos that so characterizes the film was the ultimate result of years of planning and preparation, a design to “manage” the Middle East in accordance with the interests of Western oligarchic elites. No better work can be found on the subject than Christopher L. Brennan’s book The Fall of the Arab Spring: From Revolution to Destruction, both a comprehensive geopolitical analysis and cautionary tale to would-be revolutionaries.

Fall of the Arab Spring
In detail Brennan lays out a larger strategic framework for why the Arab Spring was fomented, from the Maghreb to the Levant, and how. Beginning with public-private partnerships between the State Department, multinationals, and a constellation of NGOs and transitioning to support of the Muslim Brotherhood, arming jihadist groups, and direct military intervention, a series of supposedly popular uprisings across the region was choreographed from its very inception with varying degrees of connivance by regional players such as Turkey, Israel, Saudi Arabia and Qatar. Countries like Egypt just barely survived the experience, while Libya did not. Syria is fighting for its life, and the lives of millions have been ruined in the name of democracy. Liberalism is long the international financial priesthood’s favored instrument of subversion across cultures, and whether it’s paired with neo-fascism in Ukraine or jihadism in the Middle East, the final objective of all such veiled coups is a form of control only afforded to the gods: the power to rape and plunder nations at will, to wipe a people from the face of the earth. Brennan rightly denounces the postmodern imperial enterprise and its hipster revolutions as a destructive fraud:
For the Arab world, the romantic illusions of ‘democracy’ and ‘dignity’ – platitudes sold by the West – were shattered, and much of the region degenerated into the breakdown of state and society. This was the chaotic self-fulfilling prophecy of “Lebanonization,” unleashing the forces of sectarianism and balkanization. In the major states where regime change succeeded – Egypt and Libya, for example – the process accelerated. Egypt saw inter-confessional tensions between Copts and Muslims following the seizure of power by the Western-backed Muslim Brotherhood; Libya was most palpably reduced to status of an outright failed state. These are painful, but nonetheless immediately salutary lessons for would-be Arab youth revolutionaries, the primary participants on the ground. Rather than credulously accepting vacuous ideals offered by self-interested Western powers, the outlook of Realpolitik is more instructive and practical. Following a wave of foreign-sponsored “revolutions” that swept Europe, Germany’s Otto Von Bismarck – exemplar of statecraft in the 19th century – remarked that the age of romantic idealism was over; the future would be decided not by romantic notions or assemblies, but through blood and iron. It is incumbent upon the would-be revolutionaries of the Arab world and beyond to come to a similar conclusion. Ultimately, having a repressive, authoritarian, or autocratic state is better than having no state at all. In reality, political reforms cannot exist without a functioning national state. This is the fundamental condition all considerations are subordinated to.
Both Bay’s film and Brennan’s thoroughgoing analysis in Fall of the Arab Spring are especially timely, as the destabilization of the Muslim world is merely the first phase of a more radical transformation underway. Decadent Europe is the following target as population displacement from the Middle East is shifted onto the Continent, itself the central arena for spiritual, psychological, and demographic warfare. The chaos is programmed. Americans or Libyans, Russians or Syrians, Germans or Turks: all are worthy sacrifices on the oligarchy’s altar of Mammon, readied for the ascent of the World State. Injustice lies to itself, the psalmist tells us, and the presumptive world controllers can only continue their drive to annihilation for so long. Faith, sovereignty, and identity are embattled values, yet as all the nations shall stand at the Last Judgment, so too must they – and we – endure. Future deceptions will doubtless be grander in scale and more refined; may the case of the Arab Spring be a harsh lesson for the trials ahead.

The End of the Game

via Radix

America’s annual celebration of rampant consumerism and self-indulgence has passed us by once again. It’s the Super Bowl, of course. Its very name conjures up images of excess paired with coliseums and panem et circenses that would have made even Juvenal blush. 

It’s fitting that this year’s “game” takes place so near to the beginning of the Christian lenten calendar. Though, the myths and rituals enacted during “the game” ask of us a far different repentance. Looking behind the crass commercialism and diversionary tribalism of the NFL, we can glimpse into what is filling the void of our “hollow empire”.

Lady Gaga belting America’s national anthem was the first sign of what was to come. “Gaga”, dressed in what seems to be a bedazzled homage to Hillary Clinton, invoked the national spirit. “Gaga”, or Stefani Germanotta as she was born, jets throughout the world defending LGBTQRSTUV+ rights, and taking the most predictable stances on any issue imaginable. In short, she is the perfect “muse” for Weimerica.

Then there was the “halftime” show. In reality a ünter-Dionysian spectacle, set to jungle rythyms and gyrations, that laid open the beating heart of this strange country. Beyoncé, one of the performers, and her “dancers” walked out in an homage to the Black Panther Party, and later on made, what some are claiming is a reference to Malcolm X. Of course, this was all followed up with a tribute to Michael Jackson.

From the panthers to a pedophile in a few gyrations. What a tribute to black nationalism!

In reality, the Panthers, Malcolm X, and Michael Jackson have all entered the national consciousness. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if many white American school children have more to say about those figures than the Minutemen, Jefferson, or Herman Melville. They’re probably more real to our own children than our ancestors and their own identities.

If any White American was put off by this display of Black pride he surely settled back into his seat by the end of the performance where we are told to “believe in love”. Togetherness (and equality) will save us. We have overcome, and all the related shibboleths. There was, of course, a certain irony in pairing “black power” and “LGBT equality” aesthetics.

“Gay marriage” is widely opposed by black voters whenever it is polled or comes to the ballot. The Coalition of the Fringes was on full display with all of its contradictions, and beamed into almost every television in America.

Of course, the Kosher cons over at places like National Review wonder why we just can’t get back to “the game” and the red-blooded commercialism represented by its advertisements (#SolidarityWithDoritos, take that NARAL!) But the truth is, for a long time life in America has been a game. Just one succession of comfortable lies after another designed to keep us trapped and deracinated. Who are we? And will our people survive? These will be the burning questions of the coming century.

But the liberal hegemony that shapes ads and ideas just want you to go back to sleep. Have another beer, eat some more Doritos. You deserve it, the game is on.

I’ll close with what I can only assume was to be the picture of some dystopian America presented to me during a commercial(how redundant) break. Seth Rogen and Amy Schumer addressing mixed mobs of Americans telling them the big lie. Crack that Bud Light, keep consuming, it’s the American way.

After all, it’s all only a game…