Songs About Neoliberalism

Thirty years ago you told them that they are a fungible commodity. You dumped monkeys, rats and snakes into their beds. You drugged them with corn, sold them brittle plastic trinkets, blew off their legs overseas and liberated their women’s gutter impulses.

Neoliberals like Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher shouldered the burden of delivering their respective nations from the devil as they understood him and the fruits of the work that they began are all around us.

The songs below show the impact points of tradition colliding with neoliberal progress. In one of the posted videos, a Welsh mining community protests Thatcher’s closing of coal mines with slogans “Coal, Not Dole.” Think about how those three words metonymize the proper function of a national government. In another song’s intro, young Indiana farmers explain to John Mellenkamp’s video crew that another loan is just another bill to pay and that there has to be another solution:

I think the politicians are playing games with us. It doesn’t cost them anything to change the rule, you know, embargo another country.

In these songs, we see what neoliberalism looked like at the beginning of its ascent three decades ago, its arc a rainbow with someone’s pot of gold at the end of it.

These songs or their videos render the disorientation of people who don’t know what is happening to them. They aren’t privy to the things that we in the current year know. But they also remind us of things that we had forgotten over the past thirty years so rather than playing them for nostalgia, let’s listen or watch for what to reclaim as the system exhausts itself and lets go.

Here are the songs:

Industry. Bruce Springsteen “My Hometown” — Bookended by the speaker’s own arc of life from childhood to fatherhood, the song is a witness to an American town’s ruin caused by racial integration and loss of manufacturing jobs. There was nothing you could do. Except pack a U-Haul. Before they emigrate, he tells his son “This is your hometown.”

Mining. Manic Street Preachers “An Anthem for a Lost Cause” — The video is a personal story amidst the Welsh “Coal, Not Dole” protests. Music itself begins at 1:50.  I am giving the video’s feminist subplot a pass because it is not essential to the story. Also, the song and the video are beautifully made.

Farming. John Mellencamp “Rain on the Scarecrow” — Was there another way? The world changes, new generations want new things, but people still need to eat and there will always be folks who want to work their own land. Yet thirty years ago it was decided that small farmers are to be phased out.

Four hundred empty acres that used to be my farm
I grew up like my daddy did, my grandpa cleared this land
When I was five I walked the fence while grandpa held my hand

And son I’m just sorry there’s no legacy for you now.

Government. Ministry “N.W.O.” — The lyrics… they kick in near the end and deliver the payload. What I get from that song, other than an appreciation for its dulcimer whimsy, is a natural harmonic of its riffs with the silent pulse that’s awakening in us now in the terminal days of this neoliberal rainbow of mud.

 

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Free Speech

“You have to be very careful — SJWs can destroy you,” said a friend who learned that I write an Alt-Right blog.

I don’t take the risk, however small, lightly. I understand that if doxed, somebody who expresses the opinions we do would face what in effect would be a classic political persecution. This is why all of us who rely on a paycheck write anonymously. Here in the United States, as a remnant of our founding liberties, such a persecution would at least not entail the criminal dimension that it does in England. However, loss of one’s job is almost certain in such a case. There is also the trivial but serious possibility of physical threats.

Still, I told my friend, I refuse to be intimidated by… this:

SJW
Yeah, there are the common-sense precautions one should take, such as not providing any searchable facts about yourself. In the end though, there are two reasons for my lack of excessive concern:

1. SJWs Are Paper Tigers

They are sub-rational, damaged people who turn on one of their own before working up their mob-courage to attack somebody who doesn’t take their worldview seriously. Having read “SJWs Always Lie,” I am aware of the anatomy of their attack and the indicated countermeasures. Even if I forgot everything I had read in that book, I remember its cornerstone lesson: don’t apologize for something you wrote.

In fact, I’ve been saying “don’t apologize” way back on Chuck’s old GLP blog circa 2012 — my rationale on the practical level being that by doubling-down on their attack in response to an apology, SJWs (the so-called social justice warriors) give you no incentive to compromise. The mantra I suggested at the time was “I stand by my words.” If you refuse to back down, the enemy loses on the battlefield of his choosing and in the long run, you laugh.

2. You Can’t Be “Just A Little Politically Incorrect”…

… so you might as well say what you really think. Two major news events had a liberating effect on me: Edward Snowden’s revelations about the government spying on Americans’ phone and internet communication, and the persecution of George Zimmerman.

Snowden’s disclosures taught me that the government already knows everything about everybody in this country who has ever touched a computer or a smartphone, therefore we have, in a manner of speaking, nothing to hide.

Zimmerman’s ordeal taught me that there is no need to worry about the blow-back on our iconoclasm when there was this perfect New Diversity Man who likely never wrote a single racisss word in his life, and yet the entire U.S. establishment threw all it had at him in an effort to put him in prison for said racism.

The Pursuit Of The Truth

Blogger 28 Sherman recently tweeted:

1/2 of the @NRO vitriol at dumb Trump fans is pent up rage that they cannot express over the incredibly dumb minority vote bank on the Left.

We on the Alt-Right don’t have any suppressed rage — our rage is quite open — because we permit ourselves to think freely and seek the truth rather than fear it.

The purpose of exercising your right to free speech is, ultimately, to live in truth. The pursuit of the truth is a lifelong, subtractive process. You start with a clump of things you know and things you think you know, along with strips of your ego, little crystals of fear, chunks of ulterior motives and lies. And you cut into that lurid mass. You strip the thing down and as you get to the lean meat, the secret is — as the song goes — knowing what to throw away and knowing what to keep.

Along the lines of a similarly subtractive model, T.S. Eliot wrote the following in his 1921 essay Tradition and the Individual Talent:

Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things.

Like Eliot’s poet, the Alt-Right already has the emotion, personality, reason, and clear-eyed possession of facts to pursue the truth. We are past the point of giving a fuck about political correctness as we shrug off the lies in our desire to think and speak freely.

If doxed and attacked, Alt-Right writers in any medium should not be ashamed of what they’ve written. Any “social justice” or cuckservative accuser who reads your words ought to be driven to pangs of envy rather than to his anticipated smug contempt. He might be envious of the talent he’d see behind the writing in many cases, and in every instance simply of the fact that you are asserting your freedom of speech while he’s a freakshow sell-out.

In spite of the trivial but potentially devastating risks, all of us here persist in defying the narrative and mocking its guardians. We are like something at night that’s irresistibly drawn toward light.

Happy Easter, folks.

It’s In The Eyes

Commenter jackmcg at Chateau Heartiste put together five sets of portrait photos, each set representing one of the five remaining U.S. Presidential candidates: Clinton, Cruz, Kasich, Sanders, and Trump.

Jackmcg writes:

I looked at the hashtags for each presidential candidate, and grabbed the profile pictures of 10 supporters for each. 5 women and 5 men. I took the first ten that I saw, so its as random and unbiased as I could make it.

He challenged readers to correctly identify the candidate by the physiognomy of his supporters. Several commenters, including me, took a shot at it. I guessed correctly.

Do you want to test your character-reading skills? If so, then stop scrolling down once you get to the fifth set of photos. The answer, as well as the rationale behind my guesses, is provided at the bottom of this post.

faces

Can you match each set of faces with the candidate that they support?

The answer is below:

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Kasich, Trump, Cruz, Sanders, Clinton.

The rationale behind my correct guesses: Kasich people struck me as having a wholesome but guileless look. Trump men have strong eyes; the women look strong but feminine. Cruz supporters include a conservative-looking Black man, along with the group’s overall family-oriented quality; the women have a clean but bossy-hen look about them. Sanders males have those gay daddy-baiting eyes and the women look flakey. Clinton’s supporters are liberal-looking but in a more conventional way than the previous set; there is also the racial diversity you’d expect among Hillary’s voters.

Good Friday

What happened to Barabbas? I asked no one knows
Let off his chain he stepped on to the white street
he could turn right go forward turn left
spin in circles crow with joy like a cock
He the Emperor of own arms and head
He the Potentate of his own breath

I ask because I was somewhat involved in the matter
Lured by the crowd in front of the palace of Pilate I shouted
like the others free Barabbas Barabbas
All chanted were I alone to stay silent
all would be exactly as it was to be

Now Barabbas perhaps rejoined his gang
In the hills he kills cleanly robs quickly
Or he set up a pottery shop
and crime-stained hands
he purifies in works of clay
or he’s a water carrier mule driver loan shark
or a ship owner — on one of them sailed Paul to the Corinthians
or — this cannot be ruled out —
he became a valuable spy in the pay of the Romans

Behold and admire the capricious game of fate
of possibility potencies of fortune’s smile

And a Nazarene
was alone
with no options
up a steep
path
of blood

— Zbigniew Herbert (1990)


The above is my translation of Herbert’s “Speculation about Barabbas.” Original title: “Domysły na temat Barabasza.”

The Anti-Racist Clown Show in Warsaw

There is no point in making an appeal to yesterday’s terrorist mass-murder in Belgium. It is like all the previous acts of terror. Like so numbingly many instances of lethal or demoralizing human friction in the past several decades in White countries, it is a product of the forced mixing of people who should — by every dictate of natural and moral law — be living separately from each other. That forced mixing is the policy of Western governments and it is propagandized by their anti-racist (anti-White) activists and useful idiots.

In the recent “Poles Apart” essay, I listed the psychological root-causes of anti-racist thinking in Eastern Europe, in Poland specifically. That post was written in a reasonable, even gentle, tone in order to reach any potential or borderline Polish SJW and compel him to reflect on his unwitting role as a collaborator with the powers that mean his country ill.

However, there are occasions when anti-racists (or “social justice warriors” / SJWs as they are derisively referred to) effectively declare themselves a belligerent party and as such, they will not be reached by appeals to reason or decency. They are an invasion-abetting and White-genocide-advocating enemy who ought to be treated as such.

Here is an example of this type of SJW. Poland’s major online news portal Onet has an article and photo gallery from a small “No to Racism” march that took place in Warsaw on March 19th. (All photos are credited to Polska Agencja Prasowa/PAP):

PLaf1
The orange clowns are not trying to persuade. They are trying to mock. It’s a Level 1 protest per my original analysis of the three types of political street demonstrations. Or at least they think it is if they believe that Poland has fallen to the globalists.

PLaf6
Is that Bernie Sanders in the blue jacket? The happy merchant’s cousin next to him? The yellow sign says “Say no to Racism.” The smaller white sign says “Open the Borders!” at the bottom. The large white sign says “Allah and Jesus, brothers be,” a blasphemy and a deliberate mockery of the 400-year-old Polish-Hungarian friendship proverb that is now used in solidarity marches involving nationalists from those two countries.

PLaf7
The sign above says “Say no to Racism.” You can also see the anarchist/Antifa flags, which connect the protesters to foreign subversion. The anti-racist language in the placard slogans and in the words of some of the quoted marchers is an Alinskyite counterfeit claim to moral high ground and popular support. One anti-racist participant is quoted saying:

What happened in a country … where Solidarity was founded?

I will be patient with the feigned stupidity and answer the question. Poland’s anti-Communist movement and its post-Communist order was peaceful because it occurred in an ethnically-homogeneous nation of 38 million, where there was no build-up of scores to be settled along ethnic fault-lines. Things were different in Yugoslavia.

Then he continues:

And today there are groups that want to do referendums against those whom we should accept. The border should protect us from the enemy, but to be open to all those who need our help.

But the more that an SJW speaks, the more one wonders if his stupidity is entirely feigned. Another anti-racist activist from that march is quoted:

Poland is slowly becoming a country in which every person who has a bit of a darker skin color is afraid to walk down the street.

My blood pressure just dropped a little. But then she adds this:

People who feel frustrated because they earn very little and have a difficult housing situation, and instead of looking for the enemy where he actually is, they are looking for it in some mythical refugees. We will not find solutions if people do not start to organize around the real problems.

Don’t worry, sweetheart. When Europeans finish dealing with the street-shitting, child-raping infestation that had been invited into Europe, they will indeed look for and find their real enemy.

On another upbeat note, do readers remember the truism I repeated, that people go straight to the comments-section of corporate press articles to get truth and clarity? I am happy to say that all comments under that Onet article were anti-immigration. A typical comment by a female reader (Polish past-tense verbs are gendered so the sex of the writer is known) is along the lines of her always having been non-racist until she visited or traveled to work in England, where she witnessed vibrant diversity in practice.

***

I do not yet understand, from the perspective on an observer of history, if the globally coordinated project of ruining of White countries will ultimately have to be resisted in non-violent ways that encourage the globalist juggernaut to self-destruct if our nations are to survive, or if the enemy will at some point have to be fought directly just like the Red Army engaged Wehrmacht soldiers at Stalingrad and overcame the invasion.

On a closing note, the Onet article does not say how many people attended the rally, but it’s a common photojournalism trick to take close-ups of a smaller group of demonstrators to create an illusion of a large crowd. Yet neither in terms of numbers nor quality was that anti-racist clown show in Warsaw speaking on behalf of  Poland — rather, it was a mockery of a thousand-year-old nation.

The real Poland is in the video below, represented by the 50,000 people marching through Warsaw at the anti-immigration rally on November 12, 2015:

It Is A Very Good Year

Laguna Beach Fogey writes:

1987 was a good year (though the next year was even better!). I was still at school in England. A senior instructor introduced me to Hemingway and the ‘Beat’ writers. During the summer I flew down to join my family in the Caribbean where I spent my days swimming, sailing, checking out the topless European girls on the beach, and reading the Nick Adams stories. I decided I wanted to go into banking. Trump was rising in the media, and in that year, began his presidential campaign.

“Whites are under siege.”

“Game can’t help me.”

“Chicks are pozzed.”

Fortune favors the bold.

LBF’s comment at the top of this post is a shot of cold water to a syrup-clogged throat. The parenthetical aside about 88 being even better is what made the comment transcend its form.

Just as there is a time to ask questions and a time to be reflective or angry, there is also a time to take what you want. The better-guarded your prize, the sweeter its taste. In an earlier post, I alluded to a time when I was broke and directionless. Other readers recalled similar struggles. Today I am successful beyond my youthful expectations on every measure but many of the things I have I had to tear away from a wolf’s jaw.

Talent was rarely my limiting factor. My challenge was the funhouse mirror-maze of lies that had to be penetrated, the miles I had to travel on empty, and my ego sometimes being more of a foe than a friend. I took what I wanted in spite of the odds, in spite of discouragement. My lesson was that when you assume a clear-minded resolve to getting something you want, it comes easier than expected.

We’re making 2016 a very good year. Up here in the northern half of our blue and white planet, spring invites you to purge the heavy winter humors. Down under, the laze-making heat is giving way to cool evenings.

Have you ever fucked a girl who squirmed “maybe we shouldn’t…” but her eyes burned? Have you cold-cocked an Antifa? Are you making money? When was the last time your arms gave out on that last bench rep as a stranger spotted you?

What do you want?

Are you taking it?

The Future’s So Bright, I Gotta Wear Shades

mirr4I drew that in high school art class in 1987. In that same class, a kid at my table was talking about how he will drive a Lamborghini when he grows up because he is going to be rich like Donald Trump. “Who’s that?” we asked. The Vice President’s son was on a coke bender and a weird black guy was giggling in a Chicago bathhouse. Sammy Weaver was a nine-year-old boy. We had no idea of the coming nightfall or about any light at the end of it.