White Liberal, Who Are You?

Thordaddy asks a liberal:

Could anyone here articulate your first principle? State your metaphysical truth? Define your core religious belief? Identify your race with certainty?

No, no, no and no are my answers.

Those questions strip the contemporary White liberal to his core. Is it solid or hollow? To begin answering that question, it’s instructive to follow the progress of his speech over the recent decades:

1980s: [cue Mr. Van Driessen’s voice] “Reagan is a dangerous warmonger. It’s cruel to deport California’s illegal immigrants. The environment should be protected from greedy developers. Homeless people need shelters. Be more open to life’s experiences.”

1990s: “Gay people have the right to serve in the military. Her body, her choice. I never signed your mean-spirited Contract with America. Immigrants enrich us with wonderful restaurants, you ignorant loser. We’d make progress on racism if not for Jesse fucking Helms!”

2000s: “Fuck Bush Fuck Bush Fuck Bush no war no profiling Fuck Bush Fuck Bush Fuck Bush Fuck Bush Fuck Bush open borders you bigot Fuck Bush Fuck Bush Fuck Bush islamophobe Fuck Bush Fuck Bush 911 was an inside job Fuck Bush Fuck Bush Fuck Bush!”

Today: “I’m gonna get your ass fired, you fucking transphobic asshole. Drone the Bundys. Trump hates women. Racist bitches oughtta be raped. Go back to whatever rock Mike Pence crawled out from under.”

In my adult lifetime the White liberal has devolved from someone who is following a more or less coherent set of conservationist, compassionate, and risk-averse beliefs into somebody consumed with a hate that strikes whatever lightning rod draws its attention.

For his sake I hope that the liberal does have a positive identity and a coherent vision because otherwise, the amplitude of his emotion (and the fury with which he is hurling himself toward a very lonely place) is best explained by the fact that he’s become nothing more than a thrashing, wounded animal. Such a creature longs for death to bring relief from a pain whose source is beyond his ken. John Keats expressed that feeling two centuries ago:

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known,
The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;
Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,
Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
And leaden-eyed despairs,
Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.


Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call’d him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath

As someone on Twitter put it — and which in my opinion is a brutal but accurate interpretation of the speaker’s angst in “An Ode To A Nightingale” — maybe what White liberals pine for is to be shot, just like their hero Fidel Castro used to execute them:


How America Can Be Made Great Again

By restoring the country’s ethnic balance to what it was before 1965. Those who came here since the signing of the Hart-Celler Act would have to go home, details to be hammered out. Yes, this could include me. Wait — someone’s calling. It’s the Momentum of History. She’s asking if my feelings would be hurt. I tell her “No.” “Terrific!” she says, “then I’ll just plow ahead.”

That superficially assimilated Somalian girl with the Valley Girl accent and a White boyfriend — yeah, she’d be going home. Don’t feel bad for her though. She does not vote in line with your interests and once awake to the deportations, she’d show her true allegiance. Every alien is capable of acting friendly so long as you don’t scratch his ethnic pride, and as long as you keep on with the “give” end of your give-and-take agreement and never the “take.”

For historical perspective, there were many fine Germans who nevertheless had to leave in 1945. Some were put into westbound freight cars after being stripped of every material possession, even their photo albums.

Legacy Blacks of course would be grandfathered in, but only under either full subordination to White norms within integrated spheres or autonomous under segregation. In the Eisenhower era, America’s racial protocols were framed as an international embarrassment. But in the age of Twitter and global muh dik, it is the Westerners’ filicidal tolerance that makes the world laugh at us.

America is in a transitional period. What’s going on is neither stable nor permanent. If you’re not White, then you have no idea how much we hate this multikult dictatorship. How it feminizes our character, stunts our freedom-loving spirit, and how sour it feels, under current political dictates, to see one of you walking freely within two hundred yards of our home. How the sun shines brighter and the sky is more blue when every face we see is like ours.

In short:

Blacks would stay, but they had their shot at equality and they can’t handle it. They are what they are, no less the crooked timber of humanity than anyone else. Whites don’t have to live like this, is what it would come down to.

And those who came here after Hart-Celler and their descendants would go home. Given that the Constitution of the United States was written for the posterity of those who were here before 1787, consider the 1965 cutoff date a bicentennial amnesty.

And then it’s on to greatness: walk on Mars, cure paralysis, extend a hand of friendship to the Afrikaners, and once again become who we are.


God helps those who help themselves, as goes the saying. But sometimes things happen, for good or for ill, that defy our understanding of cause and effect. They remind us that the best perspective on life is one of gratitude.

The stories below happened as described, I just changed people’s names.

The Hydroplane

We were going too fast. Jake drove, I rode shotgun, Jake’s brother Randy and his girlfriend were asleep in the back seat. We were heading up to Boston, Rt. 24 northbound. It was late evening, torrential rain, and all you could see was the red smear of the taillights ahead.

There was no prelude, the spin-out was instantaneous. As the car spun with zero apparent resistance over the layer of water I saw the headlights of oncoming cars, then nothing as the we spun away, then headlights again but much closer. I braced for my rib cage popping on impact (that’s what flashed through my head) and hoped that it doesn’t hurt too badly. Then white light flooded everything.

We are in the left lane, facing the wrong way, the engine stalled. No other cars around. Sheets of rainwater cascade down the windshield. Jake starts the engine, turns the car back north and chastened, we continue at a cautious speed with blinkers on. Randy and his girl are now awake and are asking what happened. Jake and I are in a state in which it is difficult to speak. He said: “I don’t know. The car hydroplaned and I was tapping the brake to get control of it.” “What about the other cars?” I asked, “they were right on us.” Jake says “I don’t know.”

The Trampoline

My droogs and I storm a backyard trampoline. Randy (same one) jumps around erratically and lands next to me just as I was launching myself into a flip, causing me to lose control of my jump. Mid-air I twisted my torso and landed on my shoulders. Legs swung hard in a wrong direction and a lightning bolt shot down the backs of my legs. I crawled off the trampoline and stooped over, shuffled toward my car and sat there for about an hour, smoking one cigarette after another until the rhythmic pulses firing down from my lumbar vertebrae quieted down.

During that same time, my sister was spending a week at the beach with her boyfriend. When she came back, I asked her how it was. “Awful!” she said, “on the first day I was picking up a seashell and this pain just shot down my lower back. Keith had to carry me home and I was on the couch for the next bunch of days because I couldn’t walk!” Then I remembered my trampoline mishap and told her about it. When comparing notes, we were startled to discover that my incident and hers happened on the same day, and quite likely at the very same time. I believe that through some mechanism or agency she absorbed just enough of my trauma to keep me from injuring my spinal chord.


What a year. We’re either the world’s luckiest bastards, or God is with us.

Bill White’s Comment On The New Role Of WN

Bill White is an inmate at U.S. Penitentiary Marion, Illinois, serving a 25-year sentence for a number of convictions associated with his White Nationalist activism. His Wikipedia and Infogalactic pages provide some background information.

I remember Bill from college in the 1990s. We didn’t know each other personally but on two occasions when hanging out in front of the student union I’d catch him in an open-air debate with an evangelical Christian preacher. He was militantly atheistic and anti-police at the time, not yet a WN. He called himself “utopian-radical” and led an organization called the Bill White Student Group.

Flanked by his supporters, in baggy jeans and a sweatshirt and a grin from ear to ear he made his entrance, dropped his book bag with a flourish, and squared off with his unsuspecting debate partner. The preachers (there were two such occasions I witnessed, a different preacher each time) were no easy marks. Each held his own, and a mutual respect developed between each of them and Bill over the course of their separate dialectical clashes. There is a breed of man that thrives on showmanship, at his best when under the eye of a throng of spectators, and both Bill and his adversaries were cut from that cloth.

Around 2003, I came across his Overthrow blog and at one point mentioned something to him about his debates with the preachers back at the university. He LOL’ed about that, saying “good times” and laughed it off as youthful silliness. His writing was excellent. Much of it was philosophical but he also posted hilarious personal accounts, such as of his interactions with the colorful characters in the low-income rental properties he owned in Roanoke, Virginia.


Harold Covington posts Bill’s letters from prison on his Thoughtcrime (downwithjugears) blog. Below is an excerpt from Bill White’s much-longer commentary on the role of White Nationalism under Donald Trump’s administration, posted on November 16, 2016:

Regardless, what Trump may give White Nationalism is something that we desperately need, if we can be sensible enough to use it: peace. In return, White Nationalism should give Trump the same thing. This would not be the time for White Nationalists to continue to attack the policies of the federal government, even though Trump will almost certainly not be radical enough and confrontational enough — no matter how radical and confrontational he is — for our tastes.

The role of white nationalism under a Trump administration, if Trump keeps to his promises and attempts to pursue a White, working-class agenda and Trump also does not continue to misuse the internal security agencies to attack us, should be to act as a language for Trump’s policies.  Our position should be to support and demand further extension of these policies, to educate the people, and to give the people an ideological basis to support further extension of what the government (we hope) is going to do.

When facing his latest round of legal troubles, Bill conceded on his blog that he gives the law plenty of rope to hang him with. He is convicted on a number of charges, the gravest of which involve the posting of threats to public officials. But from what I’ve read about him, Bill never actually hurt anyone. In an interview with Roanoke Times, he said:

I wouldn’t be out here buying and fixing up houses if I had some agenda against the black community…The Jews, I despise. They hate me. I hate them.

When President Trump looks at a list of people to pardon, William Alexander “Bill” White, a talented man doing 25 years in prison over words, is a case well worth a review and a consideration of clemency.


Bill White. Source: Thoughtcrime blog

Their Phony Newfound Love for the White Working Class

We just covered one ruse that the defeated Democratic party is trying to pull on us, the call to come together as a nation. Here is their second move — Bernie Sanders is “deeply humiliated” by the Democrats’ loss of White working-class voters.


Politicians whose name is not Donald Trump sound as natural talking about the White working class as Bob Dole did when stammering “er, I am for Soccer Moms.” Because a person identifies with focus-group shorthand.

And what makes someone “White working class” anyway? Is it a regional accent, a suite of mannerisms? The non-possession of a bachelor degree, the ability to change engine oil, the ownership of a gun and a Bible? Maybe. Income bracket? I dunno; some have given up on finding a job, others make excellent living. Around here they have those hawkish faces like they’re making up their minds on whose ass to kick. When America was great, a doctor and a carpenter could be neighbors. But whatever, Bernie — they’re White, they work like none other, and unlike some politicians who cash in on their principles, they have class.

In a multicultural democracy, politics become mercenary and the job of political parties is to expand their market share of constituencies by dispensing gibsmedats and flattery. So when Trump champions an under-served demographic, the more enterprising Democrats position themselves to capture their share.

Why am I telling to you to rebuff the Democrats’ apparent overture to you and yours? Because they are like the insurance company that wants to send you off with a near-worthless check as compensation for your stratospheric medial bills and a totaled car.

But you remember who you are. You have Thomas Jefferson’s sovereign yeoman in your blood, therefore by birthright you find the rhetoric of pity demeaning and the expectation that you take your place as just another interest group in a hodgepodge of folks unacceptable. So you refuse the $600 Blue Book value for your damages — you go for the big enchilada of settlements.

You want your country back, all of it. They all have to go back. “Make America Great Again” is not just an election slogan.

The rushing river splits into a fork and you will have to choose your course. The first way leads to an eternal submersion. The second way gives you a chance to stand upright in a country of your own. You’ve already cleared the continent once.

Hollywood, Pedowood: Taking Down The Coalition Of Creeps


Trump’s election victory has secured a beachhead in our campaign to break the Left’s stranglehold on the platforms of cultural power: entertainment, education, banking, organized religion. In their present form — as parasites on our civilization’s capital and given the long-standing allegations of pedophilia — those institutions are home to a coalition of creeps who are ripe for taking down.

Agnostic has a good suggestion on how to leverage our new, hard-won political power to deal one of the globalists’ loci of power a mortal blow:

A far more efficient use of time, money, and energy is not to attack all the myriad weirdnesses that Hollywood produces, but to attack the source from which they spring. If what produced them is rotten, polluted, and corrupted, the average person is willing to believe that the fruits themselves are rotten, polluted, and corrupted.

It doesn’t have to be anything in particular, but as it happens, pedophilia is widespread throughout Hollywood. It’s an open secret, and former victims who became stars (like Corey Feldman) keep threatening to name names, but they’re afraid of the power that the perpetrators wield in their industry, social circle, and local government.

It’s also an open secret that director Bryan Singer (X-Men) hosts parties where gays have sex with underage boys. Again, nobody wants to expose let alone prosecute such an influential player in the industry.

That’s where the DoJ under President Trump ought to intervene. It is already likely to blow the lid off of a similar culture of pedophilia among the DC Establishment insiders. Why not make it a mission to expose and prosecute these forms of elite deviance and exploitation no matter what subset of the elite it is? — political, financial, cultural.

It’s reasonable to wonder if the past decades’ malicious turn of politics wasn’t in large part the work of criminal perverts’ grooming and blackmailing of key officials.

I created the graphic at the top of the page. As with the cartoon in the previous post, I’ll make memes when an idea hits or when someone offers a good suggestion. Disseminating these images via facebook, text message, etc. is how we draw the attention of normies to the sordidness behind the institutions that they complacently support.

This Is Not “A Time To Come Together”

Good mornin’ America, how are ya?
Say, don’t you know me? I’m your native son

Donald Trump’s victory is daybreak for all of the forgotten core Americans — and mourning for the cracked Obama coalition. And no sooner did the election losers’ histrionics die down than they began their disingenuous calls for us to “come together as a nation.”

Even in defeat, they can’t stop lecturing us. It’s the Alinskyite game of holding us up to gentlemen’s rules while they plot to undermine Trump’s presidency and get back into power. Don’t fall for the scorpion’s plea to take him across the river. We are plenty united — among ourselves. As for the others, it’s time for a housecleaning with a flamethrower.

If you’re tempted to be magnanimous with them, stop. First, they are still dangerous. Secondly, think two weeks ahead to all the empty place settings at Thanksgiving tables for the people taken from us by Social Justice scum. Let the libs twist in the wilderness. Reflection will do the misguided liberals good and the SJWs are dead to us anyway.

This is not a time to come together. This is a time to break the anti-Whites into submission and uncuck the culture. A president can do a lot — defund programs and smash the student loan racket, trust-bust the media monopolies, and above all, build the wall — but he needs creative volunteers who aren’t afraid of getting dirty. The Alt-Right has a talent for mass-persuasion and the game just got bigger. It’s not low-energy Jeb or crooked Hillary we’re up against this time, but the entire cultural agenda that had been set in motion decades ago.

There are everyday ways for a veteran Shitlord to lead the way. As Suburban_elk writes:

The entire Leftst position is based on there being a substrate of competent White men (and women) who keep on lights and pay their taxes, and all the while don’t complain. And when they do complain, it’s whining.

That Frame has to be smashed and disregarded. And that requires explicit White Pride. There is not way around that. White Pride can be humble and quiet and modest, but it has to be what it is, it cannot be covered in gay principles of Republicanism and Inclusion.

Commenters over at Château Heartiste chime in as well. Ryan Whitecock (heh) stays with the big picture:

Today is indeed a great day; a battle won against the cuckening, the shitlibs, the diversity globohomo order.

But the war is not won…

Fellow alphas, we must go into the world and make America great again. Find a poor, downtrodden, meek man with a low spirit, and show him the way to alphadom. Teach him as a master teaches a student, so that he will pass that knowledge on as well, to his friends, to make his sons strong young men, to teach his daughters to be worthy and loving women, and to reign in the women of his life from their angry, feminist ways.

Trump has turned the tide. Now the responsibility is on us to follow headlong into battle and win the war.

“Dude” takes it to the ground level:

Buns in ovens bros. Educate friends/ family on media. I got my whole family to cut the cable cord. They used to call me crazy/ nazi, all that shit. They choked/ coughed/ laughed when I spoke up for Trump in the very beginning. Now, my mom was in tears of joy last night when I called her after the big win. My nephews are little shitlords in training because of me. They in turn will spread it to others. I lead by example, stay lean, stay clean, work my ass off and don’t pedestalize. I promote White pride at all times. It can be done.

And a few words from Plumpjack:

help your brothers find the light. we need every one of them. the great uncuckening begins today.

Meanwhile, President Trump just checked another item off his list:



One of the striking things for an American visitor to a former Soviet Bloc country, such as Hungary, is how attractive that country’s public space is. It appeals to us because it is culturally, ethnically, and racially coherent. It’s theirs, and there is no place like it because there is no other Hungary. In Budapest, carefree crowds of young Magyars enjoy each others’ company on a Saturday night. Their peace has been secured with the blood of patriots who stood up to Soviet tanks in 1956, and now with Viktor Orbán’s defiance of another enterprise that imagines all of mankind leveled into one bestial mass.

Americans today are at the epicenter of Christendom’s showdown with that same evil. The allegations of occultist pedo trafficking are a tip of the iceberg concerning the behavior of the transnational elite that seeks to install Hillary Clinton as President. More so, I will say this — I believe that the members of this ruling class have been getting away with crimes so horrifyingly depraved that when exposed, these revelations will shock the civilized world into closing the door on the Age of Enlightenment as a spent creed whose universalist mutation had pushed us to the edge of the abyss. Faith and reason will once again be reconciled; for the best, as leaning on one without the other is hubris.

The war for the sovereignty of Western nations is on. Hungarians are guarding their home and we are taking ours back. Win or lose today, the work before us is monumental. It is also joyful; we’ve been at it for years as partisans of the Alt-Right, unpaid and at risk to our livelihoods, and I defy any of you to say that you haven’t loved every minute of it.

We are the positive force against our enemy’s nihilism. Their abnegation of humanity itself, like every manifestation of demonic darkness, always looks boundless until pierced with the first ray of sunlight.

I’m on my way to the polling place to vote for Trump.

Shots of Wisdom, Part 5

A cry in the wilderness. The era of degeneracy is over — Trump showed us that we don’t have to live like this. I took this photo at a New York City hipster bar late last summer. And the words of the prophets are written on bathroom walls:


“Être.” Whites are the Apollonian race that launches rockets into space, explores the depths of the oceans, creates the most magnificent art, and in general, consistently advances humanity out of its chthonic origins, as a reader once put it. Yes, we are a race of dreamers who work to realize our loftiest visions. I wonder, though, if in valorizing progress we blunder into the place that Suburban_elk warns us about: are we defined by our suburbs, malls, by our traffic fumes? Are space travel and engineering triumphs as such only different in degree from securing comfortable shopping for princess? The answer to who are we — and why we must continue to be — is elusive beyond the tautological 14 Words. Do we exist to create and produce things and is defiance of nature the meaning of life? Not if you put it that way, is the smart answer.

There is a scene in Kieślowski’s “Red,” in which Irene Jacob’s character tells her confidante, a cynical retired judge, that her younger brother is a heroin addict and she wants to help. His advice to her: Être. Just be. She’s confused by his answer, so he repeats: être.

This conversation is not over.

Glut. Let’s mow our own fucking lawns. I didn’t see any Salvadoran landscapers in 1983. A friend’s dad talked to the homeowners’ association and signed a contract to mow the community property on his riding mower for a nice wads of cash, of which my friend got a cut for helping. The lie that we don’t have enough low skill laborers… we have plenty. If there aren’t enough restaurant workers, then we need fewer but better restaurants. What we do have is a pumping-in of glut workers to sustain a glut of shit-factories, all in neoliberalism’s race to the ugly bottom.

Police. They make anarcho-tyranny work. Remember those riots in which Swedish police cracked down on native neighborhood watch patrols. The effective purpose of police is to protect them from us. And the globalists keep turning up the heat and pressing down on the lid.

Rebirth. Or, nationalism’s renaissance men. Be your best self. The Red Pill blogs — manosphere, pick-up, White nationalism, neoreaction — converged on a wholesale rejection of neoliberal virtues: tolerance, supplication, political correctness (lies), nihilism, ignorance. Do you even lift? The Alt-Right’s discussions had set us on our quests for individual masculine excellence, on up to making America great again.

Who are you? This commercial for New Zealand’s Steinlager beer is at least a decade old but it dramatizes the culminating events. Make sure you view it to its very last frame. This video shows… a lot of the thing that we believe in.

Part 4 of this series mused on the relations between men and women.
Shots of Wisdom, Part 6 is about globalism.