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.