Let’s sort out this crazy little thing called hate, and be clear on what it is and isn’t. Hate is not evil or dark. Hate is an integral part of a healthy human soul. It is best understood as an impulse to protect the things you value. For example, you love your grandmother, therefore you hate anyone who’d knock her down and kick her in the face. Hate motivates you to be proactive about securing an environment in which nobody batters your grandma. There are two kinds of out-group hate, and I dub them Existential and Sensory.
First, just a few words on Existential Hate. It comes from the fear of annihilation at the hands of one’s equals or superiors in intelligence, organizational skill, or cunning. The impulse can also be expressed as hostility toward anyone more successful or beautiful. Existential Hate functions as prudent vigilance against predators and high-functioning parasites but unchecked, it becomes paranoia.
The other kind is Sensory Hate. It comes from the fear of contamination rather than subversion or organized violence. One feels it for his perceived inferiors whom he sees in some way — aesthetic, moral — as repellent, but doesn’t take them seriously as rivals. In today’s forcibly desegregated West, this is how Whites feel about liberated Blacks when we get close enough to get on each others’ nerves.
Whereas Existential Hate can keep one up at night, with Sensory Hate it’s “out of sight, out of mind.” If you’ve gone for a stretch of days without seeing a mudshark couple or hearing a ghetto female shrieking into her cell phone, your feelings toward Blacks revert to benevolence.
But when you find yourself captive audience to the object of your odium, your hate will spike. For a hypothetical example, imagine a scenario that will no doubt ring secretly familiar even to liberal Whites: elementary school-aged Black kids from the nearby apartments are hanging out on your street, making noise with their electronics and skateboards. You wait until they leave on their own, visions of Raid cans in your head.
A neighbor slowly drives around them as they are certainly not stepping out of her car’s way, and averts her eyes as they glare at her. And then you see that there is a little White girl with them, and you wonder about her parents, possibly a divorced mother. Your hate is dialed up another notch, firing right over their heads and straight for the heart of the organizing principles of the liberal order.
You ask yourself — how are we going to build communities when they get to run free right here while we do play-dates? It’s a thing to snark about, but… I ran free and rode buses alone or with friends as a child in 1970s Warsaw and would now consider it insanity to let a seven-year-old White kid leave a parent’s sight in the borderless land of strangers… like that girl hanging out with the black kids. And this train of thoughts leads toward a suspicion that we live in an open-air extermination camp.
Under full rights of association along with local vigilance, everyone’s freedom was maximized because everyone knew where he belonged and had full sovereignty there. And now with the boot of the state entirely on Whites’ necks, freedom has become a zero-sum game, with us holding the goose egg. Hate just got hotter.
Don’t run from your hate. It’s a sign of life. But you have to control it — hate is napalm against those who’d harm that which you love, and such a potent fluid mustn’t overflow its holding tank and burn your soft tissue.
And if you feel like hate is making you go crazy, it is. Do something about it. Keep in mind that life in captivity doles out feelings of helplessness, so any hate that is not steadied by a substrate of testosterone and riding on a sense of direction and purpose, will turn inward and degrade to despair. The fast remedy against despair: go to the gym and max it out. If going to a gym is not possible, do fifty slow perfect form push-ups. It will transform rage into a sense of perspective, along with a look of I got your number, boy.
Will the European race survive the 21st century? If that boot stays on our necks, then barring unknown developments, it doesn’t look good. But even the lowest bug fights against its annihilation once survival protocols kick in. In fat times, old folks waste their grandkids’ inheritance on travel. But during famine, these same grandparents would pass on the food and die so that the toddlers can eat.
Things may not need to come to a ruthless final solution (an Ace card that we hold). The ascension of Donald Trump to U.S. Presidency has been championed by freedom-hungry men of every Western nation and beyond, riding on our aspirations that in our lifetimes, we will extricate ourselves from the corrupt twin visions of globalism and amalgamation.