Set in medieval France, the historical drama La passion Béatrice opens with the lord of a manor and his teenage son returning from English captivity after a failed military campaign. But the lord’s homecoming is not what everyone had expected. He directs his first of many acts of wrath at his son, whom he torments for having frozen up in battle as the opposing armies charged toward each other. The boy’s older sister comforts him later, cooing “you were too young, not ready for war.”
Fast-forwarding to another war, two weeks ago in Germany a 26-year-old man was forced to watch a stranger rape his girlfriend at knifepoint, as reported:
A refugee from Ghana has been arrested for dragging a young woman from her tent and raping her while she was on a camping holiday with her boyfriend. The young couple […] were approached by a machete-wielding man at about 12.30 am on Sunday last week. The boyfriend was forced to watch as the attacker violated his 23-year-old lover.
It’s not clear what sidelined the boyfriend while his adversary went to the ground with the girl, what impromptu weapons were available to him, and what opportunity he had to attack the rapist. He could have grabbed a rock or a branch. Toss a handful of dirt into the African’s eyes while rushing him. Yell for help from other campers. It’s easy, from the position of a spectator, to construct a different ending to the story and I indulged in imagining the following alternate scenario, which begins with the Ghanian holding a knife to the girl’s throat:
GHANIAN: “Yoo watch fiki-fiki. Yoo moof, I cut your bitch”
GERMAN: “Stab away. She’ll be dead to me with nigger stink on her anyway.”
The German picks up a camping axe and approaches the interloper. The Ghanaian runs. An hour later in the couple’s tent, baby Hans is conceived.
By the way, as cold as it sounds, that fictitious “stab away” reply would not have been out of line even if the hostage were his daughter rather than mere girlfriend. But the young man didn’t follow my ex post facto armchair-quarterback script. Instead, maybe his brain short-circuited at the sight of sharp steel and he watched the action as though from behind a screen. Someone who grew up sheltered from any and all violence will freeze up when faced with an imminent prospect of physical pain. And that incident shows why shielding boys from common schoolyard rough-and-tumble is wrongheaded. I recently shared related thoughts on bullying.
A reader at Vox Popoli who is a retired military officer noted: “German boys always struck me as wimpish until the military got hold of them.” I don’t think his categorization of them as wimpish was intended as a slight. There is in fact something “not ready for war” about well-bred K-selected boys until they are mentored. They require time and guidance to mature. They don’t have that opportunistic aggression-for-aggression’s sake you see in r-selected types.
But at 26, the camper is not young. Certainly not by the traditional standards of infantrymen, with 22 being the average age of the U.S. combat soldier in Vietnam. Youth alone does not explain that instance of cowardice, as history is full of children who performed superhuman acts of heroism. Just three generations ago, boys as young as eleven fought as riflemen against professional and mercenary SS units in the 1944 Warsaw Uprising. Boys and girls even younger than that served as couriers and nurses’ aides under fire.
In fact, youth is typically associated with recklessness, bravery’s wild cousin. In Umberto Eco’s Foucault’s Pendulum, a middle-aged character has a rueful interior monologue (to my recollection twenty years after reading that book) in which he rationalizes his own reluctance to join the ongoing political riots as being a function of his mature perspective. So has a 26-year-old German today “aged out” of bravery, relative to boys a decade younger than him who comprised Wehrmacht units at the Battle of the Bulge? No; mid-twenties isn’t “mature,” and the VP commenter already answered that question — the military never got a hold of him.
“The military” can be read literally, as well as metaphorically to refer to any communal structure that provides male mentorship to boys. Without that mentoring, they risk ending up as cake batter that failed to rise. An illustration: the mild-mannered young man in Scent of a Woman, who required Al Pacino’s guidance to bring out his innate integrity. The camper’s situation was compounded by the fact that he was not merely abandoned by his fathers, in which case he’d at least been free to figure certain things out by himself. Rather, his environment in a conquered and Allied-occupied Germany was by design hostile to the germ of masculinity within any native boy there. From his first day in Kindergarten, he learned shame and grew up to despise his original sin of existing.
“In a sort of ghastly simplicity we remove the organ and demand the function. We make men without chests and expect of them virtue and enterprise. We laugh at honour and are shocked to find traitors in our midst. We castrate and bid the geldings be fruitful.” ― C.S. Lewis
A necessary aside: not everyone there is a coward. This is a proper moment to break away from the all-too-familiar accounts of submission because the preponderance of such stories creates a false sense of determinism. We are at war and with each new set of open eyes, the war is becoming less and less one-sided.
Not all is passivity among Europeans. In another incident, also in Germany, a group of Pakistanis sidled up to a family of five on a train and asked the man’s two little girls to sit on their laps. The child-molesting human garbage attacked the father when he told them to leave. They also beat his wife and their thirteen-year-old son, both of whom tried to shield his body. Brave men are out there, in Germany and everywhere else. The father stepped up to do his job and the teenage boy showed more mettle than the camper who is twice his age.
Even the most red-pilled of us is capable of getting angry, and the above news item made me livid. Anger is a sign of life.
Every human group upholds the three ideals listed below for the purpose of turning the wimpish boy into into a man. Those ideals are realized through social institutions, which in the West are being intentionally corrupted by liberalism:
Mentorship — When you visit a martial arts school or a little league baseball practice and you see non-Whites under instruction of White coaches there, you are witnessing a fatal compromise on a Männerbund structure for mentoring boys in the image of their elders. Diversity disrupts harmony. Blacks have their all-back inner-city boxing gyms. Whites have to price-out the diversity with sports like lacrosse and hockey.
Culture — As T.S. Eliot put it, “Culture may even be described simply as that which makes life worth living.” A living spirit whose great books for boys transmit masculine role models and foster a purposeful sense of identity. Culture is home. That’s why they wreck Boy Scouts and blue collar fraternities such as firefighting and construction work by pushing women and diversity on them.
Destiny — A sense of having a past and a future. The kids who fought in the Warsaw Uprising knew that they had a home and a destiny of their own, which they fought to secure for themselves and for me with their young lives. Sure of their righteousness in the inferno of urban warfare, they sang:
We’re the children of Warsaw going into battle
For your every cobblestone, we’ll give our blood
We’re the children of Warsaw going into battle
On your command, we’ll bring wrath to the enemy
Freezing up when an armed rapist grabs your girl is the fruit of political systems whose aim is to destroy White nations and with them, everything that the millennia of Western history have irrepressibly created even through the worst times along the course of our highs and lows. Our key objective in this war, in Germany and everywhere else in the West, is to secure our freedoms of association. You give a damn for, you fight and kill for, you give what you have and you do your best for, and you willingly die no matter your age, for what is yours.