A young brunette and a dark-skinned man are strolling about downtown on a nice evening, looking idly into the storefront windows they walk past. It’s not what you think. I was meeting up for drinks with a group of coworkers and as it happened, most of us were running late except the above-mentioned brunette and the Black coworker of mine, who were not a couple. To kill time while waiting for the rest of the group, they walked around for a bit. Later, she described to me the shock of noticing people’s reactions to the sight of them as a presumed couple. She said that she’s never experienced that before: every person she passed either gave her dagger-looks or froze her out. “How can somebody choose to live that way?” she asked.
On a crowded subway train, a petite White woman stood with her stroller turned away from me. I gave her a sympathetic smile as she jostled her way through the crowd to get off the train at her station. She caught that and responded glowingly. Then she turned the stroller, revealing a biracial child that obviously had a Black father, and — this was purely a reflex on my part — my friendly expression changed to a cold mask. She caught that too, and it showed in her eyes.
How about an East Asian perspective on mixing? Stationed as a U.S. soldier in Korea, I was out with a local girl one afternoon. We were cutting through apartment blocks and came upon a group of young boys who shouted something at us in Hangul. Her face turned deep red, she squeezed my hand and prompted me to walk quickly. Once clear, I asked her what they said. She replied “they called me a terrible name, I don’t want to tell you.” Two years later, now out of the Army and back in the United States, I was having lunch with another Korean girl. She mentioned that she had two Amerasian classmates in Seoul and told me that the half-White girl was very nice. She then scrunched her face into a portrait of disgust and added “the Black one was so ugly. Everybody hated her.”
Folks, I didn’t create the world, I just describe it. For pretty lies, you’re free to look at Old Navy ads. For ugly lies, turn on your television. And as for comedy, there is this story in the Observer, titled “The Tiresome Question I’m Often Asked About My Brown Kids: Where Are They From?” that transcends the sordid to reach for high farce:
I’m a white mother of six children, five of whom are children of color, and four of whom came home to our family through foster-adoption.
So… one out of six ain’t bad? Not exactly:
[M]y first child, Rory, who is my biological son. His father is Jamaican, and Rory, now 18, alternates between referring to himself as biracial or Black.
Sometimes you just have to laugh. The linked article is unadulterated comedy pinned on hackneyed bitching about normal questions that normal people ask her about her abnormal household.
But that spectacular story aside, what about the common and depressingly banal instances of mudsharking — does one laugh or weep at one woman’s self-removal from the common gene-pool? I guess it depends on whether you think that her straying was predisposed or an accident. Or to expand on that question, is exogamy effectively nature culling a defective female in a mocking form of subtractive eugenics? That is the case if you accept a deterministic explanation that ‘sharks are genetically predisposed to becoming morbidly generous and disloyal. In that scenario, female exogamy is a boiling-off dynamic similar to Amish youths who leave their communities for modern life.
Or is the eugenic explanation false because women are malleable, or like leaves in the wind that follow the strongest current? That would make miscegenation a tragic loss to all of us, no different, from the Darwinian perspective, than an ordinary teenage girl’s death in a traffic accident.
More succinctly then, is it fate or chance? I will leave that question to the reader, but first ask him to acknowledge a common overcorrection of sex-realism, the tendency to discharge women of their agency. When it comes to sex, from selecting the shade of lipstick to making herself vulnerable to rape, nothing a woman does is “by accident.” Rather, her choices, big and small, follow a ruthlessly Machiavellian, internally consistent logic that guides her toward the optimization of her reproductive outcomes. In a healthy girl living in a healthy society, that internal guide can lead her toward life’s end-game of triumphant grandmotherhood. In other cases, her inner guide will be a false song, as with women who delay pair-bonding and motherhood. Or its program will be hijacked, as with girls who deform themselves in body and soul.
Mudsharks follow that hijacked behavioral template. Some are extreme submissives thrilled by being degraded. And what’s more degrading that the steps that lead her toward lumbering through Walmart with fatherless, identityless children? Others are acting out the female equivalent of omega-rage, lashing out at their world in the most devastating way they can, exacting revenge on their fathers or former White boyfriends by staining their own branch to spite the tree. And yet others merely have exotic tastes and as with the author in that Observer article, they want the world to know it.
So is the crossing of racial lines always pathological? My answer would be that miscegenation is a breaking of a taboo. Sometimes nothing bad happens. Sometimes love has strange whims and two good people find each other across cultures. In fair-weather times, a touch of spirit for vive la difference can even turn up a genial “superman.”
But these are not fair times and fortunes are no longer in a forgiving mood. A big part of our former dispensation was society’s acceptance of the collective costs of individual discretion and indiscretion. Yet tolerance has its limits and human nature, with its aversion to cuckoldry and habitat corruption, asserts itself when pushed by circumstances such as the current demographic climate Whites are finding themselves in, facing an engineered future of being minorities in our own countries. Such a worst-case-scenario is frightening to a sane person. And that is why the future is identitarian, which means that you have to know who you are.
Wisdom is a product of patriarchy. Old women transmit their fathers‘ lessons to their granddaughters. The man is a tree, with women as vines wrapped around him, assuming his shape. Where there is nothing upright, the vine creeps along the ground. Woman — like any human being — has agency but she needs a man’s guidance to balance her sometimes conflicting instincts, and without that guidance she flails. This is why as men, we are responsible for directing women toward decisions that do not destroy their lives and snuff out our common future in the literal crib.
Because if we don’t, we are enabling their behavior, letting them forget that a woman’s burden — normally a happy one — is to draw support from the same men whose child she bears. Fucks and bucks from the same men, which is why when they go Black, a natural process kicks in wherein men drive their unfaithful women to exile — literally or into internal exile, starting with hardened eyes on a crowded train.
It can be difficult, such as when you are a father faced with the choice of either the humiliation of being a race-cuckold or the pain of disowning your daughter. Gentlemen, don’t fool yourselves — there is no third way. That’s why to avoid the dilemma, if you have a daughter, raise her right and give her all your love and protection as she’s growing up. And at the right age, let her know that there are things you will not accept. Then if she turns her back on you, you are free to cut her off with a clean conscience. A commenter at Chateau Heartiste offered the words for a hypothetical conversation with one’s mature daughter before it’s too late:
if you betray your people by sharing your love with outsiders, they will reject you. the outsiders will also reject you, because you’re not one of them. you will be totally alone. nobody will want you. ever.
you will have no safety. no protection. no friends. no love.
And maybe tell her that yes, you get it, Black people have become America’s national mascot and you concede that it’s now bad form to criticize them. But then add: “silly girl, it’s Black women who are supposed to have babies with them.”