(That’s me on the far right – had to be the far right…)
I got more than I bargained for when I hopped the metaphorical fence and joined the “bad guys” as they marched from Meridian Hill park, down 14th Street, to the White House. That’s a two-mile hike, marching with degenerates and chanting about the power of the people, and how the power of the people wont stop, WHAT!? I say, there aint no powah like the powah of the people, cause the powah of the people don’t stop…WHAT?! (And so on, ad nauseam).
I say “more than I bargained for” because I arrived expecting to see a mass of spittle-flinging degenerates; what I found instead was a group of disgruntled humans. Yes, humans…with all the foibles of our species, but also, with many of its charms.
It’s only during the height of protest mania, when ideologues clash in the street, that fangs (on both sides) come out, and the worst of our nature bubbles to the surface. Without this action-fueled zeal, I wonder how we’d all get along?
I admit I liked many of the protesters. Under other circumstances, I may have formed fast and easy friendships with them. This was certainly true of the organizers, Mike Golash in particular, whom I had the chance to chat with briefly.
After the initial demonstrations in the park and the Marxists had all marched out, I hesitated, wondering if I ought to go through with my silly plan or if I ought to catch a cab to the white house and meet up with my League buddies. As I was milling around, Mr. Golash (and another gentleman), approached me and asked if I’d help carry some of the sound equipment back to their car. Being a southern gent, and seeing it to be the polite thing to do, I gladly helped out. (Wonder what they’d have done had they known I was a nationally-renown “racist”?)
After the equipment was secured, we circled around and joined the main party, who were turning onto 14th street.
I slipped on my Guy Fawkes mask. I didn’t know who in that crowd might recognize me from the news or from last-year’s protest. I made my way to the front, to get as much camera exposure as possible.
There was a small group of us wearing these Guy Fawkes masks – ever since the Wachowski Brothers’ “V for Vendetta”, the mask has become a symbol of resistance against tyranny as well as a symbol of revolution and societal change. I kind of like it as well. I read Orwell’s 1984 in highschool and was emotionally traumatized. So, seeing a masked vigilante take down a totalitarian state in the name of classical art, poetry, and genuine humanity, was exhilarating. As a Rightist though, I have quibbles with various aspects of the film. Still – it’s a cult classic.
The protesters greeted me kindly and welcomed me into their midst; we formed the “V” brigade and marched on the front left flank, drawing lots of attention and stares from pedestrians.
There was a girl with pretty eyes, who had her blonde hair in pig-tails; she also had a V-Mask (it was higher quality than mine and had seen a lot of use). She smiled at me warmly; a welcoming feeling. A younger guy, wearing a V mask and marching behind me, kept yelling at pedestrians to “…get money out of politics!” … a worthy sentiment, if a bit naive, and built on faulty political ideals.
Other than the “V-Brigade”, there was an assortment of activists in attendance, many of whom I sympathized with. Some were advocating for peace over and against America’s foreign militarism. Some were advocating for civil liberties, as opposed to the oppressive patriot-act. There were even members of the stalwart “Cop Blockers” present – whom I praised with all sincerity.
“I really appreciate what you guys do”, I said – to the beaming delight of a Cop-Blocker.
Of course, there were a few black panthers marching too – which raises my next point: if these Marxists will march with Black Nationalists, why not white nationalists? Especially when we are all aiming our guns in similar directions (ie: at wall-street banking elitists, at oppressive state governments, at the breakup of the middle class, and oppression of blue-collar workers, etc. etc.).
I know why – it’s no secret. While we have genuine ideological disagreements, sure, that’s not what drives us apart. No, what drives us apart is our different aesthetics.
When I was a kid, I was more interested in the boxes my Christmas presents came in than I was with the actual presents. My sister and I would crawl around in them, play with them, tip them over, and commit all manner of playful mischief with them. This is small proof that the human psyche is more concerned (usually) with the trappings of any given item, than with the content.
However ubiquitous this sentiment may be in human nature, I believe it applies to ideologies especially well. Thus we have the following two aesthetics, clashing in the streets of DC:
The Marxists think of themselves as freedom fighters against all the ills of the old white regime – almost as if they’re carrying on the French Revolution and ringing in a utopian and egalitarian age of Marxist communal life. They’re disgusted by the backward, “stuck-in-the-mud” “racists” who are emotionally unstable, potentially violent, and full of irrational bigotries. We cannot be reasoned with.
Of course, we see ourselves as opposing a Satanic world order, one that inevitably leads to the worst sorts of tyranny and loss of personal freedoms – this disgusting group of mismatched heathen are trying to destroy everything we hold dear. They’re raunchy, gross (flinging spit, poo, and urine), and prone to spontaneous, irrational violence. They cannot be reasoned with.
In both cases, the aesthetic of the one group outweighs a willingness to reason with the other.
Of course, there are those of us with the foresight to view both objectively – and when we do so, I still, all aesthetics aside, fall in with the League and Trad Youth.
Our group is “right”…and we have the intellectual framework to prove it. We have the solutions and can successfully tackle the problems the Marxists are concerned with. If they ever give us a chance, we could show them a new and better world – a world of decentralized, harmonious, agrarian powers, where we’re each separate and unique, but still get along (like a large choir).
This is the only way to achieve harmony between the races, the religions, and different people groups, anyway. And further – this is the way God has designed us all to live.
There’s a land that is fairer than day – We southerners know of it. We’ve seen it. Our ancestors lived it.
It’s this land I had in mind as I rounded the corner with the protesters. After two miles, I was longing to see my friends. As we approached the White House, the sun was setting, and it illuminated the small group of conservative protesters, but more specifically, the light caught two of the giant, black-n-white Southern Nationalist flags they were flying.
For the first time since the flag has been introduced, I got chills when I saw it. There, just a few dozen yards off, were my friends; a few dozen yards away was the fresh air of Dixie and the sweet camaraderie of Christian men who stand opposed to the dark wing of modernity that has Washington DC in such a powerful grip.
I could see the southern nationalist flag, fluttering in the late evening breeze, representing everything I hold dear…so I ran for it. I left the confines of anonymity, tore off my mask, and hopped the police-barrier, joining my friends in their stand against the Marxists.
Of course, this elicited outcries from the Marxists, many of whom called me a “coward”. And upon reflection, I’m not sure they don’t have a right to be upset with me. At least – I’m feeling a little guilty about deceiving them like I did.
In Sir Walter Scott’s novel “Quentin Durward”, it’s suggested that Durward sneak into the castle under false pretense, to gain intelligence – this, he would not do. He would not be dishonest and hide himself, even if it meant gain. In the future, this will also be my standard.
Perhaps, had I approached them in good faith, these people might have knowingly let me march with them anyway? However unlikely that possibility, after meeting them up close, I don’t count it out; especially if I let them know I had no ill will and only desired to get to know them better.
The girl with pig tails had a sad look on her face when she saw me on the other side of the barrier. She flipped us the bird, then turned away – whether she turned away because she was hurt at my betrayal, or whether she simply wanted to avoid our cameras, I don’t know, but my chivalrous nature hopes to God it’s the latter.
Another girl, wearing a red shirt, shouted at me that she was an anarchist – to which I replied that I was also an anarchist, at least within a certain modified context. “You should be over here with us, then!” she motioned, somewhat confused. “You’re a left-leaning anarchist, and I’m a right leaning one”, I yelled back … I think we were both a little unclear as to why we were opposing each other. (As a side note: for the past few years I’ve been calling myself a neo-feudalist, and feudalism, as I understand it, operates within an anarchist context, governed only by a sense of universal racial loyalty and an unstated personal code of religious chivalry).
Some of the V-Brigade guys just looked at me sadly, shaking their heads. I could almost hear them saying: “That’s cold man…” as they contemplated my betrayal.
Yes, in hindsight, I abhor dishonesty and see my act as an act of dishonesty, although done in ignorance (at the time) and with good intentions.
Still – that blonde girl’s hurt expression haunts me …or, at least, my conscience haunts me, using her and the other members of the V-Brigade as vehicles to express its dissatisfaction.
Nevertheless, my mistakes aside – these people are deceived and in the throes of their deception, will, if we don’t stop them, destroy everything good in the world. Their ideal, if they succeed in getting it, will be the death of human nature, and the destruction of all good and Godly things.
We Southerners then, need to keep the ‘land that is fairer than day’ ever in the forefronts of our minds, so we never forget the warmth and pleasantness of it. In that way, we can march along with the rhythm of the universe, Southern Nationalist flags in hand, and victorious smiles on our faces…