How We Elect: A Decaying Republic’s Broken System (Part One)

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On Friday, February 14, I received the following email message from Dr. Lerah Lee’s campaign to seek a House seat in D.C:

When I started this campaign for Georgia’s 7th Congressional District, I was determined to follow through, win or lose—but sometimes things don’t work out the way we plan.
Unfortunately, I have had to suspend my campaign to focus on my health, but I want to assure everyone that has supported me with volunteer work, prayers, and financial generosity that I am still committed to the conservative values we share and Republican victory in 2020.

There was more, but none of it relevant to the reasons for Dr. Lee’s withdrawal.  Having promoted her candidacy in this space and others, I felt that more was needed.  I had been persuaded—and I remain persuaded—that the Republican Party should pay more attention to wooing black voters away from the Democrat puppeteers ruining their lives.  I was reproached by some for playing “identity politics”… but I’m of Anglo-Welsh origin myself, and even I often look at Republican candidates with the thought, “One of those again—one of the doctor/lawyer class whose kids never went to jail for drunk driving, always found their way to a college degree after four or five years of partying, always graduated to find jobs falling into their laps.”  Yeah, I knew a lot of them.  And I’m white.  So you needn’t tell me that the “privileged class” perception is imaginary, especially when white “conservatives” like Doug Collins, Tom Tillis, and Lindsey Graham 2.0 continue to promote the presence of unvetted aliens among us while emptying out our prisons.  There’s something to the “country club/gated community” stereotype, my dears.  It happens not to be a racial “something”, primarily—though it is perhaps so secondarily; and the untrained eye often sees the second layer as the surface one.

Unfortunately, there’s also something to the Raisin in the Sun stereotype.  When I coached baseball for a predominantly black Little League in Tyler, Texas, many years ago, our pleasant experiences came to a skidding halt during a season when three or four of the league’s “organizers” decided to start pocketing cash from the concession stand.  One of them very nearly took a swing at me after I protested how he had scheduled road trips all over East Texas on school nights.  He said (or yelled) a little too much: it became clear to me just then that the whole arrangement was a “you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours” concoction to isolate the boys and their families from any food right at supper time… except, of course, for the concession stand.  None of these men was driving a humble Chevy S-10 and living in a fifty-year-old house, as I was.  All of them also seemed to be far deeper in debt than I’ve ever been.

So… did I just get played in a similar way by Dr. Lerah?  The whole thing has that old savor.  I certainly wouldn’t want to pry… but something a little beyond “focus on my health” (bolded dramatically) would help.  Why not just mention nervous exhaustion, or a newly diagnosed heart condition?  We don’t need to see the file and the X-rays, but… but some of us stuck our neck out for you, Dr. L!  One would also have liked to read something on the order of this: “I have now spent all of the funds raised and am consuming my personal savings on the campaign, which will destroy my family if I do not change course.”  But no.  Nothing in that genre.

The next time a bright young constitutionalist seeking office makes an appeal to me on the basis of African DNA, I’m afraid I won’t be very receptive.  Already, I’ve begun reflexively deleting emails from some new Candace Owens PAC requesting funds for just that objective.  You might think about that part of your legacy, Dr. Lee, if you’re at all inclined to ponder the wake left by your public actions.

And tossing about in the wreckage of that very wake, I started looking at Senator Kelly Loeffler from a new angle.  Appointed to replace the ailing Johnny Isakson by Georgia Governor Brian Kemp, Loeffler is required by state law to run for formal election next November rather than serve out the entire Isakson term uncontested.  The battle between her and the forementioned Doug Collins has drawn national attention.  As a girl, Kelly would probably not have fit the “one of those again” profile that I memorized so thoroughly in high school.  Her ads, now saturating local TV, represent a Midwestern farm lass who waited tables to put herself through college: someone much more like me than like my quondam classmates in an elite Fort Worth private school.  But that endearing snapshot edits out the critical years of her more recent life when she met and married an Atlanta billionaire.  Wikipedia estimates Kelly’s current net worth at 500 million.  The figure is likely not far off target, and the claim it fuels that Loeffler is among the wealthiest people in Washington seems justified.  Besides raw wealth, other peculiarities make this case a standout.  Here’s how one source represents the rather complicated picture taking shape around the freshman senator:

Kelly Loeffler, former CEO of bitcoin derivatives exchange Bakkt and a newly-appointed U.S. Senator, has joined the committee that oversees the Commodity Futures Trading Commission (CFTC).

Loeffler has joined the Senate Agricultural Committee, which has jurisdiction over the CFTC. Loeffler’s appointment to the committee raises concerns about a possible conflict of interest. Her husband, Jeffrey Sprecher, is the founder, chairman, and CEO of Intercontinental Exchange (ICE), which is regulated by the CFTC.

“I have worked hard to comply with both the letter and the spirit of the Senate’s ethics rules and will continue to do so every day,” Loeffler told the Wall Street Journal, adding: “I will recuse myself if needed on a case by case basis.”

Loeffler’s appointment reportedly comes at a time when the agriculture committee is working on legislation to reauthorize the CFTC. The committee also oversees approving nominations for CFTC commissioners and chairmen.

Oh, boy.  You know, one of the reasons I took my son to the north side of Tyler to play baseball was that the south side was overrun by the “one of those again” types: the pushy white males with their lucrative insurance gigs and car dealerships.  They would cut shady deals, those “coaches”, before draft night to have the two or three most grotesquely overgrown lads on their team, blow away the competition for the next two months, advance to regional play-offs, and (I’ve no doubt) assume that college or professional scouts would spot their son on the SuperTeam and immediately get on the phone about a scholarship or signing bonus.  They weren’t snitching Jacksons out of the cash drawer: they were fishing for Moby Dick.

And now Kelly Loeffler… is going to self-police on a committee that will determine the future of her husband’s vastly lucrative enterprise.  Well, maybe.  I guess it all depends on whether she has so much already that she doesn’t feel tempted to mark the deck during future shuffles.

Here is my collective response to our train wreck of a political system.  There are perhaps four types of politician.  One is a pitiful, negligible scavenger: the camp-following opportunist poised to snatch up whatever morsels slip off the table.  This person, being poor and void of powerful backing, raises a ruckus among the poor about the Class of the Powerfully Backed.  He or she may gain a bit of local traction but really never intends to go very far.  Going far, after all, isn’t necessary.  There are so many crumbs and morsels—enough to make even the also-rans fat and happy!  Why not just fill your pockets during the election season’s general chaos?  Dr. Lee, I’m not really looking at you… am I?  I wish I knew.  Or maybe I’m glad I don’t.

It is difficult to believe that the Clintons—our nation’s political Bonnie and Clyde—began as anything much other than petty scavengers.  Having watched their ascent over my own lifetime, I can discern no persistent motive in their behavior other than self-enrichment—no clear indication that they sought to subordinate this motive to ideology at any point.  To the extent that Hillary, in particular, grew to be a leftist ideologue, it is likely because she recognized in the sweeping vistas of power suddenly open before her a breathtaking opportunity to amass fortunes upon fortunes.  Sometimes the pet fed on table scraps becomes the Dog Who Has His Day.

Next we have the relatively impoverished but better connected, genuinely ideological populist who manages to get himself (or herself) catapulted into the Big Show.  This person truly intends to fight for the little guy in the beginning… and then sees what limitless fields of abundance have opened before him.  One imagines that European sailors who discovered flightless, succulent Dodo birds waiting to be slaughtered on South Sea islands must have known the temptation.  If one can ascribe any degree of sincerity to AOC in her first hours of fame, she may fit the profile; but then, she let suspiciously few of those hours pass before starting to live high and wide on her electoral success.  Perhaps she simply doesn’t understand money.  The once lovable Joe Lieberman, on the other hand, has come to understand money all too well.  He’s currently an effective lobbyist for a Communist China openly in pursuit of world domination: a nice guy no more, alas.

Now we do a kind of class/racial/economic pivot.  The third and fourth types enter politics already rich by ordinary standards.  Number Three is conservative in that he (or she) just wants to keep the gravy train rolling: form special ties with legislators, pass special laws to secure his venture’s favored position, perhaps open new markets or create new bureaucratic obstacles that will allow the venture to slip even farther ahead.  The “conservation” apparently enters the equation through the idea of providing jobs, jobs, jobs.  The crushing of potentially competitive start-ups through intrusive legislation and imperial bureaucracy… nah, who needs those jobs?  Nothing much is said by these “conservators”, either, about freedom of speech and assembly, or the right to bear arms, or due process, or abortion… nothing except on such public occasions as require checking the proper box.  Hello, Doug Collins, Lindsey Graham, Tom Tillis, John Cornyn, Mitt Romney, Mitch McConnell, Lamar Alexander… and will you join this rogue’s gallery, Kelly Loeffler?

Finally, and most ominously, we have the once-capitalist Croesus who has made so much loot in his day that he can never possibly spend a tenth of it, and who has hence lost interest in growing or even preserving it.  He is jaded with pedestrian luxuries like palatial mansions and armies of servants: he craves some new land to conquer.  The free market now bores him: freedoms of all varieties bore him, inasmuch as they encourage others to hamper his whimsical daydreams.  Perhaps if he could assume utter control over a nation and refashion it in a way that strikes his fancy… perhaps that would be amusing.  Perhaps he could become the God that children and fools used to believe in.  Becoming God… that should be amusing, shouldn’t it?

The paradox that someone so fabulously wealthy should seek political power by populist avenues appears to shock most people—yet such is the well-established pattern.  Donald Trump would probably leap to the popular imagination, with a little nudge from CNN (whose nudges are never little); yet Trump is a weak example, in that his program—to the extent that he has one—emphasizes removing centralized authority from the lives of ordinary citizens.  It’s true that his views have not always shown this inclination, do not always show it now, and indeed show a particularly annoying pliancy toward his daughter and her husband’s games of social engineering.  Still, the superior instances of this type may be found in Michael Bloomberg and Tom Steyer, both of whom have far more wealth than Trump and also far more intrusive designs for reassembling the republic as a well-oiled machine of tiny, obedient cogs.

Is there a fifth species of politico—a “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington” type who doesn’t sell out his principles within mere weeks or months?  We all dream of that legendary savior… but he truly appears to be no more than a dream.  Even at his best (i.e., as his staunchest supporters imagine him), Donald Trump cannot audition for the role, simply because he lacks the “barefoot and backwoods” origins.  Admit it: the Donald was never really an outsider in the sense of our fathers when they screamed about a hike in property tax.  Democrats no doubt thought that they had found the genuiiiiine proletarian redeemer in Jimmy Carter, and then in Bill Clinton; but the former was a local patrician with a drawl, and the latter closer to what his minions would call “trailer trash” than to anyone who ever paid property tax.

Frankly, Ross Perot would probably have played the desired part better than any of the characters named above—but Perot’s only lasting contribution to the political scene was to clear the way for Clinton’s election.  Still more frankly—brace for devastating frankness!—Richard Nixon rose from humbler roots than any president of the past century, and enriched himself in the office, as well, less than perhaps any of his peers.

Nixon’s example only serves to show how straitjacketed our collective thought has become in such matters by the manipulative media/entertainment/education complex.  Tinkering endlessly with our perception and our memory, it prevents us from staring a stark reality in the face: the fact that we have no good options, now that fear of the Hereafter and a sense of common decency have gone the way of the watch fob.  I think Perot was probably torpedoed by whispered threats that the Public will never be allowed to learn.  (A few of you may recall that he issued cloudy statements about the sabotage of his daughter’s wedding.)  These threats would likely have emanated as much from the Republican establishment (the sanctuary of Number Three politicians) as from Democrats (a rag-tag collection of Numbers One and Two, before our decay birthed Number Four in abundance).  Nixon, too, had a good man in him somewhere… but constant hounding by the media and academe for his role in ferreting out communists during the Fifties grossly warped the man’s moral skeleton.  Good people, in short, don’t survive protracted exposure to our system: they either abandon the ship before she clears the harbor or turn pirate with the rest of the crew.

I don’t know what we do.  There’s almost a kind of tragic inevitability to the downward spiral.  People cannot be happy in this life unless they realize that this life doesn’t—cannot—contain what they need to be fully happy.  As our nation has prospered, its citizens have grown more secular; and as they discover ever more sullenly the absence of real happiness in their abundance, politicians advance ever farther by offering them yet more playthings of this world.  I don’t know what the corrective is for that, other than a plunge off the cliff which doesn’t quite crush everyone at the bottom.  The survivors limp away wiser, and start a new settlement in the chasm… what a hope, as Sir Kenneth Clark would say!

Is it a bad thing for a politician to be wealthy?  Why?  Might not wealth, rather, insulate an office-holder from being corrupted?  Yet how do we ensure that the grandee who can’t even recall the number of zeroes rounding out his net worth will not be corrupted by the far more lethal toxicity of megalomania?

The imposition of term limits wouldn’t hurt.  The one credible path to that end is a Convention of States (and there I find an organization that continues to be worthy of generous donations).  Might we not also be able to require, as part of their licensure, that outlets of news media, both national and local, contribute free time to political candidates?  That, too, is something of a pipe dream, I realize.  In an age when nonstop political advocacy is already masquerading as “straight news”, equality of time would be impossible to determine or enforce.  We’ve already had a glimpse of how that game might be rigged with the Obama era’s “Net neutrality” canard.  And, in any case, how would a candidate reach the stage of qualifying for free time, if not by having previous high visibility in the community?  That means money, unless you’re a high-profile entertainer or athlete.

Which, believe it or not, raises a serious point—and it must be my point of departure for next week, since I’ve run rather long today.

Find a Water Source and Stuff Your Cupboard: Happy 2020!

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2019 ended with my having discovered Daniel Horowitz’s podcast, Conservative Review (originally a video broadcast on The Blaze network). Once Horowitz and his guest Steve Deace had combined to dissect the omnibus bill, promptly signed by President Trump amid high-fives all around FOX News, I knew that any peace I was to find over the holidays must come from within. That’s not a bad realization. I have spent most of the past two weeks, in fact, enjoying my son’s visit and completing a manuscript about my religious faith. We should remind ourselves once in a while that anyone whose hopes rest upon this world is doomed to disappointment.

Nevertheless, a year that began with my dedicating a futile tome to a poor bloke who will rot away for the rest of his life in a Georgia prison because a jury couldn’t understand “reasonable doubt”, then continued with my unearthing (mostly through Diana West’s labors) how the hundred-million-murder march of Stalinist/Maoist communism was made possible by FDR… well, let’s just say the 2019 nag ran true to form all the way to the finish line. Mr. Trump is vastly preferable to the socialist alternative. On the other hand, he isn’t Washington crossing the Delaware, contrary to memes circulated throughout social media by wishful thinkers. He’s certainly not the return of Christ (another favorite meme). He’s a man who loves attention, receives some very bad advice, and “cuts deals” by entering an absurdly high initial bid and then gulping down the come-back without any dickering. Happy 2020.

My advocacy on behalf of securing the power grid was also plugged into a dead socket. Nobody cares. I’m not sure that I even care any more. Do you want to believe “studies” designed by power companies to conclude a) that an electro-magnetic pulse would be almost impossible to create, and b) that the grid is rock-solid, anyway? Okay. I guess we’ll find out when the next major solar storm flares up (oh… and those studies forgot to mention solar storms, by the way). I’ve probably got 500 gallons of rainwater collected in various tubs around the property, and I have the means to purify it. Our cupboard is full of rice and canned nuts, and I’ve stocked up on shotgun shells. I do wish that my son didn’t live on the fringe of a sanctuary city, where rioting and looting will exceed even Hollywood’s ability to project after all the power has been off for a couple of weeks; but he has water-purification tablets, guns, and a few close friends who know how to shoot.

As for the rest of the nation… let’s just leave it at this. When one of my letters to an elected representative finally drew a response, I was told (and I condense): “Climate change is of great concern to me. That’s why I am working hard to promote clean energy through the construction of the —– nuclear power facility.” A Republican senator in action: keep those campaign contributions from the power companies coming, and also try (weakly and vainly) to outflank the Left by hugging some trees. Umm… EMP and climate change, Senator, are not… oh, forget it.

I subsequently had the bright idea, shared in this space, that the “demography is destiny” prophets of doom might be gainsaid if we could actually encourage some non-Caucasian conservatives in their bid for public office. My efforts drew comments on social media that reminded me of my promotion of Ted Cruz years earlier. Oh my God, Heidi Cruz has worked for Goldman-Sachs! Oh my God, Lerah Lee admits that she admired Barbara Bush as a child because both had attended the same high school! Apparently, a much, much better idea would be to nominate (in one case) a quondam registered Democrat whose daughter and her husband share more than a few ideaas with Liz and Bernie, or to nominate (in the other case) a white woman so wealthy that she can finance her campaign largely from her own bank account. Haven’t I already read this Republican script a few dozen times—didn’t I just read it a few days ago? “Climate change is of great concern to me….”

This week, I had kicked around a similar idea about “outreach”. Since our nation is now so flooded in illegal residents that we can’t accurately number them within ten million, since several states are eagerly issuing driver’s licenses to them, and since we know that many have already voted in past elections… well, would there be any way to peel some of them off of the Nanny State pap? Perhaps by appealing to their dignity, their manhood? Perhaps by circulating fluent Spanish-speakers through their communities warning, “The free stuff will run out! You’re being played—your vote is being bought! Free school, free health care, free road repairs, free police protection… the nation is going bankrupt, and you will be the first to feel the squeeze! You’re being set up! Don’t you want to contribute, to be respected? To be a part of the broader community? Or do you want your sons joining gangs when there’s no more free anything, and your daughters being kidnapped and enslaved when it’s no longer safe to walk out the front door?”

And so forth. Except that I finally got a hold of Michelle Malkin’s Open Borders, Inc. The first chapter was enough to enlighten me. Most of our beloved “refugees” aren’t fleeing cartel violence and a complicit, corrupt police force. Their way is paved by complex international bureaucracies, almost literally, mile after mile. Billionaire subversives and US-hostile nations conniving at our dissolution are bankrolling elaborate networks to keep the spate of migrants flowing. Everybody at the table wins (though you and I don’t get through the door). Mexico and other “donor” nations reap billions annually from wages sent back home, even as they relieve themselves of an indigent population that had posed nothing but problems in the past. The PRC primes the same pump, sits back, and watches our political system collapse. The New World Order oligarch-hopefuls see their empire of innumerable servile minions taking shape. Mainstream churches harvest a little more in the collection plate if they can woo some of the newcomers into their congregation—but the big money is paid by our tax dollars to church organizations that “resettle” the “refugees”. Democrats acquire tens of thousands of new voters in various localities; and Republicans… well, they have another occasion to display their compassion as their constituents watch taxes, culture, order, and rule of law thrown into the bonfire. Republicans are concerned about climate change, you know.

So… no, I don’t think a Spanish-language appeal to dignity and manhood would make a dint on this crowd of money-hungry adventurers who use their children as passports. The real “backbone of Mexico” is back in Mexico, trying to ride out a civil war that didn’t need months of blackout to erupt. Their communities are unraveling because their footloose, opportunistic brethren have taken off for the Yanqui Klondike: the nearly 600 sanctuary cities, where abogados and advocacy groups tell you how to milk the cash cow (Apple has an app, according to Malkin, that puts illegals instantly in touch with such vital information). With so much money filtering back to the old country through such irregular channels, a farmer who wants to grow his melons and peppers is an endangered species. Adiós, America… yes, and Adiós, Mexico.

For good news, I turn to… wait a minute, still looking… ah, yes. The Second-Amendment Sanctuary movement in Virginia, proceeding county by county. The newly elected Virginia duma is already licking its collective chops at the prospect of calling in the National Guard to gun down non-compliant citizens, so we may expect to see something like Janet Reno’s Waco before the year’s end. And then… then, unlike the aftermath of Waco, the shooting will just be starting. Fort Sumter might be a better analogy, once the smoke clears.

And that’s the good news. But remember: Republicans, too, are concerned about climate change.

Preserving the Principle of Color-Blindness May Destroy Our Republic As a Practical Consequence

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A few days back, columnist Scott Morefield posted a piece arguing that all issues of concern to conservatives must be subordinated to imposing some semblance of order upon our wide-open immigration door.  I fully understand Mr. Morefield’s position.  It’s incorrect, in that the insecure power grid is an even more preemptive issue: abortion, gender-engineering, “canceling”, and all the rest go away if ninety percent of us die within a year of an EMP attack or powerful solar flare.  But… put that to one side.  The deliberate and overnight tribalization of electoral decisions is undoubtedly a clever way around the civil marketplace of ideas.  In fact, the detour’s diabolical path has been mapped out clearly by others for years.  Ann Coulter leaps to mind—but I believe Pat Buchanan has been sounding the alert even longer.

The view has a certain “squirm factor” in that it might be said to reflect genuine racism: i.e., it implies that immigrants of non-European origin are incapable of valuing freedom and, instead, bring with them a genetic craving for servitude.  This may be an unfair interpretation of the Coulter/Buchanan hypothesis (I’m more confident that it is in the former than the latter instance). Unfortunately, rank-and-file proponents of restricted immigration rarely take the time to draw fine distinctions.  It’s worth stressing—and is not stressed enough—that comfort with subjugation is a cultural acquisition; it’s not encoded in anyone’s DNA.  I am not a racist if I discover and announce that a certain culture’s preferred food is unhealthy, even though I’m sure to encounter resistance if I try to steer that culture’s members toward a different diet.  In the same way, the proper objection to the ongoing deluge of non-European immigrants (both legal and illegal) is that they import with their other baggage a learned and customary tolerance of paternalistic, top-down governance.  It’s what they’ve always known.

Now, though I have a degree of sympathy with this argument when its emphasis falls in the right place, it always fails to convince me fully.  Many of our immigrants who fled from totalitarian regimes became, quite logically, our strongest promoters of basic freedoms.  They or their immediate families had experienced the abject misery at the spectrum’s other end.  Elia Kazan (pilloried in his lifetime and despised in memory for exposing the thorough communist infiltration of Hollywood) was born to Greek Orthodox parents who fled the oppression of Muslim Turkey.  Sebastian Gorka’s parents similarly fled Soviet-dominated Hungary to find asylum in England.  Gordon Chang’s father had escaped Communist China, into which Chang won further insights after working as a legal counsel for almost two decades in Hong Kong and on the mainland.  Humberto Fontova was brought to America from Castro’s Cuba at the age of seven, his father following after three months of detention and his cousin murdered while in the hands of interrogators.

The reason, therefore, that our present horde of immigrants votes almost to a person for Big Brotherly government (including those hundreds of thousands who vote illegally) isn’t that its masses just can’t say goodbye to the joys of having a patrón peering down upon them from his proud, snorting alazán.  No: the problem is that we pay them to vote for new masters.  They get “free stuff” (a phrase which AOC has declared she will hunt to extinction—but I hope to be dead to this world long before she has the power to act upon her whimsy).  When you get paid by a corrupt system just to breathe air, you probably don’t hold your breath in principled protest.  I’m about to start drawing Social Security.  I would willingly forego every dime of it if I thought the savings to the government would be fully deducted from our national debt (for I’ve known throughout my adult life that Uncle Sam couldn’t be trusted to provide for my retirement, and I invested accordingly).  But why strike that noble pose when the corrupt demagogues who lord it over us would only use my gift to fund further vote-buying schemes?  Oh, they’ll do that, anyway, I know.  Part of the Grand Plan is to spend the nation into ruin—which will then precipitate the coalescence of a one-world government (with an elite oligarchy at the top, after the Chinese fashion).  All the more reason, though, just to grab my own few pennies while I can.

I’m confident that nothing I’ve written so far will have left anyone behind in the dust.  This isn’t climate science (which appears to be infinitely harder to grasp than rocket science).  Yet we make a mistake, I think, to disdain others who will never visit a site like this, and who instead are influenced by “optics”.  It does look bad to be advocating constantly an approach to political and economic life that puts one on the far side from people of color; and when one’s program for political survival amounts to keeping more people of color from entering the country… well, it looks even worse.  We know that the situation is more complicated than that.  From numerous angles, however, we should also be able to see that couching the struggle in Morefield/Coulter/Buchanan terms isn’t the road to victory.  (For instance, even if we stemmed the flow of non-European immigration, we’d have our own self-hating tribe to contend with in colleges and the media—a tribe that also doesn’t reproduce at replacement-rate.)  In the meantime… we’re surrounded by those terrible optics.

May I ask why we cannot strengthen our position by actively recruiting people of color for positions of power?  Yes, that flies in the face of our principled commitment to choosing “the best man for the job”… but isn’t it a little suspicious, after all, that so many men are on the job for us, and all of them (with the retirement of William Hurd from the House) white?  And are they so plainly the best?  I was in the fight to push Brian Kemp across the finish line ahead of rabid socialist Soros-and-Oprah tool Stacey Abrams a year ago.  This past week I was treated to the prospect of our “best man” appointing a career Romneyite to serve out Johnny Isakson’s term—and providing no other explanation to us, his frustrated constituents, other than the Peerless Leader’s, “I know what’s good for you.”  With friends like that….

So I submit that, other things being equal, there’s nothing at all wrong with having a candidate who happens to be black, and female, and—dare I say it?—physically attractive.  I know virtually nothing about the three women running for the House in Georgia-7 beyond what I’ve read on their websites; but one of them, Dr. Lerah Lee, is of African descent.  In addition to that “credential” (if it be such), her site specifies the following objectives: “Secure our borders, defend our Second Amendment rights, support our veterans, hold the line on spending and taxes, help the next generation have better opportunities.” Not a bad list! If Dr. Lee’s competition is similarly inclined, though, should her racial heritage tip the balance in her favor—would I be condoning quotas and identity-politics if I pressed my thumb on her scale?  Perhaps.  But I don’t think standing in inflexible defense of color-blindness is fully worth the sacrifice of the republic. Such a consequence may just be the price of principle.

And again… exactly why are there no black females in Congress with “R” behind their name (President Trump having peevishly declined to support Mia Love in ’16 after her lukewarm reaction to his lifestyle)?  Is that absence just a statistical anomaly?  An ongoing statistical anomaly?  Or is there some Al Campanis variety of explanation?  Yeah… that’s what I’m afraid of.

We’ve seen how courageously Kim Klacik stood up against both the corrupt Baltimore machine and the national news media.  Isn’t that recommendation enough?  She’s running for the House seat in Maryland-7.  I can’t afford to give her much—but she can have some of my first Social Security check when it arrives.

Has this discussion turned offensive to my typical readership?  I can well imagine why it might have.  We wish to judge people only by the content of their character.  But it’s painfully evident that we haven’t done so with great success—or that, more likely, some once-good characters were altered soon after entering the corridors of power.  Maybe, some day, term limits will minimize the almost Satanic transformation of virtuous characters into caricatures of goodness which we observe in Washington, over and over.

In the meantime, why not give optics a chance?  Why concede, in Coulter/Buchanan fashion, that the “hive-advocates” have people of color permanently on their side of the chessboard, and that only some move of inspired brilliance can save our democratic republic from checkmate?

“Radicalized” Teenage Girl With Kitchen Knife Shows Us the REAL Threat to Our Nation… Uh, No

“White teen girl detailed plan for racist attack on black churchgoers in notebook, police say”: that’s literally the title (with only first word capitalized) of the Washington Post article trumpeting a non-event.  Ponder those words.  A white girl scribbled some troubled thoughts about murdering congregants at a black church.  Essentially, this is the content of a “story” that made headlines throughout the Southeast, and upon which WSB-TV Atlanta lavished at least three minutes on the evening of November 19.

Once you know more details, the episode becomes even more… non-eventful.

The “white teen girl” was sixteen years old.  Not eighteen or nineteen: sixteen.  She had apparently amassed a collection of… no, not handguns, not bombs or grenades, not clips for assault rifles: knives.  She collected knives.  So now we have a sixteen-year-old white girl with “knives”, in the plural.  There was no indication that she had trained with the Mossad, or that she possessed a black belt in some ancient Japanese art of firing out blades at a rate of five per second.  As far as we know, she has only two hands.  As far as we know, members of the Bethel AME Church in Gainesville, Georgia, are not exclusively octogenarians or manually challenged female invalids.  And of course, as anyone can be pretty sure of knowing, the Church was a “gun-free” zone, making it a target even for someone with no more than a kitchen knife (the species of blade involved in this case).  Our Gal Gadot wannabe was too respectful of the law, it seems, to equip herself with deadly weapons illegally.  Sometimes the “gun-free” idiocy works.

The WaPo article bestows much quote-space upon one Sergeant Kevin Holbrook, who was most likely the blond, baby-faced young man I saw interviewed on WSB news.  That lad is going far.  He pressed all the right keys to sound just the right notes.  The girl’s notebook contained “manifesto-type” ravings, observed the officer with wisdom beyond his years (and training).  He continued, as WaPo reports faithfully: “There were many writings and drawings, different depictions, and a lot of hateful messages in it….  As far as the details go, they were down to very specific information.”  Turns out that Holbrook is also something of a theologian.  Carnage of innocents was averted, he concludes, “by pure grace”: had the normal Wednesday night Bible study not been canceled, the teen fiend would not have found the compound’s buildings empty when she visited them, a dagger clutched Bluebeard-like in her teeth.

The church’s pastor, interviewed by WSB, confirmed God’s intercession in the canceled Bible study—and confirmed, further, my own inference that no men attend this church and that no women there are capable, say, of lifting a chair or coming at an assailant from behind.  But… might God be whispering to these good people that Bethel AME should host a self-defense class in the near future, if not actually persuade a retired soldier to slip a Glock inside his coat during services?

Now, the pastor and the sergeant weren’t quite on the same page as to motivation.  The former, while admitting that the sixteen-year-old had to be very troubled, wanted her tried as an adult (tried for snooping around the sanctuary with a knife in her belt); the latter was convinced, as he revealed in his WSB interview, that she was “radicalized” by “white supremacist” websites.  Now, if our would-be mass murderess were hypnotized by Internet conditioning, then she can scarcely be held fully responsible for her acts; but if she is actually to be prosecuted as a full adult, then the assumption must be that she had complete possession of herself—more so than one would expect of an ordinary sixteen-year-old.  And in that case, the “radicalizing white-supremacist websites” are utterly irrelevant.

An aside: I wonder how long Sergeant Holbrook has dreamed of using the word “radicalize”?  Doesn’t it sound cool?  But you can’t use it to describe, say… I don’t know: say a jihadist website.  I’m afraid you can’t even use the word “jihadist” any more.  I didn’t write that.

But “white supremacist”, now—you can and should drop that phrase early and often, at least if you hope for a long and ascending career path in law enforcement.  White-supremacist songs… white-supremacist holidays… white-supremacist weather and condiments and ways of pronouncing the word “tergiversation”: it’s everywhere!  The white-supremacist menace is everywhere!

Just be grateful that white supremacists honor gun-free zones.  Can you imagine if….

Meanwhile, the city of Atlanta continues to have daily drive-by shootings, daily convenience-store robberies at gunpoint, daily brawls that go ballistic when someone pulls out a handgun—and the crimes are almost always black on black.  But the city’s African American community shouldn’t allow its collective eye to be diverted from the real problem, which is…

The KKK is back!  White people are coming for you—and with knives this time!

WaPo wraps up powerfully, “The girl’s arrest comes as black churches and other houses of worship around the country have faced a wave of violence and intimidation.”  See, you hadn’t even heard about that!  I’m afraid it’s not quite clear to me whether the adjective “black” is intended to stretch to “other houses of worship”, or if the latter is clever MSM code for “mosque”.  (Of course, to WaPo, all Muslims are dark-skinned, so my interpretive confusion is a non-issue.)  And you certainly shouldn’t be misled into thinking that Christian churches everywhere are under escalating attack from outfits like WaPo to surrender their orthodox views on marriage, on gender, on the value of hard work… that’s not intimidation, it’s the inevitable friction of Neanderthal-meets-Homo Sapiens.  The real story here, once again, is that whites are out to murder blacks.  If you didn’t know that… well, what are news outlets for?

Sergeant Holbrook and his crack team apparently lost no time analyzing the girl’s Internet activity and ferreting out the insidious influence of WS propaganda; but they haven’t yet had the leisure to visit her high school and find out if,  just maybe, she had been routinely beaten up by black girls and decided upon the church attack as her revenge.  Wouldn’t it have been wonderfully Christian if she had stormed through an open church door, knife drawn, and then been talked to tears and surrender by the suffering Christ’s words of peace delivered by a true believer?  Maybe an invitation to sit with the group and pray instead of a call to 911?  We’ll never know if that might have happened—if someone other than Pastor Try-Her-As-An-Adult might have stood up and borne God’s message.

And we’ll never know about that high school situation, either.  Something tells me that the girl would have confessed that part of her motivation right out of the gate—and that our ambitious young investigators would instantly have buried it deep in the “unusable” file.

Keep Your Eye on the Ball: Impeachment Is Screening the Long Game

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I prepared the following letter to send to my two state senators, David Perdue and Johnny Isakson:

Dear Senator,

Below is a link to an article that Marina Medvin posted on the Townhall.com site a few days ago.  Her subject is the “Racial Literacy Curriculum”: an aggressive, expanding initiative of certain totalitarian spearhead organizations among us—also known as Boards of Education—to confuse K-8 children, early and often, about their common humanity and to elevate race to the apex of the values-pyramid.  I knew that the state of California was a magnet for agents of social and moral chaos. The piece says that Virginia and North Carolina, of all places, have now been added to the map of territory (along with New York, New Jersey, Rhode Island, and Illinois) conquered by these race-baiting “professionals” who exploit our young children. The endgame (and this is Ms. Medvin’s conclusion as well as mine) is to dissolve bonds between neighbors, leave a new generation utterly demoralized, and render centralized government bureaucracy the only Big Brother and the one Dear Friend in their lives.  In a spiritual context, this objective could be called Satanic.

I have been reading for years through Peter Helmes’ Die Deutsche Konservativen website about the inroads that the pederasty-promoting “Green Party” has made in German public education.  I knew, as well, that the EU is always the testing ground (being a much easier, more “loosened up” target) for these initiatives in subversion.  And as I say, it never comes as no shock to see California’s bureaucratic elite collaborating in the utter destruction of traditional values and social coherence.

But Virginia….  My wife responded that parents should pull their children out of public schools and home-educate them.  She, like others in the general public who haven’t spent my decades working in the education racket, doesn’t realize how much up-front cost, investment of time, and harassing red tape is involved in that strategy.  Also like most voters, she believes that the states in question must learn from their own errors and do a better job at the ballot box next time.

One problem is precisely that most of the decisions behind such covert social and moral overhaul are not directly reviewed by the public, though they may be made by elected officials.  (This line from stateuniversity.com leapt off the screen at me: “Elected school board members have greater independence and freedom to act in the best interests of the school system than do appointed board members.” The Orwellian “act in the best interests” oozes the smug admission that, once assured a term of several years, these self-willed marauders do what they damn well please.) Sweeping curricular changes that may overthrow the community’s moral and spiritual life are never brought before the public and submitted to an up-or-down vote.  It is felt within the profession, I’m sure, that ordinary citizens are far too dull to pass a competent judgment on what their children need in the classroom.

As for protesting at PTA meetings or refusing to have one’s child participate in some immoral “assignment” or other, I believe there have been cases in Canada where parents have lost custody of their children for such resistance… and maybe, if memory serves, a few similar instances on the West Coast.

The other major flaw in the view that we must patiently allow parents (and their children) to suffer until a new round of elections arrives is that what happens in California doesn’t stay in California.  That’s why Virginia has now fallen… and perhaps Georgia will be next.  Yet even if the decay fails to spread this way (and we’ve lately seen how close Soros money came to hijacking our governorship), it nevertheless poisons national elections of the future whose consequences impact us all.  If enough children reach the age of eighteen in Virginia, Pennsylvania, and Michigan who question their gender, are suspicious of their parents, have no prospect of a stable relationship in the future, and understand the history of our republic essentially as “Auschwitz for Indians”, then your and my grandchildren are sure to live (or die) in a Union of American Socialist Republics.  And this, once again, is the endgame of all classroom subversion.

I’m not a lawyer.  I do know that the Constitution makes no explicit provision whatever for public education, though I also know that the institution sprang up very early among individual states.  My question to you is this: is there no way to introduce an amendment to the Constitution (for instance) that would require public approval of every school district’s general curriculum through formal plebiscite?  Could one not argue, in fact, that parents are being deprived of the liberty to instill values into their children without due process under the present quasi-Soviet system?

I know we’re all much more alarmed right now about having the 2016 presidential election airbrushed from history by unprincipled saboteurs in suits and bureaucratic kinglets than we are about, say, sex education in Kindergarten or fire-and-brimstone preaching against “white privilege” in second grade.  But we shouldn’t be.  (For that matter, I think impeachment was about getting our eye off the “subversion” ball, all along.)  If, in ten or fifteen years, the electorate is awash in young voters who look nowhere but to the State for guidance—and then to the ever-improvising progressive state, not to a constitutional republic—then it really doesn’t matter if Donald Trump stays in office until 2024, or if he builds a wall, or if he stares down Xi Jinping.  The Chinese, indeed, are very skilled at the long game.  If we lose control of our classrooms, we’ll wish we were the Soviet Union—but we’re much more likely to be PRC West.

I don’t want my grandchildren living in that hellhole.

An Honest Conversation About Race? Here Goes…

I had another subject in mind for this week until I read Rachel Alexander’s “How I Massively Triggered the Left on Twitter” (Intellectual Conservative, September 15) http://www.intellectualconservative.com/how-i-massively-triggered-the-left-on-twitter/.  I won’t rehash the details: they’re quite sickening—another of countless examples showing that incivility in our decadent society has just about entered the bullying Brownshirt stage (with the thuggery stopping just this side of physical assault… usually).

Let’s put it this way.  If X’s political opinions fall well left of center and Y’s are slightly to the right, then X is allowed to call Y a racist.  “That’s kind of insane,” Y protests, “inasmuch as my long-time mate was a person whose DNA was almost entirely African.”  “So what?” X snaps back.  “That’s a well-known racist trick—taking a non-white mate to prove you’re not racist!  As if you didn’t know that slaveowners raped their slave girls all the time.”  “Um… I don’t think my friend would fit the description of a slave girl,” Y smiles.  “No!” X snarls.  “More like race-traitor!  It’s not hard for whites to find some Sambo or Sallie who will sell out just for the joy of slithering into the plantation manor through the back window!”  If Y is still responding to this rabid primate meagerly endowed with the power of speech, the response might be, “But I’m actually not Caucasian myself, for the most part.”  Showing long canines, X howls back, “Then why do you carry the white man’s water and mop up his s**t?”

More often then not, the person shooting back this impressive balance of vulgarity and stupidity will himself (or, increasingly, herself) be Caucasian.  White icing on the leftist cannabis cake.

Now, what I’m about to add to this “discussion” will get me killed within ten years, probably, when some Stalinist Santa Claws, trawling through the communications of everyone’s life to see who’s been naughty and who’s been nice, will punch tickets for the one-way train.  But I’m old enough not to care.

I’ll start with my fellow citizens of African descent.  Some of them, I suspect, don’t like themselves very much.  Why would they?  Their society has never offered any other group so many “advance three squares” cards.  College scholarships are bending the limbs, ripe for the picking.  Publicly funded organizations are waving black applicants to the front of the line, and many private-sector companies maintain quota systems for purposes of public relations.  Lawsuits over racial prejudice (or the threat of such lawsuits) protect sub-par performance like some mythical Ring of Invincibility.  Yet still… yet still, there you are, a young black male who emerged from high school hardly reading at seventh-grade level.  You couldn’t even land a basketball scholarship, which is how your best friend got into college; but one thing you have indeed been able to do by the age of eighteen is sire three children on three different women… or girls… none of which children you ever see or pay a dime to support.

Or maybe you’re one of the three girls.  You’ll have another three or four kids before you’re thirty (and perhaps the same number of abortions).  Medicaid gives you a couple of thou a month for each one of them—a really nice haul for unskilled labor.  So that’s your job.  That’s what your society has decreed you will be and do in this life: a baby-mill, a womb that grinds out little ones with prospects even dimmer than yours.

That would settle me into a permanently pissed-off mood, as well.  Imagine the inner conversation—a dialogue with Self that doesn’t take place in words, but must be gnawing around the edges of consciousness all the time:

“Could I have done more with my life?  Sure… at least I think so.  I think I’ve got something special in me somewhere… but the world will never know, and I’ll never know.  I didn’t open the door to that something: I let myself become just another number.  Now, it wasn’t all my fault.  In fact, loud voices keep filling my ear with talk of ‘systemic racism’—and it does seem like the game was rigged.  I couldn’t have throttled all of that potential, all of those vague ambitions, all by myself.  The system showered me with stuff and snitched away my real chances at the same time.  It paid me off.  It bribed me to play the role of someone who’s good for nothing.  And the bribe was pretty hefty sometimes (though sometimes it was just a magic trick, and a fat check that became genuine poverty)….

“But I didn’t have to take the bribe.  Deep down, I knew that.  I don’t like myself for taking the easy way out, for being suckered into the worse option.  And I don’t like not liking myself—going around hour after hour, day in and day out, not really liking myself.  That makes me even more pissed off.  Racism?  Reparations?  Okay.  I’ll take that.  I don’t really know what it all means… or I know damn well, rather, that the people peddling it have no idea what it means.  I just know that somebody’s getting bled for my misery—and that’s okay with me.  Somebody ought to.  I’m not that good—but they’re even worse, the ‘somebodies’, because all they did was help me bury whatever was better in me.”

Self-contempt, resentment of the world for feeding that contempt… those are two strong emotions hiding—barely hiding—under the “you’re a racist!” veil of invective.  One of the things “racist” now means in mouths that love to launch the word (if it still means anything at all) is that you don’t have a very high estimate of yourself and you hold others responsible for it: the others who keep pitying you for being on the bottom just when you were taking a little pride in getting your life together.

Now let’s take a good look at white folks—at certain white folks.  Would you believe that a lot of white males on the left are afraid of black males?  A not insignificant cause of the South’s secession was the terror that slaves (who represented well over half the population of Mississippi and other pockets of the Deep South) would revolt en masse and slaughter every white.  John Brown tapped into this terror.  The massive and successful slave uprising in Haiti a few decades earlier was also very much on the Southern mind.

In this regard (and in more than one or two others), the leftist male is less Rhett Butler than Robert Barnwell Rhett, Jr.  He’s not a strong man—not morally, not intellectually, and beyond doubt not physically.  Strong black males intimidate him; I think they almost induce a kind of internal panic in him.  What if he says something wrong—what if these powerful and subliminally simmering people go to a sudden boil over some ill-chosen phrase?  I have only to look at a desk full of ESPN “white woke” males surrounding some gargantuan hero of the turf to catch this vibe strongly.  “Wow, B.J.—I mean, wow, man… wow, dog… the way you shredded their defense… you’re my son’s all-time favorite player… and mine, too, of course… what was your reaction when you were unanimous MVP?  Were you ever sorry that you didn’t choose another sport?  I mean, you were so multi-talented in college!”

Somehow, such unctuous accolades never quite smell like true admiration to me.  There’s an acrid odor blended into them—a touch of fear.  Physical fear.  Part of the reason white males become progressives (I’m not calling it a major reason, but I sense a contribution) is that black males physically intimidate them.  Now, men don’t like feeling intimidated, even the least male of them.  Something primal in them—in us—insists upon creating a survival strategy.  The strategy of the white male progressive is to bind the mighty black male in chains of adulation.  “Surely he won’t hit me if he sees that I adore him.  And I do adore him!  He’s so… not me!  Damn him.  But if I give him what he wants, what he understands—all that he’s capable of understanding—and lift him on the pedestal I’ve made for the greatest gladiator of all time, then… then he won’t be able to pound me into powder without losing what he really needs: an abject, sycophantic admirer.  I’ve got him there.  I’m safe.”

Here, I suspect, is where we find much of the motivation behind the “you f——-g racist!” tweets originating from keyboards that no black finger has ever touched.  The “writer” (how debased that word has grown!) hides impenetrably behind an avatar that might as well be Django or Mister T.  In his e-cape of invisibility, he heavily imbibes that “bad ass” ichor which he’s convinced circulates abundantly in African veins… so unlike his white identity, which has never elevated him above a mere ass.  On the Internet, he can sling obscenities like a rapper and intimidate others with his newly (falsely) acquired blackness.  “Racist” from his virtual mouth, from his soiled fingertips, means just this: “Be afraid of me!  I’ll dox you—I’ll get beat you up!  I’ll rape you—I’ll murder you!”  Yep.  That one little word—racist—is a terrorist threat to every minute of whatever time you have left on earth… or that’s what the punk would like it to be.

Naturally, the former kind of verbal assailant—the genuinely black person who allows “racist” to monopolize his or her vocabulary—is a lot more simpatico.  After all, that person is right, in a way.  If you keep throwing money at a black child (or in his direction: most of it will never reach his doorstep) instead of demanding that he pass algebra, you’re telling him that he’s stupid; that he can’t help being stupid, that he’ll always be stupid, but that you’ll keep the subsidies coming so that he doesn’t starve on the streets.  There’s irony, to be sure, in his reserving the “r” word precisely for those who would cut off the unconditional subsidies and require a passing test score… but how else is he supposed to react?  Because now he needs permanent subsidizing—now that you’ve robbed him both of his best opportunity to learn and of his self-respect.

Somehow, I just don’t think that’s the guy—or the girl—who wastes time spewing and slavering e-idiocy in the direction of people like Rachel Alexander.  I can see Maxine Waters doing it, because that’s her gig; and I can see Jemele Hill doing it, because she’s a ball of psychotic rage that will send a death ray through any opening.  But make no mistake: the people who most need black Americans to be victims of “systemic racism” are white leftists—and not even, or not just, because the canard gins up their base (as it does for Waters).  No, these are nameless people with no brilliant future before them.  They, too, are balls of rage.  And they need the avatar, the stereotype—the caricature—of the snubbed, derided, cheated, beaten, and lynched freedman’s muscular son roaring back on a cloud of vengeance to channel all their frustration.

“Racist” means “I’m so pissed off, I’m not taking any blame for it, I know my filthy eiecta scare and disgust you… and, oh, that makes me so happy! That’s the one thing that makes me happy!  Lick my s—t, white man!”

Jemele Hill was never more white than when she decided to take this road.

A Payday for Neanderthal Descendants? Why Not?

Practically every Caucasian, it seems, has about two percent of the Neanderthal genome.  Current theory has it that Homo Sapiens, having invaded Northern Europe from Africa, interbred with the much less numerous species until, about 30,000 years ago, individuals clearly identifiable as Neanderthal disappeared.

Now, some of us go beyond the two percent.  I’m certain that I do.  No, I don’t have red hair, or a receding chin, or an aquiline nose… but I do have deep-set and fairly large eye sockets, I comfortably possess all of my wisdom teeth, my bones are exceptionally dense, and my hands are strangely broad with short fingers.  I’ve decided on this evidence to bump my Neanderthal percentage up to three or four.

“Why would you want to do that, and in public?” you may ask.  “You’re admitting that you’re a knuckle-dragging caveman—you’re making yourself an object of derision!”  Ah, dear reader, you are making my case for me!  Discrimination!  Vile slander!  I have been the victim of it throughout my life… and I haven’t even understood the basis of it, nor have my persecutors.  None of us fully realized what separated me from them.  It wasn’t my distant, distracted manner; at most, that was a consequence of being viewed as “different”.  The difference was never clarified in any quarter—not until now—but it was perceived subconsciously from every quarter.

And sometimes the contempt leaked out in a conscious, if unexamined, sneer.  Knuckle-dragging, indeed!  Why do we have the mainstream image of the Neanderthal as a simian, stooped-over ruffian who hadn’t enough sense to climb back into his tree?  That particular calumny arose from the misidentification of an arthritic spinal column as belonging to a healthy adult.  Neanderthals walked quite as erectly as the most upright H.S.  Their cranial capacity actually exceeded that of the typical Homo Sapiens.

But you H.S.’s, with your genetically encoded scorn of other species, naturally projected a pejorative interpretation upon the evidence.  And your “Neanderthal sensors” were constantly deployed in their wicked subconscious scan of your environment for any intruder with a more-than-two-percent genome.  You have endless laughs at the expense of redheads or “gingers”.  You deride the gloomy or the daydreaming (tendencies which Swift bestowed upon his ape-like Yahoos).  You crack obscene jokes about people who lack your long, slender fingers.

White racism is vile enough (and we’ve all learned that only Caucasians can be racist, so “white racism” is a redundancy).  But to bully, belittle, and ultimately breed out of existence a species upon whose territory you trespassed uninvited—and trespassed when you left Africa, by the way (just saying…)—falls nothing short of genocidal.  You loathsome people!  You have destroyed, not my life alone, but the lives of all in my tribe.  Oh, you possess a few of our genes… a very few, which you commandeered by raping our maidens after murdering their families.  It was our genetic inheritance that made you resistant to northern contagions; and for this, our thanks is eternally to be the butt of your off-color jokes!

I’m owed reparations—generous reparations.  I have already been somewhat compensated, to be sure, by the geneticist’s gift of explaining to me everything that has ever turned out less than perfect in my life.  It was all the result of persecution!  I no longer have to look back and question if my best-laid schemes were perpetually sabotaged by a character flaw that I couldn’t correct.  But those years of self-doubt were torturous, and simply to be absolved of their swirling accusations is too small an indemnity.  I need something more material.  I’ll take a check.

And even after I deposit the payoff, I’ll ride this nag until she falters and faints beneath me.  Then I’ll skin her hide and hang it on a stick, and I’ll ride that stick around about the wide world.  Universities must have programs in Neanderthal Studies.  Politicians must busy themselves courting the Neanderthal vote.  The calendar must have a Neanderthal Culture day… but schoolchildren must not knit frowns into their smooth brows or wear pads to broaden their shoulders as if to “ape the ape” in solidarity.  Such displays of cultural appropriation hurt our feelings.  The whole “caveman” thing

leaves very painful scars.  I can sense a lawsuit against Geico looming.

Membership in an oppressed minority turns out to to be the Sutter’s Mill or the Klondike of our time: it’s a gold strike.  One has to dig, sometimes quite deeply… but there’s gold in them thar genes!

Who Must Police the Police? Concerned Citizens

Perhaps four months ago, I wrote a couple of pieces in response to Episode Six of the Netflix series, The Confession Tapes.  I wasn’t entirely prepossessed by these documentaries on extorted, distorted, or abused confessions.  Oh, I was outraged, like everyone else, at how two college boys were manipulated in Canadian sting (illegal on this side of the border) into admitting that they had brutally bludgeoned to death the family of the younger lad… but then, I also didn’t understand how both could have been left utterly without adult supervision.  The black D.C. teenagers convicted of gang-raping and murdering an old woman simply played one-by-one into the suggestions of the police interrogators; that story repeats itself almost every day, for reasons that the blanket “racism” explanation obscures more than elucidates.  Then there was the bizarre case of the father whose foot twitched on the gas pedal: he was able to extricate himself and his wife from the car as it sank into a river, but his three children went down.  As a father myself, I couldn’t understand caring about life as much as this man does after having lost all my children through some klutzy accident.  The fellow was not simpatico.

I don’t know why the Buddy Woodall case nagged at me as had none of the others.  They all bothered me, all right… but my “bother” threshold had perhaps been somewhat surpassed, as well.  The other cases had left me feeling jaded. It was all just too much… all those dramatized injustices on top of others that Netflix and the Hollywood/Newsroom elite have wanted very much to keep out of the news.  I sensed that I had been watching our “justice” system melt down for a long time. I had watched it send soldiers away for twenty years because they defended themselves in an Afghan wasteland or snapped a shot of a submarine to share with the kids… watched it export thousands of deadly weapons to Mexican cartels in a covert bid to subvert the Second Amendment… watched officers of that system destroy subpoenaed evidence with bleach and hammer even as their cronies were writing up a full exoneration… watched a dedicated cop with a spotless record be jailed for life because a feminist district attorney found him too masculine… watched a distinguished general take a plea after being “stung” (yes, those operations are supposed to be illegal) by the goons of a Special Counsel who promised to target his son if he resisted….  I’m getting sick all over again just in reviving the memory of a few cases from the past six or eight years.

Our justice system is crap.  I don’t trust it any more.  I just want to grow walnuts, pecans, sweet potatoes, and beans on my twenty-five acres.  Screw the system.  The republic is collapsing in the acid byproduct of overheated brains reared on iPhones, weed, kinky sex, and long conversations with “comfort” animals.  Screw it all, and stay off my land.  “Keep out: dangerous old white guy here.”

So what made Buddy Woodall any different?  To this day, I don’t really know.  He wasn’t a spoiled frat boy, nor was he a black kid from the inner city.  Either of those environments is as far from me as the other, and I feel powerless in both.  It is that feeling of powerlessness, perhaps, that makes one morose and defensive.  Buddy’s world, however, was not so very far from mine, either geographically or demographically.  And I didn’t detect the presence of pompous, virtue-signaling political theatrics in his prosecution (as in the West Coast tale of the two college students) or a media-fed rush to clear a sensationally lurid case (as in the D.C.P.D.’s ramrodding of several black youths through the system).  Nobody involved in the Woodall case seemed to be particularly malevolent.  There was just too much carelessness—too much laziness.

Laziness: Tocqueville noticed almost two hundred years ago that it is a distinguishing characteristic of us Southerners.  The climate is somewhat responsible, no doubt (for every Southerner did not have a slave, contrary to an assertion made in one of Tocqueville’s many rhetorical flourishes: not one in ten owned a slave).  So Buddy Woodall serves three life sentences because… because likeable but lazy detectives didn’t follow leads, and because a probably quite likeable but plainly lazy jury didn’t ponder the evidence put before it.  Everybody just dozed off.  Yeah.  A friend of mine back in Texas once lost his business because the judge dozed off during the critical portion of the testimony.  It happens a lot down here.

I wanted to see if other people of approximately my socio-economic, political, and religious profile would react to this case as I had… and so I assembled a kind of panel (whose exchanges required much editing, just because all of us passed long days devoted to other pursuits).  You can see the result of this nearly three-month experiment at Amazon.  The e-book is titled, Anatomy of a Murder Trial: A Citizen Autopsy of Buddy Woodall’s Conviction for “The Labor Day Murders”.  I hope my sometimes intrusive engineering produced a fairly readable text.  I’m far too close to it to say if the thirty-two chapters of analyzing trial transcripts are riveting or suffocating.  I only hope, like Hippocrates, I have done no harm in my groping efforts to do a little good.

I’ll leave off by advancing this remark, which reprises one I made in this space perhaps a quarter-year ago.  One of my respondents expressed his surprise that the prosecution seems to model leftist rhetorical tactics: specifically, that it employs “moral equivalency” (e.g., “You say our opening remarks alleged facts never offered in evidence.  Hypocrite!  Why, you also say that the defendant was sweated by interrogators for half a day!”  You’d have to be there… but the “facts” at issue were not remotely proved, whereas the period of psychological pressure was arranged by the interrogators themselves to extend beyond the tight room at the station.)  This recalled to me a remark I’d made about how courtroom dramas on TV have shifted from the defense attorney’s to the prosecutor’s table.  It’s true.  In the Fifties, Hamilton Burger represented Eisenhower America: hardworking, decent, upright, gray-flannel-suited… and also apt to stifle creativity or discount anomaly.  Perry Mason’s clients were innocent but slightly off-beat—society’s free spirits or ne’er-do-well’s who were in the docks for straying from the Standard Deviation.  Perry was the guardian of liberalism, that beloved American creed that licenses the individual to go his own way.

Now the political Left occupies the other side of the room: it is—or would be—the new orthodoxy.  All must condone gay marriage, late-term abortion, gun bans, ungendered pronouns, Sharia communities, hatred of white privilege, and anti-hate speech codes.  All must wear the gray flannel suit.  Though all may not think in the prescribed manner, they must speak and behave according to prescription.  Liberalism is dead.  The foolish, tardy Right hasn’t even abandoned the well-worn habit of defaming the word, although defense of the liberal is precisely where the conservative should be pitching his battle.  Profiting from this fatal confusion of his adversary, the leftist progressive proceeds to pound society into clones with the force of SWAT teams and stiff prison terms that the system has placed in his fist.

I don’t say that Buddy Woodall is some lovable, misunderstood beatnik: I say this, however, to my brethren on the Right in the aftermath of Buddy’s conviction.  Do not support police activities unconditionally just because the kneeling at NFL games and the wicked caricature of honest cops patrolling risky neighborhoods outrages you.  Police are but human beings, like you and me, and they are also minions toiling under the authority of a complex hierarchy.  If ordered one day to break down your door or my door and search our house for guns or porn or books about Nazism or liter-bottles of Coke or plastic straws or a garden glove that has dried in the “okay” sign, most of them will execute the order.  We need to protect the human being within the uniform, lest the uniform compel him to discard his humanity.

Don’t let these witless lines in the shifting sand blind you to the immutable presence of abstract moral issues.

“Reparations”: A Tribal Drum Calling Human Beings Away From Responsibility

I tend to write either upon a subject that has fermented in me for a while or upon one that breaks down my psychic door, even though I would as soon concentrate my attention elsewhere.  Today a door has come off its hinges, so… I yield to the necessity of cleaning up the mess.

I have grown irritated at several thoughtful people who write against the propriety of “reparations”—i.e., the monetary indemnification of people with X amount of melanin for the ordeal endured by their slave-ancestors.  The bright but annoying types with whom I’m peeved will protest, “I’m white, but my ancestors had nothing to do with this outrage.  They arrived at Ellis Island in 1890”; or perhaps they tender the version, “My ancestors were German farmers and Italian craftsmen who emigrated in the 1850’s and probably contributed children to wear Union blue.”  The implication is that the demand for “reparations” is itself not unjust or unreasonable, but that the writer in question shouldn’t be liable for paying a dime.

I could shred this argument on its own terms if I wanted to.  I actually have little doubt that slaves lived in the households of my progenitors on both sides—not hundreds of slaves to work vast plantations, though Hollywood would have us believe (and has duped most of us into believing, apparently) that no other kind of slavery existed.  Rather, among my ancestors as among most slaveholders (“most” as in 95 percent), there was a groom, a cook, maybe a girl to wait the table and tend the nursery, maybe another man to oversee heavier chores about the house: three to five adults, in total.  These people were employed in the same work given primarily to indentured white servants before the early nineteenth century.  Why the gradual shift from indenture to slavery?  Because Northern slavers found it profitable.  Arabic raiders plundered villages in northwestern Africa, and Yankee schooners from Long Island or Boston or Baltimore shuttled them across the Atlantic to Southern slave markets.  The North had no great need of slavery—or indenture (though the myth that no Union state practiced legal slavery during the Civil War is an ignorant falsehood).  With its far more industrialized economy, the North favored allowing competition in its populous towns and cities to drive down the daily wage and impose no burden of room and board on the employer.  The South, being far more rural and sparsely populated, was ripe for exploitation by the slave trade.  Slavery was an ugly business, all the way around—but it was a business from which the North drew a handsome profit.

It isn’t the sanctimonious hypocrisy of the, “My ancestors didn’t do it!” argument that most irritates me, however.  No… and it isn’t even the utter absence of historical awareness visible on all sides—but I’ll mention that in passing.  Were some slaves whipped, raped, separated from their families?  Unquestionably.  Slavery was a wicked, horrid institution—as were many institutions of the day.  The British Navy manned its fleet by “impressing” young men wherever it could find them.  The raids of its press gangs upon American merchant vessels, in fact, were one of the causes of the War of 1812.  This practice was essentially enslavement with a fairly high probability of mutilation or death in the aftermath.  Another example: in many parts of New England, drunkards and rioters were pilloried or otherwise brutally punished.  Farther south and west, feuds between families frequently produced a bullet in the back along a lonely road.  Thieves of a relatively petty variety were hanged.  Dueling was not uncommon.  Life was rough.  Women not uncommonly died in childbirth.  (And yet, for all the cruelty of the times, a newborn whose mother had no means of support would leave it at a church’s doorstep rather than, with the doctor’s help, cram its face in salt before shifting it to the dumpster.)

For all that, many slaves were considered part of the family.  The church which my wife attended as a child preserved evidence of a wall down its middle, created to divide slaves and masters.  In the Christian family, there should be no such division, to be sure—but here is solid evidence that the slave attended worship along with the owner (something that would never have happened up North).  My grandparents and their parents grew up playing with children of color.  The photo at the top of this piece was taken in about 1900 by a member of my father’s father’s family.  You can tell that black and white children, squeezed together (with the tiny tots of darker complexion in the middle), are playmates.  Brutality, in other words, was not universal nor even the norm—or perhaps only on large plantations, whose owners (often speculators and profiteers from the North) were typically despised by smaller, much more numerous farmers and had political interests inimical to most of their neighbors.  May I ask, in closing this digression, what Sherman’s ravages of the South did to keep either white or black children from starving, or how a “reconstruction” which abruptly ended in a couple of years left freedmen in a fit state to feed their families and make their way?

All of this aside—and it’s a lot to shove aside, for the willful stupidity of imbibing all one’s knowledge of the mid-nineteenth century from Django infuriates me—but all of it aside, the true outrage of “reparations” is the moral outrage of holding children responsible for their parents’ deeds.  The crazed immigrant who pushed a little boy over a rail to almost certain death in the Mall of America… should his children pay monthly compensation to the victim for the rest of his life, if he survives?  What if the would-be murderer claims that the rabble-rousing “hate speech” of Liz Warren, Kamala Harris, and other unscrupulous flame-throwers of the Left incited him to attempt a killing?  Should the Democratic Party pony up for the bereaved family two or three generations from now?

Should I refuse to let my son marry your daughter because your grandfather wore a Nazi uniform?  I believe Ted Bundy left a son behind; perhaps that child should be monitored for signs of schizophrenia… but should we place him in a classroom all by himself?  Alexander the Great was a marvel to his contemporaries for, among other things, not slaying the sons of his political adversaries when resistance reached open hostility.  Do we, too, now marvel at such restraint?  Does it no longer make any sense to us?

I know the my-ancestors-didn’t-do-this crowd hasn’t fully weighed the implications of its half-hearted objection… but weigh them, please.  Consider what you’re not saying as well as what you’re saying.  The “reparations” canard (and I have refused to use the word outside of quotations to signify my contempt and disgust) is evil.  It’s not a dumb idea or an impractical proposal: it is evil at its foundations.  The basis of any true morality—i.e., any that is not cultural conditioning masked as unquestioned goodness—must be individual conscience.  Each single person must be presumed capable of choosing his or her acts… and held accountable, by the way, for not choosing when he or she just goes with the flow.  Such a presumption is the foundation of our free society.  If we reject it and assume, instead, that people are infinitely programmable robots who do the bidding of their tribes or their demagogic leadership, then why have another free election?  Why accord the individual the right to defend himself from deadly attack?  Program him, rather, to die passively: he can be replaced by another robot, and the malfunctioning robot who slew him can be dismantled back at the factory.  Why allow couples to conceive, bear, and raise their own children—for the real thrust of the “pro-choice” movement is to regulate the production of new humans according to some master-plan of population density and racial composition.

Notice that all three of the preposterous positions just outlined—overhaul of free elections, suppression of the right to self-defense, and state-sponsored eugenics through abortion—are fast becoming leftist orthodoxy. There is no room in the progressive state for troublesome individualists who delay the march of progress. Our individual lives have no meaning: meaning is conferred upon them only by the ascendant vector of tomorrow’s golden dawn.

Megalomaniac leftist ideologues understand that “reparations” are completely consistent with their broader vision of a deterministic, inhuman apehouse whipped into line by their own superior inspiration—they, our insane prophets sent from some inscrutable, blank-and-pitiless heaven.  Most of their allies in our currently sitting Congress, I am convinced, no more embrace this depraved ideology to its last letter than people on my side of the fence oppose “reparations” simply because of a family-tree exemption.  Democrat presidential candidates, rather, are competing in offering bribes to a base that (they hope) can be bought.  Even among that base, few whose palms grow itchy at the thought of a “reparations check” in the mail, I imagine, seriously believe that they have no power over their lives—that the cards determining their destiny were shuffled 150 years ago.  They just want the “free stuff”.

But what will the next generation believe?  Once we raise its members totally immersed in the poisonous vapors of tribalism and determinism, what else will they believe but that you are only and always your DNA signature—that this man must be my enemy because of his skin tone, and that I must pray to this god and love this music because my ancestors did so?  Those who write the checks, and those who accept them, will be responsible in a higher reality for corrupting human society with a sordid scam.  And you, too, my brothers “whose great-grandparents weren’t here at the time”… your hands will not be entirely clean.

For God’s sake, call the Devil by his name.

More Wild Cards: The Center Cannot Hold

I have been unable to deliver on my promise to make a clean break from Twitter so far.  Recent outbursts of tribal bigotry—not racism, which actually requires a systematic underpinning—have lured me into several conversations.  But I also (and probably more than ever) feel the need of a discussion pitched at a higher level.  As I wait for my mind to clear, therefore (and hope that it does), allow me to continue with more “wild cards” that make predicting the next half-century very chancy.

Where does the next generation come from?  People are having fewer kids all the time, at least in the so-called “developed” nations.  (I’m having a hard time not mentally quoting that word every time it attaches to our degenerate society.)  Parts of Europe where “replacement rate” reproduction is clearly not happening have attempted to supplement their labor shortage by throwing open their doors to all comers… but instead of admitting enough active taxpayers to support their aging population, they have swollen the welfare rolls and literally fomented rioting in the streets (thanks to several varieties of cultural clash).  How does this play out?  What becomes of an aging population no longer able to pay its bills when overlaid with a much younger population also unable to pay its bills?  And the young arrivals are indeed reproducing at a rate far beyond replacement… but their children enjoy no better prospects of finding work.

For bringing this demographic Chernobyl to public attention, Thilo Sarrazin was openly reviled, dismissed from his government position, and virtually hounded from all “respectable” company in Germany.  Yet he writes of cultural environment, not of DNA.  (In today’s steeply dumbed-down world, one cannot ask an arrival from Moola-Woola to wear shoes or cut his knee-length hair because it’s “racism”.)  The facts are these: our new “guest workers” (and the situation is much the same on this side of the pond, mutatis mutandis) do not speak the language.  Adults are therefore unable to help schoolchildren with lessons, even assuming that the parents had received some level of instruction back in the old country.  Young boys, in particular, are not expected to slave over books, according to “tradition”; and while the girls are free to immerse themselves in their studies, their efforts will likely go for naught, inasmuch as their destiny is to marry young and stay at home.

Meanwhile, mechanization is snapping up ever more of the jobs that an unskilled, blue-collar labor force conventionally performed.  High-tech opportunities exist… but not for children who can’t pass basic algebra.  Where does it all lead?

American seniors are perhaps somewhat better positioned to weather the storms of old age than their European counterparts, for the time being.  But the dilemma isn’t going away, especially for the upwardly mobile white majority.  Here, as far as I can tell, the preference for late marriage, few if any children, and even the sterility of a homosexual arrangement or a house filled with dogs and cats is pronounced.  So be it, some would say. Just as many Germans appear to long for racial suicide, so many of this demographic seem unconcerned about expunging their DNA from the face of the earth.  Some are indeed crying out for it from high in the Ivory Tower.  So… what will the world of complex electronic systems serviced by a dozen people and serving billions of analphabetic dependents look like?  How will it work?  At what point will the technicians simply fuse with Artificial Intelligence… and at what point will the new “transhuman” elite decide that it doesn’t need the dead weight of the idle masses?  How will that dead weight be shed?

Will intra-societal clashes be encouraged as a purge—race wars, perhaps, such as one sees looming behind all the verbal fecal matter fling about Twitter?  Or will a sterilizing agent simply, sanitarily be added to the annual required flu vaccine?  One of my own Twitter exchanges (which narrowly escaped becoming malodorous) involved the notion of “believing the experts” in the matter of climate change.  I referred my interlocutor to Paul Driessen and Wolfgang Thune; I observed that being a cardiologist or an archaeologist—or even a meteorologist—does not qualify one to speak with authority about climate, even though –ologist wags its tail in all of these professional titles; but most of all, I stressed that Neils Bohr, Werner von Braun, and Philipp Bouhler were all expert in their field… and that the common folk of the Thirties and Forties reaped a very bitter harvest from their expertise.

With masses of people, even (especially?) among the educated, being so eager to be led, and with the resources necessary to handle human masses being so depleted and finite, our species’ immediate future seems very much in doubt to me.  I really have no confidence that we can seize the reins and direct our progress at this point—any of us, that is, who considers humanity worth preserving.  On the other hand, the leadership of the PRC continues to remove adversary pieces from the global chessboard.  I don’t know why China hasn’t already taken our queen by destroying the unprotected North American power grid… unless persons and entities within our own government have already compacted with the Chinese oligarchy for seats at the One-World Round Table.

With the rest of us being so powerless or so clueless… well, well.  Who knows?  I won’t say there’s no hope, because evil has a way of undoing itself even after it appears to have neutralized every force for good.  I can only say, “Tend to your garden.  Find a source of clean water.  Keep plenty of blankets around.  Know where your children are.”