Over the past week I have seen, but—with the exception of one man—have not spoken to, four working class white men who were prominently displaying the accursed and reviled symbol of Rural White America in the mixed-race environs of Essex, Hawthorne, and Baynesville, all Baltimore County suburbs to the famously violent majority-black city of Baltimore.
Upon seeing these men I was first struck by the fact that they may well be attacked, and a decision was thence forced upon me. I do not believe that God is Love, society serves humanity, that the community cares about the individual or that the police protect and serve. I am also a live and let die kind of guy and have made it part of my survival discipline to never come to the aid of a person being attacked. I have walked by heinous acts of violence that I could have ended and did not. I have also walked by acts of violence that I could not have ended and did not intervene.
But now, since the government has deliberately and vocally set their black dogs at my throat, I have to be prepared to make a bigger choice. And that choice is if I see a white man, or any person of any race [a Cambodian redneck for instance], being attacked while displaying or wearing the Stars and Bars, I will go to their aid. I will also, henceforth, approach flag bearers and speak to them in hopes of gathering some insight into their motivation and position, which I regard as heroically doomed.
Shamed By A Hero
Oddly enough, this recent and seemingly race solidarity stance on my part—me being a well known race traitor—was instigated by a black friend. This Tuesday morning at work, on the Night of Insane Welfare Whores The America That Liberals Want & Tia And The Ho, Boomy, hero of the Baltimore Purge and savior of “the blonde woman of the yuppies” from armed packs of rampaging black men, approached me after his shift.
Boomy is a Nigerian Christian cabbie, a tall polite man with a ready smile and deep glossy black skin. He said to me, “Sir, how are you? I have not seen you in some time and am worried that you are still living among those ոiggers in the city. This city is going crazy with that stupid woman encouraging this mayhem. Look, look upon my phone! fifteen shootings and three dead this weekend—in your city, Sir. Please tell me you have moved. Are you well?”
I then informed Boomy that I still reside in the Evil City and that four young bucks tried to do me in on Thursday night.
He looked at me and measured me like some purchaser of gladiators in ancient Rome. “And here you stand. How did you put the ոiggers in their pace, Sir?”
I explained that I merely had a rusty shank and beat a hasty retreat while two of their number seemed to be going into a house to arm up.
Boomy was aghast, and fairly scolded me, “Sa! Where was your gonne![Gun!]”
“Apparently I misplaced it along with my bugler and my troop of cavalry.”
“Sa, I must insist, that in these times, a decent man must carry a gonne—and a troop of cavalry is a good idea! In any case, Sir, I wish you well, and I wish you victory. I will be in touch.”
So, as my much bolder Nigerian friend walked off to purchase his eggs, I was feeling somewhat abashed about my timidity in the face of the foe, and not an iota like Nathan Bedford Forest at Bryce’s Crossroads. I resolved to at least became a decent race war correspondent and give the underdogs their due.
Four Postmodern Confederates
This past Saturday Morning on Eastern Avenue, across from Martin’s Air Force Base, where a squadron of Maryland Air National Guard A-10 “warthogs” are based, a thin, bald, white man in a deer hunting cap, drove down the road doing 50 MPH in a 35 zone in a large, thundering pick-up truck that seemed to be stamped out of galvanized sheet metal and had no visible branding or stylized features. The pickup seemed thirty years old. From the back of this pickup truck flew a flag on a flag pole of the type usually mounted on front porches on Memorial Day and the 4th of July. The flag itself was a full-sized Confederate battle flag that must have been sourced from a Civil War reenactors’ site. This flag was as large as the American flag that flew over the air base.
This is the type of man—the redneck in the pickup truck—that, up until five years ago, routinely threatened and harassed me for being a small lone white pedestrian. Whatever the past differences between our kinds I would have to go to his aid, and must confess to being thrilled—like watching the Blue Angels fly overhead out of this very air base—when I saw and heard him rumble defiantly down the street of this socialist Mother State.
This past Sunday afternoon, after training, I was walking through the back streets of Baynesville when I came across a white man, trimming a lawn with a weed whacker on a majority black middle class street. He was tall and lean and had a hat on his closely shaved head. Behind him was a plain pickup truck, smaller, but of the same rugged non-stylistic and unadorned type as the man driving down Eastern Avenue on the other side of the County. From the back of the truck, above the gate latch on either gunwale, hung a two by three foot Confederate battle flag, each mounted on a short flag pole.
This past Tuesday morning, on the Night of Insane Welfare Whores, a working white man, bald, who had been supportive of the two police even as the mixed-race group of thugs threatened to riot if there was an insane welfare whore arrest, approached Steevo and I in the aisle and spoke to us of the need for whites to stand together in the face of the coming race purge. He had been struck in the back of the head with some hard object and had placed a bandage over the bloody spot. He was calm, lucid, intelligent, animated, and seemingly happy to have discovered that he was a particular type of hunted animal. I know the feeling well. The Liberating Truth had recently descended upon this man in the form of an enemy attack.
He said, “The next time, we stand up. The police are standing down. It’s about time this shit ends. You guys take care and have a great night.”
He then walked proudly by the band of slinking thugs, whose faux menace wilted like old lettuce of the same hue.
For an honorable mention, I must write of a bald white man in his early thirties [which was the age of all of the above militants] who lives and shops in the Hawthorne neighborhood, and has a Confederate flag tattooed on the back of his head!
I don’t like tattoos.
I’m not a Confederate sympathizer.
I think the right side won the War of Northern Aggression, even though it was a war of northern aggression.
I don’t believe any defeated nation should have a right to continue flying the flag of their crushed cause.
But, the United States Government and the Liberal Media are my mortal enemies, the enemies of my soul. These defiant souls are—I believe—doomed to be arrested and have their flags—and maybe even some skin—confiscated in the not too distant future. And even though they may not be my friends simply by virtue of having the same enemies, we can be allies. And I would not sit by while an ally was attacked by the very same enemy that is coming for me next.
Of a sudden I find myself liking this phony country, splintering as it is into a patchwork of real hatreds.
From here on out I will do my best to speak with defiant bearers of the doomed flag.
Putting on my science-fiction writer’s hat, I can’t help but make some off the cuff predictions:
1. By 2016 a violent black actor will plead in his defense that his beating or killing of a white was justified by that white person’s display of the Confederate flag.
2. By 2017 an American riot/race purge will be sparked by a private person flying the Stars and Bars.
3. By 2018 a DOJ case will be brought against a violent white actor, in which his actions will fall under the hate crime umbrella due to the fact that he owned or displayed a Confederate flag.
4. By 2020 we will see laws on the books that bar private citizens from displaying any version of the Confederate flag, complete with provisions for the use of such flags in film and historical reenactments, for which special permits must be purchased.
Suddenly the enemy of my enemy is not my friend but an ally? I wonder how far this will go and will this change the behaviors of the whites living in Baltimore and whether this will cause an awakening of sorts.
Interesting times we live in.
I generally hold with the dictum that "the Enemy of my Enemy is still my Enemy!" However, in the name of gross expediency I'm willing to waffle as far as alliance.
That's a Chinese curse, isn't it?
Let's hear a Rebel Yell: YeeeeHaaaaah!
smithsonianmag.com/videos/category/3play_1/what-did-the-rebel-yell-sound-like/?no-ist
It's not hate, it's heritage!
“We have no permanent allies, we have no permanent enemies, we only have permanent interests.” –attributed to Henry John Temple, Viscount Lord Palmerston, 1784-1865, Foreign Secretary and two-time Prime Minister under Queen Victoria.
“In war I would deal with the Devil and his Grandmother.”- Josef Stalin
“Survival cancels programing.” – Ted Cassidy as Ruk the Android, Star Trek, “What Little Girls are made of”.
All of my ancestors, and even all of my children’s ancestors, who participated in the (first) American Civil War fought for the Union. One was wounded in the hand so badly he had to abandon his trade of making musical instruments, one lost his teeth from biting open the greased paper cartridges used to load his rifled musket (probably got gingivitis due to the poor sanitation of the times) and one died of leprosy he caught way down South. Will my progeny and I get any credit at all for the sacrifices our ancestors made to end slavery and preserve the Union? NOOOOOOOOOO! The truth is The Woman holds us white denizens of the American Midwest in the same contempt she holds for the white people living in the Deep South. We’re both “bitter clingers” opposing her Transformation. So today this Son of the Union finds himself in common cause with the Sons of the Confederacy. Now we’re both rebels, resisting The Woman’s oppression. We both have the same interest, the same common cause: survival! The survival of our way of life and the freedoms we cherish and have taken for granted. Jered Taylor of American Renaissance today pointed out the inconvenient truth to the white “cuckservatives” afflicted with “normalcy bias”, that “Nothing you love will survive without white people.” amren.com/news/2015/07/an-open-letter-to-cuckservatives The majority of blacks and Hispanics will simply not support the same governmental policies that whites support. Those blacks and Hispanics that do support white Conservative policies are denounced as race traitors by their fellows. They are said to be not really black or not really Hispanic. So it is delusional to imagine that we Conservatives can ever find common cause with them, much less with the white Leftists who hate our guts. So ‘hello’, our modern “Confederates” are white, so we other Conservative whites, not coincidently, find ourselves in common cause with them in trying retain our own freedoms and retain our property and prosperity and even maintain our own personal safety. We cannot go on as we used to because these are not normal times. Now unfortunately most of the cuckservatives will keep carrying on as if they were “Dale Gribble” in “King of the Hill”, who acts totally oblivious to the obvious fact that his is paying to support another man’s child, although he fervently believes in every other conspiracy hoax. But for us realists I say, we’re not racist and we’re not stupid either. Actually I have found the “Confederates” to be much more pleasant and more reasonable to deal with, than, say, the “Devil’s Grandmother”. In fact The Woman IS the Devil’s Grandma!