Essays

Can You Imagine?

A Family In A Drawing Roomby Alexander Noble

I WAS messaging back and forth with a much younger fellow National Alliance member recently. We were having a lively discussion when I happened to mention that it was hard to adjust to the staggering changes since I lived in a 98% White town as child and a teenager. His response was perfectly reasonable, but it struck me a devastating blow in a vulnerable spot, and set me to thinking. He said, “I can’t imagine what that would be like.”

As our society spirals ever downward into madness, we pass many thresholds and tipping-points, often without realizing it. At some point, the old rules and standards cease to apply, but no formal announcement is ever made so we don’t become fully aware of these changes until the day we speak or act upon venerable and dependable social traditions, only to be blasted with contempt and condemned by the outraged people around you to the status of social pariah.

My young interlocutor startled me into a gut-wrenching realization: We’re teetering on the edge of yet another tipping-point — the world of the pre-1965 Immigration Act is passing out of living memory. Unlike my young friend, I have no difficulty imagining that world. Rather, I struggle to wrap my long-suffering mind around the world as it exists now. I find myself wishing I could apologize to my grandparents, great-grandparents, and even a few of my great-great-grandparents. Like a typical know-it-all kid suffering from the disease of presentism, I scoffed at their ridiculous stories of how things used to be, the near-barbaric beliefs and standards of behavior that were virtually universal, and silliness like 5 cent loaves of bread, 10 cent gallons of milk, and the absurd nickel matinee. Sometimes, they would tell me sadly, “You have no idea what you’ve already lost.” I was certain that, even if it were true, I could live without it. Hardly; I really had no clue.

Aztlan MapUnlike most people who lived through these changes gradually, I was struck by them as sudden blows as I moved about the country as a child from one culturally distinct part to another. I started out life in a small Texas town that was virtually all White. I was so insulated from “diversity” that when I went to a state fair as a kindergartener, I was terrified by my first sight of a Spanish-jabbering Mestizo. I latched onto my mother and asked her, “Mommy, what’s wrong with that man?”

When I was nine years old, my parents divorced and I was moved to a small Southwestern town where the population was nearly evenly split between Mestizos and Whites. It was a definite shock to the system; few of the old rules applied. Everyone was obsessed and fascinated with Indians and Indian culture. American heritage was a low priority. European heritage was ignored, except for a few die-hard teachers nearing retirement. My relatives informed me that the old rule of never backing down from a fight had to be scrapped when dealing with Mestizos. Even if you won, two hours later your opponent would be back with a dozen reinforcements.

Cowboys and IndiansIn those days, we still played games like Cowboys and Indians, or Cops and Robbers. The ongoing battle in those games had always been who was going to be stuck with the burden of being the Indians or the robbers. In my new home town that was inverted; everyone wanted to be the Indians and the robbers. Those who had always been the villains were now the ones to be emulated. Unlike my former home, the people in my new home commonly embraced the hippie culture and their values, though there was some futile resistance.

A job change for my step-father resulted in a move to the far north of the country, very near the Canadian border. Having had my psyche rudely slapped in one direction, it was now shockingly slapped back in the other. My new town was equally small, with a mix of different White peoples, but mainly populated by people of Scandinavian extraction, with Finns making up a huge percentage of a 98% White population.Swedish Women It always amused me how school assemblies were such an ocean of blond hair. It was a chronically depressed part of the country economically, so petty crimes and drug-dealing were relatively common, and a disproportionately large part of the population drank to excess, but it was very calm, clean, accepting, and very safe. Instead of fights every week at my school, as I was accustomed to, I observed only one fight in three years.

I won’t presume to say that everything was perfect, far from it. Bullies existed, particularly in Texas, and were tolerated by most adults for reasons I never fully understood. Most PE teachers seemed to consider violence to be a form of aerobics. Drunk driving was deemed a fundamental skill. Cigarette smoking was peaking in 1963, when I was a small child, at a half of a trillion cigarettes sold domestically. The majority of men smoked, and women were not far behind. Smoking was not considered rude, but complaining about smoking would get you shunned. Every piece of trash generated in your car went straight out the window, because that’s where it belonged. When my father changed the oil in our cars, the waste oil was poured on the ground in the alley to keep the weeds down, or down an ant hole in a nearby vacant lot to control them as well. There have been improvements since those days, but for every improvement we’ve paid with a multitude of setbacks. Whatever their flaws, the old ways tasted more like freedom.

Woman hitchhikingSo, to my young friend, I will tell you what it was like living in towns that were almost 100% White. To begin, no one had a security system at their home, and it would have never occurred to them that they needed one. Locking your doors was considered to border on rudeness, at least in small town Texas, as it implied that your neighbors were not trustworthy. No one locked their cars, rarely rolled their windows up, and keys were left in the ignition because that’s where you used them. When you were walking home from school, passing adults would often offer you a ride, which I almost always accepted. Others may have had different experiences, but I always arrived alive and unmolested. Bike locks didn’t exist and would have been incomprehensible. When you got older and asked your father to drive you somewhere, he would remind you that, “You have a thumb.” Hitchhiking kids were a fact of life. No one asked you for an ID when you wrote a check. In fact, banks provided what were called “courtesy checks” that all businesses kept on their counters. If you forgot your checkbook, you took a courtesy check, filled in the blanks with your account number and such, then went on your way. Nobody prepaid for gasoline and would have been offended if asked to do so. On Saturday, after the cartoons were over, you jumped on your bike and disappeared, your mother had no idea where you were and didn’t worry about it. You were gone all day. The rule was to be home before the street lights came on. You spoke your mind without looking around to see who was standing nearby. Your culture reigned supreme. Your country could accomplish anything — and would. The future was your personal property. When you applied for something, winding up on the wrong side of a quota or set-aside wasn’t a consideration. There was a law that wasn’t official, or even written down, but everybody knew it well: Touch a White woman and you’re dead. White men actually cared about their women and took action to defend them. As you can see, we’re talking about a high-trust society with rules that everybody understood. As you can see, we’re talking about a homogeneous society where everybody had the mental wiring to comprehend the rules and their necessity.

So, now it’s my turn to say it. Young people, you have no idea what you’ve already lost. As the saying goes, you can’t miss something you’ve never had. The world I knew as a concrete entity is passing into the realm of abstract concepts and that grieves me. Hold on to what you’ve got. Push back where you can. Don’t let your freedom and personal sovereignty become a fuzzy, vague floating abstraction that you can’t quite fix in your mind. Freedom is much like modern technology in a way. Once you’ve had it for even a short while, you can’t imagine how you ever lived without it.

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2 Comments

  1. T. the brilliant Bach
    December 28, 2015 at 5:31 pm — Reply

    Very nice. Thank you. I can also relate as my community is still 90% white and having lived in almost only all-white areas.
    To you younger people: one of the things you can do to naturally resist the freakish society our enemies have set on us is stick with our languages. Do not ‘acquire’ the newspeak such as ‘gender’ instead of ‘sex’, e.g. Another thing you can do is to have children!
    Good luck, stay the course, keep on fighting and keep on thinking free!

  2. Alois Walken
    December 29, 2015 at 9:58 pm — Reply

    Well now. Now that was a question I would have asked if I were that young man, and hearing the answer I realize even more how bad the situation of “One step forward, two steps backwards” really is.

    My city is less than half White, and my neighborhood is less than a tenth White (more if you count Arabians and White Hispanics, less if you don’t count the confused self-hating Whites), which is a fairly even mix of German, Italian, and Irish. I’m all of those things.

    The idea of an American culture exists only in the better situated families just outside my county, and even then they don’t seem very worried about Hussein, Pedro, or Jamal. But there is a significant amount of older people, people old enough to be my father or grandfather, that realize exactly what’s going on and have steeled themselves and their families to weather it like a stormy sea. Then there are kids like me who see how it is and keep it to themselves, like their grandfathers.

    It’s a pretty bleak society outside the safety of our locked doors, and where is the American spirit? It seems like we’ve been conquered by our historical enemies at last…

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