The Kenosha Kid
by Douglas Mercer
WHAT GALLS the left, what sets our enemies’ teeth on edge, what makes them sputter with apoplectic rage, is that in Kyle Rittenhouse the American Spirit still lives. The young man heard the call of duty, showed up armed and dangerous, went to defend the good and the right — and in so doing he took out some human garbage. And then he walked away scot free, and he did it all with no small amount of panache.
The American Spirit still lives in the Kenosha Kid. The American Spirit still lives in Kyle Rittenhouse.
They’ll never forget it; and they’ll never forgive him for it.
Already the Jews are saying that this can’t be. Big fat incontinent Jew Jerry Nadler wants rat-faced Jew Merrick Garland to make this a Federal case. Ha! Those Jews might as well spit in the wind. You see, they’re never going to touch one hair on the head of Kyle Rittenhouse. He’s the Kenosha Kid, for crying out loud. He’s the American Spirit incarnate. He is a giant who’s walking on the Earth among us. He’s took out some Jew human garbage and waltzed away, no worse for the wear. As such, he’s immune from your evil Jewing.
Rightly understood, the American Spirit was never about the Constitution, rights, democracy, or liberty. Those are ephemera, smallish waves of froth on a raging ocean. No, the American Spirit is about taking care of business, about — by the gods! — doing what it takes, whatever it takes, for as long as it takes. The American Spirit is about doing what needs doing, of seeing a problem and then obliterating it with extreme and unalloyed prejudice. The American Spirit is about not handcuffing yourself in the name of a misguided and lunatic “morality.” In the American Spirit the only thing that succeeds is success.
You think our forebears conquered a continent on the back of scruples, or compunctions, or the niceties? No, not even close. When it came time to kill Indians they killed Indians; when it came time to run the Mexicans back into Mexico they did that. When they saw that they needed to keep out the race aliens they kept out the race aliens; when the Negroes threatened them, they drew a color line and dealt harshly and swiftly with any one of them that dared cross it or even look at it.
That’s the American Spirit, a take no prisoners, give no quarter, Hell-bent for leather, all-out assault on whatever is in its way.
What is democracy, compared to that? Nothing, that’s what. Compared to that, the Constitution has no meaning.
What we saw in the summer of 2020 was nothing but a full-scale, colossal abdication of responsibility on the part of our leadership class. As Black savages, Jews, and treacherous Whites burnt down city after city, after they rampaged over the last vestiges of American self-respect, our leaders were in two camps. Half of them loved it; they egged it on, they saw in every fire the final inferno of White America. The other half might have wanted it to stop, but they barely had the nerve to ask the savages politely to desist. These latter had one great fear: That in order to stop the burning, the looting, and the rioting it would have been necessary to drop some dead Negroes on the ground.
And in the summer of 2020 — and now — dead Negroes are not popular among those who control, and follow, the enemy media.
They say they didn’t want to “escalate” things. But that’s poppycock; things had already escalated; things had already spiraled out of control. And, as Ronald Reagan sagely said before he became a figure of avuncular geniality: If bloodbath there must be, let’s have the bloodbath now.
In the summer of 2020, and now, the American Spirit is not popular among those who control, and follow, the enemy media. Now, the American Spirit — that can-do, gung-ho, balls-to-the-wall courageous spirit — is reviled and smeared. It’s “fascist,” don’t you know. They say it hearkens back to the bad old days they hope we’ve put behind us, the old days when men knew what they needed to do and they did it without even the faintest thought of an apology.
In the summer of 2020, every American “leader” either piled on or haired out. It speaks so ill of them that their memories should forever be greeted with howls of execration. They either attacked us or gave up on us. It was a fiduciary breach on a titanic scale. As the cities went up in flames, no mayor did anything to stop it. As the cities became hellish infernos, no governor did a thing to stop it.
And as the cities burnt the phony tough guy, that little lamb in the White House, blustered a bit — and then did nothing about it.
Safe to say, those are not leaders. Those are traitors. In them never lived the American Spirit.
And yet as the American carnage raged unabated, a young man decided to act. He didn’t need a constitution to tell him what to do. And democracy had no lessons for him. He knew what to do because somewhere in his White race-soul the American Spirit still lived; somewhere in his heart, the American Spirit had not died.
So what did he do?
Without a second thought, he ran to the sound of the guns. Without mulling over the pros or the cons, he ran to the heat of the fires.
He did what his people have always done. He defended. He defended with a lion’s heart.
In the summer of 2020, American police precincts were attacked. The response by officials was to abandon those buildings. But a police precinct is, or ought to be, the home of our defenders. That building should mark the line between civilization and the savages, for as long as the savages still exist here. One step over it and you’re in the land of hurt, or should be. Those precincts should have been defended at all costs and to the last man. That line was where the bodies should have been piled up. But instead they all ignominiously turned tail. They left their posts in the hour of crisis. They ran away. They covered themselves in obloquy. That is, they surrendered to the blood-dimmed tide — the tide that is still washing up on our shores.
In the summer of 2020, so-called autonomous zones were set up in our cities. That should have been the place for the firefights. That should have been another place where the bodies were piled high. All means should have been used to re-conquer that space and drive out the vermin. But instead officials “waited it out.” That is, they put their tails between their legs and ran. They exhibited a yellow streak a continent wide. The American Spirit was nowhere to be found, as wave upon wave of the blood-dimmed tide crashed down on us.
They refused to defend us. We’ll remember that.
But amidst this tale of infamy, one patriot ran the other way. He ran past all of the shamed. As they fled, he advanced. His sights were on glory and he showed guts, grit, and gumption. Glory was his. He was like the Founders whose least dignity was trespassed on, and they reached for their rifles and entered the killing floor. He was like the conquerors of this continent who hounded and harried and when necessary killed the savages who had murdered and raped their wives and children and brothers and sisters. He was like the heroes of old, who took down those dragons with a noble and an upright heart.
Kyle Rittenhouse made his people forever proud. His story is the always salutary one of the triumph of the undaunted American Spirit. The spirit that knows no surrender, that will wade though blood for the cause of his Folk. And he did that despite the near-total hostility of those who should have been leading the charge.
Never had the world seen such nerve.
Will he end up being a White nationalist? A basic “conservative”? A normie? No one knows, of course. But on this fateful day, that does not matter. For one brief priceless moment he was out there on the line between us and them, and he performed his heroics with grace and courage. In so doing, he has etched his name on the eternal wall of heroes; in blood he has written his name forever in the annals of the history of our people. He has secured a place for himself in Valhalla.
For in that eternal moment, when everything was on the line, he showed us for all time that the American Spirit still lives, and that it always will live.
And for that we will be forever grateful.
All hail Kyle.
The fate of human garbage will never be the same.
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