Thoreau and Negroes in the Woods
by Douglas Mercer
IT’S SAFE TO SAY that Henry David Thoreau was among the worst of our kind, the lowest that the White race has on offer. He was a Negro-worshipper and a hyper-individualist.
What could go wrong?
The cantankerous fool is best known for his theory of “civil disobedience” which paved the way for the mentally confused Leo Tolstoy and his brand of “rational Christianity,” and the darkskinned Gandhi who Hitler, in a remark to Lord Halifax, once recommended be shot on sight.
He gained his final claim to fame when Negroes took up his theory, and Jews championed it — and plenty of delirious or suicidal Whites went along.
The White world has never been the same since.
When it came to the primacy of the White world, obedience should have been the order of the day.
Thoreau famously said that “it is never too late to give up your prejudices.” When dealing with self-styled “idealists,” “prejudices” is best translated as “rational conclusions based on extensive observation.” Why one would want to give those up is another question, and one might add: It is never too late to acquire them.
Acquire them before it is too late.
Indeed, this social reformer spent a good portion of his life trying to encourage others to relinquish their own prejudices regarding the issues of abolition.
Indeed, there it is; he was one of those “Transcendentalist” Negro-lovers who stuck their noses in where they had no business meddling (or even competence to judge). He was that archetypal “dreamer” who didn’t know the difference between poisson and poison when it came to the business of living. And he certainly couldn’t tell the difference when it came to the business of living with Negroes. No, this head-in-the-clouds nine-ball should have contented himself with spinning his worthless words of mental masturbation and left the future of this country to the responsible ones. Too bad for us he and his insidious kind got the whip hand in the end.
Thoreau became an impassioned and moving speaker on abolition.
You see this blind lunatic was a fanatical believer in “freedom”; he was a libertarian before his time, and every form of social solidarity chafed at him. His kind of insanity has taken so much hold that those of us Whites who want to survive will eventually have to trek to the woods. Where we live will be unknown but what we live for will be ourselves and the White future.
I heartily accept the motto — That government is best which governs least; and I should like to see it acted up to more rapidly and systematically. Carried out, it finally amounts to this, which also I believe — That government is best which governs not at all.
So said Henry David Thoreau, much too famously.
Hitler had a dramatically different view. The renowned Germanic seer held that government is best which governs with an iron hand — in the name of a homogeneous people.
The enforcement of the Fugitive Slave Law of 1850 and vehement support of the activities of John Brown were often the driving forces of Thoreau’s fiery lectures.
Thoreau was the very type of the “anti-racist” intellectual that we see so much of today; the type that was and is a harbinger of our doom. From the safety of his ultra-safe and ultra-White enclave in Concord, he championed that foul pus-laden sore named John Brown, that killer of good White men, the one who wanted to unleash ten thousand Nat Turners on the White men, women, and children of America. Why yes, he said: I think the Negroes need to do them some killing.
So Thoreau said, holed up in the woods while he verbally autoerotically asphyxiated himself.
Thoreau moved into the political forefront only with his defense of John Brown, immediately after the arrests at Harper’s Ferry. The little national fame he achieved was as an eccentric Emersonian social experimenter and a firebrand champion of Brown.
Emerson himself said that Brown had made the gallows the new cross, and Thoreau just aped his putrid hero and patron. If those two ever saw a White woman raped by a Congoid, or a White baby who got his brains dashed out by one, they’d put on those spectacles and applaud in the name of “human freedom.” In a kind of transcendental trance they’d champion the destruction of their own people.
Upon considering the callous and insensitive remarks made by his neighbors in hearing the news of the death of Brown, Thoreau wrote: “They who are continually shocked by slavery have some right to be shocked by the violent death of the slaveholder, but no others.”
Trust me, this clueless cretin was not shocked by the violent death of the slaveholders who were savagely murdered by Brown and his men. He loved it; he saw it as fully justified revenge.
Thoreau writes about a number of times he assisted fugitive slaves on their way north. He hid them, drove them to the train station, bought their tickets, and sometimes even accompanied them to the next station.
Not only a traitor to his race, but a common criminal.
And now the grandmaster of Walden Pond, and the wizard of wasted lives, is getting erased. And, you know, it couldn’t have happened to a nicer fellow.
Come with me; let’s spit on his grave.
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One by one, the White icons go down. Most of them we lament, but not this one.
Henry David Thoreau is getting erased. It’s been known for some time that Blacks lived in Walden; but just now (of all times!) the Washington Post is trumpeting this fact in an article (28 November, 2021). Negroes, of course, are more likely to be found in the wood pile that in the woods; they are not known as great Nature-lovers. No, that’s a White thing. But apparently before Henry Thoreau went to Walden and scribbled his wanton and wicked nonsense, some Negroes lived there first, as some sort of squatters. And now, of course, the ideology of Floydism means that this supposedly world-historical fact needs to be ballyhooed far and wide, like it means something. Some Negroes lived in the woods! My god, what’s next? Will they take us to space? Will they create cold fusion? Of course the Blacks never wrote a book about their experience in the woods; they spent all their time there scratching their fuzzy heads. Had Thoreau done the same, the world today would be a better place.
This is one White “icon” whose statues and busts can come tumbling down, who they can erase as if he had never once walked the Earth, who they can sandblast into oblivion — and no sane White man will shed one tear. Kevin MacDonald once made the point that the Transcendentalists (whom Edgar Poe called the “Frogpondians”) were an interesting case: They exhibited all of the anti-ethnocentric traits we associate with today’s Whites under the Jewish spell — and yet they never once were directly influenced by Jews. That’s another way of saying that they were the most miserable kind of White men: White Jews.
And there is nothing lower than that.
Perhaps Jewish Christianity had a part in making them that way.
It’s laughable that so many think this odd stretch of woods is a big deal now because some crank and hermit pitched his tent there once, and went off on some dream-world diatribes about the individual and society, and legions of school teachers swooned over his high-sounding nothingness.
No, we might as well concede Walden’s fate to the Blacks. It never did us a bit of good. The idea that it was good to disengage from the world, and valorize individualism and hobbyism and crankism, always played into some of the worst of our instincts — when what was really needed was ethnic pride and an onslaught on our enemies, foreign and domestic.
Those Massachusetts fools were never on our side. They were anti-White Whites.
Before the writer drew attention to this hallowed green space, it had already earned a place in America’s Black history.
Right there along with big-toothed grins, shuffling, and “shucking and jiving.” Black history is that sorriest of things; they invented Negro jazz, at best, and that’s no great shakes — and, other than that, what is there? Oh right, they took us into space. Next thing you know, the New York Times will tell you some fetchit janitor actually invented cold fusion but got hornswoggled out of the credit for it by some greedy White man. And they have a whole month on the calendar for this trash.
Thoreau, the famous dissident and outspoken abolitionist felt a certain kinship with this community and their lives on the fringes of society. He devotes nearly half a chapter in Walden, titled “Former Inhabitants,” to telling their stories. In a passage from Walden, Thoreau sets down some fragmentary knowledge about three local slaves — Cato Ingraham, Brister Freeman, and Zilpah White.
Ah, Cato, Brister and White — it sounds like a law firm dedicated to scrounging up cash bail to get the Blacks who knock off liquor stores, and knock their wives’ heads off, out of jail. What a claim to fame. Some hermit weirdo holed up in a shack once mentioned some Negroes. Why, Massa, we have now got us the dig-nitty of some real histry. Look out, Mars! Start spinnin’ the centrifuges! Yassuh!
He was their champion, he was. And now they’ll never let us forget it.
More than a dozen formerly enslaved Black Concord residents made Walden Woods their home decades before Thoreau’s arrival in 1845. Local residents are working to amplify those stories of Black Walden, a little-known chapter in the legacy of the antislavery movement.
It is true: Concord, that place where that shot was heard round the world, had many decades later become foul nest of Negro-lovers.
The so-called “Secret Six” who funded anti-White maniac John Brown were nestled there.
On the night of April 3, 1860, five federal marshals arrived at Frank Sanborn’s home in Concord, Massachusetts, handcuffed him, and attempted to wrestle him into a coach and take him to Washington to answer questions before the Senate in regard to his involvement with John Brown.
How perfidious must a White man be to bankroll White genocide! They all should have hung right next to Brown.
Many houses in Concord were stops on the Underground Railroad, and Harriet Tubman, Frederick Douglass, Lewis Hayden, William Lloyd Garrison, and John Brown all visited and spoke there.
You see what had once been a beacon of the White man’s liberty soon curdled into a resting place of putrid “intellectuals” who spouted and spewed a horrific hatred of White Southerners and lionized race equality. Henry Thoreau (a Concord native) was right at home among these vipers.
There’s a wonderful passage in Walden about the eating of Brister Freeman’s apple trees and what that means to him, that they have a kind of wildness to their taste. Gradually, around the time Massachusetts abolished slavery in 1783, the community of Black Concord residents living freely in Walden Woods grew. Freeman’s sister, Zilpah White, moved into a one-room house at the edge of what would later be Thoreau’s bean field….
Thoreau remained staunchly and vocally opposed to slavery, as well as to the Mexican-American War.
It just keeps getting worse and worse. He loved the Mexicans too. America has fought any number of evil, stupid wars but this egghead was against the one good one. In fact it was his opposition to this righteous war that led him to not pay some tax and thus to his single night in jail. You know the one. That famous night which an untold number of vile American history teachers say prefigured that other famous night in jail spent by the saintly rapist Martin Luther King. “You see,” they say, “those were the good guys, the ones who sacrificed for their oh-so-pure convictions.” Whereas we are the evil ones.
It doesn’t take much to unroll this propaganda.
The only mistake of that Mexican War was that we didn’t run all the Mestizo tortilla-eaters all the way down to around Mexico City, and create a 500-mile-wide eternal buffer zone that they would never be allowed to cross.
He also makes it clear that he has a lot of admiration for not only the residents’ independence, but their ability to withstand a constant onslaught of racist harassment, stories of which have survived in the archives. Thoreau goes so far as to compare Freeman to the Roman general Scipio Africanus, who defeated Hannibal and is regarded as one of the greatest militarists of all time.
Sure, he roamed around the woods eating berries — and in this moron’s overwrought imagination he’s Scipio. This is the way hallowed history becomes a hellish den of lies.
The state park that houses Walden Pond — a gift from private citizens to the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, given with the mandate that it preserve the Walden of Emerson and Thoreau — bears few traces of Black Walden’s stories.
Not for long, the Jews and Negroes and insane Whites will see to that.
Slowly, that’s beginning to change. The Robbins House has installed a boulder at Freeman’s homesite — the only physical marker of its location, alongside a moss-covered ditch possibly used by the family to corral animals — and the Toni Morrison Society has placed a bench by the road in Walden Woods as a resting place to contemplate Freeman’s life and legacy.
Oh my, the barely-erectus novelist and noxious Nobel Prize winner Toni Morrison is even getting in on the act, so you know this is top-drawer stuff.
And the comic coda is that someone named Chaya Harris is moving in on this Walden thing as well. Harris is the “national program director” for the organization “Outdoor Afro” which aims to “connect Black people with the natural world.”
What’s crazier than Negroes in space? Negroes in Nature. As National Vanguard humorist Dean Darcy once wrote, a lot of Whites like to go to the woods and stay at “Blackstone Camp” — which can also be pronounced “Blacks Don’t Camp.”
Outdoor Afro is rooted in nature and community. We exemplify leadership in the outdoors and invite all to join and learn from us. We disrupt the notion that there are things we don’t do. We do it all from hiking to biking to swimming to hiking with Oprah!
Next time you take that Nature trail, try not to drop so many malt liquor cans. (And, after taking an unpleasantly close look at “Oprah,” I honestly don’t think she’s going to be doing much hiking. Hopping in the Escalade to run down to Dunkin’ Donuts is more her style.)
“Hearing about our connection to the land and our connection to American history was powerful,” Harris says. “Black history is American history and American history is Black history. The Black stories that make up the tapestry of American history can’t be erased or ignored.”
Erased? Why, ever since George Floyd bit the dust in a hail of justice, Black history is the most popular thing there is on the Tel-Aviv-vision. It’s White history that’s being erased.
“This is a textbook that has never been taught. Now, we’re taking the small picture in the corner, the one with a tiny little asterisk, and expanding on those people who were neglected. This country has so many stories, but they’ve only been taught through the white lens.”
It’s not an asterisk any more.
That Henry David Thoreau, Negro-lover, hyper-individualist, libertarian avant-la-lettre, and world class oddball, is getting swallowed up in the erasure is cold comfort — but comfort it is.
* * *
Of old John Brown Thoreau said:
I foresee the time when the painter will paint that scene, no longer going to Rome for a subject; the poet will sing it; the historian record it; and with the Pilgrims and the Declaration of Independence it will be the ornament of some future national gallery, when the present form of slavery shall be no more. We shall then be at liberty to weep with Captain Brown; then and not till then we shall take out revenge.
Revenge; that’s what it was all about.
Was Thoreau a peace-loving pacifist and hippie-cum-beatnik before his time?
No, sir. A vile rage inhabited the man’s heart, the vilest rage of all: the rage against his own kind.
May his shack be consigned to oblivion, may the memory of him forever cease.
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