I’m pleased to announce that tomorrow night, Greg Johnson, the Alt-Right editor of Counter-Currents, will be joining me to engage in a battle to the death for the exclusive ownership of the soul of the Alt-Right discuss the current state of the Alt-Right, whether there is a meaningful distinction to be made between Alt-White and Alt-West, and if there is any meaning to the term Alt-Right beyond that of white nationalism.
It promises to be an interesting discussion. This Brainstorm session will be held at 7 PM Eastern tomorrow night, September 28th, and it is open, so anyone is welcome to attend although there is only room for 1,000 participants.
“It was you!” I told the man who had just saved my life. “I mean, you were the one who took out the ghazis who were planning to hit GGinParis!”
Cernovich had gotten word from his extensive global network of the ghazis’ arrival in the 12 Arrondissement, and we’d taken the four-man security team I’d hired with us to neutralize them the night before the meetup, but someone had gotten to them first. And that someone was standing right in front of me.
The little Japanese man shrugged and continued cleaning the blood off his wakizashi, then slipped it into a cunningly concealed back-scabbard that was all but undetectable under his Color Run t-shirt. He looked about as innocuous as a runner could look, if that runner wasn’t standing over the dead bodies of two corporate ninjas-for-hire.
“Let us just say you have an angel looking over you, Mr. Day. Certain parties do not deem it in their interest that you be removed from the Great Game at this time.” He looked around the forest, then seemed to spot what he was looking for and bent over to retrieve it. It was the kukri I’d dropped, and he handed it to me. “Don’t ask me who. Like these two rent-a-shadows, I am but a humble laborer working for his rice bowl.”
“A day-laborer, one might say.” Hey, give me a break. I’d just barely survived a twin combat ninja assault, and not through any fault of my own.
“No, I take contracts by the job,” he said. “Forget what they tell you. They just trying to throw you off. It wasn’t Scalzi. It was Rambo.”
“Sylvester Stallone?” I said in disbelief. I knew Sly held a grudge about Jennifer, but that was a long time ago, before they were even dating, let alone married. “Come on, he’s been over that for decades.”
“No, not the Rocky man. Rambo! Cat Rambo, the Iron Lady of SFWA.”
“Oh,” I said. “Seriously? I always thought she was saner than the rest of those lunatics.”
“She stone cold killer. Have the balls that Scalzi and Gould never did. You big threat, they scared you kill Tor, they lose lots of money. No more book contracts, no more dues.”
“If she’s worried about Tor going under, then she should put out a contract on Scalzi, not me. Or whatever idiot at Barnes & Noble is trying to turn their bookstores into restaurants.”
“Not my problem. But good thing she hire these Singapore rent-boys. Cheap, no-good fake shinobis. No respect for tradition. Now come, we must finish the course. I don’t think there is more, but I cannot be sure. We must run together now, and you must run fast!”
“Wait, I don’t even know your name!”
“Call me Tokei. Tokei Buredo.”
The Blade that Watches? I tended to doubt his mother named him that, but it certainly seemed fitting to me. I bowed to him from the waist. “Domo arigato gozaimasu, Tokei-san.”
He bowed back, rather less deeply. “Do itashimashita, Day-san.” He clapped his hands. “Now, let us run!”
“Shouldn’t we bury the bodies or something?”
“No time! The police will be looking at anyone who take long time to run once they discover the bodies. We must run quickly, for good alibi!”
My heart sank at the prospect of running even faster than before. But before we got going, we went to the lake, where I managed to wash most of the dead ninja’s blood off my arms and face. There was nothing to do about the bloodstains on my shirt, but Tokei-san pointed out that we would soon be at the red station, and no one would think anything of a few red stains after that. Fortunately, the paper with the number on it had taken most of the splatter, so I simply unpinned it and threw it in the trash.
Tokei-san set a pace considerably faster than I would have liked, which meant that were were only being passed by severely overweight men and women who were strolling along the course arm-in-arm, talking with each other. I tried to maintain a wary eye, but soon found myself focusing on simply breathing, putting one foot in front of the other, and trying not to collapse. I figured Tokei-san would alert me to any threats that presented themselves.
We managed to make it to the red station without incident, although we did have one nervous moment when a policeman guiding the runners the correct way at a junction seemed to eye the incongruous colors on my shirt a little too closely. But I waved cheerfully to him and he responded to me a thumbs up, so we avoided that potential pitfall.
“Can’t we slow down?” I begged Tokei-san, but he was having none of it. He began a rather detailed monologue under his breath, and while I couldn’t quite make all of it out, it was fairly clear that most of it was devoted to my various shortcomings of character, genetics, willpower, and general level of fitness. Among others.
After we reached the final color station and were liberally splashed with purple powder, I was on the verge of collapse.
“You go on,” I told him. “Leave me here. I’m only holding you back!”
“You think this is a war movie or something?” Tokei-san spat contemptuously, then reached into his pocket. “Oh well, I didn’t want this, but….”
His hand moved swiftly to my neck, and I felt a sting.
“Ouch!” What the Hell was that?” Then, a sudden energy seemed to fill me and I was suffused with an amazing sense of strength and well-being. All the pain and exhaustion vanished, and I felt ready, willing, and able to wrestle a tiger. No, make that two tigers. Two big, angry, Siberian tigers on steroids.
“Old ninja trick. Made from extract of fugu. You feel better now. If you lucky, heart don’t explode.” As I looked at him in disbelief and clutched at my chest, he shrugged. “Where you think idea of power-ups came from in first place, video game boy? Now Ctrl-Alt-run!”
I tried to feel if my heart was pounding particularly hard or was about to explode, but if it was, I couldn’t tell. Well, whatever. I was feeling too good to worry about it now.
“Let’s finish this bitch!” I roared, and took off sprinting towards the end of the course.
“Not so fast, fool gaijin!” he shouted, but I was too amped to pay any attention. We ran the last kilometer in record time, zooming past sweating, panting, exhausted runners as if we were on the Autobahn. Tokei-san was breathing hard, but I felt as if I’d just come off the curve of the 200 and shifted into 6th gear to pass up the sprinters in the outer lanes. We rounded the last turn, and when I spotted the colorful arched banners that marked the finish line, I actually managed to pick up the pace. A loud cheer went up as the spectators at the end saw us sprinting to a strong finish. I threw my arms up in triumph as I crossed the line, with Tokei-san right behind me.
Spacebunny was there, along with the rest of our group, all clapping and cheering and dancing to the pounding techno music that was booming out of the huge amplifiers that had been set up nearby. She had gotten her tutu back, and came running up to me with a look of relief on her face, which was quickly replaced by concern when she saw my shirt.
“That’s not powder, that’s blood!” she declared. “Are you hurt?”
“It’s not mine.” I kissed her cheerfully, but then the adrenaline boost or whatever it was begin to fade, and I swayed. All the pains and aches of the brutal 5 kilometer run, which I suppose was actually more like 3.5 kilometers due to the shortcut, but whatever, seemed to hit my body at once. I took that as a good sign that my heart wasn’t going to explode, although I did wonder if perhaps a little lay-down and a few hours of massage and aromatherapy would be in order. “They had me, but Tokei-san took them out.”
“Who?” she said, looking around in bewilderment.
“The little Japanese guy, with the glasses and the headband.” I looked back and forth. Tokei-san was nowhere to be found. “He was right there with me a second ago! He ran the whole last half of the course with me! He gave me this injection of pufferfish power-up, and I tell you, it was like crack mixed with Ventolin and Dianabol!”
“Honey, I saw you. You crossed the finish line alone,” she said, worry lines creasing her forehead. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”
“I’m fine,” I assured her. And I was. I placed my hands together and made a little bow. I had a feeling that “Tokei Buredo”, The Blade that Watches, was watching over us from somewhere from the shadows of the nearby trees. But had my mysterious benefactor really been sent by a powerful corporate “angel” as he’d claimed, or was he, himself, an angel of some kind? And was it just my fugu-addled mind or had he inadvertently given me a clue as to who was actually paying for his services?
I decided that it was a mystery that demanded future contemplation, as I certainly wasn’t going to find any answers today. For the time being, I accepted my participation medal with well-merited pride, then joined Spacebunny and the others dancing in celebration behind the finish line. True story. After all, have you not seen the pictures to prove it?
Thanks very much to all of you who donated so generously to the King’s College research. Your collective donation to the Color Run is one of the seven largest the anti-Crohn’s program has ever received. The second component of the vaccine is presently being manufactured and will soon be in quality control checks. Human trials will begin in December, and the researchers should have some idea of whether the cure is safe or not by August next year, and whether or not it is effective by August 2018.
Crohn’s is a brutal and ugly disease. It is less fatal than many diseases which quite rightly receive more attention from the medical community, but it is dangerous, difficult, and demoralizing. I have the utmost respect for those who suffer from it, because it is a battle they have to fight every single day. And I really appreciate what all of you have done to help them fight it, because it gives them strength by helping them understand that they are not alone in their struggle against this insidious opponent.
And more importantly, you have contributed towards bringing their everyday battle to a victorious and healthy end. Spacebunny and I will not forget that.
The Democratic line, courtesy of the Cajun Rattlesnake himself, James Carville:
I can’t imagine that after what we saw tonight the needle doesn’t move some.
He was just bad.
I’ve talked to a lot of people that have done a lot of research and these sort of instant things, these dial groups. I think what you hear around this panel is pretty much shared by the research that I’ve seen tonight.
Yeah, she was prepared, she was solid, she did a good job. He just kind of — as he went further into it… He just — the further they went, the worse it got. They almost wanted to throw the towel in after 90 minutes. That’s enough.
The Neocon take, as per Charles Krauthammer:
It was not exactly the knock out fight that we thought. It was a spirited fight. I think in the end it was something like a draw. But I do believe that the draw goes to the challenger in the sense that Trump did not go over the line. And the very fact he could go 90 minutes on the same stage ultimately elevates the challenger, that’s just automatic for any debate of that support.
I think he did allow himself to get very defensive and she exploited that. She kept coming back for things where he wasted a lot of time on taxes, on some of the other issues he felt personally about, and, as a result, he missed a lot of opportunities. She presented herself as she always does. Solid, solid, knows her stuff, not terribly exciting but reliable. I think that is the best she can do. Likable, she couldn’t but that is not something within her reach.
He contained himself in the sense that I don’t think he committed any gaffes but he allowed himself — she could find out something personal about him that would make him down rabbit holes at a time when he had wide openings to go after her on e-mails and other items, and let them go.
The Master Persuader impression, from Scott Adams
Trump only had to solve one problem at the debate: Seem less scary. He did. Think about it. Clinton won the debate on points but looked like a recently turned zombie learning to smile for the first time. Trump was Trump. Tie.
My perspective, which should be largely discounted because, as is my habit, I did not watch a single moment of it. Partly because it’s not worth staying up for, but also because I think I get a better take on the reaction to the debate by not having any personal impression to discount.
My verdict: a minor Trump victory that will not get in the way of the polls continuing to gradually move in his favor towards the predicted Trumpslide.
This is a testable conclusion. If I am correct, the polls will continue to move modestly Trumpward. A minor Hillary win will arrest the polls at the virtual tie point that was reported pre-debate. A big Hillary win would start gradually reversing them, and a big Trump win would trigger the preference cascade and see Trump rapidly move into an unassailable lead.
The important thing to remember is that the substance of the debate, the actual words, the stuff that the media discusses, is only about one-third of the effect of the debate. Hillary clearly won the words portion thanks to Trump allowing himself to be distracted and failing to take advantage of the numerous openings she gave him. But with the non-verbal aspect, the candidates each had to meet a separate objective. Trump had to appear convincingly presidential and look as he merited being on the stage. Hillary had to appear healthy and sane.
Trump did the former. While Hillary didn’t collapse, go on a coughing jag, or go into full bobblehead mode, words such as “creepy” and “zombie” and “weird”and “Nixon” appeared often enough in reactions to the debate that it is clear she failed the optics element.
Remember, people’s reactions are cemented at distinct and unique moments that vary considerably from one person to the next. I was both mystified and amused by the reactions of some people to my debate with Robert Murphy; I couldn’t relate to their perceptions of either party and I was not only there, I was one of them! So, don’t make the mistake of thinking that it’s even possible to isolate two, or three, or ten factors that will trigger the decision response in a viewer, as it could be a weird smile, a convincing phrase, or a momentary look of confusion that does it.
What did strike me was the contrast between the candidates’ approaches to the rest of the world. Donald Trump was emphatic about protecting American jobs and our national economy, if necessary by renegotiating international trade agreements, restricting immigration, etc. Hillary Clinton was much more globalist in orientation, looking to admit more refugees, work together with other nations (whatever that means), and so on. She basically saw the United States as just one nation among many, whereas Donald Trump saw it as the ‘first among equals’ with the right to put its own interests first.
The most interesting question has to do with what problem both of them were trying to solve with the debate. Clinton tried to look healthy, and as I mentioned, I don’t think she completely succeeded. But Trump needed to solve exactly one problem: Look less scary. Trump needed to counter Clinton’s successful branding of him as having a bad temperament to the point of being dangerous to the country. Trump accomplished exactly that…by…losing the debate.
Trump was defensive, and debated poorly at points, but he did not look crazy. And pundits noticed that he intentionally avoided using his strongest attacks regarding Bill Clinton’s scandals. In other words, he showed control. He stayed in the presidential zone under pressure. And in so doing, he solved for his only remaining problem. He looked safer.
This is an open post for tonight’s presidential debate between the glorious God-Emperor-to-be Donald Trump and Sick Hillary Clinton. It may or may not be the last one.
The white nationalist blogger better known by his pen name Vox Day, who counts as a central tenet of the Alt-Right that “we must secure the existence of white people and a future for white children,” which represents one half of the white nationalist, neo-Nazi numerical symbol 1488. (That phrase contains 14 words, while 8 refers to the eighth letter of the alphabet, H, which doubled represents “Heil Hitler.”)
First, while I support white nationalism and see it as a necessary aspect of preserving Western Civilization, I am neither a white nationalist nor am I entirely white. I am an American Indian and I am a red reservationist who sees no reason to believe that whites deserve sovereign nations any less than we Indians do.
Second, why would Mr. Knowles, or anyone else of any race who is not a monster, oppose securing a future for white children? There is a massive difference between the 14 words, which I fully support, and the 88 precepts, most of which I do not.
As for Hitler, he was a cretin, a lunatic, a fool, and almost certainly the worst German leader in history, with the possible exception of Angela Merkel. I am not a 1488er in any sense of the word.
The Alt-Right loves Christendom but rejects Christianity. The Alt-Right admires Christendom primarily for uniting the continent and forging white European identity. As such it also reveres European paganism, much like the Nazis did, and its synthesis within certain aspects of Christianity. But when it comes to faith, many Alt-Right thinkers describe themselves as atheists, agnostics, and lapsed Christians. AlternativeRight.com published a feature on the movement and paganism in which Alt-Right writer Stephen McNallen explains, “I am a pagan because it is the only way I can be true to who, and what, I am. I am a pagan because the best things in our civilization come from pre-Christian Europe.” He goes on to describe his aversion to Christianity because it “lacks any roots in blood or soil” and consequently can “claim the allegiance of all the human race.”
Dark imagery runs rampant, from Yarvin’s philosophy to Vox Day’s preferred title “supreme dark lord.” All reject Christian egalitarianism and universalism. Ironically one of the few Alt-Right thinkers to proclaim his Christian faith, Vox Day, explicitly rejects spiritual equality among the races as a central tenet of Alt-Right philosophy, explaining, “Human equality does not exist in any observable scientific, legal, material, intellectual, sexual, or spiritual form.” [Italics added] But despite rejecting the substance of Christianity, the movement has spawned its own satirical religion around the meme culture that has come to typify the Alt-Right online.
This is simply an exaggeration, presumably meant to appeal to Churchians. While there is a strong pagan strain to the white nationalist elements of the Alt-Right, most of the Alt-Right, even within the Alt-White strain, respect Christianity and cherish Christendom. What the writer fails to grasp is that Christian doctrine rejects egalitarianism and universalism outside of the Church, and rejects egalitarianism even within the Church. Remember, no one ever cites the “all are equal in Christ Jesus verse to claim that there are no differences between men and women or support same-sex parody-marriage.
The Alt-Right wants to burn American politics to the ground. The Alt-Right most immediately opposes conservatism, as Youth for Western Civilization founder Kevin Deanna explained in his Taki’s Magazine and AlternativeRight.com piece titled “The Impossibility of Conservatism.” The Alt-Right contains a who’s-who of right-wing voices that have been “purged” from the conservative movement by William F. Buckley and National Review, like Peter Brimelow and John Derbyshire, and Alt-Right leaders like Vox Day described the movement in an interview as “the heirs to those like the John Birch Society who were read out of the conservative movement.” Steve Bannon, who refashioned the website of conservative icon Andrew Breitbart into “the platform for the Alt-Right,” has encouraged activists to “turn on the hate” and “burn this bitch down.” But while conservatism is its most immediate target, the Alt-Right seeks to destroy a far older, more central American idea referenced frequently by Ronald Reagan and dating back beyond Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address and Alexis de Tocqueville’s Democracy In America to John Winthrop’s “City On A Hill” sermon: America as a proposition nation.
Well, that’s pretty much correct. American politics merit being burned to the ground, and in fact, are in the process of being radically transformed by the changing societal demographics. However, we are reliably informed by Ben Sanderson that I am “not a thought leader in the alt right”, and I’m sure we all recognize that Ben Sanderson is the definitive voice with regards to this matter. I mean, we’re talking about BEN SANDERSON!
But regardless of who is, or is not, a leader, the relevant point is that we are all very well aware that “America as a proposition nation”, a “melting pot”, and “a nation of immigrants” are 19th century myths pushed on the public by 20th century immigrants.
And it has to be said that the Knowles article is considerably better than the attempted rebuttal of Jared Taylor by (((Ben Cohen))) in American Thinker, entitled “Mainstream Conservatives and the Alt-Right”, which declares that because Hawaii hasn’t devolved into Haiti yet, whites are unnecessary to American civilization:
Where Taylor goes wrong – very wrong, in fact – is in his unhealthy fixation on race. Taylor is correct that most of what we love about America was created by white people; he is wrong to believe that only white people can sustain American civilization.
Interestingly, Taylor’s hypothesis has already been tested. In 1959, Congress admitted to the union a state that was overwhelmingly non-white. Has that state transformed into a third-world hell hole? A dictatorship? No.
By all measures Hawaii is doing pretty well. Hawaii’s residents enjoy the eighth-highest median income of any state in the Union, according to 2014 figures. Meanwhile, West Virginia which is almost exclusively white has the second lowest median house hold income in the United States. If you believe the key to keeping America great is keeping America white, it’s hard to explain why Hawaii is thriving and West Virginia is not.
Non-Hispanic whites compose roughly 40% of New Mexico’s population, with the rest being a mixture of Hispanics and American Indians. New Mexico isn’t rich, (43rd in median income), but it isn’t a “third-world hell hole.”
A similar argument could be made for California, which has the third-highest median income.
How very conservative. Notice that mainstream conservatism now not only denies America is a specific historical nation, but denies that the very nation who created a state for themselves are necessary for the state or their posterity! Because the “nation” is not a nation, but an idea and only an idea.
If these literally anti-American, anti-Constitution, and anti-white arguments are the best ones that mainstream conservatism can muster against the Alt-Right, conservatism is going to die out faster than I’d ever imagined.
Trump takes at least 43.2 percent of the ballots requested for Florida early voting to Hillary’s 37.3 percent. This election IS NOT GOING TO BE CLOSE. It’s going to be a Trumpslide, as predicted. Republicans had never previously requested more early ballots in Florida than Democrats.
In 2012, Democrats dominated early voting in Florida. In 2016, that domination has been reversed, as Donald Trump is now poised to carry the critical battleground state. Check out the numbers below, and remember, Trump also dominates the share of Independent votes as well, meaning he likely already has a 200,00+ vote lead over Hillary in Florida.
The key statistic isn’t the increase in Republicans requests from 40 percent to 43.2 percent, but rather, the massive decline in Democrats from 43 percent to 37.3 percent. While there is genuine enthusiasm for Trump, what will turn a victory into a Trumpslide is the fact that Democrats have no enthusiasm for Hillary whatsoever.
Scott Adams demonstrates his courage and his willingness to put his life on the line for America in endorsing Donald Trump for President:
As most of you know, I had been endorsing Hillary Clinton for president, for my personal safety, because I live in California. It isn’t safe to be a Trump supporter where I live. And it’s bad for business too. But recently I switched my endorsement to Trump, and I owe you an explanation. So here it goes.
1. Things I Don’t Know: There are many things I don’t know. For example, I don’t know the best way to defeat ISIS. Neither do you. I don’t know the best way to negotiate trade policies. Neither do you. I don’t know the best tax policy to lift all boats. Neither do you. My opinion on abortion is that men should follow the lead of women on that topic because doing so produces the most credible laws. So on most political topics, I don’t know enough to make a decision. Neither do you, but you probably think you do.
Given the uncertainty about each candidate – at least in my own mind – I have been saying I am not smart enough to know who would be the best president. That neutrality changed when Clinton proposed raising estate taxes. I understand that issue and I view it as robbery by government.
I’ll say more about that, plus some other issues I do understand, below.
2. Confiscation of Property: Clinton proposed a new top Estate Tax of 65% on people with net worth over $500 million. Her website goes to great length to obscure the actual policy details, including the fact that taxes would increase on lower value estates as well. See the total lack of transparency here, where the text simply refers to going back to 2009 rates. It is clear that the intent of the page is to mislead, not inform.
So don’t fall for the claim that Clinton has plenty of policy details on her website. She does, but it is organized to mislead, not to inform. That’s far worse than having no details.
The bottom line is that under Clinton’s plan, estate taxes would be higher for anyone with estates over $5 million(ish). I call this a confiscation tax because income taxes have already been paid on this money. In my case, a dollar I earn today will be taxed at about 50% by various government entities, collectively. With Clinton’s plan, my remaining 50 cents will be taxed again at 50% when I die. So the government would take 75% of my earnings from now on.
Yes, I can do clever things with trusts to avoid estate taxes. But that is just welfare for lawyers. If the impact of the estate tax is nothing but higher fees for my attorney, and hassle for me, that isn’t good news either.
You can argue whether an estate tax is fair or unfair, but fairness is an argument for idiots and children. Fairness isn’t an objective quality of the universe. I oppose the estate tax because I was born to modest means and worked 7-days a week for most of my life to be in my current position. (I’m working today, Sunday, as per usual.) And I don’t want to give 75% of my earnings to the government. (Would you?)
3. Party or Wake: It seems to me that Trump supporters are planning for the world’s biggest party on election night whereas Clinton supporters seem to be preparing for a funeral. I want to be invited to the event that doesn’t involve crying and moving to Canada. (This issue isn’t my biggest reason.)
4. Clinton’s Health: To my untrained eyes and ears, Hillary Clinton doesn’t look sufficiently healthy – mentally or otherwise – to be leading the country. If you disagree, take a look at the now-famous “Why aren’t I 50 points ahead” video clip. Likewise, Bill Clinton seems to be in bad shape too, and Hillary wouldn’t be much use to the country if she is taking care of a dying husband on the side.
5. Pacing and Leading: Trump always takes the extreme position on matters of safety and security for the country, even if those positions are unconstitutional, impractical, evil, or something that the military would refuse to do. Normal people see this as a dangerous situation. Trained persuaders like me see this as something called pacing and leading. Trump “paces” the public – meaning he matches them in their emotional state, and then some. He does that with his extreme responses on immigration, fighting ISIS, stop-and-frisk, etc. Once Trump has established himself as the biggest bad-ass on the topic, he is free to “lead,” which we see him do by softening his deportation stand, limiting his stop-and-frisk comment to Chicago, reversing his first answer on penalties for abortion, and so on. If you are not trained in persuasion, Trump look scary. If you understand pacing and leading, you might see him as the safest candidate who has ever gotten this close to the presidency. That’s how I see him.
So brave. Thank you for this, Scott. Scott Adams is a true American hero.
Keep in mind that this economics study does not even begin to take into account the cultural destruction that is caused by immigration. Immigration has been and will continue to be a hot button topic in the 2016 presidential campaign. Trump has called for a wall along the U.S. southern border with Mexico and a halt to all immigration from certain “countries of concern to national security.” Meanwhile, Hillary has called for more relaxed immigration policies that would grant illegal immigrants a path to citizenship and a surge in Syrian refugees.
But, no matter where you stand politically on immigration, a group of the nation’s “smartest” professors from the most elite schools in the country recently came together to publish a 500-page study for the “National Academies of Sciences, Engineering and Medicine” on the economic and fiscal impacts of immigration. After what must have been countless months of research, the report seems to confirm what most people could have derived from applying simple logic, namely that while immigration expands the economy it also negatively impacts the employment of low-skilled native workers and places undue burden on federal and state entitlements like food assistance programs and Medicaid.
The full 500-page immigration study can be reviewed at the end of this post but here are the key takeaways…
First, the study finds that the lower median age of immigrants is a positive offset to the aging U.S. population and serves to enlarge the economy but notes that the key beneficiaries are the immigrants themselves and not the native citizens.
Second, low-skilled immigrants, which represented nearly 50% of the total in 2012, were found to have a higher employment rates than low-skilled natives indicating that U.S. citizens are being displaced at least at the lower bound of the income spectrum.
Finally, first-generation immigrants were found to be more costly for entitlement programs than native-born citizens.
There is NO CASE to make for the net economic benefits of mass immigration, nor can the economic benefits of immigration even begin to compensate for the various societal costs of immigration. The only economic case for immigration is a tautology, which is because the definition of GDP means that GDP will increase with population growth, so any increase in population for any reason, up to and including alien invasion and occupation, will be “economically beneficial” so long as “beneficial” is defined as being “a larger GDP number”.
This is not, in fact, the case. The natives are not better off economically, and they are definitely not better off in any other way.
One thing I failed to make clear in the first part of my story about surviving the Color Run is that there were over 10,000 people taking part in it. Not only that, but the start was staggered, so that a constant flow of runners were going through the course. That’s why, when I made my way back onto the trail after taking out the spotter for the Singapore hit team, I was immediately caught up in a torrent of runners, their white shirts stained blue from the first color station, who were running considerably faster than I had been previously running myself.
I joined them, but I hadn’t run far when I saw a flash of pink and yellow that was, incongruously, moving against the blue-and-white flow of runners. It was Spacebunny, easy to spot in her bikini-and-tutu lack of attire, and she had come back for me after my failure to arrive at the next color station in a timely manner.
“What happened?” she exclaimed as we met up and stepped off to the side of the trail. “Even you can’t possibly take that long to run two kilometers. I got worried, and when none of the security unicorns I hired said they’d seen you, I ran back to find you.”
“Spotter,” I gasped, being badly out of breath after having run at least another 80 meters. “Singapore!”
“Ah,” she said, understanding instantly. “You’re saying there is a two-man team of corporate assault ninjas from that security company that operates behind the false front of a wealth management division of Deutsche Bank in Singapore, the one that Big Dan used to work for, somewhere on the course up ahead! I assume you took out the spotter. Is that what delayed you?”
I nodded and wished I’d remembered to bring my inhaler, as she’d recommended the night before. I also found myself wondering what the hourly rate for a team of security unicorns might be and how much hiring one was going to cost me. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t impressed with their performance thus far.
“Any idea where they are?”
“Yellow!” I said, plucking at my shirt.
“They’re waiting at the yellow station? Probably right after it. That gives me an idea.” Spacebunny put her hands on her tutu-covered hips and frowned. “Okay, so here’s what we’ll do. You’ll cut through the forest while I run the course. I’ll run ahead and find a bald guy, and get him to put on my tutu before he goes through the yellow station. That will distract the hitters, it will take them a few seconds before they realize it isn’t you, and you can take them out then.”
“Unicorns?”
“No, they’re paid to keep an eye out for you, not take on corporate assault ninjas. You’ll have to do it yourself.”
I couldn’t argue with her logic. But, it occurred to me, there was another problem.
“How are you going to get the guy to put on the tutu?” I had recovered sufficiently to speak in full sentences, if short ones.
She stared at me in sympathy a moment, then made a gesture with both hands as if to say “I am a pretty blonde gym bunny wearing a bikini and I could make the average middle-aged guy rip out his testicles and juggle them for me just by smiling and asking pretty please, so I think I can handle this without any trouble, thank you very much.” Then she slipped out of her tutu, causing numerous heads to whip around, and one young man ran directly into a large oak tree.
“See?” she winked and ran off with her tutu in hand, wearing nothing but her blue bikini. It belatedly occurred to me that I was wearing a tutu at that very moment myself, and at her behest, no less, so any doubts in her ability to convince others to do the same were more than a little ironic, to say nothing of misplaced.
As per the plan, I cut across the forest to the trail on the far side, thankfully cutting at least 1.5 kilometers off my route. It turned out that this side of the course ran along a lake shore, and I had to decide whether the yellow station was to my left or to my right. A glance at the passing runners revealed that their shirts were stained and spotted with yellow to go with the green and the blue, so I slipped back into the trees and quietly made my way to the right, against the flow of the runners.
Soon the yellow station came into view, and there, sure enough, were the pair of corporate ninjas, both standing about five meters into the trees in a position giving them an excellent view of the runners coming out of the yellow station, where volunteers in yellow t-shirts were showering everyone with yellow dust that tasted rather like the interior of a snail shell left out in the sun for weeks from which the snail meat had mostly, but not entirely, rotted.
I waited until I saw the man in the yellow tutu emerging from the clouds of yellow dust and their attention was entirely focused on him, just as Spacebunny intended. I slipped closer, took out a pair of shuriken from my fanny pack, and nailed both of them with two well-practiced flicks of the wrist. As they whirled around, surprise and agony etched upon their faces, I unbuckled my fanny pack, stepped out from behind a tree, and held it up in front of them.
“I have the antidote in here,” I lied. “Tell me who sent you after me and I’ll give it to you.”
To my surprise, the ninja on the left laughed. He wasn’t true Japanese, he was Ainu, and his accent in English gave away his Asahikawa origins.
“Chilean, I think,” he said, as he reached into a pocket and took out a small plastic box, and opened it to reveal 24 styrettes. There were two of each kind, and each pair was marked with a different kanji indicating a poison. “You are too predictable, Day-san. Do you think we did not know about Madrid?”
He injected himself first, then handed a similarly-labeled styrette to his silent companion, who did the same. In a matter of seconds, they were no longer showing any signs of being poisoned, and upon recovering, they both drew razor-sharp katanas from the matte-black scabbards they were wearing. I pulled my mini-kukri out of the fanny pack, but I have to admit, I didn’t much like my odds. Both ninjas were wearing stab vests with panels that were probably titanium alloy inserts, plus full tactical combat gear down to the elbow pads, while I was protected by nothing but a white t-shirt and a multi-colored tutu. And I was outnumbered.
“John Scalzi sends his regards,” the previously silent one said. Then they attacked, moving as one, with all the grim fury of two ronin avenging their fallen master. I managed to avoid the first two strokes, either of which would have cut me in two, and lashed out with a Flowing River strike that should have disemboweled the Asahikawa man, but the blade bounced right off the stab vest’s belly plate with no more effect than rain falling on a stone.
I whirled around to meet them again, but this time, the quiet one’s do-uchi was a feint, and when I sidestepped the strike that wasn’t there, he adroitly went to the ground, hooked my ankle, and sent me sprawling. My kukri flew from my hand as I fell, leaving me unarmed. The Asahikawa man was on me as quick as a flash; he stood over me with his katana raised, point downward, and I knew that there was nothing I could do to stop him from pinning me to the ground. A single thought flashed through my mind. “Wow, some people are really going to be pissed that I didn’t finish A Sea of Skulls first!”
Then, without warning, the man’s head flew from his body and blood fountained over me as if we were at the red station. The weight of his armored body nearly took my wind away as it collapsed on top of me. With no little effort, I managed to push the fallen ninja’s corpse off me, and scrambled to my feet in time to see a small, slender, bespectacled Japanese man wearing a runner’s outfit standing over the motionless body of the other ninja with a dripping wakizashi in his hand. He looked familiar, somehow, but I could not for the life of me imagine who he was or where I had seen him before.
He turned and raised a finger, as if admonishing me. “Never rely upon the same tactic twice, Mr. Day. Particularly not twice in succession. It makes you far too easy to anticipate.”
Then I realized where it was that I had seen him. Paris. Cernovich. A midnight strike. Four ghazis sprawled lifeless in a cheap hotel room overlooking the Gare du Nord, and a shadow slipping out the window just as we burst in.
I’m not sure that many in the Alt-White understand the concept of branding very well despite their concerns on that score. More importantly, they’re either projecting or confusing me with others when they express concerns about my interest in subverting anything, let alone their activities. There is a division of opinion in the Alt-White over everything that is not Alt-White but could, reasonably, be described as Alt-Right. I tend to agree with Michael Bell’s opinion, as he wrote:
While we pursue our goal of fully occupying the helm of the Alt Right, we must recognize that those who are not fully on board with all of our principles can nonetheless be considered a part of the Alt Right provided they aid us in our efforts and do not work to contradict us. Many of these types can eventually be turned into full White Nationalists anyway, as their views are only a few inches away from ours. To quote Lawrence Murray, “The big tent is worth preserving to persevere against our common enemies, for our struggle is revolutionary.”
Notice that key phrase: “our goal of fully occupying the helm of the Alt Right”. It’s just a goal. It’s not a reality, an identity, or anything material, it’s an objective. It’s not an unreasonable objective, especially since their efforts are necessary, though not sufficient, to preserve Western civilization. Greg Johnson himself has freely admitted that most of what the Alt Right actually means predates the NPI sense, he is merely attempting to fill what he calls “a vacuum”, but it cannot be a vacuum because there is a long history of the Alternative Right that has been read out of the conservative movement for generations.
Fashy McQueen represents the view opposed to Michael Bell, and the weakness of his position can be readily seen in the way he presents his case:
“Alt-Right” has become an internationally-recognized brand that only fools would carelessly dilute or abandon. Nazi Shitlords™ know the importance of branding, terminology, and propaganda. They use these weapons every day. And the term “Alt-Right” has become their most powerful weapon in attacking the enemy, and recruiting the masses into White Nationalism at an exponential rate…. The name “Alt-Right” has become the most powerful brand of White Nationalism in over 70 years. And it happened almost by accident. The stars aligned. It may never happen again.
This is the same magical thinking that is used to justify calling crippled people “handicapable” and negroes “blacks”, then “Afro-Americans”, then “African-Americans”. It is the belief that an object or a concept is intrinsically altered by the label. But if Greg Johnson is correct and Alt Right means literally nothing more than “White Nationalist”, then it will soon be as effective and appealing a brand as “White Nationalist” presently is. The underlying essence is not changed one iota by calling X something else, such as Y, so long as it remains fundamentally X.
This small-tent Alt-White is not only caught in the trap of magical thinking, it genuinely can’t distinguish between friend, ally, and enemy. Also from Fashy’s extended comment:
Vox Day is currently attempting his own subversive version of redefining the Alt-Right to include himself, and to purge the Alt-Right’s staunchly White Nationalist core. These hostile attempts to redefine the term “Alt-Right” must be fought mercilessly — not invited.
First, I will again point out that I am not redefining anything. The Alt-White is, by their own admission, attempting to redefine Alt-Right in order to claim it for themselves and themselves alone. Are they really the only Alternative Right? Are they the only genuine alternative to mainstream conservatism? No, obviously not.
So, how are all those alternative right people, who subscribe many or even most of the 16 Points I have laid out, but are not a full-blown “White Nationalist”, or as I would put it, Alt-White, to be described? What do they call themselves? Even Fashy admits they considerably outnumber his “Alt-Right”, after all. It accomplishes nothing to simply pretend that they don’t exist, as much as the Left would like to do so.
Second, the reality is that whatever those people call themselves WILL become the dominant alternative to the mainstream right, because they ARE the strongest alternative to it. The Alt-White is only a subset of that, a vital subset, to be sure, but a subset nonetheless. Is it better for the Alt-White to be part of the Alt-Right, or is it better for the Alt-Right to be part of this nameless alternative to the mainstream Right? But whether we call it the Alt-Right or the Nameless Broad-Spectrum Alternative, that is the primary alternative.
I suspect the Alt-White has a hard time accepting the observable limits to their subset because they are mostly Americans, and are therefore blind to the fact that the vast majority of white European nationalists are not, and will never be, generic white nationalists. I have repeatedly tried to explain this, on both TRS and the Counter-Currents podcast as well as here on VP, and their only response to date has been that they think they can sense a generic white consciousness beginning to come into being.
And it’s true, they surely can… in the USA where generic whites are under attack for being white and where the Republican Party is in the process of being transformed into the White American Party. That is not the case in Europe, and it will not be the case, because the generic aspect is working in precisely the opposite direction here, as Muslims of many diverse nations are lumped together as generic Muslims and are thereby beginning to form a generic “Euro-Muslim” identity. Moreover, Europeans are hostile to pan-Europeanism in a way that most Americans don’t understand due to the egregious, anti-democratic excesses of the European Union. The British people just voted to get out of the European Union, so it should be readily apparent that they’re not even remotely inclined to sign up for generic white pan-nationalism.
In any event, it should be obvious that I am not even remotely hostile to white nationalism nor do I have any intention of subverting it for any purpose, let alone a nefarious one. I am not at all concerned about being excluded from anything; as longtime readers here know, I really don’t go in for joining things as a general rule but prefer to do my own thing. Fortunately, the big-tent branch seems to more or less grasp this, as Bell writes of his Fourth Tier of the Alt-Right
Beneath this caste I would place the people who work to combat the professional and intellectual thuggery of the Social Justice Warriors and very particular Leftist narratives, but who don’t have any kind of overarching pro-White, pro-Western, or anti-Semitic ideology driving it. Author and video-game designer Vox Day goes here. In fact, I would elect him the leader of this caste if such a thing existed. He was an outspoken supporter of Gamergate and organized the Rabid Puppies movement, which at its core sought to diminish the influence of Left-minded authors like George R. R. Martin over the science-fiction Hugo Awards. Rather than giving awards to books about transexual vampires fighting against homophobic dragons, Day and his followers felt that the science fiction community should once again seek to emulate luminaries like J. R. R. Tolkien and Frank Herbert, who were essentially pro-Western and Right-wing in their thought. His book SJWs Always Lie is a must read for every member of the Alt Right. Of course, he is only part-white and does not explicitly push a pro-white or pro-Western agenda (though he comes close.)
Regardless of whether one’s interest is taxonomic or marketing, it is worthwhile to discuss these matters with those who don’t share one’s opinion, which is why I have invited Greg Johnson to appear on a public Brainstorm to discuss Alt-Right, Alt-White, and Alt-Lite, and to present his own perspective on the subject.
