It’s 1972, and the student council elections at a high school in Baxley, Georgia had just been held without a single black being elected to an office. The tension is pretty thick as the school’s racially charged atmosphere becomes increasingly volatile. In the wake of black protests of perceived entitlements denied them, a young lady walks through the lunchroom as a black student harasses her. When she informs him that she should be left alone, he grabs her by the hair as his pride gets the better of him. At the same time, her boyfriend comes through the door and the black student finds out the reason she should be left alone. He wades into his girlfriend’s attacker, and though he makes short work of the young man, students jump in on both sides knowing that their teams are already settled at birth.
This riot spreads like a brush fire through the school. The shop teacher grabs his pistol out of the desk and fires it into the air in a fruitless attempt to pacify a crowd now engulfed in a miniature race war. Where one pistol failed, many would succeed as Georgia State Troopers showed up in full riot gear to put an end to this melee. This rumble shuts down the school for three weeks. The memories trigger my father-in-law’s adrenaline as he relays the story with clenched fists and the twinkle of lost youth in his eyes. He shows me the scar on his chin that he earned in this confrontation, and declares “we beat their black asses, you hear me?” Finally, I asked him how he was pulled into the fight as I tried to imagine what it must have been like. He simply said “because I’m white”. Trying to clarify, I asked if they attacked him too because he was white. He quickly corrected my assumption, stating “no, I jumped in to help because I am white”.
His response was a bit shocking, despite my redpill beliefs. You see, I went to a majority black school, and this was not my experience there. Blacks walked the center of the halls and pretty much owned the place. This was long before my redpilling and it was just how things were. As a white student, I could be sure that I would be on my own should I draw the ire of the black kids in that jungle environment. There was no sense of solidarity between white students like there was between the black students. So many racial stereotypes were played out before my eyes from the student body to the black corruption of the principal. I honestly didn’t have much trouble with them, but it was mostly because I was quiet, not because they were nice to be around.
Sam Dickson made a similar observation about the lack of solidarity as he told of a trip to an Atlanta post office during an Amren (American Renaissance) speech. He saw how the blacks in the post office referred to each other as “brother” and “sister”, unlike the whites in the post office. The whites probably exchanged little more than a good morning, but more likely leaving it at a nod of the head.
There are many reasons for this atomization and disassociation from our race. From diversity to the abandoning of the hometown ideal for vocational reasons. Either we’re surrounded by alien ethnic groups, or we’re constantly “the new guys” chasing after a job across the state or country. There’s also the stigmatized idea of whites doing anything for each other simply because of their shared racial identity.
We’re alienated from our family and friends with most interactions taking place over Facebook or the phone, if we’re lucky. Can you imagine taking a covered dish to your new neighbor, and telling them you did it because “white folks should stick together”? This honestly might not seem as strange to people in the South. We use “southerners have to stick together” – with southerner being the proxy term for “white.” I still think you would get some mixed responses with the explicit version even in much of the South. The combination of public school programming, Marxist television, and extended mixed families make it hard to tell who thinks like you and who doesn’t. At this point, most people have non-white acquaintances who they genuinely like, and they can’t comprehend why that doesn’t negate the substantiated stereotypes. All these factors contribute to our situation.
So, how do we walk it back?
Get out of the house for starters. Go to church, and try to help them fold up the telescope of their telescopic philanthropy so they can help their own community. Get involved in groups that are most likely to have respectable white people. One good example is your local fire station. Take over the local Masonic lodge. Take your neighbor a pie, and get to know them.
Most whites aren’t red pilled yet, but I do believe most do have the sense of foreboding. They know that things can’t continue on like this. They see the news, and have witnessed the same spectacles of black mobs riot across the country. Particularly here in Dixie, we have a better chance of finding potential allies and recruits among the masses. They may have had a grandpa that knew what diversity really meant, and made plenty of colorful remarks about it in their childhood. They’ve stood in line forever as blacks haggled with EBT cards in one hand and a pile of scratch-offs or lotto tickets in the other. These people will complain about income taxes, but we know they’re really complaining about diversity taxes.
You may not be a high profile movement leader, but you can be the friendly familiar face to a neighbor that knows the new mass transit system is bad news, or that notices the sudden browning of their kid’s elementary school. Making friends and acquaintances is where the bonds that form communities begins. As you gain more and more bonds, and talk about the issues that face us without sperging out, our neighbors will see that pro whites aren’t the caricature they’ve been warned about.
This isn’t a call to water anything down. A great way to look at your interactions is like you’re a Johnny Appleseed of hate facts and watchman of “cohencidences.” There are seasons and soil to consider for everyone. Black violence in the news presents many opportunities but other things are approached through the back door. You may not give a damn how many protestants are on the supreme court as an atheist, but noting that to your protestant neighbor is a great pivot point to say “but there sure are a lot of Jews.” A good farmer doesn’t set his mind to planting orange trees in Tennessee or pumpkins when there’s still frost on the ground. When you actually know people, you can read the seasons of their heart and mind. You can know when to sneak that hate fact in, or if it’s time to ask if they notice how suddenly all the couples in commercials seem to be interracial.
This certainly isn’t an exhaustive guide, and much of it sounds small, but I think building new communities through small interactions can go a long way. As we skillfully wake up those around us in real life, we will shake off the atomized mindset with its quiet desperation. It has to start with us doing things that were pretty normal in a time not so long ago, when our communities were 90%+ white. Back then people did things because they were white, mostly without knowing it. We however, must be more purposeful and deliberate. As we do more and gain allies, doing “the white thing” can become more common and even more explicit. You don’t have to call every white person “brother” or “sister,” but you can treat them more like it.
People will start to ask why you helped a certain person, or what made you think to bring them a warm plate of food while they’re sick. Then, you’ll know when to tell them “I did it because we’re white, and that’s what white folks should do for each other.” That’s actually the precursor to the first paragraph. Those things come before the fight scene, and will hopefully bring more to our side if it comes down to defending ourselves as minorities. Hopefully it will bring them to us before that becomes the only option. Maybe they will march with us for a free Dixie, and put their own hand to the plow as we retake everything.
– By John Calhoun