Know thy enemy is perhaps the most important precept in Sun Tzu’s ancient text, The Art of War. There can be little doubt that the Dissident Right is well aware of who the enemy is. Too aware. I’d go so far as to say that there is an obsession that borders on the pathological with these enemies, where every historical event which ever happened is the fault of some mystical and eternal conspiracy against us. Which makes us, as white men, sound no better than the negroes. We are objects to be acted on, not a people with agency, if one shares this entry-level obsession with our desert dwelling greatest ally™. But that is a subject for another day.
Today, I wish to enjoin our allies in Southern Nationalism to know thy friend. More times than I can count, I see woke Southerners trash the aspects of our culture which have been commercialized to death by the corporations and monied interests, which are typically controlled by Yankees, or worse. While many of the criticisms do have merit, there is such a thing as being right to one’s detriment. To put it another way, a man can be so right that he alienates all of those around him. Yes, I appreciate the irony of that statement spilling forth from the clacks of my keyboard, given my position as breakfast cereal pisser inner par excellence.
There is, however, a large difference between pointing out problems with strategy and tactics within the movement at the risk of alienating those already here and needlessly antagonizing normies, who otherwise might be our friend by disparaging things that they like. I’m referring specifically to Southerners attacking Southerners, not, say, Mike Enoch tweeting “Fuck the Alamo and Fuck Texas,” because the Governor of the Lone Star State signed a pro-Israel bill. There is little hope for Yankees (and even less for Yankee WNs). In my experience they either are or aren’t Copperheads. That rock can’t be budged if they aren’t predisposed to being on our side. To hell with them. We can and must do better by our own people.
Let us take college football, for example. Without a doubt, there are many people in the South who take their love of their local team to an unhealthy extreme. East Tennessee is awash in the orange and white of the Vols even during the off-season. Swap out different colors for Louisiana, South Carolina, Alabama, Florida, Georgia, and Mississippi, and the same is true across Dixie.
The knee jerk reaction of some of us on Team Woke to this type of normie tier tribalism is generally some variation of “Eff Sportsball.” It can be as simplistic as that, or more nuanced. The dumb dumb tier gripe against sportsball is that people ought to be focusing their attention elsewhere. The Alt-Right is a pretty good indication that too much focus on the right stuff is toxic. In ClownWorld, a man needs his enjoyment. Asceticism is not going to sell people on our ideas.
That isn’t to say I haven’t heard legitimate gripes. The best criticism I’ve seen of the NCAA is the boosters handing out white women and cars to the premiere high school black athletes, so that they will sign commitment letters to whatever university is seeking to recruit them. This is indeed outraging. The seedy (pun seriously not intended) underbelly of college football.
But, the fact of the matter is that the Southern man loved football long before corporate interests cheapened the whole affair. Long before boosters made miscegenation a selling point to would be “student” athletes. And, we will continue to enjoy college football in a Free Dixie. I, for one, don’t really have an issue with Jamal knocking the crap out of DaQuan for my amusement. Modern day gladiatorial games. Dance for me, boy.
Besides which, the Southern college teams, though forced to bend the knee to PC culture on more than one occasion, still have ties to the classic culture of the South. Going back to the example of UT, those colors are the colors of the Scotch-Irish who settled this rocky land. Rocky Top, the fight song, tells of shooting federal tax collectors. The Ole Miss Rebels may have removed their mascot and we don’t see as many rebel flags (or any) in the crowd like we used to, but the core of the sentiment is still there.
Rather than condemning the sport and those who follow it, a better way to reach out to Southerners would be to follow along and casually bring up these elements of history which are odes to Southern nationalism. These are men who probably agree with us on more things than they disagree with us. Lambasting them over their love of something which is a traditional Southern pastime is myopic and shuts them down to hearing us on the things we don’t yet agree on. The things that we are trying to sell them on.
The same holds true of mocking hunting culture, pickups, rebel flag stickers (got one on my PC, thanks to the good folks at Dixie Republic), sweet tea, or barbecue. Though made tawdry by corporate interests, these things are still intrinsically and innately Southern. Irony bros, be they Yankee or nominally Southern (where Nihilism meets Reconstructed), are not going to win these folks over with their snide mockery. The South is indeed more than these commercialized appropriations of our traditions. It is incumbent upon us, as Southern Nationalists, to show the wayward sons of the South the whole picture. We cannot do that by ripping on the things they like. To borrow from my own experience, I took to following sports as a lad so that I’d have something to talk to people about. It can be used to gain a foot in the door socially with people who are in tune with their Southern heritage, even if they don’t fully realize it.
Denigrating these pastimes and hobbies is self-defeating. More than being unproductive, it speaks to an utter lack of understanding of the people we claim to speak for. The people we claim to want to save from the perfidy of Yankee rule. It’s a PG version of sticking a Talmud in a pizza oven. To get the Southern people to understand us, we have to understand them. Alienating them is not the answer. The rhetorical hill we must climb is tough enough without people in our own ranks making the task Sisyphean.