Shreveport, Louisiana is trying its best to become the most degraded city in the country. It mainly consist of enclaves of uptown whites surrounded extremely closely by the ever growing ghetto. This ghetto is itself surrounded by rednecks, who were pushed out of the working class neighborhoods that their grandparents built. It’s not a very diverse city and its three tiered demography largely mirrors the Old South. Although, the city likes to think of itself as culturally relevant (they were actually calling themselves “Hollywood South” a few years ago), the rest of the country justly places it into the group of other moribund, Southern cities spread across Dixie. What Shreveport really specializes in though is racial and ethnic angst.
The uptown, pretend aristocracy, is largely ethnic carpetbaggers married to the descendants of the city fathers and ladened with copious amounts of white guilt. They hate the rednecks, who are blissfully unaware that their Anglo-Borderer ethnicity is more “pure” Southern and distinct from the faux aristocracy. However, they are engaged in the futile task of trying to move up into their world. Although, they have been completely removed from any voting power in the city, the rednecks loyally drive in from the outskirts every morning in order to keep the city’s infrastructure going. They’re mostly harmless, as long as you give them sports to watch on the weekends and hunting privileges. But, once redpilled – not so much. Besides the post-war Germans, Southern boys have been the subject of the most virulent form of ethnic identity removal and self-hate indoctrination imposed upon any Western nation in the last century.
I knew being in the service industry and being a redneck myself, you have to play this stupid game of deference with the false aristocracy. They will purposely put themselves in a position where you have to speak to them about whatever issue they’re having and, in turn, they’ll pretend that it’s three centuries ago. They consider speaking to you as practically slumming. However, Mr. Long was different. Sure, he lived in and amongst the pretenders, but his speech, ways, mannerisms, and affable personality all said “Authentic Southerner.” He was old and rich. Given the ongoing problems with his property, I found myself at his house several times over the course of a few years. He was approachable and reminded me of the men that I admired most. He loved to show off the swag that he had gotten from a company that he worked for. That company: Standard Oil.
When talking about the men that I admired most, most of them came from rural, northwest Louisiana and that’s where Mr. Long’s father was from. Huey P. Long was a Southern strongman who spoke the language of my people. I won’t give you his biography here. I’ll refer you to Rebel Yell’s podcast #329 for that. No, instead I want to share the feelings of loyalty that my people held for a man who simply just noticed them.
Anglo-Louisianans are the red-headed step children of the state and, much like Florida, the more north you go, the more Anglo your are, ethnically speaking. Huey P. Long was one of us. “God loves the poor the most. That’s why he created so many of us.” “Honey, the Democrats are for the poor.” “When Huey P. Long got off that train in town he told those merchants ‘If you don’t vote for me I’ll wipe you off the map.’” These were the mantras of my people.
The history books cynically say that Governor Long must have had a photographic memory because he could remember some obscure, redneck farmer’s name that he met over a year ago on the campaign trail. They can’t imagine that someone with power wouldn’t view that man as obscure in the first place. None of my people cared if Governor Long was stuffing his pockets full of cash, disregarding arbitrary laws that kept the establishment in power, or making Carpet Bagger Corp. hire his son. He had our enemies scared and that’s what mattered. “Every Man a King,” of course was Governor Long’s rally cry. Nobody thought that they would be a king. It was more like: “ Why just be a poor dirt farmer when you can be a poor dirt farmer AND watch Huey kick their asses.”
As I write this, many in the Dissident Right are going crazy over an Asian, 2020 presidential candidate named Yang because he referenced white men by name without calling for their annihilation. Something Donald Trump hasn’t done and something that is having more and more potential to be politically game changing every day. This puts us in a terrible position.
Like the ugly girl who gets no attention, many in the Dissident Right are ready to put out just because someone says our name. It’s a problem with democracy today. Your vote didn’t cost you anything, so it’s easy to give away. Governor Long was one of us, but he was playing the democratic game and asked for nothing more of his followers than one vote. Hell, his brother gave my grandpa a $20 bill to vote for him.
We will know who our leader really is because he will be the one who will ask us for the greatest sacrifice of our lives. He will demand that we put skin in the game. Both his and our destinies will be one. He won’t just take a cheap vote and then move on. As a Southerner, he will put Christ first, his family second, and you third. And, will ask us to do the same.
You are Dixie and Dixie is a Christian Nation.
Don’t whore yourself out for a vote.
Oh, I'm a good old Rebel, now that's just what I am; For this "Fair Land of Freedom" I do not give a damn! I'm glad I fit against it, I only wish we'd won, And I don't want no pardon for anything I done.