Old Cries of Their Blood

In this benighted age, British is a negative identity, it’s a placeholder at best and a multi-cultural void at worst, a great sinkhole of peoples with Cthulu looking up hungrily from the bottom. I should know, I am British, at least so my passport tells me. It wasn’t once what it is now, but even if I wanted to associate myself with our glory days, with long-dead explorers and conquerors of foreign nations, surely it would be hard to convince the normie English masses to come along on that ride with me?

Even if the idea of Empire wasn’t anathema to your average progressivism indoctrinated prole, Britishness and (to some extent) it’s successor Americana, have been a victim of their own success, they’re so ubiquitous now as to be indistinct from the background noise of modernity. The fabric of what you might once have called WASP culture is so pervasive in 2019 that now the idea of being in the broadest sense American or British, isn’t a unique identity, it is a SYNONYM for Globohomo. It is everywhere, it is the very medium within which we all exist, certainly the medium in which we all transact. Sorting say, the Spanish from the Australians, is akin to trying to differentiate between species of fish based on which one has most affinity for water, which one is most wet. From Khatamandu to the Hindu Kush, you will find people in business suits talking in English, ordering Starbucks, and Netflixing Friends re-runs.

The bilingual poet Michael Hartnett made the decision later in life to only write in Gaelic, his last English poem announcing this fact features the lines:

“But I will not see
great men go down
who walked in rags
from town to town
finding English a necessary sin,
the perfect language to sell pigs in.”

What was “ours” is now just the baseline of finance capitalism – the perfect language to sell pigs in. The modern era is homogenizing all individual cultures to such an extent that each has become, in some sense, meaningless. The obvious solution then, and ID’s solution, is to look to your history, to find what once separated one group from another and thus separate out again. I think this is easier for a man of the South than it is for a Little Englander, whereas we have been subsumed so thoroughly into the British identity for so long, you literally fought for independence against the meta-culture. For myself then, I go back to my Anglo blood and my Irish blood, to my roots, and those identities are the ones that differentiate me from my fellow travelers on Airstrip One. Where this intersects with you chaps, sorry.. y’all, is that I don’t think the one needs to be mutually exclusive of the other, a man of Virginia, with descendants of the Angles, or the Scots, or whomever, can remain very much a Southerner and yet find some additional meaning in those atavistic ties, and perhaps even some additional lessons to be learned.

Alfred the Great standing behind a great host of his men forming a shield wall, swords and spears beating on their shields chanting their battle cry “ut, ut, ut, ut, ut!” which translates to “out, out, out, out!” (nobody tell the ADL), that is a small part of an identity that speaks to me viscerally. Whether any of my kin were ever directly involved in such, probably not, but then who knows? Much more importantly, pride in such, was at the least, my forefathers inheritance, it was their birthright. Yours too, most likely. And, we haven’t so much sold it for a mess of pottage, as for cheap iPhones. Alfred and his ilk resonates within me, when watching Muslim Pakistani men with three lions on their shirt win at cricket does not.

As an identitarian of any stripe, you have nothing to lose and perhaps much to gain by getting people to listen to the old cries of their blood, rather than to the narratives of their oppressors. How would that look in practice? Most of you are Anglo stock, so maybe memorize a stanza of Beowulf in Old English, or if your blood is Irish, learn a little Gaelic for free on Duolingo, our Germanic friends could be stirred by the crusader’s Palastinalied, or Scots could maybe listen to some bagpipes then stab each other in a bar brawl. Lord only knows what the heathens north of Hadrian’s big, beautiful, Wall get up to…

Learn from your past.

-By Anon

2 comments

  1. Racially, I’m a Celt, on both sides, with a generous amount of Shawnee to boot. Knowing the old languages help to preserve the identity. But, I lack anyone to speak it with. Feeling like one of the last snow leopards wandering aimlessly through mountains, being hunted for my rare white pelt.

    I don’t know precisely who is obsessed with the destruction of Anglo/Aryan culture, but, they indisputably are. Personally, I’ve found less consolation in Christianity than Taoism. With Taoism it identifies people’s shortcomings far more effectively and brutally.

    People are defined by laziness and greed. The allure of prestige and comfort, a position of authority over others. There is no way to fight human nature other than perfecting yourself and transcending it entirely. As the modern Chinese have partaken of my culture and taken everything of value, so I do with theirs.

    There is no preserving, everything has reached a terminal stage. Take solace that you come from a noble line reaching back to: Pythagoras, Lycurgus, Schopenhauer, Lao Tzu, Martin Luther.

    In whatever capacity I’m glad to see the South still lives and the Stars and Bars still fly.

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