Oct 1, 2015

Looks Can Be Deceiving

via Koinen's Corner

Bryndis Bjorgvinsd, real-life example of
a dumbed-down White girl
Look at the photo of Bryndis Bjorgvinsdottir, the very attractive young Icelandic lady featured in [a recent Telegraph article].

She looks bright enough, wouldn't you say?  She certainly doesn't look like she is an imbecile, a moron, just garden-variety stupid, or a sufferer of some other kind of mental disease or deficiency.

And, just based on this one photo, I would never have suspected she might be a totally mush-headed, delusional advocate of universal, pathological altruism; the position of so many deracinated, mad, and suicidal White people in all the once-White nations that are (were?) the modern foundations of Western Civilization.

And looking at her photo I would never in a thousand years have guessed she was an evil, self-hating, guilt-ridden, willing accomplice in the ongoing Jewish efforts to destroy the racial solidarity of White nations and in fact to effectively genocide the White people of the world (her people) by way of their genetic contamination and eventual destruction through immigration-invasions of non-White aliens into all the White countries including her own small, sparsely populated island nation of Iceland.

And last but not least, I would never have guessed, from her appearance, that she could be the kind of person who would take depraved, sadistic pleasure in seeing the little children, the young women, the wives and mothers of her own people, and even many of the men; raped, beaten, tortured, and murdered by uncivilized, criminal aliens of the darker races from foreign lands and cultures.

But what is one to think when one learns of her positions on the immigration issue, her activism, and her proclivities for anti-White immigration policies?  Does she really believe that bringing even just a few thousand of these people into Iceland would not irretrievably change the racial character of her country of just over 300,000 people, almost all White, in a seriously negative way from their standpoint?  Do you really suppose she would insist on limiting immigration of these non-White invaders to 10,000?  Or would she soon come to realize that Iceland could only make a real difference if it took in 50,000?  Or 100,000?  Would she soon come to realize how unfair it would be for Iceland to only allow the immigration of Syrian refugees?  And would she then begin advocating for the admission of their 'fair share' of the black Africans who are, right now, pouring into the other European nations by the hundreds of thousands?  Do you suppose she has even allowed herself to learn the truth about all the savage ravages of White natives perpetrated by the colored hordes that have been pouring into the other Scandinavian countries, the nations of mainland Europe, and Great Britain?

One would think and hope that, after insisting she thoroughly divulge her positions, her intentions and motivations, and the limits (if any) she would put on the insane immigration practices she seems to be advocating; the Icelandic people would demand also that she address and justify those things in some kind of public medium, forum, or debate.

Okay, so much for the sadly mis-motivated Bryndis Bjorgvinsdottir.  The larger problem seems to be the 10,000 respondents to her Facebook campaign who said they would take these Syrian refugees into their homes.  What in the world is the matter with them?  It's hard to believe that most or all of them are idiots/fools/hopeless ultraliberals/suicidal nutcases/delusional anti-White race-traitors, or what have you.  I surely don't have the answer, but it seems to have the smell of some kind of self-destructive mass psychosis, doesn't it?  Or maybe it's the volcanoes -- maybe it's something in the air, or the water?

Oh, yes, there is one remaining issue involved here.  Many White Nationalists take the position that, due to their genetic makeup, the females of our subspecies cause many of our racial survival troubles with their capacity for weak, 'caring,' and misdirected thinking, behavior, activities, and voting.  The above article would certainly appear to substantiate that assessment.  Here we have three different females -- the writer/activist, a single mother, and the country's Welfare Minister -- who all seem perfectly willing to forsake and destroy the very essence of their own people just because they sympathize with the plight of some non-Whites fleeing from their failed Middle-Eastern society.  It does make you wonder, doesn't it -- how many of the other 10,000 respondents were women?

Updated article on Press TV here.  It doesn't get any better.  In fact, to me, it reads kind of like an obituary.

Eric Thomson on National Socialism, Fascism, and Communism

via The End of Zion

Was Adolf Hitler really the most evil man who ever lived?

Greg Alia: Third White Policeman Murdered by a Black Suspect in Past 33 Days

via Stuff Black People Don't Like

Officer Alia, who was murdered today by a
black suspect, pictured with his young family
The type of men you want in your community, smiling as your drive by their house and see them cutting the grass or throwing a ball around with their children. 

White men, white policeman, whose seemingly insignificant individual lives collectively birthed a nation now teetering on the age of oblivion.


Both are dead, executed by black males (had the white cops survived and they had killed the black suspects, such ammunition would have only fueled the Black Lives Matter movement). 

Both Goforth and Ponder seemingly never existed, for the way they left the world has been all but forgotten: for they were executed by black males - one with connections to the Black Lives Matter movement - and their deaths are an inconvenient reminder white lives might matter too...

The man who murdered Officer Alia is on the right

We must now add another name to Goforth and Ponder, with Greg Alia the third white police officer in less than 33 days killed by a black suspect. [Police officer dies in South Carolina mall shooting, Fox News, 9-30-15]:
A police officer responding to a report of a suspicious person was fatally shot at a suburban South Carolina mall on Wednesday, and police say a suspect is in custody.  
Officer Goforth... executed in late August 2015
The incident began when the report came in just before 8 a.m., Forest Acres police Chief Gene Sealy told reporters. Two officers responded and attempted to talk to the person, who fled on foot and ran through parts of Richland Mall, including the Barnes and Noble bookstore, officials said. 
Officer Greg Alia confronted the person, there was a struggle, and he was shot, Sealy said. 
He was taken to a hospital and later died, officials said. No other injuries were reported. 
Sealy said a suspect is in custody and is being questioned. Sealy described the man as being armed with a handgun and a knife at the mall. Police did not detail any charges against the man and did not take questions at their news conference.
Officer Ponder, executed by a man who had attended Black Lives Matter rallies...
Sealy said Alia was 32 years old and a seven-year veteran of the department. He and his wife, Kassy, recently had a baby, Sealy said. 
Joan Woodward, 81, lived next door to the officer's parents and said she had known him since he was a baby. She said Wednesday afternoon that she'd just visited with his wife and baby. 
"She said she was so fortunate that she had him for that length of time," Woodward said. 
She remembered sneaking candy to the officer when he came to her door as a child, and she called him "a special human being.
"When my husband died eight years ago, he was so sweet," she said. "He came and sat with me. God always takes the angels." 
A GoFundMe page in support of Alia's family had raised more than $21,000 by midday Wednesday. It was set up by Patrick Walsh of Ruston, Louisiana, who said he and Alia were both members of the Phi Sigma Kappa fraternity at the University of South Carolina.
Three white cops, murdered by black males in less than 33 days time...

It's quite simple: you can have civilization or you can have 2015 America.

P. J. O’Rourke on Ann Coulter: Not-So-Deep Thinking about Race, Anti-Semitism, etc.

via The Occidental Observer

I suppose I should cut P. J. O’Rourke some slack. Like him, I was once on the hippie-dippy left during the 60s, and I know it’s hard to get over that. But there are limits. His “She said what?” in the Weekly Standard is an important reminder of how far there is to go to have intelligent discussion of Jewish issues in the mainstream media. O’Rourke, who, it must be stipulated, is a very entertaining writer, wants to call himself a conservative. The sad reality is that he is just the sort of cuckservative who is welcome at The Weekly Standard. As James Fulford points out at VDARE, he has Utopian ideas on race, maintaining that Haitians immigrants are just as acceptable as the Irish — or perhaps even more so if they had to struggle to get here, because, after all, being aggressive enough to get here illegally means that you would be crime free, have a high IQ, and not be assertive about demanding free stuff paid for by previous waves of White immigrants. Or maybe not.

The main point of this is to discuss O’Rourke’s ideas on Jews and anti-Semitism, but a few preliminaries are in order. He thinks that because the Indians got here first, that Europeans have no right to defend their conquest:
She’s from Connecticut and is very upset about immigrants. I am willing to lend a sympathetic ear to people from Connecticut who are very upset about immigrants, if they have a tribal casino.
But why stop at Native Americans? What about the tsunami of migrants entering European homelands? Would nativism and nationalism by native Europeans be okay?  But the same attitudes and forces welcoming the displacement of Europeans in the US are resulting in the displacement of Europeans from lands they have dominated for thousands of years. And we hear the same charges of “racism” and “Nazism” thrown at opponents of immigration in both Europe and the U.S. Focusing on the tribal casinos ignores  the problems facing European societies everywhere.

This kind of White self-flagellation is completely unknown elsewhere on the planet. Do the Bantu peoples of Africa worry about the ethics of displacing other African peoples as they spread far and wide from their homeland in Central Africa? How about the Han Chinese who displaced other peoples as they spread throughout what is now China? Or the Arab conquests in the name of Islam? Should these people have no right to control their borders in the present world because of their original sin of conquest? And what year should we pick as the magical time when everyone had, like the Native Americans according to O’Rourke, settled lands that they were entitled to forever because of some cosmic moral principle?

O’Rourke’s article on Ann Coulter exhibits some conventional attitudes on Jews and anti-Semitism that show quite clearly that being an entertaining writer doesn’t imply deep thinking about Jewish issues. In fact, I would venture to say that his thinking about Jewish issues is about as deep as his thinking about race.

O’Rourke is offended by Ann Coulter’s faux pas in calling attention to Jewish influence.
What Ann Coulter tweeted was:
Cruz, Huckabee Rubio all mentioned ISRAEL in their response to: “What will AMERICA look like after you are president."
And
How many f—ing Jews do these people think there are in the United States?
Not anywhere near as many as there would and should be if FDR hadn’t been as much of a jerk about immigration as you are, Ann, you etiolated bean sprout butt trumpet.
O’Rourke is signaling that he has completely internalized the decontextualized view of US immigration history that is constantly promoted by Jewish activists. I discussed this recently elsewhere, so suffice it to say here that Americans viewed Jewish immigration from the standpoint of their legitimate economic and social interests.

O’Rourke’s deep thinking on Israel is entirely in sync with The Weekly Standard:
As to why Israel is important, to paraphrase John F. Kennedy, “Today, in the world of freedom, the proudest boast is ‘Ikh bin a Ishral.’ ”
And I mean it, even if, pope-kissing Mick that I am, my Yiddish is maybe sketchy.
Israel as a moral paragon?? Despite his stating that Native Americans have a legitimate gripe about immigration, there is no consideration of the moral status of Israel as an ethnostate that has displaced the Palestinians from lands they dominated for centuries and now oppresses them in ways that that pretty much the entire rest of the world finds unconscionable. Or perhaps PJ would like the argument that g-d gave Israel to the Jews, so therefore they have a right to displace the Palestinians? Do they get the entire area from the Nile to the Euphrates as promised in Genesis? Again, what year should we pick as the magical time when everyone had settled lands that they were entitled to forever because of some cosmic moral principle?

And what about Israel’s refusal to take in non-Jewish immigrants, including refugees from Africa or Syria that Jewish organizations are so eager to import into Europe? Why isn’t that a moral issue for O’Rourke if he really thinks the US should welcome all comers? Is it okay for Jewish organizations in the US and elsewhere throughout the West to be gung-ho for massive non-White immigration but to never criticize Israel for wanting to remain a Jewish ethnostate? If Israel must be a Jewish state, what is so wrong about the US considering itself a European nation that intends to remain European? (The U.S. was 90% White in 1960 — i.e., more European than Israel is Jewish now.)

But now we come to the real reason why this column had to be written: O’Rourke’s deep thinking about anti-Semitism:
But, first, my contempt is moral. Antisemitism is evil. Per se, as you lawyers like to put it. For the sake of argument, let us “stipulate” that you are not per se an antisemite. Instead of saying that’s true, let us stipulate it with all the snarky lawyer freight that “stipulating” carries.
Being so stipulated, you are damn rude. One does not say, “f—ing Jews.” One does not say “f—ing blacks” or “f—ing Latinos” or even “f—ing relentlessly self-promoting Presbyterian white women from New Canaan.”
Manners are the small change of morality. You, Ann, are nickel and diming yourself. And may all the coins in Scrooge McDuck’s money bin land on you and squash you flat. (Scrooge, by the way, is not a Jew, he’s a duck.)
Okay, it was rude, and it may even be true that Ann had one glass of wine too many when she wrote it. But shouldn’t you be able to get really angry if you believe on the basis of a whole lot of evidence, that Israel and its fifth column have hijacked American foreign policy to the tune of several disastrous and horribly expensive (in terms of blood and treasure) wars against Israel’s enemies with the big one against Iran only a matter of time if the Lobby gets its way? The pandering of Huckabee, Cruz, and Rubio (with the money of Sheldon Adelson and the rest of the Republican Jewish Coalition lurking in the background) is absolutely inexcusable. Why be polite about it? It’s American politics at its worst: caving in to a powerful, wealthy special interest lobby whose interests are not at all the same as the interests of America — a conflict of interest that has already had horrendous consequences for the U.S.
Second, my contempt is religious. The Jews found our God, hiding in plain sight, while the rest of us were praying to “a rag and a bone and a hank of hair.”
And what thanks do the Jews get? They get this wisecrack from William Norman Ewer, early-20th-century Brit journalist (and Commie):
How odd of God
To choose the Jews.
To which there’s an anonymous capping reply that I would like to second:
Not odd, you sod
The Jews chose God.
Has PJ even read the Old Testament? If you think that the god of the Old Testament has any positive qualities whatever, I’m afraid you just haven’t read it — which is typical of “pope-kissing Micks” like PJ. Growing up Catholic, I was completely unfamiliar with the Old Testament except for a few passages that fit with Christianity, like from the Psalms. In fact, the Old Testament is a genocidalist wet dream, complete with slaughtering and enslaving non-Israelites, punishing and ostracizing those who marry people who can’t trace their blood lines to racially pure Israelites, extreme ethnonationalism, separation from and a sense of superiority to all other peoples, and a glorification of moral particularlism where there are quite different moral standards depending on whether you are a Jew or not — a form of collectivism and the complete opposite of Christianity and Western moral universalism. The Jews did indeed choose god, and they chose a god that exactly suits their ethnic interests. Given Pope Francis’s recent statements on immigration, would that Christians had done the same!
Third, it’s political. There is a vein of antisemitism in conservatism. You’re mining it. I trust the claim you’ve staked will pan out with you getting a smack in the pan. [Say what??]
Antisemitism is almost an original sin of “classical liberalism.” It is present at the birth of the Enlightenment, with Voltaire who, in his Dictionnaire Philosophique, under the entry for Tolerance, of all places, calls Jews “the most intolerant and cruel nation of all antiquity.” Voltaire! Even he who all but invented liberty and saved us from that ur-leftist fool Rousseau.
Right. Voltaire had read the Old Testament and was quite aware of the bloody Jewish history in the ancient world — a history that in no way can be understood as Jews being passive victims of non-Jewish irrational hatred. Enlightenment thinkers wanted everyone to become citizens in nations dedicated to principles of freedom and liberty, and to do so, they had to shed their ancient superstitions and group (collectivist) loyalties. Jews should be citizens but not form a state within a state. However, for Jews the ancient superstitions coincided with their ethnic interests, and even when they gave up the religious veneer, they retained a fierce group loyalty (a form of collectivism that PJ claims to abhor) which has repeatedly resulted in conflicts of interest with surrounding societies (see, e.g., comments on the Israel Lobby above).
And 200 years later it was still there. In the effort to expel antisemites from conservatism, William F. Buckley Jr. had to pause in his war against collectivism’s barbarian hordes and sever ties with the man he had endorsed for president, Pat Buchanan, and stifle his old friend and National Review senior editor Joe Sobran. (Joe, whom you, Ann, have called “the G. K. Chesterton of our time”​—​a two-edged compliment in this context, viz. Chesterton’s essay “The Problem of Zionism.”)
But of course, Cuckley wasn’t battling all forms of collectivism. Jews themselves are arch-collectivists — the deep meaning, after all, behind Jewish moral particularism that is so apparent throughout Jewish history.  It’s just that quite a few Jews (including the Frankfurt School mentioned below) discovered that it’s good for the Jews if non-Jews are individualists.

Cuckley did indeed purge from mainstream conservatism people who were critical of Jews, including Joe Sobran whose criticisms, so far as I can see, were entirely rational. And the same goes for Pat Buchanan who has, at great personal cost, called attention not only to the role  of the Israel Lobby  in promoting disastrous wars in the Middle East, but has called attention to impending death of the West — neither of which PJ’s neocon buddies at The Weekly Standard care to discuss.

In fact, Joe was quite aware of exactly the issue that has gotten Coulter in trouble — the fact that one can’t call attention to Jewish power or influence without suffering the consequences:
It’s permissible to discuss the power of every other group, from the Black Muslims to the Christian Right, but the much greater power of the Jewish establishment is off-limits. That, in fact, is the chief measure of its power: its ability to impose its own taboos while tearing down the taboos of others—you might almost say its prerogative of offending. You can read articles in Jewish-controlled publications from the Times to Commentary blaming Christianity for the Holocaust or accusing Pope Pius XII of indifference, but don’t look for articles in any major publication that wants to stay in business examining the Jewish role in Communism and liberalism, however temperately.[1]
One might wonder about the wisdom of Cuckley’s purge given that Conservatism, Inc. is now a wholly owned subsidiary of the Israel Lobby which, come to think of it, was exactly Coulter’s point. Could it be that O’Rourke exemplifies what G. K. Chesterton called “the silly and craven fear” of even mentioning Jews as an identifiable group. Chesterton’s example from “The Problem of Zionism” is classic:
The substance of this [i.e., Chesterton’s] heresy was exceedingly simple. It consisted entirely in saying that Jews are Jews; and as a logical consequence that they are not Russians or Roumanians or Italians or Frenchmen or Englishmen. During the war the newspapers commonly referred to them as Russians; but the ritual wore so singularly thin that I remember one newspaper paragraph saying that the Russians in the East End complained of the food regulations, because their religion forbade them to eat pork.
So we might ask PJ: What exactly is so wrong with the thinking of Sobran and Chesteron that Ann Coulter should avoid mentioning them?

The rest of O’Rourke’s article deals with his admiration for Jews for saving him from a life of being a dumb goy — a fate worse than death presumably. It should be read in its entirety, but the gist is that “I owe my life as something other than a complete nebbish to Jews.” O’Rourke revels in indulging in invidious ethnic stereotyping of fellow Whites in the Toledo of his youth, but Jews were superior: “The Jewish kids were the only kids who considered it cool to be smart. And so did their parents.”
And thank God—specifically YHWH—for the few, the very few, the chosen if you will, people in Toledo who tried [to be smart]. Who tried to cheer the Freedom Riders, tried to debate the ideas of Herman Kahn, tried to get to Chicago to see Lenny Bruce at the Gate of Horn, tried to read Herbert Marcuse and Eric Hoffer, and tried to dig Thelonious Monk.
And there’s the nub of the problem. Thanking Jews for Herbert Marcuse is like Russians thanking the Georgians for Stalin. Marcuse was a card-carrying member of the Frankfurt School and its ideology that identifying as a White person with interests as Whites is a form of psychopathology — but at the same time entirely exempting Jews from a similar indictment against a collective ethnic identification. As a psychoanalytically influenced leftist, he was entirely in the mainstream of Jewish intellectuals that deposed the racially conscious, Darwin-influenced White elites that had been dominant up to the 1920s and were an important part of the intellectual context for passage of the immigration restriction act of 1924.

And even if in the end, you come to think that Marcuse was a false prophet, as O’Rourke presumably does, the fact is that he and the Frankfurt School have had an enormous evil influence which is not at all due to the empirical basis or rationality of their ideas but to the Jewish intellectual and media infrastructure that promoted them. Nobody would have been discussing him all, except that he was promoted by this infrastructure to a position of prominence in academia and popular culture. No one should ever have to discuss Marcuse except perhaps to point out the vileness and intellectual bankruptcy of his ideas. I rather doubt it was an accident that Marcuse’s wife Ricky Marcuse was a pioneering “Whiteness Studies” activist who, as Andrew Joyce notes, “simultaneously [acted] against White identity while boosting Jewish interests.” The same could be said about Marcuse, except that his anti-White activism was less explicit. But given his reputation and influence as a New Left guru, Marcuse’s influence was far deadlier.

The problem is that when you get caught up in a world where Jewish intellectuals define the parameters of acceptable discourse — from Marcuse’s far left to the neoconservative right — you are going to find that in the end (with vanishingly few individual exceptions and certainly not including any influential group of Jews that I am aware of), none of them really have your interests at heart. Where there are disagreements, it’s just that they have different perceptions of Jewish interests — like debates in the Knesset — and make alliances with different groups of non-Jews. Hence the need in The Culture of Critique to establish that all of the gurus who dominated the various Jewish intellectual movements had strong identities as Jews and saw their work as advancing their perception of Jewish interests (here, pp. i-iii).

And that’s exactly the world O’Rourke finds himself in, taking positions on race and Israel that are near and dear to an influential community of Jews under Bill Kristol’s leadership at the Weekly Standard — Jews  who, like those discussed in The Culture of Critique — have strong Jewish identities and a sense of pursuing specifically Jewish interests. And entirely missing from those interests is a concern for the legitimate interests of the traditional people and cultures of America, including pope-kissing Micks, in not becoming a minority in the United States.

By taking these positions, he can feel good about himself because deep down he believes that Jews define moral legitimacy and intellectual sophistication, so when he throws his lot in with the neocons, he is on solid ground and immune to any serious criticism. Deep down, he still feels intellectually inferior to his Jewish friends and colleagues, just as he felt inferior to his Jewish classmates while growing up in Toledo. He yearns to be accepted by them, and he thinks that his personal experience as a kid is a great basis for a theory of Judaism. So when he frames his ideas, he makes sure that they are palatable to at least some significant group of mainstream Jews. Can’t go wrong there. Money in the bank.

PJ is the Rube mentioned in this quote I used in The Culture of Critique (here, p. 3).
[Jewish literary critic Leslie] Fiedler goes on to say that “the writer drawn to New York from the provinces feels . . . the Rube, attempts to conform; and the almost parody of Jewishness achieved by the gentile writer in New York is a strange and crucial testimony of our time.”
Fiedler wrote this in 1948. It’s a lot worse now.

As PJ said (unfairly) about Ms. Coulter, “kids are, and kids do.”  But you’re pushing 70, so there’s no excuse. Stop being a nebbish. Grow up and show some intellectual self-confidence. Stop being a cuckservative who thinks it’s an honor to be published in The Weekly Standard. Your interests as a pope-kissing Mick are not at all the same as theirs.

Notes:
[1]  Sobran, J. (1995). The Jewish establishment. Sobran’s (September):4–5, 4.

School Choice: Another Cuckservative Cause

via Occam's Razor

Really?

In my original essay, “What is a Cuckservative?,” I failed to mention school choice, which is unfortunate as it really is a key cuckservative policy.

What is school choice?  It’s an idea championed by cuckservatives, which essentially, in its most popular form, involves a school-voucher system where students are able to use public tax money to attend private elementary or secondary schools.  For instance, the government would give a student at $10,000 voucher (which normally would go to a public school) to attend a private school.

As one can easily discern, there is nothing too “free market”  about this concept, since it essentially entails private schools being financed by tax dollars, and school choice would eventually bring private schools under government regulation since the private schools would receive government funds.  But this won’t stop the cucks from supporting it.

In every single conversation I’ve ever had about school choice with GOP types, whenever I bring up the above problem, the same talking point always comes up:  “It would be great for blacks and Hispanics.  It would allow more of them to attend private schools.”

So, at last, you can see that this proposal is nothing more than status signaling by cuckservatives to those on their left: “See, look at us, we have diversity-promoting proposals too!”

The problem with school vouches?  Let’s see….

Most public schools across America have been completely devastated by hordes of unruly, low-IQ blacks and mestizos. The only refuge for many whites is either homeschooling or private schools.  Many have not the luxury for the former, so private schools are the only option.

Unfortunately, private schools today are unable by law to discriminate against students based on race.  (Interestingly, you don’t see cuckservatives today arguing for freedom of association for private organizations.)  Private schools, however,  can economically wall off the ghetto:  tuition.  Most blacks and mestizos cannot afford or do not want to pay private tuition.

Now, if you wanted to destroy the last vestiges of civility among primary education, what would be more efficient than smashing this economic wall?

Enter vouchers.  Vouchers in short:  We’ll give taxpayer money to violent, low-IQ blacks and mestizos so that they can go to private schools and destroy them too!

Only the most myopic fool would support such an idea – the cuckservative.

Third Position: Class Cooperation against Capitalism and Communism

via TradYouth

Last week was Labor Day, a holiday that is for the vast majority of Americans and people around the world. As we put aside the dishes and scraps of food from our BBQs and cookouts with family and friends it is important to remember what this holiday stands for and why it should matter to us. As income inequality increases in America and the West as a whole, immigration both legal and illegal drives down the wages of hard working heads of household. The means of production are continually put into the hands of an ever smaller clique of international Jewish bankers and their capitalist lackeys.

The importance of Labor Day is greater now than it has been in generations. Labor Day is not a holiday for the Marxists or the capitalists; it is a holiday for our people to celebrate our hard work to provide for our families and communities, but also to use it as an opportunity to organize against the forces of reaction and global Jewry to ensure that we will never live as wage slaves on the globalist plantation. Our labor is for our Faith, our family and our folk, not usurious Jews and multi-national corporations which seek to replace and destroy us.

The National Union for Social Justice declared in its platform “Less care for internationalism and more concern for national prosperity” and with this we should celebrate with our communities a true Labor Day, not one for the opportunistic Leftist parasites who wish to dethrone our God and our ethnic Identity but also not one for the capitalist reactionaries who wish to turn us into disposable pieces in their globalist machine to wreck the environment, destroy the dignity of all human peoples and break down borders and cultures, …all in the name of making a few more dollars. As Father Charles Coughlin said “I have dedicated my life to fight against the heinous rottenness of modern capitalism because it robs the laborer of this world’s goods. But blow for blow I shall strike against Communism, because it robs us of the next world’s happiness.”

We must fight for an organic reality, one based in the laws of nature and the laws of God which protects the dignity of our nation, our families and the individual. We are neither monolithic blocs of class interest or radical individualists, Traditionalists embody the reality of hierarchy and history to march towards a brighter future for the whole of our people.

We as Traditionalists are not bound by the shackles of the Marxist theory of class-war which ignores the importance of Faith, the family, and the need for a healthy nation to synthesize a folk to work together for the common interest. Jose Antonio said “In a Fascist State it is not the most powerful class or the most numerous party that triumphs: what triumphs is the coordinating principle common to all, the consistent thought of the nation, of which the State is the organ.” The goal of the Traditionalist Worker Party is to find the synthesis of economics where a rising economic tide lifts all boats to provide for every man, woman and child of a nation through hard work and devotion to serving the Motherland.

A Traditionalist works towards class collaboration, not class warfare. A society in which initiative and hard work isn’t rewarded will lead to the economy of the post-war Soviet Union where people do the bare minimum to survive, never rising to their full potential to themselves, their families and the nation as a whole.

We must have an economic system where workers can see the just fruits of their labor, thus further providing incentives for hard work, sacrifice, and making workers invested into the overall national interests. Workers should expect to share in the bounty from the profits of the company they work for, be entitled to medical care, have time off for holidays and family and have a safe place to work. The right for workers to organize is an important one, to be able to speak united on issues for the common interest of employees at a company or involved in a specific trade.

A nationalist view on workers’ rights lifts up the working class to have a fair and just share of their creation, while also having an economic situation where workers can save money to invest in their families future and even go into business for themselves. The founder of the Spanish Falange, Jose Antonio, said “Capital… is an economic instrument which must serve the entire economy, and hence may not be an instrument for the advantage and privilege of the few who have had the good luck to get in first.”

Famous industrialist Henry Ford said “There is one rule for the industrialist and that is: make the best quality goods possible at the lowest cost possible, paying the highest wages possible.” The workers of a company have a responsibility to work hard, be honest and promote innovation within their company to maximize profits and quality while the owners have a responsibility to have a paternal relationship with their employees, to view them as part of an extended family and not simply as cogs in the machine. All economic classes are bound to their native soil, their Motherland and thus also their shared culture and Identity.

Class cooperation, not class war
Class cooperation, not class war
Benito Mussolini said “The working people are bound to their native shoes” and with that it must be understood that economic internationalism is always against the interests of working families. While a people is bound to their blood and soil, globalists are bound only to international corporations and the desire for unending profit, at the cost of destroying our nations and the environment. Internationalists desire to break down national borders, religious belief, culture, and all forms of Identity to put all people under the boot-heel of an international elite who control the banks and other forces of capital. Only a political and economic elite that is devoted to Faith, family and folk can be counted on to secure the health and future of the citizens of a nation.

European civilization has long promoted the concept of noblesse oblige in which there is a “noble’s obligation” towards ensuring the health and prosperity of the workers that are under them. Elites are in power to be the stewards of their nation, not parasitical overlords.

Just as the Tsar and Tsarina of Russia was known as the father and mother of the nation, our business and political elites must remember what Philippians 2:4 tells us to “not merely look out for your own personal interests, but also for the interests of others.” Those in positions of power should work for their sake and for the overall health of the nation as a whole.

Corneliu Codreanu, founder of the Iron Guard, said that “A people becomes aware of its existence when it becomes aware of its entirety, not only of its component parts and their individual interests.” Class cooperation will happen when we can raise a spirit of shared Identity, family and community among the nation as a whole. When we realize that our neighbors are actually are brothers and sisters, it radically changes our outlook on what it means to be a part of a nation.

Those who are bonded to us by blood, culture, language and Faith are members of an extended family, a tribal group that we should not only be loyal to, but work to help every single member be the best they can be. We need to protect our extended family from all threats, internal and external, corporeal and incorporeal. Through due diligence we can do amazing things, but that all begins when we stop putting ourselves first and instead put duty to our Faith, family and folk at the forefront of our actions.

While we are not communists we are also not capitalists, a System that exploits the common man and turns him into an economic unit, devoid of culture, Identity or Faith. Dr. Joseph Goebbels summed up the danger of capitalism when he spoke to a crowd of German workers and said “The worker in a capitalist state—and that is his deepest misfortune—is no longer a living human being, a creator, a maker. He has become a machine. A number, a cog in the machine without sense or understanding. He is alienated from what he produces.” The Traditionalist Worker Party rejects both of the flawed economic and social ideologies of capitalism and communism and instead follow a model of Third Positionism which aims to make a healthy nation, healthy families and a bright future by maximizing the potential of the folk.

As part of our mission we are never going to ignore the importance of Christian Social Justice to ensure that men can provide for their families through an honest day’s work. Our Party is devoted to making sure that the nation can be self sufficient while providing opportunities for all people to use their God given talents to thrive.

The Left has changed radically in the past 100 years
The Left has changed radically in
the past 100 years
As nationalists, we are the ultimate defenders of the workings class, not radical Leftists. The Left of today wants to promote immigration that hurts working families. Even Leftists from past generations like Jewish labor organizer Samuel Gompers, founder and president of the American Federation of Labor said that,
Every effort to enact immigration legislation must expect to meet a number of hostile forces and, in particular, two hostile forces of considerable strength… One of these is composed of corporation employers who desire to employ physical strength (broad backs) at the lowest possible wage and who prefer a rapidly revolving labor supply at low wages to a regular supply of American wage earners at fair wages. The other is composed of racial groups in the United States who oppose all restrictive legislation because they want the doors left open for an influx of their countrymen regardless of the menace to the people of their adopted country.”
The capitalist business elites wants to flood America with laborers so they can make bigger profits at the expense of human dignity while non-White ethnic advocates want to flood America with their countrymen to demographically, religiously and culturally change our nation. The System, by supporting policies that hurt blue collar individuals on every front, has become the nightmare of not only Samuel Gompers but tens of millions of White Americans who every year fall deeper and deeper into poverty.

Leftists in generations past who pretended to care about the working man opposed immigration because it drives down wages, destroys healthy working conditions and slashes benefits for workers due to their being an unending abundance of cheap foreign labor.

Just like how even Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels spoke and wrote against homosexuality and the Soviet Union used to intern homosexuals because they were seen as being part of the bourgeoisie and working against the workers paradise by not having families and creating more workers, the modern Left has become a bizarre parody of itself from just a few decades ago.

A Soviet Union poster glorifying the role of motherhood and duty to ones nation.
A Soviet Union poster glorifying the
role of motherhood and duty to one’s
nation, something modern Leftists
would call “fascist”
When Marxists can go from Stalin criminalizing homosexuality in 1933 to the Communist Party USA marching in gay pride parades in 2015 you know that the Leftist ideology train has assuredly left the tracks.

Modern day Western Leftists would call the Soviet Union “fascist” for encouraging citizens to not be addicted to alcohol and drugs, encouraging large and healthy families made up of a father and mother, encouraging nationalism and promoting a sense of duty among the citizenry to the nation. The Left of America and Western Europe is made up of degenerates who pride themselves on radical individualism and being constant pleasure seekers, with no regard given to society or the health of the local community.

This pleasure seeking of modern Leftists is nihilism and leads to unhappy individuals and a morally corrupt State. To have a healthy individual and a healthy nation we must overcome our passions of the flesh and our own selfishness to fight and struggle for the betterment of the folk. As former Greek leader Ioannis Metaxas said “we must subordinate our appetites, our passions and our egoism to the wholeness of the National interest. This way we will be a really free people, otherwise anarchy and indiscipline will reign over us under the false mask of freedom.

Leftist ideology has abandoned any pretense of being pro-worker and instead become a tool of the international Jewish elite to be a bully club against all peoples who have national Identity. The march of the globalists is in reality the sound of the designer boots and clicking iPhones of degenerate college students and their various lackeys, enforcing the globalist worldview on our college campuses and in our societies.

Many of these privileged latte Leftists have never worked real jobs and live off of their parents but they claim to be defenders of the working class. In my life I have met many former Leftists who became nationalists after realizing that the modern Left works to hurt the working class, not help them. When you have to work for a living you want your money invested in your family and your neighbors, not in an endless stream of immigrants from the Third World.

The Left continues to use rhetoric about the working man and improving his life but they work to destabilize his family, his wages, and his very Identity. Leftists have proven themselves to be class enemies of the working man and his family, leaving only the Right to be the real stewards and defenders of normal everyday citizens.

If you want homosexuality promoted to your children, millions of Third World immigrants to drive down your wages and force you out of a job, and Jewish banks foreclosing on your family home or farm while the banks receive billions in bailouts, then support the Left. If you want a society based around community, fraternity, blood, Faith, honor and a better future for you and your children, then support the Traditionalist Worker Party. The Party will fight for healthy people, healthy communities, a healthy environment and a world that is free from degeneracy and liberalism.

As former British National Party leader Nick Griffin said about the current state of Western Civilization,
The soft seduction of consumer global capitalism reduce the nations of the West to a rootless mass of Americanised consumers, without identity, without pride and without a future. Children identify with the grotesque and vulgar instead of noble heroes and beautiful princesses in castles. Teenagers ape the antics of degenerate pop-stars whose example leads hundreds of thousands into the living death of drug addiction, not to mention the tragedy of the image conscious girls (mainly) who feel compelled to starve themselves to get “the look” and of course the spiralling number of abortions. Adults perform meaningless jobs, in conditions of mind-destroying boredom, to earn enough money to buy the latest needlessly created want to be pushed on television as the thing without which their neighbours will regard them as worthless failures. Old folk die unnoticed and lie rotting for weeks, even months, in barred and bolted flats in inhuman tower blocks, unofficial prisons which become tombs for those who no longer have any economic value. Do not be fooled by the glossy packaging of the consumer society.”
I know our people can do better than this, better than being used and abused by globalist paymasters and traitorous political tyrants. I know our people can once again rise from the ashes and build a new nation, a new State and revive our culture, families and Faith to its former heights. It will not be easy, but it is the only option we have if our people and civilization will last into the next century and beyond.
Only Third Positionism can truly speak and fight for the working man and his wife and children, we do not only care about his wages, we also fight for his values, his Faith and everything he holds dear. The choice is clear White America. Do you desire to sit on the sidelines and watch your nation be destroyed in front of your eyes? Or do you want to stand up and fight for your family and future generations to have a life worth living? If you want to secure a future for your family, join the Traditionalist Worker Party today because we are the future. No surrender, no retreat, just total victory. That is what I can promise you if you unite with us to build a better tomorrow.
Hail victory!

All Flags Flying at the Last Night of the Proms

via Traditional Britain Group

All flags flying at the Last Night of the Proms - preceded by Russian masterpieces from St. Petersburg, and the visionary majesty of The Dream of Gerontius. Stuart Millson enjoys the last week of the 2015 season of Henry Wood Proms.
Stuart Millson enjoys the last week of the 2015 season of Henry Wood Proms.

This piece first appeared in The Quarterly Review.

‘There is no sound quite like it anywhere else in the world. A chorus of over seven thousand voices, all standing up and letting their lungs fill the vast spaces of the Royal Albert Hall…. In mid-September, in the second half of the Last Night of the Proms, and partway through Elgar’s orchestral Pomp and Circumstance March No. 1, the whole audience rises to its feet to sing Land of Hope and Glory to that great tune in the middle… For a few brief moments, in that brilliant throng, sweltering in motley dress and waving banners under the hot television lights, it feels very good to be alive, and especially good to be in England.”

- Barrie Hall, The Proms and the men who made them (George Allen & Unwin).

Writer, Proms enthusiast and Head of Radio 3 publicity from 1970 to 1980, Barrie Hall published (in 1981) a “breezy” and very personal history of the great concert series, established 121 years ago by Sir Henry Wood (with a little practical help from the concert promoter, Robert Newman). His account of the Last Night - from the era of conductors such as Sir Charles Groves, Norman Del Mar and James Loughran still rings true, although in present times, the formula for this unique concert has changed somewhat. It was often said that Last Night was jingoistic and insubstantial, and various attempts were made to change the course of the finale - including the introduction of semi-serious audience participation works, such as Malcolm Williamson’s The Stone Wall (a fantasy of warring ancient British tribes). Today, a similar approach has been undertaken to broaden the community singing, but using instead the easy, familiar, not-strictly-classical melodies of (in 2014) the music from Mary Poppins, and this year, a medley from The Sound of Music. Pleasant, tuneful, good fun - but seemingly a world away from Eleanor Alberga’s (cultural) call to arms at the opening of the Prom: her newly-commissioned mantra for chorus, Arise, Athena!

For Proms Director, Edward Blakeman - the architect of a very fine Proms season indeed - the need to challenge preconceptions and “defy categories” of music is paramount, if more people are to be drawn into classical music. His aim is quite right: we have to reach out, to a generation of younger people - deprived of classical music, ignorant of the names Haydn, Beethoven, Wagner, Elgar, and - in so many state secondary schools - hardly educated in any form of music, or poetry or the arts at all. However, we must also be aware that categories, just like national borders, need not be exclusive, forbidding “barbed-wire” things, keeping people out. Categories can and do provide useful definition - something to aspire to, something which gives meaning and integrity. So it was very absorbing on the Last Night to hear, in the first half, Shostakovich’s Second Piano Concerto, performed with complete elan by the BBC Symphony Orchestra, directed by returning Last Night conductor, the American Marin Alsop (one of the world’s few women conductors, the first woman to conduct the Last Night of the Proms, and an artist of forthright views - with possibly a slight tendency to overstate her case in relation to gender equality in classical music as a whole). Benjamin Grosvenor was the eloquent, bold and brilliant soloist - a strikingly youthful figure, and an example to the young to follow classical music and the arts. Of all the pieces in this final programme of the season, the Shostakovich - dating from 1957 - made the most incisive impact, with the BBC SO giving as good a performance on this out-of-the-ordinary night as they did during the last chapter of August’s Sibelius cycle, in which they tackled the last three of Finland’s greatest symphonies. The witty (it is often said, “pungent” and prickly) themes of the first movement make way in movement number two for a heartachingly noble and tragic theme, one of Shostakovich’s great achievements - and a passage which seems to me to encapsulate a mood of suffering (the suffering, sorrow and endurance of a people) and all the emptiness and vastness of the landscape, steppes and wastes of Russia.

The presence of the Shostakovich reminded me of the inclusion on the 1983 Last Night programme of Szymanowski’s Symphony No. 3 The Song of the Night - a mysterious and intoxicating work (proof of the evening’s unjingoistic tendencies) and a serious prelude to the uplifting music which, traditionally, ends this concert and gives us that sense of belonging which so inspired Barrie Hall in 1981.

The previous evening, the Vienna Philharmonic performed Elgar’s The Dream of Gerontius, under the baton of Sir Simon Rattle - the much-loved and admired conductor of the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra, who has scaled the heights of classical music from his time as a first-rate “apprentice” of the BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra, and then, the reshaper in the 1980s and ‘90s of the City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra. Sir Simon brought something of an operatic feel to Gerontius - his soloist, Magdalena Kozena (mezzo soprano) bringing an intensity and tension to the role of the Angel - and I began to wonder how this British oratorio would look as a semi-staged work. Roderick Williams - Priest and Angel of the Agony - was seated at the edge of the orchestra, and rose from the (conductor’s) right of the platform to join in the drama. J.S. Bach’s Passions have been rethought and restaged by Rattle and Kozena: would Elgar’s great statement of fervour and faith lend itself to a similar treatment?

The influence of Wagner is also inescapable in The Dream of Gerontius - the opening (also associated with Ken Russell’s film of the Malvern Hills with the Crucifixion superimposed upon their ridges) feeling very much like the twilight, atmosphere of the Parsifal prelude. The Wagnerian Vienna Philharmonic generated a deeply-mellow, English, valedictory cello tone - with noble horns and austere brass writing underlining, not just the romanticism of Elgar’s native landscape, but a powerful sense of his natural place alongside the 19th-century romantic masters of the continent. At certain moments - such as the soft, almost whispered chorus of the Assistants, we were almost taken into the world of Choral Evensong - or the English church tradition of Tomkins or Byrd:

‘…Job from all the multiform and fell distress (Amen); Moses from the land of bondage and despair (Amen)…’

- words sighing and drifting into space.

Interestingly, for this performance (a work all about death and the elderly figure of Gerontius), the vocal force deployed was the BBC Proms Youth Chorus, and it certainly made a difference to hear the massed voices of the emerging generation - somehow softer, with exact and impressive articulation, and an “alive”, broad, resounding tone. In the great chorus - Praise to the Holiest in the height - they scythed through any acoustic fuzziness which the Royal Albert Hall might reveal, with no sense of being overwhelmed by the stage and the space - and the Vienna Philharmonic. With the great organ notes surging through, underpinning and anchoring their singing, this was an Elgar performance of great virtue and solemnity, and not one that will be forgotten.

It seems irrelevant in some ways for me to mention that I was not always quite at one with Sir Simon’s determined performance. For this reviewer, the slower, unfolding, more self-consciously majestic approach of Sir Adrian Boult (his bearing and moustache very similar to Elgar’s) had more of the essence of Gerontius. And I felt that Rattle tended to enjoy the energy and disarray of the Demons’ Chorus, more than the pastoral, visionary, “Nimrod” side of the work - which was no disadvantage, as the demonic possession of this episode deserves the most audacious treatment. Without doubt (and the Last Night aside) a satisfying end to the summer at the Royal Albert Hall - giving everyone much to talk about at the capacity-audience BBC press party afterwards.

At the beginning of the week, the St. Petersburg Philharmonic Orchestra under Yuri Temirkanov provided an evening of shimmering Russian magic, in the form of Nikolay Rimsky-Korsakov’s Scheherazade - a symphonic suite from 1888 steeped in orientalism, swashbuckling myth, the exploits of Sinbad, and the romance of the Kalendar Prince (the noble scion of a wandering race from the depths of Central Asia). Temirkanov also brought the Rachmaninov Second Piano Concerto (soloist, Nikolai Lugansky played with breathtaking style and command), and the lesser-known, Dante-inspired Tchaikovsky work, Francesca da Rimini - both of which brought to mind the sort of older Proms programme associated, perhaps, with the years of Sir Malcolm Sargent. The St. Petersburg orchestra played extremely well - in a very full-bodied, exciting manner - and although I did not feel that the audience had been given a unique performance, we nevertheless heard an ensemble in repertoire that fitted it like a glove. On “home soil”, on their ground, in their music, the Russians sounded and gave their best.

As Elgar’s orchestration of Parry’s Jerusalem, the ancestral Auld Lang Syne, and Britten’s arrangement of God Save the Queen gave their curtain call to summer, we can truly say: this was a great season for the Proms. But then again… we tend to say that every year.

The Rape of Europa

via Radix

Listen Now

Colin Liddell joins Richard to discuss the European refugee crisis, the ambiguous nature of Hungary’s Viktor Orban, the “alt Right” in the mainstream, and more.

NOTES

A Podcast from a Budapest Jail
Tangerine Dream, Stratosfear
Organ’s Corridor through Hungary
“Viktator” Orban
Donald Trump's “Big Fat Door
Orban creates an “illiberal state
Viktor Orban and “Racial Weapons
Milo Yiannopoulos
Fox News warns of the “Knockout Game
Colin Liddell, “Sub-racism
Richard’s suggested “beer summit
Margaret Thatcher “swamped
Breitbart, "The Migrant Crisis and the Rise of the Right
BBC, “Trukey and the migrant crisis

Retrotopia: A Change of Habit

via The Archdruid Report

I went back to the hotel for lunch.  The wind had picked up further and was tossing stray randrops at anything in its path; my clothing was waterproof but not particularly warm, and I frankly envied the passersby their hats. For that matter, I wasn’t happy about the way that my bioplastic clothes made everyone give me startled looks. Still, it was only a block and a half, and then I ducked back inside the lobby, went to the glass doors to the restaurant, stepped inside.
Maybe a minute later I was settling into a chair in a comfortable corner, and the greeter was on his way back to the door, having promised the imminent arrival of a waitress. Stray notes of piano music rippled through the air, resolved themselves into an unobtrusive jazz number.  It took me a moment to notice that the piano was actually there in the restaurant, tucked over in a nook to one side. The player was a skinny kid in his twenties, Italian-American by the look of him, and he was really pretty good. Some musicians play jazz laid-back because the fire’s gone out or they never had any in the first place, but now and again you hear one who’s got the fire and keeps it under perfect control while playing soft and low, and it’s like watching somebody take a leisurely stroll on a tightrope strung between skyscrapers. This kid was one of those. I wondered what he’d sound like with a bunch of other musicians and a room full of people who wanted to dance.
As it was, I leaned back in the chair, read the menu and enjoyed the music and the absence of the wind. The waitress showed up as prophesied, and I ordered my usual, soup and sandwich and a cup of chicory coffee—you can get that anywhere in the post-US republics, just one more legacy of the debt crisis and the hard years that followed. I know plenty of people in Philadelphia who won’t touch the stuff any more, but I got to like it and it still goes down easier than straight coffee.
Lunch was good, the music was good, and I’d missed the lunch rush so the service was better than good; I charged the meal to my room but left a tip well on the upside of enough. Then it was back outside into the wind as the kid at the piano launched into a take on “Ruby, My Dear” that wouldn’t have embarrassed a young Thelonious Monk. I had plenty of questions about the Lakeland Republic, some things that I’d been asked to look into and some that were more or less a matter of my own curiosity, and sitting in a hotel restaurant wasn’t going to get me any closer to the answers.
Outside there were still plenty of people on the sidewalks, but not so many as earlier; I gathered that lunch hour was over and everyone who worked ordinary hours, whatever those were here, was back on the job. I went around the block the hotel was on, noting landmarks, and then started wandering, lookng for shops, restaurants, and other places that might be useful during my stay: something I like to do in any unfamiliar city when I have the chance. There were plenty of retail businesses—the ground floor of every building I passed had as many as would fit—but none of them were big, and none of them had the sort of generic logo-look that tells you you’re looking at a chain outlet. Everything I knew about business said that little mom-and-pop stores like that were hopelessly inefficient, but I could imagine what the banker I’d talked with would say in response to that, and I didn’t want to go there.
The other thing that startled me as I wandered the streets was how little advertising there was. Don’t get me wrong, most of the stores had signage in the windows advertising this or that product or doing the 10% OFF THIS DAY ONLY routine; what was missing was the sort of corporate display advertising you see on every available surface in most cities. I’d figured already that there wouldn’t be digital billboards, but there weren’t any billboards at all; the shelters at the streetcar stops didn’t have display ads all over them, and neither did the streetcars; I thought back to the morning’s trip, and realized that I basically hadn’t seen any ads at all since the train crossed the border. I shook my head, wondered how the Lakeland Republic managed that, and then remembered the notebook in my pocket and put my first note into it:  Why no ads? Ask. 
I was maybe six blocks from the hotel, by then, looping back after I’d checked out the streets on the west side of the capitol district, and that’s when I tore my shoe. It was my own fault, really. There was a cluster of moms with kids in strollers heading down the sidewalk, going the same direction I was but not as fast.  I veered over to the curb to get around them, misjudged my step, and a sharp bit of curbing caught the side of my shoe as I stumbled and ripped the bioplastic wide open. Fortunately it didn’t rip me, but I hadn’t brought a spare pair—these were good shoes, the sort that usually last for a couple of months before you have to throw them out. So there I was, looking at the shredded side of the shoe, and then I looked up and the first store I saw was a shoe store, I kid you not. 
I managed to keep the ripped shoe on my foot long enough to get in the door. The clerk, a middle-aged guy whose hair was that pink color you get when a flaming redhead starts to go gray, spotted me and started into the “Hi, how can I help you?” routine right as what was left of the shoe flopped right off my foot. He started laughing, and so did I; I picked the thing up, and he said, “Well, I don’t need to ask that, do I? Let’s get you measured and put something a little less flimsy on your feet.”
“I take a men’s medium-large,” I said.
He nodded, and gave me the kind of look you give to someone who really doesn’t get it. “We like to be a little more precise here. Go ahead and have a seat.”
So I sat down; he took the remains of the shoe and threw it away, and then proceeded to use this odd metal device with sliding bits on it to measure both my feet. “9D,” he said, “with a high arch. I bet your feet ache right in the middle when you’re on ‘em too long.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I take pills for that.”
“A good pair of shoes will do a better job. Let’s see, now—that’s business wear, isn’t it? You expect to do a lot of walking? Any formal or semi-formal events coming up?” I nodded yes to each, and he said, “Okay, I got just the thing for you.”
He went away, came back with a box, and extracted a pair of dark brown leather shoes from it. “This brown’ll match the putty color of those clothes of yours pretty well, and these won’t take any breaking in. Let’s give it a try.” The shoes went on. “There you go. Walk around a bit, see how they feel on you.”
I got up and walked around the store. My feet felt remarkably odd. It took me a moment to realize that this was because the shoes actually fit them. “These are pretty good,” I told him.
“Beat the pants off the things you were wearing, don’t they?”
“True enough,” I admitted. He rang up the sale on some kind of old-fashioned mechanical cash register and wrote out a bill of sale by hand; I paid up and headed out the door.
Half a block down the same street was a store selling men’s clothes. I went in, and came out something like an hour later dressed like one of the locals—wool jacket, slacks and vest, button-up cotton shirt, and tie, with a long raincoat over the top, and my ordinary clothes in a shopping bag. I’d already more than half decided to pick up something less conspicuous to wear before my shoe got torn, and money wasn’t a problem, so I bought enough to keep me for the duration of my stay, and had everything else sent back to the hotel; the bill was large enough that the clerk checked my ID and then called the bank to make sure I had enough in my account to cover it. Still, that was the only hitch, and quickly past.
From the clothes store I headed back the way I’d come, turned a corner and went three blocks into a neighborhood of narrow little shops with hand-written signs in the windows. The sign I was looking for, on the recommendation of the clothes store clerk, was barely visible on the glass of a door: S. EHRENSTEIN HABERDASHER. I went in; the space inside was only about twice as wide as the door, with shelves packed with boxes on both walls and a little counter and cash register at the far end.
S. Ehrenstein turned out to be a short wiry man with hair the color of steel wool and a nose like a hawk’s beak. “Good afternoon,” he said, and then considered me for a moment. “You’re from outside—Atlantic Republic, or maybe Upper Canada. Not Québec or New England. Am I right?”
“Atlantic,” I said. “How’d you know?”
“Your clothes and your shoes are brand new—I’d be surprised if you told me you’ve been in ‘em for as much as an hour. That says you just came from outside—that and no hat, and five o’clock shadow this early in the day; I don’t know why it is, but nobody outside seems to know how to get a proper shave. The rest, well, I pay attention to lots of  little things. How’d you hear about my shop?”
I told him the name of the clothing store, and he nodded, pleased. “Well, there you are. That’s Fred Hayakawa’s store; his family’s been in the business since half an hour before Eve bit the apple, and his clerks know a good hat, which is more than I could say for some. So are you in business, or—”
“Politics,” I said.
“Then I have just the hat for you. Let’s get your head measured.” A measuring tape came out of his pocket and looped around my head. “Okay, good. Seven and a quarter, I should have in stock.” He ducked past me, clambered onto a stepladder, pulled down a box. “Try it on. The mirror’s there.”
With the hat on, my resemblance to a minor character from a Bogart vid was complete. “Absolutely classic,” the haberdasher said from behind me. “Fedoras, homburgs, sure, they’re fine, but a porkpie like this, you can wear it anywhere and look real classy.”
“I like it,” I agreed.
“Well, there you are. Let me show you something.” He took the hat, slipped a cord out from under the ribbon. “In windy weather you put this loop over your coat button, so you don’t lose it if it blows off. If I were you I’d do that before I set one foot outside that door.”
I paid up, accepted the business card he pressed on me, and got the loop in place before I went back outside. The wind had died down, so the hat stayed comfortably in place—and the adverb’s deliberate; it kept my head warm, and the rest of the clothes were pleasant in a way that bioplastic just isn’t.
You know what it’s like when some annoying noise is so much part of the background that you don’t notice it at all, until it stops, and then all of a sudden you realize just how much it irritated you? Getting out of bioplastic was the same sort of thing. In most countries these days, everything from clothes to sheets to curtains is bioplastic, because it’s so cheap to make and turn into products that the big corporations that sell it drove everything else off the market years ago. It’s waterproof, it’s easy to clean—there’s quite a litany, and of course it was all over the metanet and the other media back when you could still buy anything else. Of course the ads didn’t mention that it’s flimsy and slippery, and feels clammy pretty much all the time, but that’s the way it goes; what’s in the stores depends on what makes the biggest profit for the big dogs in industry, and the rest of us just have to learn to live with it.
The Lakeland Republic apparently didn’t play by the same rules, though. The embargo had something to do with it, I guessed, but apparently they weren’t letting the multinationals compete with local producers. The clothes I’d bought were a lot more expensive than bioplastic equivalents would have been, and I figured it would take trade barriers to keep them on the market.
I kept walking. Two blocks later, about the time I caught sight of the capitol dome again, I passed a barbershop and happened to notice a sign in the window advertising a shave and trim. I thought about what S. Ehrenstein had said about a proper shave, laughed, and decided to give it a try.
The barber was a big balding guy with a ready grin. “What can I do for you?”
“Shave and trim, please.”
“Your timing’s good. Another half hour and you’d have to wait a bit, but as it is—” He waved me to the coatrack and the empty chair. “Get yourself comfy and have a seat.”
I shed my coat, hat, and jacket,  and sat down. He covered me up with the same loose poncho thing that barbers use everywhere, tied something snug around my neck, and went to work. “New in town?”
“Just visiting, from Philadelphia.”
“No kidding. Welcome to Toledo. Here on business?” Instead of the buzz of an electric trimmer, the clicking of scissors sounded back behind my right ear.
“More or less. I’ll try to talk to some people up at the Capitol, make some contacts, ask some questions about the way you do things here.”
“Might have to wait a day or two, according to the papers. Did you hear about this latest thing?”
“Just that there’s some kind of crisis.”
The scissor-sound moved around the back of my head from right to left. “Well, sort of. Tempest in a teapot is more like it. Something in the budget bill for next year set off the all-out Restos, and so one of the parties that’s had Meeker’s back says they’ll bolt unless whatever it is gets taken out.”
“Restos?”
“You don’t have those out your way, do you? Here the two political blocs are Conservatives and Restorationists; Conservatives want to keep things pretty much the way they are, Restos want to take things back to the way they used to be. Okay, lay your head back.” I did, and he draped a hot damp towel over the lower half of my face, then went back to trimming. “Used to be about half and half, but these days the Restos have the bigger half—all the rural counties going to lower tiers, and so on.”
“Hmm?” I managed to say.
“Oh, that’s right. You probably don’t know about the tiers.”
“Mm-mh.”
“It works like this. There are five tiers, and counties vote on what tier they want to be in. The lower the tier, the lower your taxes, but the less you get in terms of infrastructure and stuff. Toledo’s tier five—we got electricity, we got phones in every house, good paving on the streets so you can drive a car if you can afford one, but we pay for it through the nose when it comes to tax time.”
“Mm-hmm.”
He took off the towel, started brushing hot lather onto my face. “So tier five has a base date of 1950—that means we got about the same sort of services they had here that year. The other tiers go down from there—tier four’s base date  is 1920, for tier three it’s 1890, tier two’s 1860, and tier one’s 1830. You live in a tier one county, you got police, you got dirt roads, not a lot else. Of course your taxes are way, way down, too.” He put away the brush, snapped open an old-fashioned straight razor, and went to work on my stubble. “That’s the thing. Nobody’s technology gets a subsidy—that’s in the constitution. You want it, you pay all the costs, cradle to grave. You don’t get to dump ‘em on anybody else. That’s what the Restos are all up in arms about. They think something in the budget is a hidden subsidy for I forget what high-tier technology, and that’s a red line for them.”
“Mm-hmm,” I said again. 
“They’ll get it worked out. Go like this.” He drew his lips to one side, and I imitated the movement. “Meeker’s handled that sort of thing more’n a dozen times already—he’s good. If we let our presidents have second terms he’d get one. Now go like this.” I moved my lips the other way. “So they’ll drop whatever it is out of the budget, or put in a user fee, or come up with some other gimmick so that everybody’s happy. It’s not a big deal. Nothing like the fight over the treaty, or the time ten years ago when Mary Chenkin was president, when the Restos wanted to get rid of tier five, just like that. That was a real donnybrook. This close to the Capitol, you better believe I got to hear all sides of it.”
He finished shaving, washed the last bits of soap off my face with another hot wet towel, then splashed on sone kind of bay-scented aftershave that stung a bit. A brush darted around my shoulders, and then he took off the neckcloth and the poncho thing. “There you go.”
I got up, checked the trim in the big mirror on the wall, ran my fingers across my cheek; it was astonishingly smooth. “Very nice,” I said. While I got out my wallet, I asked the barber, “Do you think Toledo’s ever going to go to a lower tier?” 
“People are talking about it,” he said. “I mean, it’s nice to have some of the services, but then tax time comes around and everyone says ‘Ouch.’ Me, I could live with tier four easy, and my business—” He gestured at the shop. “Other than the lights, might as well be tier one. A lot of businesses run things that way—it just makes more sense.” He handed me my change with a grin. “And more money.”