Identity and Class

Where to start? At the beginning? Boring. I’m starting with Socialism, which came long before me. One of the tenets of Socialism, whether National or Bolshevik or Other, is the dissolution of class and boundary lines. I will speak from the pulpit of my personal experience, as a man who comes from the Lower Middle Class of (former) American New England. Because I come from the Lower Middle Class does not necessarily mean that is what I am. The Middle Class as a monolith is disappearing, in America, nevermind the complexities, intricacies and nuance of it. Perhaps before I attempt to return to the beginning of this thought I shall make for you, dear reader, an illustrative case.

You can dissect the corpse of the Middle Class into Upper and Lower quadrants. I do. Is this canon? I don’t care; experts are overinflated dunce-nuggets that desperately need to be deflated by a very long sewing needle. (Trying to stop swearing for my baby boy.) Some euphemise Middle Class as Working Class. I generally, because this is what I do professionally, refer to the Lower Middle Class as Working Class. But my wife made the salient point that Upper Middle works too. Blue Collar/ White Collar. Lower Middle Class works with their bodies and their hands, Upper Middle works with their buttcheeks, lips and fingertips. And maybe that is as awful as it sounds, I wouldn’t know. I had the opportunity to ascend to the Upper Middle through College but I was incapable of enduring the conformity and legalese required and remained Lower Middle where the restrictions on speech, thought and action are lesser.

Beyond that there are stereotypes attached to the different levels of the Middle Class. The Working Class is stereotyped as famously crass, vulgar and angry. As I work in construction, I know this stereotype best. Carpenters are expected to fit a specific mould. Crass, short-tempered, perhaps less intelligent than their White Collar economic betters. I have experienced the wrong end of this stereotype, with people occasionally speaking down to me, or assuming I am less worldly than they due to my station. I don’t mind, the joke is usually on them in the end when I have to consistently reframe and explain words I have used. My favourite instance of the bias against workingmen and their intelligence came about when I joined my first IRL Nationalist Community. He had, during a vetting call, mentioned that something he was rambling about was so simple that ‘even a construction worker’ could understand it. I objected, to which he chortled, “yeah, assuming there are intelligent construction workers!” As it went, the joke was on him, for by the time I did ascend in the ranks of the IRL community, my presence soon outweighed his. While I take no moral pleasure in that, there was an aspect of Schadenfreud. Regardless.

When I was a child, I can remember going to visit my sister. She lived in a straight up Low Income neighbourhood. Perhaps not quite a ghetto, but undeniably White Trash. Low Class, indubitably. At any rate. Her boyfriend’s brother was watching me, and he asked, “what did you do over last week?” (It had been vacation.) “I worked for Dad,” I said. He laughed. “Yeah right. Real men who do real work have callouses. You don’t know shit.” I turned my palms out, the idiot didn’t realise that I’ve had callouses since I was seven. “Oh,” he said, looking every inch the fool he was, “maybe you did do some work.”

It’s ironic, really. Because now I’m thirty. And I pay with my taxes to keep Low Class scum alive. There are no callouses left on that man’s hand, because he has done so many drugs his heart will not allow him to wield a hammer. But I, proud member of the Middle Class who stupidly keeps this American Experiment alive, am a fine specimen. My body is strong, my mind is sharp. A good asset to unrepresented taxes everywhere.

Do I sound angry? I am. It dawned on me, and this allows me to tie in my beginning with my preface. I am angry. I don’t really have enough money to be Middle Class, and by default, I inhabit a similar financial bracket as the toothless idiot that needed his dopamine fix from mocking a child. Except, as the System continues to suck the life out of me, I can understand how that bitter, pathetic man was created. By default, he and I are separated only by esoteric values like, I don’t know, pride. Real pride, except, I’m tired. I’m becoming a tired stereotype. And this is unacceptable. This is why I have at last ceded ground to Socialism, which I once hated, but now stand in awe of.

The Class Structure is no friend of anyone’s. As an Anglo-American, you would think I would be inborn with this knowledge. After all, is it not true that English dissidents came to New England, to overthrow the yoke of tyranny and do the LORD’s work? Alas, the tragic irony of America is that in the wake of the Revolution against our British Motherland we instituted a false aristocracy based upon the illusion of upward mobility. The American Dream became a question of creating economic equivalents of British antecedents through financial domination. Do we have dukes? No. We have tycoons. Do we have State Appointed Bishops? No. We have inbred Hollywood morons who act as high priests for social justice, the new religion. Ah, but didn’t Washington make a point of graciously turning down kingship, thus ensuring America would remain ever a republic? Perhaps he did, but our kings are Bankers and Robber Barons; Rothschild’s, Pierces, and so on. But it’s all the same. So tiresome. We have no Upstairs/Downstairs divide, the glory of American “democracy” and “freedom” is that you can walk upstairs or down according to your choices and how hard you’ve pulled yourself up by your bootstraps.

It might have been a Noble Lie to make a Greek cave dweller proud, were it not for the fact there is no oblige noblisse left. The Middle Class is being dissolved and the stairs are being pulled from their tracts in either direction. More and more, citizens are being trapped into their stations, with upward mobility waning and downward mobility on the wax. It is an unsustainable system. A gaggle of corn-fed morons have decided that automation is the key. I shall refer you to Emperor Saint Vespasian, a Roman who fought against monotheism and defended the traditional workingman. Apocryphally, he was approached by a famous architect in the City and presented plans for marvellous machinery which would revolutionise production. It was said that Vespasian looked over the schematics and commented on the architect’s genius, and then politely declined his designs. The architect was appalled, and asked how the emperor could be so short-sighted. Vespasian remarked that he could never rob the Roman people of work, they would not withstand it. Perhaps Vespasian euphemised, because when the Romans ran out of work, they ran out of food, and would then riot.

There are many things the Modern American Machine could learn from Rome. After all, Rome is our titular inheritance, having inspired so much American Mythology. Why not this? Sadly, America has followed Rome in almost every way. Our Republic is an Empire, and our soul is rotting. The citizens live on the dole, bread and circuses while an uncaring over-class mocks their very existence and prefers instead the company of their slaves whom they have imported from barbarian countries to do the work that Roman American’s can no longer afford to do. Except now, the American Empire hired the Architect’s Robot, and without a Vespasian to save us, the immigrant that pounded out the American worker is now being replaced by machines. Are the immigrants deported, their usefulness exhausted? No. They join the citizen on the dole and the burden on the system increases manifold.

Bravo, America. Whomst questions democracy? Surely not I, when the enrichment of diversity is just so good, the obvious benefits so plentiful in my wallet. Who can deny the taste of freedom?

So we return to this. I am not alone. I am tired, and I am angry. My lot in life has changed me. I know many men in my bracket do not recover; many do not have the same level of introspection I have and are freely crushed by life. Some go on opiates. Some drink. Others overeat. But the dieing Middle Class is just that. We are being killed softly, and those not outright snuffed out by their own copes are being steadily absorbed into the Lower Class, also called the Low Income bracket. It is hard to imagine, but the crime and depression is worse there. I grew up in a pocket of that, as my father tried desperately to avoid being financially depleted while providing for his family with land and housing. He himself has been traumatised by that life, the financial fear, the wonder and the demands from a government that acts like a cruel god; distant and demanding. And here I am. I’m not Middle Class, I’m currently low income. For the last six years, I have woken up on the morning of the New Year with less to show for increasing efforts to get by. Do I want from laziness? No. Carpentry is not easy, it can be hard on the body and the mind, and the taxman doesn’t help. Every year I wonder what it’s all for.

I understand why the Lower Class subsists on the dole. The economy feels it perfectly just to expect men and women to work several jobs to struggle to pay rent for apartments in dirty, filthy cities that are loud and depressing. What do their efforts contribute to? What glorious thing is America doing with her citizens’ taxes to encourage proper patriotism? Our Country (because we have no nation) routinely bombs countries full of backwards brown peasants, and then imports the survivors and fattens them up with subsidies while Native Born Americans have to struggle and scrape and wonder. Then, to boot, the newly assimilated brown peasants proceed to lecture Americans about tolerance and generosity – when the American pays his taxes, his rent and bills with no ready offers for help from his uncaring government. Maybe the citizen bites the bit about Anti-Racism this, and actually believes the question is that simple, and that fairness to real Americans doesn’t factor. Maybe he becomes a self-hating liberal. Or, maybe he just becomes the pathetic angry man that feels so powerless that he pushes children around. What remains is that the Government has committed crimes against her Citizens by setting an obviously higher value upon foreigners than Citizens.

The argument so often levied is that White Americans take from the dole, too. Of course they do. We’re being reduced to a broken mass, demoralised and stripped of purpose. Just like Weimar. Most men and women don’t have the faculties to see the mechanisms at work, and to them, it is a horrible, monstrous mystery. And it breaks them down. Then their children are raised by broken individuals and they grow up by nature, broken and by nurture, scum. Why then is it such a mystery that foul traits have become inborn? We recognise this tendency in the Negro element of America without difficulty. This is because despite the false pretence of good intentions, the White Liberal still views Negros as a pet project. Still it remains understood almost universally that generations of social mismanagement have seeped into Black genes and created a tendency toward anti-social behaviour. The White Liberal analyses this with cool, dispassionate science… but when it happens to his concomitant White brethren it becomes a question of moral failing, class judgement. Lack of boot straps being pulled up.

Most forms of Socialism recognise that the response of the individual to such crushing cascade failure is to shut down. Their solutions vary in terms of success, of course, and so too in variance with solutions final and arbitrary. Because my sympathies lie in large part with National Socialism, this is what I have cared to learn about.

It could have been a utopia. I no longer care to be swayed by the purposeful obfuscations popular to the media regarding this unfortunately mismanaged project. Here is what I know. The National Socialist government inherited a broken Germany from Weimar’s intoxicated hands. The population was in despair, economically shattered and culturally uncertain. Being German had become a liability, deemed unworthy of note by detached university and education specialists. The German worker was brutalised by a debt economy enthralled by foreign powers. Mothers had to accept state assistance to feed their children, their pride was ruined. Many Germans were split between indulging in Weimar’s depravity to survive only to be ruined by hypocrisy and debauchery, and by upholstery of their pride which led to a more obvious ruin. In this way, that Germany followed the same weak example of Rome’s worst elements – just like America is doing. Germany, in debt, could not prosper. She had to free herself from a very real foreign yoke, not unlike another country I know that desperately needs to untangle itself from a morbidly obese war machine obsessed with the Middle East’s oil fields.

The NSDAP argued for a very simple future, one Deutschland, über alles. Contrary to foreign opinion über alles does not necessitate some grim superiority complex. It was and should be no different than a Yankee saying “America first.” You might better understand the slogan as Germany Before All. And what, pray tell, is sinister about that? We have reached a zenith where the inborn European tendency toward clemency has seen us place the welfare of unknown and foreign populaces above their own citizenry. Say what you will of the events of 1930-45, I don’t particularly care how you understand or justify them, but what I shall insist upon is that there is no mystery to why the Germans would have embraced the NSDAP. They offered things every people desperately needs; unity, purpose, direction and destiny. These things had been robbed of the Germans, they were made to be a pointless people, a proud race reduced to ruin. One cannot expect to humiliate a Nation and insist there be no consequences. It defies both human nature and logic. So. Unity, purpose, direction and destiny. Ein Reich, Ein Volk, Ein Führer. Again, not principally different than the American counterpart, One Nation Under God, Indivisible with Justice for All.

The NSDAP sought to do this by ameliorating many of the false barriers acting as obstacles to that German unity, purpose, direction and destiny. One of the foremost barriers was economic. The German working class was far more populous than the upper classes and aristocracy. And they had been abused, they were angry. They thought of class before race. They were no longer one people, one Nation, under God. They were divided, infinitely, in too many ways. Divided by class, by religion, by education, by region.

I know the argument that America by proxy was born from Balkanisation, but this is neither true nor salient. Early America settled into fractional zones as an inverse mirror to the Europe they left. If you spend fifteen minutes researching geography and secondary language predilections, this much is clear. There were Anglo territories, French territories, German and Scandinavian zones, and so forth. Each of these regions developed their own ethnic characters. The hardy, stoic and rational New Englander could be contrasted to the passionate, fiery Carolinan, or the steadfast, simple Midwesterner. And so it goes.

Now we come again to Weimar, where this heritage is betrayed for economic gain. The American regional accents are being smashed into a repulsive, repugnant, hideous and insalubrious mould inspired by television English and the ABC, much as I suppose my British cousins are being rewritten by Queen’s English and the BBC. Distant, depraved colleges and their equally disjointed and devolved Hollywood shills preach from their pulpits what it means to be American. And how that of course means America is an idea, and not a people. Despite the fact our Nation was once just that, a Nation, with separate regions and makeups. And we pay for this, dearly, with our taxes and our time and bodies.

The racial makeup of America was the first to be weaponised. However, the class struggles, aggravated by false-Marxist collegiate principles, are becoming a new bulwark to crush the American peoples into conformity. No longer does the American self-identity as his hyphenated extraction, be it Anglo or Irish-American. He has become a simple job. He self-identifies not according to ancestry, but profession. More often he neither does this with pride so much as casuality. Why? Because profession is a means to an end, and the end in this world is PRODUCT.

If you are an identitarian, and if you have read and understood my aim and meaning, you should consider this. You should consider how the classes have been pitted against each-other, how their arbitrariness forms a dam against which the waters of globalism are reaching a flood zenith. You are more than your station. I am more than a carpenter. I am more than a low-income citizen desperately trying to survive ZOG without plunging his family into survival debt.

I am asking a superhuman thing of you. But I am asking you to recognise how you have been dehumanised by the system. The Lower Class was the first to go. Because stress rolls downhill, they crumbled first and became the stereotypes I remember from my youth. Is it their fault? Mostly no. The onus of becoming disgusting remains with them, they could have resisted, but theirs was a superhuman struggle. Just as my own struggle demands far more emotional and spiritual energy than it should. A man should be able to devote his vital energy to the system in a bid to improve life and serve a higher goal. But this sentiment is nigh-impossible in ZOG. You exist to pay taxes and consume product, if you aspire for nothing higher than the impressions society leave you, than this is your fate. Empty consumerism, and maybe drugs.

False identities are embraced as a senseless and desperate bid for meaning. That too is a trap. The ox-like, blunt and crass carpenter is a lie. The lie serves a purpose, to prevent unity with the lie of the pencil-necked, limp-wristed computer technician and the lie of the moribund, scheming and shifty-eyed professor. What is forgotten is that White Collar, Blue Collar, Low, Middle and Upper Class all, will share many of the same ancestors, and might well be distantly related. It should be blood and soil, not dollar and coin that bind us.

Among the Dissident Right, or whatever we call ourselves this year, there is now the attempt to reconcile Grug and Nibba. It’s a sad thing, really, that it’s taken so long, but ivory tower intellectuals and gruff construction workers need to be able to pool resources. After all, in a natural world, these classes only evolved to benefit the State that defined them. The construction worker builds the houses that playwrights entertain them from. This reciprocity is lost, this commonality and unity. And why not? America is a mess, but it doesn’t have to be, and a good Nationalist should know by know which way Western Man must go.

Lift your chin up, Western Man. Suck up your despair into your chest and hide it, save it for later, sharpen it until it becomes rage. But for Gods’ sakes, temper it. Your son doesn’t need to see your fear, be broken by it. And if he sees that you can overcome and grow beyond your station, than he will inherit your strength. You can undermine the genetic decay our mismanagement our (falsely invested) leaders have foisted upon us. This is how evolution should work. But we need to do it together, and not in isolation, reclaiming culture is a group effort. Whether by church, state or the fraternal bonds of something like a Männerbund.

I won’t lie to you. You need your imagination for this. They’ve robbed the old reality, and the new one’s veneer is wearing thin. Sandwiched between the first paragraph and the last I met with a young man from my Männerbund. To see a young man having barely escaped his late teens only to become demoralised, is a heavy burden to bear. I know that it was not until my mid-twenties that I finally lost hope in any American future and fully embraced Identitarianism as a solid alternative to the decadent Americanism of my youth.

This should be the goal of community, to offer to men an identity as a gift. That should be the gift of our Männerbund, or your Church. The greatest lie ever told in the name of Americanism is that a man is an island, that individualism is rugged and somehow noble. It’s actually really quite laughable, if you consider. Why do Americans pine for this rugged individualism? Beyond commercialism selling it to them, of course? Because we think of the noble Pioneers, and maybe for fellow New England supremacists, you think of the brave Colonists. But ask yourself: was any single one of them, really, an individualist? No. Indubitably not. Categorically not. Ultimately and intractably not. The Colonists were Collectivists. They had a contemporaneous interpretation of the America THEY were building. You might point to America’s tradition of solitary explorers and tell me, “there, Seax, is your rugged individualism.” No, there reader, is your service to a higher cause.

So we see a problem. The vague commercialism and globalism has robbed you of your fundamental identities. They have taken your tribe, clan and family away. They are taking anything hereditary, and replacing it with the illusion of choice. They call this freedom. What have they given you? A job that’s difficult to take pride in, and a social strata that is increasingly complex. Your job is now your identity, it’s not enough. Atomisation, and atavism are to be expected and have so flourished. People are overwhelmed, and because entire generations have now lived and died in a vacuum where true identity has been so heavily discouraged that even enterprising men have trouble fathoming where to begin.

So. Maybe you take a deep breath and contact your Männerbund. Maybe you read articles like this and (wisely) realise that they are a good and solid way to go. Maybe they are the ONLY way to go, creating fraternal networks which cherish identity and skill over product and dopamine. But upon joining, you find a curious thing, momentum. You have, I’m sure, expected to find a monolith. I would be guilty of lieing, if I told you a monolith were true.

The task at hand for anyone who reads and understands, is to begin reassembling a heritable identity from the ground up. And there is so much nuance involved in that simple invective! So many slanderous libels have been heaped upon the heads of those that try, that for you to even undertake the task of finding yourself as you are among others, you must be willing to face the baggage and the lies. You have to decide what you are, what you are not. You must dispel voices of “reason” as they whisper or shout in your ear. You must be bold enough to accept simple truths that beat in your heart, that “reason” (a lie as naked as common sense) tells you are false. That Identity is a question of love, not of hate. That your motivations can be noble, and not sinister. That this is about you and yours, not them and theirs.

You are an essential cog in the machine. An important exercise is to dream and fathom, and move according to that fancy. I dream of a world where a Carpenter awakes in the morning, feeling refreshed, where he goes to build the walls to a house where an ally and a brother live. When the demands of the project exceed his capacity, he can call upon a brother who helps him wire the framing he has raised, or a mason to build the chimney that heats the rooms he sheathed. I dream of a world where these workers speak freely, and look forward to going to work, as opposed to drooling over the prospect of retiring when they’re old. Better still, a world where they actually get to retire because the overhead cost of feeding the rest of the planet while blowing it up isn’t bleeding them dry and turning them into lifeless husks. I dream of a world where the houses this carpenter builds fit in the broader tapestry of the story told by the world in which he lives. That this story shall be a story of his people, and not a tale sold back to him with interest by foreign interlopers. Here shall be a man who lives and dies without fear, feeding his family, who is happy with what they are given by his protection and his hand. He is respected among his community, his skills regarded not as quaint by smooth-handed men with no understand, but rather as impressive as they are. I dream, in short, of a world that makes sense to a man of my station, and not a waking nightmare.

Now you? What is your dream? Perhaps you are like I was, perhaps you have shelved your dreams and called them impractical. A pity. It is time to take them back in. Maybe your first dream can be seizing enough gall to invest in hope. Maybe you do bite the bullet and join a Männerbund, maybe some guy calling himself Potato Smasher answers your email. Maybe you break brave and go on a hike with like-minded men. Maybe that gives you a little hope, because you aren’t and don’t have to be alone in this cruel system. Maybe you spend enough time with them and realise that someday, when there are more of us, that we will change the world around us in the same way the globalists made friends and changed the world. Maybe you can borrow this pittance of a dream and use it to carve away the stone that’s grown around your heart, you can sculpt your own dream. This shall be your power. You have only to tap that heart’s blood to see it flow once more.

Think about it.

14 thoughts on “Identity and Class

  1. I wrote this before Co-Vid became a thing. I was going to make an illustration to act as a cover. In the unlikely event anyone cares.

    Regardless, I tend to think after Co-Vid, these observations might yet have merit.

    Godspeed, Lads and Lassies.

    Liked by 4 people

      1. Maybe. I was sure as shit wrong about how long The Coof Age would last. I thought at first we’d have it a couple months.

        I had originally made my assessment based on perceived averages of the News Cycle typically catering to the low attention span of voters.

        I suppose it’s true that we’ve had oscillating “variant” strains, which roll out every few months to feel the dopamine suppressed back in.

        Anywho. Thanks for the potentially undeserved kind words. Hopefully all fares well for you in our neighbouring former provincial Motherland.

        Liked by 1 person

      1. Yeah I had a brief vision of normal kids for our Gk to play with, but they are 10, 12, &14. They like littles , though. and won’t let the bears eat him.

        Liked by 1 person

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