Alt-Right News

Tuesday, 25 June 2013

NOT THE SPARTANS

Shock n' paw


Over at Taki’s, Pat Buchanan is lamenting the Pentagon’s latest kowtowing to the gender equality extremists by agreeing to integrate women into front-line and special combat units, like the Rangers and SEALs.

Saturday, 22 June 2013

THE ETERNAL CULTURE WAR

Guns, Crime, and Freedom
by Wayne LaPierre
Regnery Publishing, Inc., 263 pages
Available for purchase from Amazon here

   Reviewed by William Cavanaugh

"Arguments, whether political or philosophical, are like ammunition – you should stock up on them before the trouble starts." That is what I told a friend of mine when he expressed surprise at my idea of writing a review for a book now almost two decades old. The friend in question is rarely impressed with my little aphorisms, so I spelled it out in more concrete terms.

Wayne LaPierre wrote Guns, Crime, and Freedom in 1994 when the country was quite divided on countless issues: immigration, gun control, gays, a new era of foreign policy, and a Democratic president who had come out of nowhere. Sound familiar? I always find it strange when people talk about the "Culture War that was" – when did it end? Maybe for a chunk of time after 9/11, but since at least the 2004 election all the old debates have been raging and are far from stopping. If they were not, Richard Spencer would not still be talking about Peter Brimelow's 1995 book Alien Nation, and Obama would not be interested in keeping the Clintons so close to his administration.

Sunday, 9 June 2013

RECONSIDERING SUICIDE

This mook says not to kill yoourself...

by Andy Nowicki

Reflecting on Dominique Venner’s recent suicide has caused me to consider the entire subject of self-slaughter anew. There are many different angles from which one might analyze and comment upon the matter of dying by one’s own hand—and I have weighed many of them before—but one which has gone largely unremarked is the concept of suicide as a pop-cultural phenomenon. At the risk of sounding insufferably po-mo, what is needed is a “meta”-analysis of the practice of quietus-making and bodkin-baring.

To begin a discussion of the macro, one starts with the micro, working one’s way outward, from the mysterious fibers of one’s own soul into the complex interweavings of the collective soul of the culture at large. As a nihilistic, agnostic, chronically morose Gen-X teenager marooned in the mid-80s, consumed with all-too-typical alienation and tiresomely frequent spasms of unsightly anomie from the onset of puberty’s bitter bloom and forever afterward, I can vividly recall the suicide hysteria that broke out in America just as I found myself stumbling, mumbling, and lumbering through adolescence.

Looking back now, it seems like a kind of harmonic convergence: at the very moment the taste of the world turned sour to me, transforming from the deliciously joyful flavor of childhood purity and innocence into the lascivious miseries and resonant humiliations of high school loserdom, the adult sector of society, represented in the media, suddenly became like a hovering, overly solicitous parent. We were treated to “very special” episodes of shows like Family Tiesone where Michael J. Fox goes all embarrassingly maudlin after the death of a friend, lurching around and screaming “Why am I alive????”—as well as relentless PSAs, and a growth industry of “depression treatment centers” for troubled teens, whose commercials stoked parental concern by ominously instructing parents to look out for “warning signs.” (“If your son or daughter becomes moody, quiet, and withdrawn, call us! Don’t wait until it’s too late!”, etc.)

Perhaps the nadir of this whole baleful spectacle of overbearing baby-boomer-led moral panic occurred in 1985, when Billy Joel released the song and video You’re Only Human (Second Wind). It is difficult for me to describe the vehement hatred I felt and still feel towards every single aspect of this supposedly life-affirming little ditty. Indeed, the extent of my contempt towards Joel’s abominable pro-existence musical manifesto may even exceed the revulsion which overtakes me when I contemplate The Greatest Love of All, Whitney Houston’s nauseating paean to the navel-gazing glories of feculent self-love. As 80s anthems of awfulness go, these two songs are pretty much interchangeable, quality-wise, and that’s no compliment to either of them. In fact, I’d almost go so far as to say that if loving life means you have to love the message of You’re Only Human (Second Wind), then fuck life, and double fuck Billy fuckin’ Joel’s smug, ugly mug.


Second Wind sucks wind from the very first second of its appalling existence. It’s indeed unfortunate that the song ever decided to go on living, rather than strangling itself in its infernal musical cradle and thus putting itself, and us, out of its, and our, misery. From the start, we are subjected to a retardedly generic, obnoxiously jazzed-up, stupidly syncopated melody punctuated by a screechy, overly cheerful “Woo-woo-woo!” from the same obligatory Negress backup singers found in so many white-bread 80s pop songs.

Then, as if the music isn’t enough of a beating, the vocals kick in. BJ is in a pompously lecturing mood. He wants the kids of the world to know that “It’s all right,” that things will go their way, if they just hold on for one more day. “Don’t forget your second wind,” he advises… “Sooner or later you’ll feel that momentum kick in.” In other words: it gets better, kids! Chin up! And Joel surely knows how bad it can get when you’re pummelled by what Hamlet called the “thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to.” Dig the rich detail and the startling specifics of his portrayal of teenage angst:
You’re having a hard time and lately you don’t feel so good
You’re getting a bad reputation in the neighborhood
Gee whiz—it’s all so vividly realized! Not at all patronizing, inane, or phony. Not the least sounding like something composed by a rich, out-of-touch rock star in the middle of a slapdashedly-composed, self-congratulatory wankfest to be fawned over by obsequious rock critics and the worshipful pop-culture obsessed media . More vague, generic faux-empathy follows:
You’re keeping to yourself these days
You’re thinking everything has gone wrong…
It’s not always easy to be living in this world of pain.
See, youngsters, Billy knows what it’s like to be you! He understands the depressed youth of America; you can take heart. Moreover, he graciously gives you permission to fail: “You’re only human,” he benevolently observes, allowing that, “you’re allowed to make your share of mistakes.” And the backup Negresses graciously concur with this ingeniously-rendered observation. “Only human, woo-woo!” they shriek, faux-sympathetically, in your ear.

*****************************************

As bad as the song is, and I don’t really think I’ve managed to do justice to the Kurtz-like horror it inspires, the video might be even more infuriating. In it, a good-looking, stylish, jean-jacketed 16-year old boy with a hot blonde girlfriend has become suicidally depressed. Why? Apparently, he got into a humiliating automobile accident while escorting said girlfriend around, an accident which didn’t injure either of them or anyone else, but which made Blondie get mad at him for his careless driving. Or something. So now the poor guy is on the top of the Brooklyn bridge, thinking of ending it all.

Not to worry, though; hip, dapper savior Joel appears to the lad, and, like the angelic Clarence Odbody in It's A Wonderful Life, takes him on a journey, enabling him to see what will happen if he goes on living: He’ll graduate high school! His parents will be so proud! And after that, he’ll rescue a guy from drowning and be a hero, and then he’ll marry his hot girlfriend, who’ll apparently forgive him for his automotive foibles! But on the other hand, if he makes the fateful leap into the drink, shuffling off this mortal coil in the process, his parents will be so sad afterwards, and his girlfriend will cry at his funeral, presumably thinking to herself, “If only I hadn’t been such a bitch to him after he wrecked the car…” So the handsome kid with the adorable bangs and the cool jean jacket chooses life. Huzzah! Thank God for the wise counsel of rock stars, or we’d all be offing ourselves! We are the world, we are the children!

*****************************************

At the time this song and video came out, I recall fuming quietly over the hype and hubbub over Billy Joel’s supposed virtuous compassion in urging kids not to kill themselves. It all seemed so flatulently self-serving. More to the point, I found myself utterly alienated from the video which was supposed to mean so much to me as a depressed teenager. I wasn’t good-looking or popular, didn’t have nice hair, a jean jacket, a girlfriend, or a car. Did I get a second wind, too? And what about all the kids who had it even worse than me? Even then, I knew the truth: in fact, things don’t always get better. Often they stay exactly the same, and sometimes they get even worse. So why should we stick around, again, Mr.“Piano Man”?

To be completely clear, I am not an advocate of self-slaughter. But neither do I think that anyone or anything is helped by vacuous media campaigns or crappy songs. That I, and others like me, survived the 80s is certainly no credit to Billy Joel or his “woo-woo”-ers, nor does any present-day kid with a functioning brain—be he gay, straight, or otherwise—find the “It gets better” bit the least convincing. Suicide is not the answer, but neither is bullshit.



Andy Nowicki, co-editor of Alternative Right, is a Catholic reactionary writer who loathes all modernist dogmas and superstitions. He is the author of five books, including Heart Killer and The Columbine Pilgrim. He occasionally updates his blog when the spirit moves him to do so.

Tuesday, 4 June 2013

VENNER'S BARE BODKIN



As a gesture, French ex-paratrooper, veteran right-wing activist, and all around macho badass Dominique Venner’s gunshot-through-the-head self-snuff in the cathedral of Notre Dame sends a powerful message, though I’m not entirely sure what that message is.

One reads Venner’s final words summarizing the rationale for his act, and he truly sounds like a man of sound mind, with a clear-headed notion of aesthetic intent regarding the ramifications of his messy, bloody, brain-splattering final exit at the altar of the historic Paris church. Still, it isn’t easy to discern just how news of an elderly comrade’s suicide is meant to rally the European New Right to fight mass immigration and demographic displacement with any greater determination or ferocity than before. News of a mentor’s auto-annihilation, after all, does not typically have the effect of firing up his pupils or inspiring them to risk their own lives for the cause. Suicide is not martyrdom; whatever we may think of self-slaughter, it cannot be conflated with self-sacrifice. One doesn’t give one’s life for a greater cause, at least not in any obvious way, by directly and deliberately ending it.