(I found this in my “Drafts” — I started it in September, when Hillary Clinton’s ascension to the Presidency was considered by most to be a Done Deal. I note that many of the same people mentioned here are now passing around links from various left-wing sites promising Trump will be impeached Any Day Now. There have been enough “SMOKING GUNS that will put TRUMP in PRISON!!!” to give readers black lung, and yet The Donald remains in office and the latest “SHOCKING EXPOSE” gets passed around as vigorously as the last ones. Some lessons are never learned. We all know how HRC’s campaign went, but I’m leaving that material in as a memento of a different time. )
Oh, I’m packin’ my grip and I’m leavin’ today
‘Cause I’m takin’ a trip, California way
I’m gonna settle down and never more roam
And make the San Fernando Valley my home
I’ll forget my sins, yes, yes, I’ll be makin’ new friends
Where the West begins and the sunset ends
‘Cause I’ve decided where yours truly really oughta be
And it’s the San Fernando Valley for me
Gordon Jenkins, “San Fernando Valley”
Yr. humble narrator recently found himself blocked from a longtime acquaintance’s Facebook wall. It had been a long time coming. He, like several of my friends, has been on a quest to make sure everybody votes Democrat this election season. Most of his excoriations were focused not on what a tremendous leader Hillary Clinton is, but on our moral duty to protect immigrants, transgender people, and every other minority you could mention from the evil Emperor Trumpatine. To vote for a third party was tantamount to treason: any deviation from the Path of Hillary was a self-indulgent act of White privilege.
My observation that Hillary cared little about the plight of working-class people were greeted with scorn: one IT person reminded me how much wealthier America’s workers are than those in Brazil or China, and noted that our decades spent under economic stagnation were merely an economic correction. And when I asked what Hillary was going to do for me the silence was palpable. How dare I, a visibly cishet White male, expect a Presidential candidate do something for me?
Things came to an inevitable head when I referred to another poster as
a smug West Coast liberal who lives in Oakland, where [she is] surrounded by a resentful indigenous populace and protected by a militarized police force as surely as ethnic Han Chinese settlers are protected against Tibetans by the Chinese Army
Since my acquaintance resides in Oakland, that was one uncomfortable truth too many. He removed the post in question and returned to hectoring his readers about the dangers of a Trump presidency: one of his friends jumped in to note that voting for Jill Stein is too an act of White Privilege. It soon became painfully clear why this band of “progressives” is lining up behind Hillary — they hope she will leave their undocumented Mexican house staff alone whilst simultaneously protecting them from Oakland’s “super-predators.” I bathed for a bit in the warm glow of self-righteousness. I had really shown those California Cucks what time it is. Then contempt became understanding and understanding became pity.
Those West Coast suntans have always hidden dark underbellies. “Flower power” soon blossomed into the Manson family and the Symbionese Liberation Army. The Castro’s Gay Pride scene was rocked by the 1978 assassination of Harvey Milk and then decimated by the AIDS crisis. But despite all this California has remained dreams of gold, dreams of fame, dreams made flesh and burned into celluloid. California is freeways whispering sweet as a pimp in the sultry night. California is the place where the Age of Aquarius dawned and the deserts bloomed with someone else’s water. For almost 200 years people have come to California to fly their freak flags high: radicals have written a thousand manifestos there while mystics have raised their voice in prayer to ten thousand Gods. If you wanted to escape your working-class origins California was the place you went to rise like a phoenix from the ashes of industrial (and later post-industrial) America.
But those transformative flames need fuel. Today’s White California immigrants are not Okies running from poverty but college-educated professionals in search of fellow hipsters. As in neighborhoods like Bushwick (New York) and Pilsen (Chicago), these newcomers often drive out families who have been there for generations. The benefits of gentrification accrue largely to those who own multi-tenant buildings. Renters find their housing costs increase dramatically: homeowners see their property taxes rise. And when criminals start targeting these wealthier Whiter newcomers, the police begin treating every non-White resident like a potential threat. These gentrifying hipsters do far more direct damage to minority communities than The Daily Stormer and Stormfront combined.
Our “urban pioneers” are not stupid people: they are well aware of what they are doing and how it affects their community. To make up for those nagging feelings of guilt, they give themselves Indulgences by affirming diversity, preaching tolerance, and calling out those nasty “bigots” and “fascists” who aren’t so enlightened as they are. Their neighbors see them as the advance guard of a White invasion: they fancy their presence among Blacks and Latinos a sign of their “open-mindedness.” (Many will even dismiss complaints from their neighbors as “racism,” though they’re careful not to do so among their friends who insist that only unsophisticated Whites can be racist). Talking about racism and “owning one’s privilege” becomes not the first step towards solving problems but an end in itself.
Unfortunately, this does nothing to improve the lot of gentrification’s victims, nor does it raise awareness among those not seeking Indulgences for their microaggressions and subconscious bigotry. And as the disjunct between their words and reality grows increasingly difficult to ignore, all this chattering doesn’t even work to alleviate their White guilt. The rise of AntiFa thuggery is the inevitable result. When you can no longer ignore the message, you have no choice but to attack the messenger. Never mind interracial dating: nothing says “I am a Good White Person” like pepper-spraying a Republican. (Especially when you have a police force standing at the ready to protect you from counterattacks as surely as they protect you from dangerous criminals of color). You don’t have to worry about the Latino restaurant or the Dominican-owned hair salon forced out to make way for your favorite coffee house. (Which is of course not run by bigots: they play Funk on Fridays and Salsa on Sundays). You are taking Anti-Fascist Action — or you’re cheering for it, which is just as good when words take precedence over deeds.
As this anti-racist melodrama plays out a growing number of young Whites are discovering Pro-Fascist Action. If history is any indication (and it usually is), we will before long reach a tipping point. Within a few years intersectionality will look as dated as Nehru jackets, stylish hipsters will be wearing a fashy haircut and mocking cultural Marxists for their unfashionable politics, and many of today’s loudest Liberals will be calling themselves White Identitarians.