I remember you.
We used to hang out together, back at university. So many years ago. You in your mossy dreadlocks (symbolic of progressivism and love), the stone-washed jeans, the Boho sandals, and the anti-Reagan “End of an Error” T-shirt. And me? Well, just me. I never stood out like you.
You always walked with authority, a kind of worldly determination, as the chicks followed faithfully in anticipation of some potential uprising. Maybe even a sit-in near the business building. Or a protest for free coffee. The campus was your arena, your domain. I just watched, never quite able to grasp the plot, and really not all that interested in the script. I was merely your audience. A spectator. Even a friend at times.
I tried to understand you. Seriously, I did. That time you stormed the podium and unplugged the microphone at the Students for Pat Robertson rally, or when you organized the Earth People garden project and one-room Freedom Apartment for low-income students. That was heavy. I was in awe, befuddled slightly, but still in awe. You were committed, a stalwart with icy firm intentions, effortless command, and really good stage presence. It was a magical time, and nothing seemed too outrageous or off the charts.
But that was then.
And so we finished college and parted ways. The gradual drift set in. You’d call once in a while, and of course the “subject” would come up. The test. I could feel your uneasiness, the tone of someone starting to distance himself. Someone stuttering inside from disbelief. My answers were the wrong ones, and over time you knew who I was. You’d figured it out, and it seemed to really gnaw at you, especially when I asked you to read a few Pat Buchanan essays. There was a hesitation in your speech, a shortness of breath, a kind of silence in between sentences. I knew I didn’t fit in, and soon I wasn’t worth the effort of a few finger taps anymore. You went one way, and I went another. But it was bound to happen anyway, and frankly, I just didn’t care.
I definitely remember you, though you’ve most likely forgotten me by now. That is, me the person.
So where are you these days? I’d say everywhere, and you’ve done pretty well for yourself after all this time. You and your culture warrior clones are impossible to avoid. I honestly can’t get away from you. Really. Everywhere. On TV. In our public schools. In the universities (naturally). On the Internet. On the radio. In NGOs. In practically every federal agency imaginable. In the press. In parades (which used to be fun family things but have now morphed into social justice soap boxes — yuck). In Hollywood. On city councils. On “citizen” panels. In corporate boardrooms. On political action committees. In PSAs. In ethnic-identity, anti-White movements. In Congress. In the White House. And even making headway into our military and police forces. Quite an accomplishment.
Because of you, America has already perished, and that hurts.
You see, what motivates guys like me–and there are tens of millions of us–is a sense of country. A country isn’t only an economy producing widgets, or an international employment agency for cheap Third World labor. It isn’t just a giant bargain bin. It’s more than that. Despite what you say, despite your lies, we are driven not by hate, but by a longing for a homeland, a place to feel at home. If you take the time, you will find a lot of decent people discussing and writing about this. And they do a great job explaining it all. But you will never try to understand, because you have no sense of country. You have no understanding of a people. You are too obsessed with selective tolerance and selective diversity, rather than the natural balance of community, race, and folk. You know, country — the entity you helped destroy.
And me? You remember. Well, maybe not. I’m now persona non grata. I haven’t changed much since college, and I really thought you wanted to do good. You know, help people. But you’ve made me the target of your hate. You used to talk to me back in the day, but now you talk to my boss and attempt to get me fired. You try to destroy my livelihood for exercising my (former) First Amendment rights. You ridicule me because I have traditional beliefs. You troll social media looking for an opportunity to pounce on me or anyone else who may fit your sick profile — generally people you disagree with. You act one way yet expect others to blindly follow whatever you say. And that’s it. That’s you and your ilk. Today.
You have no idea what’s at stake. None. And for the record, I have nothing to do with hate. That’s your domain.
So if I am persona non grata, then my absence shouldn’t matter to you. You prefer me gone, right? Your social experiments would go a lot more smoothly without me, right? You’d be a lot happier living in your world, and me living in mine. I mean, let’s be honest. We went our separate ways after university, and the sky didn’t fall, did it? Isn’t this what you really want?
I know what I want. I want back what’s been taken from me. I want a Homeland. And the message I’ll keep repeating is the same – we don’t belong together. It’s time for a divorce. It’s time to move on.
And I think it’s time to forget you. So why are you following me?