“Yes, yes, that’s brilliant.” He wielded on the crowd. “Raise your hands if you would answer yes to the following. A rare species of owl exists in the countryside you drove through to reach this barn. It is indigenous to this area of Pennsylvania, and, regrettably, faces extinction. It will die out utterly in a matter of years if nothing is done. That being said, there are numerous other species of owl in this locale, but the one facing extinction has certain patterns along its coat that separates it from the rest. Moreover, its facial bone structure is distinct, and its wings, when extended, curve at a unique angle. Should humanity step in to try to save the threatened owl?”
The referendum was unanimous, and hundreds of hands raised.
“Well, at least your liberal schooling has taught you the value of environmentalism and conservationism,” mused Stewart. “You—the bold man who filled me with hope—what’s your name?”
“Rick . . . Rick Wilkerson.” Before Rick could stop himself he had said his last name, and bit his lip as he did so.
“Thank you, Rick. Implicit in Rick’s boyhood tale is an analogy between the extinction of an animal species and the extinction of a race of human beings. Is this a fair comparison? Can the extinction of, say, a panda or an eagle be likened to the extinction of a race of humans? Can the green eyes and red hair of a white woman be likened to the unique and differentiating color or pattern of an animal’s fur? Can the size and shape of facial features, the unique slope of a white person’s forehead, the unique angle of a white person’s face and jaw qualify us as a breed of creatures worth saving?”
The man that earlier had challenged Stewart moved to the front.
“Yes, I think the analogy is sound. And lots of us have noticed the paradox in Swan’s understanding of diversity. And if any other race of people faced extinction, I think it would be criminal for the government to help along their extinction. But not us. That’s where your reasoning breaks down. Why try to save a being, animal or human, that is hardwired to be evil? Why try to save a form of life hardwired to destroy and enslave other forms of life?”
Stewart smiled. “If such a being exists, I wouldn’t save it. Nope, I’d say bye-bye to it, kick it in the ass, and send it on its way.” The crowd laughed. “The truth is that good and evil are abstractions invented by humanity. Nature doesn’t ‘hardwire’ good or evil into an entire race. Every race has its good and bad individuals.”
“If that’s true then how do you explain our disproportionate conquest and suppression of other peoples for thousands of years?” The agitator’s hands drifted to his hips.
“Well, the last time I checked, at least relative to the Muslims, white men’s conquests aren’t that disproportionate.” Again the crowd nodded and chuckled. “I think you, and the people who think like you do, have more of a problem with human nature than white people per se.”
“How so?” challenged the man.
“If Caucasian peoples are guilty of anything, we’re guilty of genius. We’ve made more contributions to objectively assessed disciplines, like math and science, than any other people on the planet. If you need proof turn to the inventions section of any world almanac and see for yourself—about eighty percent of the world’s most valuable breakthroughs were achieved by Caucasians. Yet at no time in history did we ever amount to more than a quarter of the world’s population.
“To the extent we committed ‘evil’ deeds in the past, we did so because, by and large, the results were economically or militarily expedient. We had the technology, and the will to use it. When other races got their shit together enough to unify their people, then impose their will on others, they did so, too. We live in a world of finite resources, finite food, and finite land. Nature, by nature, is adversarial, clinical, and, arguably, cruel.
“In other words, had any other race been blessed with the breakthroughs we achieved in terms of organization, civilization, technology, et cetera, I seriously doubt they would have shied from engaging in the actions performed by our ancestors.”
“I understand what you’re saying,” conceded the man. “Maybe I’m not the best guy for debate on this issue; as you know it’s heretical to entertain the arguments you’re forwarding so I haven’t really heard them before. I think your expediency argument has its limitations though. How does genocide factor into your reasoning, especially the Holocaust? The Holocaust wasn’t militarily or economically expedient, and even if it were it would still be unquestionably evil.”
Stewart sighed, and spoke slowly.
“The Holocaust is an indelible stain on our people’s history. The mere thought of it should sicken any reasonable human being. I have no explanation for the Holocaust other than that it was a terrible and thankfully brief episode of perversion. It should always be remembered by our people to assure we never sink to such filthy deeds again. But from what I hear it is no longer being taught in the schools.”
“It’s not,” confirmed the man, “it stopped being taught after Swan ordered that all Jews be deported to Israel. For all his liberalism Swan is an anti-Semite.”
“Yes, I know,” averred Stewart. “He credits Jews with the creation of monotheism, which he believes is the theological wellspring of evil and discrimination. He also hates the Old Testament, better called the Hebrew Bible, because of its explicit anti-homosexual passages. Hell, who here doesn’t remember his last State of The Union Address when he ranted the whole time about that excerpt from Leviticus in which homosexuality is called an abomination?”
Many heads nodded in remembrance.
“I suppose this is as good a time as any to broach the subject of religion,” began Stewart. “The FCP does not dictate theology. We encourage that you adopt one of the various strains of Christianity or an indigenous European religion. However, if you wish to adopt some other religion, we won’t badger you for it. Religious freedom is a cornerstone of democracy. We will badger you, however, if you are a jaded, selfish yuppie.”
Nervous laughter brushed the crowd.
“We will badger you until you realize that the most important thing for each and every one of us to do as white men is to find a faithful, strong, healthy white woman and have at least two children. Two children is the goal. Two children assures we will at least replace ourselves.” Stewart held up two fingers to the crowd. “This is both the sign of victory and the sign of life. It’s been used in different eras for different purposes, but for us it means two successors—minimum. Hopefully, many of you will exceed the minimum. Find a woman, if you haven’t already, treat her right, be faithful to her, and enjoy life.
“But when you and your wife die, I want at least two children there to fill your shoes. This is more important than any argument, idea, book, or weapon you might create. If you guys don’t learn to procreate with your women more efficiently, our people are dead. It’s that simple. We no longer have time to entertain feminist bullshit that’s geared to me, me, me. We no longer have time to use the old economic excuse that I can’t afford a child. If you do, we die. Remember that.”
“What about the Twenty-Ninth Amendment?” shouted someone from the crowd. “How can we have kids when it’s illegal?”
“What are indigenous European religions?” inquired another.
“My friends, unfortunately I’m losing my voice from talking so much. I’m going to get some water, then we’ll break into three separate groups. Hans and George and I will each head a group and answer your questions in greater detail regarding membership, philosophy, stance on issues, et cetera. But before we end tonight’s main address, I want to speak for a moment more.”
Stewart rolled up his shirt sleeves and wiped sweat from his brow.
“It is an honor, not a disgrace, to be a white man.” His voice was strong and authoritative. “Since you were children, you have been taught that you should be ashamed of who you are. You have been taught that you are a blight on the earth, an unnecessary, shameful anachronism from an earlier era of barbarism and inequality.
&
nbsp; “The government, academia, and the media portray us to be cruel, evil, greedy, ignoble, and cowardly. They tell us that it is terrible that we still walk the earth. They tell us that we should be meek, weak, and feminine. They tell us that we are not permitted to have children with our biologically-intended mates. They convince our biologically-intended mates that we are terrible creatures that should be spurned. They do everything in their power to hasten our demise. Go to a corner and die quietly—that’s what they tell us.
“Well I don’t want to go to a corner and die quietly!” Stewart spat on the ground in contempt, and his gaze was wrathful. “But if I must die, it won’t be in a lonely corner. I’m not going to die until my hands are red with the blood of the bastards who are trying to destroy us. I’m not going to die until Swan is cast off his throne, and into the hell where he belongs. I’m not going to die until I beat down the sons-of-bitches who tell me that I’m inferior because of my skin color and ancestry.”
The crowd watched with more interest than fear.
“Everyone raise their left hand,” commanded Stewart.
The audience hesitated, looking to one another to see if any of their number were complying.
“I said raise your hands, damn it. I know you can do it—you just raised them a minute ago for my survey.”
George and Hans, left hands raised, looked menacingly at the audience. Rick raised his hand, and he was followed by most of the audience.
“Now make the sign of dual birth, the sign of victory. Your left hand represents the love and nurturing required of us all to raise good, healthy, durable families. Keep your left hands raised, but now raise your right hands.”
This time the audience was quicker on the uptake.
“Excellent. Now I want to empower you. Remember who you are! You are the descendants of Vikings, of Spartans, of Highlanders, of Legionaries. Do you think they would put up with the shit that you take? Hell no. They’d draw their steel and spill blood!”
Some of the men in the audience knit their brows and shifted back and forth on their feet, jaws set hard. Hans listened, entranced, lips parted in a half snarl. George nodded as his leader continued.
“We are white men, and, for all practical purposes, we once ruled the world. However, about a hundred years ago we became soft, and let our swords clatter to the ground. We voluntarily gave away our power to other races. We worked hard for their advancement, and when all the power had been distributed, so that we had next to nothing left, we expected those races to generously reciprocate.”
The crowd riveted their gaze to the speaker, and the atmosphere was electric.
“But do you think, for one moment, when the transfer of power had really gotten underway in the late 2030s, that all the non-white board members, executives, presidents, editors, partners, and bosses ever looked at their ranks and exclaimed, ‘Gee, we don’t have enough white men and women in positions of power—we better hire some’? Hell no they didn’t. They hired and promoted their own people. Once the power was handed over it was never given back or distributed equally. Never!
“I’ll tell you what the FCP intends to do. First of all we’re going to bring Swan’s regime crashing to the ground. Then, within our white community, we’re going to emulate many of the hallmarks of Old America—the America that existed just after the Second World War. I’m not talking about retrograding technology or reinstituting segregation. But I am talking about white baby booms and a conservative, rational renaissance in morality, patriotism, and idealism.
“We’re also going to nurture in you all an awareness for the indicators of our decline, so that the same shit doesn’t happen to us all again. We have to insulate ourselves. We have to earmark and recognize the signs and signals that spell trouble for not just white people, but for all Americans. There will be no more racial preferencing, there will be no more affirmative action. There will be no more governmental effort to disempower the Caucasian race, or any race, in this country. For the first time in over a century, white youths won’t be discriminated against when they list their race on college applications.
“The FCP will encourage in its members a love for their race—and we’re going to encourage in all people a love for their race—a pride in themselves and their ancestry. And then we’re going to bunker down and pray that we endure the wars with the Muslims and Aztecs that are sure to follow. Hopefully, the Aztecs will be content with the far western U.S. Let them have California . . . I’ve always hated that God-damned state anyway,” Stuart commented into the mike, and the crowd laughed.
“Best case scenario is this . . . hey, I didn’t say you could drop your dual birth signs yet! Keep ‘em flyin’. Best case scenario is that we can make peace with the sons of Aztlan. Forget that Manifest Destiny ‘from sea to shining sea’ bullshit. Let them have their land, and let us have our land. But this plan isn’t going to just magically happen. There’s a long, hard fight ahead. To that end, each and every one of you is going to have to learn how to step up and act like men and fight.”
The enthusiasm snapped perceptibly, and several onlookers withdrew a step. Faces of resolution turned to uneasiness and doubt.
“Stand firm,” Stewart boomed. “No one’s going to march you into battle just yet. You’re all still too low on the virility scale. But let’s begin your journey tonight with step one. I want all you milk-sops out there to follow my lead.”
The old man reached high with his right hand, fingers fanning, then curled them slowly, deliberately, into a fist.
“It begins with this,” he pronounced somberly. “This, coupled with a sharp intellect, is our means of survival. I want you all to revel in the heresy of the moment. Make a fist, and imagine spitting in Swan’s face as you do so. Feel the pulse of Europe in your veins, and be proud of who you are.”
Chapter 5
Swan stared at the chess board. Each hand released its grip from tufts of dreadlocks to hover agonizingly over his black pieces. He peered cautiously at the white king and queen, and their army of rooks, bishops, knights, and pawns.
“Scottie, will you please castle? I can’t stand to see the white king and queen together any longer there side by side. I want you to castle so at least I can pretend they divorced.” The president shot a worried glance at his vice president.
“But Terry, I don’t want to castle yet; give me a few moves and I will,” Vice President Smith reassured.
Swan pushed a pawn to open a diagonal for his bishop, then gazed at his opponent. Smith was a heroic statue both in skin color and physique. Each of his gray forearms was lined with a plexus of veins, and his upper arms, even relaxed, ripped the sleeves of all but the largest shirts.
“You’re getting too big again, hottie Scottie,” Swan teased. “You should stop spending so much time at the gym and more quality time with me.”
“I’ve got a contest in two months. I’ll be dieting down for that.”
“Good, because I only like beefcake in moderation.”
Swan moved his king two squares to the right, and his rook two squares to the left.
“There, I’ve castled. Now you better do it too,” urged the president.
“In a second, Terry. I’m not gonna play any more chess with you if you keep acting crazy every time we play.” Smith moved his queen to stare down the pawns protecting Swan’s king.
“I don’t know why you love this game so much, it’s such a flagrant metaphor for the struggle of the African and Caucasian races. It disgusts me.” Swan looked at the white pieces and scooted back as if they were an array of insects. “I’d like it infinitely more if the white queen were paired with the black king, and the pieces were alternating colors. But as it stands now I’m looking at a dualism. A simple dualism. Black versus white. White versus black. It makes me sick.”
“Terry, the game was created in India.” The vice president was exasperated. “And the black pieces are on one side and the white pieces on the other so the players don’t get confused. White men us
ed to dominate this game, but they didn’t invent it.”
“I hate dualisms,” Swan continued, oblivious to his opponent, “they are pregnant with discrimination. Everyone knows the world is far more complex than good and evil, or black and white.”
Smith castled, and Swan smiled approvingly. The president reclined in his chair, running his fingers through his braided hair.
“By Divine Color, these dreads are luxuriant,” he commented, then scowled at the intrusion of a wandering thought. “Herbert and I were discussing things yesterday, and we decided that monotheisms end up bifurcating into dualisms for most people.”
“Isn’t this game complicated enough without having a deep conversation while we’re playing? I always beat you anyway—maybe you should focus on your pieces.”
“Why, so I can win at a board game? How pointless. I want to talk about what I want to talk about and I want to talk about religion now.” Swan flicked a white pawn from the table across the extravagantly decorated room.
“Fine,” Smith fumed. “So what’s Hommler’s latest theory now? That monotheisms are dualisms? What, that one-god religions are really two-god religions? I don’t get it. I think all that blood is going to Herbert’s head.”
“Actually, it’s brilliant. Herbert’s brilliant. And I want you to stop harassing him about his, ah, sanguine tastes. You know what they say, ‘different strokes for different folks.’”
“Yeah, yeah.” Smith reclined in his chair. “So what’s on your mind?”
“Satan is on my mind,” Swan stated frankly. “Satan and his relationship to the Christian God.”
“What about it?” The vice president skimmed the horseshoe of his left triceps with his fingers, and his eyes wandered to the ceiling.
“If you were a monotheist, say a Christian, would you perceive that God is pure goodness? Would you say that Christ is wholly good, and not one ounce evil?”
“I guess I would, isn’t that what they believe? I think it’s what my family used to believe. I think it’s what I used to believe. God, Christ . . . they have to be pure goodness.”
The Gods of Color Page 5