ENGLISH The day Jim Goad left the Left

by John de Nugent on February 24, 2012

Jim Goad, a Southerner of British and French ancestry, and author of The Redneck Manifesto, writes very perceptive, frank and funny pieces for the paleo-conservative Takimag online.

Growing up poor in the South, he wondered about the claim of “white privilege” and then his thinking was transformed by reading Michael Hoffman’s They Were White and They Were Slaves, an expos of the misery of being a white indentured servant in colonial times…. that is, assuming one even survived the month crossing the Atlantic with various diseases in the filthy hole of a sailing ship.

Below. Goad discusses how his life experience made him leave the Left, realizing how “racist” against whites many non-whites are and how unable to compete with meager abilities in a white society.

I will add this comment:

I met a young fellow not long ago who is 3/4 white but looks American Indian, and told me an interesting story of what minorities think of whites when they open up.

It is interesting how Indian genes from way back will come out strongly in one white child and not in another. I supposedly have a smidgen of Amerindian blood myself, like many white Americans whose ancestors came over in the 1600s, this at least according to a malevolent step-grandmother who hated my political and racial views and wanted to mess with my head…. It did not work.

And Amerindians had some good qualities. bravery, stoic refusal to complain when in pain, pride and an absolute refusal, unlike blacks, to be enslaved.

The red man categorically refused to perform any labor for white slave owners, preferring to fight to the death or just refuse to work even after a beating or whipping. To all white North Americans who have some Indian blood, and that means most whites of French Canadian stock and very many white Southerners and Appalachian mountain people (especially due to Cherokee blood), if one has to have non-white genes, Amerindian genes are certainly not the worst.

I myself am blood type B, which indicates I might have some Asian blood going way, way, way back in me, but how is unknown. Amerindians were NOT blood type B. (It seems that blood type B arose in East Asia only after the Amerindians left Siberia for North America around 10,000 BC.)

I can only assume my blood type B is from my 1/16th German side (my great grandmother’s maiden name even being, yes, “Berlin”!), because the Huns did get into Germany around 400 AD. Both Huns and later the Mongols raped all over Eastern Europe, hence many Slavs also have blood type B. You can see it in their features and even slightly “Asiatic behavior.” The ability to undergo unbelievable suffering and persevere is an Asiatic forte. The Germans in WWII noted this in the Russians, that deprivation and misery that would make any German go insane would be endured by the Russkis.

Returning to the 3/4 white kid who looked Indian, he told me that blacks in Georgia who had befriended him did not view him as white and thus opened up to him.

They confided: “We are going to screw as many white girls as we can, because this is the best way to destroy the white race.”

And now to Jim Goad’s article (source: http://takimag.com/article/the_day_i_left_the_left/print#axzz1msYnIAzb)

* * *

The Day I Left the Left

Late one Saturday morning in 1990 under the skeleton-bleaching California sun, I motored through a crumbled, hilly, ashen section of East LA looking to see if any of the Hicks Boys Stoners were around to sell me some weed. Named after East LAs Hicks Avenue, they were a loosely amalgamated gang of longhaired Mexican metalheads who shunned traditional cholo gang cultures aesthetic trappings in favor of Richard The Night Stalker Ramirez-styled muerte obsessions, Satan worship, and generally aimless nihilism.

A few weeks earlier, I had written a cover story about the Hicks Boys for the Los Angeles Reader, a now-defunct free alt-weekly largely distributed in West LA. The magazines publisher was a short, pie-faced man with a voice so high-pitched one would suspect he was mainlining estrogen. He was slick-bald on top with a horseshoe rim of quarter-inch grey stubble around the sides and a Pixy Stix-thin footlong ponytail hanging limply in the back. Merely describing his ponytail tells you all you need to know about his politics.

The publisher didnt like my article about the Hicks Boys. Surveying the pre-press galleys, he sniffed, Why are you writing about these losers, anyway? They just come off like scumbags. I tried explaining that if hed grown up in East LA housing projects where police-chopper lights were poking into his bedroom every night and shirtless, machete-wielding cholos had terrorized his barrio since infancy, he may have had more empathy. (I still believe that.)

But he wasnt convinced. He said hed hired me six months earlier to give the magazine some edge, but he hadnt expected a rusty, blood-covered prison shank. Shortly after my Hicks Boys story appeared, he fired me.

It occurred to me that the only reason he wasnt a large-scale oppressor was a simple lack of opportunity.

After skimming through the Hicks Boys turf a few times on that late Saturday morning, I finally spotted one of their members near a graffiti-spackled laundromat where they frequently congregated. He was threading a needle and preparing to tattoo himself.

At the timeI was 28my political ideas were little more than the accumulated, half-digested buzzing meme-hive of left-leaning pop culture and far-left academic indoctrination. From all the Norman Lear sitcoms of my youth up to all my avowedly communist professors in journalism school, the good guys and bad guys had been clearly delineated for me. I had been encouraged to question authority, but never the authority of major media or academic consensus. I perceived them to be objective scientists rather than evangelical ideologues.

Liberal Psych 101 subverted the dominant paradigm until nothing made sense. It taught that cockroaches are equivalent to butterflies. It preached that success was a sign of evil and that failure was an emblem of virtue. It saw something noble in losing rather than winning. It didnt seem so keen about leveling the playing field as it was on perverting natural law until they forced the game to end in a sudden-death two-overtimes tie. It published endless treatises on deconstruction without making a peep about how to reconstruct everything after destroying it.

Then as now, the left preached a Gospel of innate cognitive and physical equality among all social groups. What it did not preach was an equality of character. White people generally, and rich white males in particular, were depicted as morally defective, probably by birth.

Even though a white male, I dutifully absorbed and assented to the liberal blueprint. Journalism degree in tow, I set about to right historical wrongs. I appointed myself an advocacy journalist who would defend the poor against the rich and the weak against the strong.

In many cases, I didnt realize Id be defending the stupid against the smart.

Ironically, it was precisely this hands-on advocacy journalism that led me to abandon leftist thought entirely. It was a long and painful process, like an old car where the parts start to go and then one day the engine finally throws a rod. One experience after the other led to more chinks in my ideological armor than there were Chinks in Maos Red Army. Against my better wishes, I found I do not have the inexhaustible capacity for cognitive dissonance and confirmation bias that most leftists seem to possess.

While researching an article about wealth inequality, I came across a chart that showed the average corporate CEOs IQ was 153, while the average manual laborers IQ was below a hundred. Something squirmed inside me. I didnt want to hear this.

While reading Timothy Learys Jail Notes in preparation for interviewing him, I ran across a passage where Leary describes how the Black Panthers held him hostage in Algeria. I resisted what this implied. I didnt want to know that blacks could act like slave owners, too.

While immersing myself in Orange Countys Vietnamese gang culture for a Playboy article, I was continually impressed with how these war-shattered Asians had come here penniless but owned businesses and mansions within a decade. This didnt jibe with my belief that blacks and Mexicans were their equals.

While interviewing white nationalist Tom Metzger, I thought Id pinned him with a real Gotcha! question: Youre not big on equality, are you? Metzger said he wasnt, and neither was anyone in power. When they say All men are created equal, I laugh, he told me, because nobody in power believes that. My guts told me that Metzger was probably right on that count. Maybe the idea of equality had substituted for religion as a modern opiate of the masses. Maybe it was a rancid fiction peddled by people who felt superior to everyone.

After Id interviewed a homeless man on Hollywoods streets, he kept calling me and asking me for money. Since he was ambulatory and relatively young, I started to think that maybe he was only a victim of his own laziness.

After interviewing one famous rapper after the next, I had to concede that most of them were as dumb as tree stumps. I also had to admit that many aspects of the black culture Id worshiped from afar were dumber than a box of rocks carved from stone. And though Id thought theyd been exploited and kept down by capitalism, this didnt stop rappers from posing on record covers fanning themselves with $100 bills and wearing gold chains down to their balls. And the idea that their plight in America was solely the white mans fault couldnt account for the fact that conditions were far worse back in the Motherland than they were anywhere in Compton.

It wasnt long before my entire ideological edifice came crashing to the ground.

So there I was on an East LA street corner, trying to buy weed from one of the Stoner gang members over whom Id lost my job trying to defend. Like I said, I was still in my twenties and still green enough to think I was doing him a favor by bringing a little cash into his hood. As he threaded his tattoo needle and avoided eye contact, he icily informed me that he and the rest of the Hicks Boys were pissed about my article. He said Id misquoted him, even though he was wrongI had everything on tape and Id quoted him correctly word-for-word.

He said I was lucky the rest of his gang was still asleep, because the minute they all woke up, they would mob me and beat my white ass into the ground.

It occurred to me that the only reason he wasnt a large-scale oppressor was a simple lack of opportunity. If hed grown up rich, hed be every bit as corrupt as the faceless country-clubbers Id been trained to hate. So instead of manipulating the currency, he stuck to petty robbery and lopsided beatdowns.

Even if Id fought him one-on-one, this was a public corner in East LA, and within moments Id be fighting all of La Raza. So I got back in my car and shouted, The reason youre stuck here is because youre too stupid to do anything else!

To this day, I dont know whether Id always felt that about him or whether I suddenly realized it as he threaded the needle and threatened my life.

I was not prejudiced, which implies passing judgment before reviewing the evidence. I was now postjudicedI had reviewed the evidence and concluded that many people simply werent worth saving.

As I peeled away in my 1968 Cougar from that dirty street corner, I left my leftist beliefs at his dirty feet. His Kampf wasnt Mein. Power may corrupt, but powerlessness can make you a nasty asshole, too. Spend enough time around the people, and you realize its a fools errand trying to defend them. I realized he, and so many like him, had no potential waiting to be realized. For the first time in my life, I also realized theres a reason the Third World came in third.

(end)

 

Jim Goad, a Southerner of British and French ancestry, and author of The Redneck Manifesto, writes very perceptive, frank and funny pieces for the paleo-conservative Takimag online.

Growing up poor in the South, he wondered about the claim of “white privilege” and then his thinking was transformed by reading Michael Hoffman’s They Were White and They Were Slaves, an expos of the misery of being a white indentured servant in colonial times…. that is, assuming one even survived the month crossing the Atlantic with various diseases in the filthy hole of a sailing ship.

Below. Goad discusses how his life experience made him leave the Left, realizing how “racist” against whites many non-whites are and how, well, unable to compete with their meager abilities in a white society.

I will add this comment:

I met a young fellow not long ago who is 3/4 white but looks American Indian, and told me an interesting story of what minorities think of whites when they open up.

It is interesting how Indian genes from way back will come out strongly in one white child and not in another. I supposedly have a smidgen of Amerindian blood myself, like many white Americans whose ancestors came over in the 1600s, this at least according to a malevolent step-grandmother who hated my political and racial views and wanted to mess with my head…. It did not work.

And Amerindians had some good qualities. bravery, stoic refusal to complain when in pain, pride and an absolute refusal, unlike blacks, to be enslaved.

The red man categorically refused to perform any labor for white slave owners, preferring to fight to the death or just refuse to work even after a beating or whipping. To all white North Americans who have some Indian blood, and that means most whites of French Canadian stock and very many white Southerners and Appalachian mountain people (especially due to Cherokee blood), if one has to have non-white genes, Amerindian genes are certainly not the worst.

I myself am blood type B, which indicates I might have some Asian blood going way, way, way back in me, but how is unknown. Amerindians were NOT blood type B. (It seems that blood type B arose in East Asia only after the Amerindians left Siberia for North America around 10,000 BC.)

I can only assume my blood type B is from my 1/16th German side (my great grandmother’s maiden name even being, yes, “Berlin”!), because the Huns did get into Germany around 400 AD. Both Huns and later the Mongols raped all over Eastern Europe, hence many Slavs also have blood type B. You can see it in their features and even slightly “Asiatic behavior.” The ability to undergo unbelievable suffering and persevere is an Asiatic forte. The Germans in WWII noted this in the Russians, that deprivation and misery that would make any German go insane would be endured by the Russkis.

Returning to the 3/4 white kid who looked Indian, he told me that blacks in Georgia who had befriended him did not view him as white and thus opened up to him. They confided: “We are going to screw as many white girls as we can, because this is the best way to destroy the white race.”

And now to Jim Goad’s article (source: http://takimag.com/article/the_day_i_left_the_left/print#axzz1msYnIAzb)

* * *

The Day I Left the Left

Late one Saturday morning in 1990 under the skeleton-bleaching California sun, I motored through a crumbled, hilly, ashen section of East LA looking to see if any of the Hicks Boys Stoners were around to sell me some weed. Named after East LAs Hicks Avenue, they were a loosely amalgamated gang of longhaired Mexican metalheads who shunned traditional cholo gang cultures aesthetic trappings in favor of Richard The Night Stalker Ramirez-styled muerte obsessions, Satan worship, and generally aimless nihilism.

A few weeks earlier, I had written a cover story about the Hicks Boys for the Los Angeles Reader, a now-defunct free alt-weekly largely distributed in West LA. The magazines publisher was a short, pie-faced man with a voice so high-pitched one would suspect he was mainlining estrogen. He was slick-bald on top with a horseshoe rim of quarter-inch grey stubble around the sides and a Pixy Stix-thin footlong ponytail hanging limply in the back. Merely describing his ponytail tells you all you need to know about his politics.

The publisher didnt like my article about the Hicks Boys. Surveying the pre-press galleys, he sniffed, Why are you writing about these losers, anyway? They just come off like scumbags. I tried explaining that if hed grown up in East LA housing projects where police-chopper lights were poking into his bedroom every night and shirtless, machete-wielding cholos had terrorized his barrio since infancy, he may have had more empathy. (I still believe that.)

But he wasnt convinced. He said hed hired me six months earlier to give the magazine some edge, but he hadnt expected a rusty, blood-covered prison shank. Shortly after my Hicks Boys story appeared, he fired me.

It occurred to me that the only reason he wasnt a large-scale oppressor was a simple lack of opportunity.

After skimming through the Hicks Boys turf a few times on that late Saturday morning, I finally spotted one of their members near a graffiti-spackled laundromat where they frequently congregated. He was threading a needle and preparing to tattoo himself.

At the timeI was 28my political ideas were little more than the accumulated, half-digested buzzing meme-hive of left-leaning pop culture and far-left academic indoctrination. From all the Norman Lear sitcoms of my youth up to all my avowedly communist professors in journalism school, the good guys and bad guys had been clearly delineated for me. I had been encouraged to question authority, but never the authority of major media or academic consensus. I perceived them to be objective scientists rather than evangelical ideologues.

Liberal Psych 101 subverted the dominant paradigm until nothing made sense. It taught that cockroaches are equivalent to butterflies. It preached that success was a sign of evil and that failure was an emblem of virtue. It saw something noble in losing rather than winning. It didnt seem so keen about leveling the playing field as it was on perverting natural law until they forced the game to end in a sudden-death two-overtimes tie. It published endless treatises on deconstruction without making a peep about how to reconstruct everything after destroying it.

Then as now, the left preached a Gospel of innate cognitive and physical equality among all social groups. What it did not preach was an equality of character. White people generally, and rich white males in particular, were depicted as morally defective, probably by birth.

Even though a white male, I dutifully absorbed and assented to the liberal blueprint. Journalism degree in tow, I set about to right historical wrongs. I appointed myself an advocacy journalist who would defend the poor against the rich and the weak against the strong.

In many cases, I didnt realize Id be defending the stupid against the smart.

Ironically, it was precisely this hands-on advocacy journalism that led me to abandon leftist thought entirely. It was a long and painful process, like an old car where the parts start to go and then one day the engine finally throws a rod. One experience after the other led to more chinks in my ideological armor than there were Chinks in Maos Red Army. Against my better wishes, I found I do not have the inexhaustible capacity for cognitive dissonance and confirmation bias that most leftists seem to possess.

While researching an article about wealth inequality, I came across a chart that showed the average corporate CEOs IQ was 153, while the average manual laborers IQ was below a hundred. Something squirmed inside me. I didnt want to hear this.

While reading Timothy Learys Jail Notes in preparation for interviewing him, I ran across a passage where Leary describes how the Black Panthers held him hostage in Algeria. I resisted what this implied. I didnt want to know that blacks could act like slave owners, too.

While immersing myself in Orange Countys Vietnamese gang culture for a Playboy article, I was continually impressed with how these war-shattered Asians had come here penniless but owned businesses and mansions within a decade. This didnt jibe with my belief that blacks and Mexicans were their equals.

While interviewing white nationalist Tom Metzger, I thought Id pinned him with a real Gotcha! question: Youre not big on equality, are you? Metzger said he wasnt, and neither was anyone in power. When they say All men are created equal, I laugh, he told me, because nobody in power believes that. My guts told me that Metzger was probably right on that count. Maybe the idea of equality had substituted for religion as a modern opiate of the masses. Maybe it was a rancid fiction peddled by people who felt superior to everyone.

After Id interviewed a homeless man on Hollywoods streets, he kept calling me and asking me for money. Since he was ambulatory and relatively young, I started to think that maybe he was only a victim of his own laziness.

After interviewing one famous rapper after the next, I had to concede that most of them were as dumb as tree stumps. I also had to admit that many aspects of the black culture Id worshiped from afar were dumber than a box of rocks carved from stone. And though Id thought theyd been exploited and kept down by capitalism, this didnt stop rappers from posing on record covers fanning themselves with $100 bills and wearing gold chains down to their balls. And the idea that their plight in America was solely the white mans fault couldnt account for the fact that conditions were far worse back in the Motherland than they were anywhere in Compton.

It wasnt long before my entire ideological edifice came crashing to the ground.

So there I was on an East LA street corner, trying to buy weed from one of the Stoner gang members over whom Id lost my job trying to defend. Like I said, I was still in my twenties and still green enough to think I was doing him a favor by bringing a little cash into his hood. As he threaded his tattoo needle and avoided eye contact, he icily informed me that he and the rest of the Hicks Boys were pissed about my article. He said Id misquoted him, even though he was wrongI had everything on tape and Id quoted him correctly word-for-word.

He said I was lucky the rest of his gang was still asleep, because the minute they all woke up, they would mob me and beat my white ass into the ground.

It occurred to me that the only reason he wasnt a large-scale oppressor was a simple lack of opportunity. If hed grown up rich, hed be every bit as corrupt as the faceless country-clubbers Id been trained to hate. So instead of manipulating the currency, he stuck to petty robbery and lopsided beatdowns.

Even if Id fought him one-on-one, this was a public corner in East LA, and within moments Id be fighting all of La Raza. So I got back in my car and shouted, The reason youre stuck here is because youre too stupid to do anything else!

To this day, I dont know whether Id always felt that about him or whether I suddenly realized it as he threaded the needle and threatened my life.

I was not prejudiced, which implies passing judgment before reviewing the evidence. I was now postjudicedI had reviewed the evidence and concluded that many people simply werent worth saving.

As I peeled away in my 1968 Cougar from that dirty street corner, I left my leftist beliefs at his dirty feet. His Kampf wasnt Mein. Power may corrupt, but powerlessness can make you a nasty asshole, too. Spend enough time around the people, and you realize its a fools errand trying to defend them. I realized he, and so many like him, had no potential waiting to be realized. For the first time in my life, I also realized theres a reason the Third World came in third.

(end)

 

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