Amerika

Posts Tagged ‘violence’

Future Alt Right Lawsuits May Devastate Cities

Sunday, September 3rd, 2017

The University of Florida denied Richard Spencer permission to hold an event at its campus, citing security concerns. According to the university, safety was the reason as it always is when denying “dangerous” groups permission to speak:

The Gainesville, Fla., university said on Wednesday it would deny a request by Spencer to rent event space on campus for his speech. In a statement, UF president W. Kent Fuchs cited safety concerns for the decision.

Online groups had threatened violent clashes on campus similar to the protests in Charlottesville, Va. that resulted in one woman’s death when she was struck by a car allegedly driven by a white nationalist. Fuchs said while he found Spencer’s beliefs “repugnant,” that had nothing to do with the university’s decision.

…”However, the First Amendment does not require a public institution to risk imminent violence to students and others,” Fuchs said. “The likelihood of violence and potential injury – not the words or ideas – has caused us to take this action.”

In a sense, Spencer holds universities hostage because he has a right to speak at publicly-funded institutions, but his presence brings out the Leftist groups that then create violence. Any place where he shows up, guaranteed mayhem and chaos will soon follow. In this sense, he can retaliate against any Left-leaning city by simply coming to speak there, and leaving as the place burns. This is an intelligent strategy as it raises the cost of being Leftist for cities, universities and other public institutions.

For now, perhaps, the “safety” excuse will hold, but in future lawsuits, Spencer and others will be able to destroy this excuse by pointing out that the difference between having violence and having zero violence depends on one single factor: anonymity. When Antifa are unmasked, no violence occurs; when they are allowed to keep their masks on, they tend to loot, vandalize and deposit filth.

A good approach might be for people who are injured in violence resulting from Leftist clashes to sue the institution at which this happened, pointing out that such an institution is negligent for not removing the masks from Antifa and other Leftist groups known to use violence against the Alt Right.

That way, not only are the constitutional rights of the Right protected, but the people near that institution do not suffer personal and property damage from the Leftist mob. As more lawyers come onboard the Alt Right, it is likely that high-cost lawsuits will force these institutions to unmask Antifa and allow the Alt Right to speak.

Watching the Establishment Unite Against Us, Western People Are Turning to the Alt Right

Saturday, August 26th, 2017

The media had one gamble after Charlottseville: portray the Alt Right as horrible Nazis, drive the herd into a frenzy, and hope that this would settle the issue.

It did not.

Instead, the memory hole closed. The media wanted us to believe that a crazed Nazi had deliberately run down innocent Leftist protesters, but as it turned out, the Antifa “et al” were initiating the violence, and the car terrorist was a scared mentally unstable young man trying to escape as people beat his car with flagpoles, bricks and bottles.

And so the narrative collapsed.

Betting on this narrative, however, the Left embarked on a program of removing the Alt Right from the internet, and this backfired spectacularly as ordinary people realized that they prefer free speech to a neo-Communist dictatorship where all thought except the egalitarian Leftist ideology is excluded.

Recent polls suggest that Americans prefer free speech to “safe speech”, which shows their reaction to the crusade against the Alt Right as negative:

A new Rasmussen Reports national telephone and online survey finds that an overwhelming 85% of American Adults think giving people the right to free speech is more important than making sure no one is offended by what others say.

…Seventy-three percent (73%) agree with the famous line by the 18th century French author Voltaire: “I disapprove of what you say but will defend to the death your right to say it.”

Just 28% of Americans believe they have true freedom of speech today, and most think the country is too politically correct.

These numbers remain consistent with those in the past, but the bigger point is this: the biggest media blitz in recent history tried to change this perception and failed utterly in doing so. In other words, the Establishment of the media, academia, Leftists in government and the vast horde of SJWs and SWPLs out there are on the wrong side of history. People want fairness over political correctness.

This manifested in a number of ripple effects, including the fall of those who helped in the purge, showing that because the consumer base is against the Leftist pogrom, companies are following what their customers desire:

GoDaddy CEO Blake Irving, who reshaped the domain-name company over five years and helped it double revenue and quadrupled its market value to $9 billion, is retiring.

…“It’s been a long time — a lot of boots on the ground battling that takes its toll,” said Irving, 58, who last week dropped a neo-Nazi site, The Daily Stormer, from GoDaddy’s service.

“I had an unbalanced work life,” says Irving. “It’s time to focus on (the non-work) part of my life, which I haven’t done well.”

This sort of snapback does not occur unless the action taken by the CEO has failed, and Irving’s choice to join the group of companies like Google, Facebook, Paypal, Reddit and Twitter in using Charlottesville as a pretext for cracking down on the Alt Right has seemingly hurt him. In doing so, he joins Starbucks CEO Howard Schultz, who stepped down after making SJW/SWPL a cornerstone of his tenure, which came back to bite him in the plump regions after Donald Trump won the election. The shareholders and management committee knew what Schultz did not: that a seismic shift or sea change had occurred in public attitudes.

A similar shift has occurred with the Alt Right. People may not like them, but they see them as the extreme which will preserve the ability not to join the Leftist cult. The media bet on America being horrified by the display of neo-Nazi symbols and the car crash, which they referred to as “terrorism,” but not enough people outside of “the base” were convinced, and so the narrative turned back on the Establishment comprised of media, entertainment, academia and lower government (MEAL) because ordinary people want free speech and they want the right to quietly dissent from the Leftist narrative and not to be forced to participate in what they see as Soviet-style insanity.

It takes some backtracking to figure out how we got to this point. As always, the voters get played by extremes, and the media hyped up a full-on tirade against George W. Bush and, thanks to connections in entertainment, became very powerful. The voters, believing CNN as if it were law, ran to the opposite extreme and elected Barack Obama. Eight years later, they found themselves regretting it: society had become re-ordered to take from the white middle class and give it to the brown underclass, all while elevating Leftists to positions of power and summoning an army of SJWs, Antifa, SWPLs, Anarchists, BLM, etc. who waged public vandalism riots on our cities with the hope of scaring the middle class into giving over whatever the Left sought at that moment.

This approach worked with Obergfell, Ferguson and transgender bathrooms. But at this point, even the slow people were getting the point: none of these issues were about the actual issue, but instead, they were about destroying the power to avoid having Leftism invade your life. This is about total control, because the Left knows that when they get permanent power by ensuring that they will win every election, they can do as Clinton and Obama did and sell favors based on the expectation of their future power.

Voters found this fatiguing. Salaries were flat, unemployment was not terrible but no one was getting promoted and many were working jobs below their capacity, the economy was fake and flattening, and yet the media kept telling us that things were better than ever before. Then the shocks came: a debt raised by $10 trillion, falling American prestige and influence, corruption popping up at every level, and government always pushing another ideological agenda.

People elected Barack Obama for the same reason that they voted for William Jefferson Clinton: they wanted an end to the racial tension that has been a problem in America since the Civil War. They figured that by electing people who were sympathetic to blacks, they could avoid future violence. As it turned out, Obama had more race riots on his watch than Bush, because once you promise to be pro-black, any deviation is cause for alarm, while someone like Bush was seen as just acting for his constituency, no matter how many nice things he tried to do for black people. Despite more welfare, affirmative action and diversity propaganda than ever before, diversity still wasn’t working!

At the same time, people lost faith in the Establishment. When the press tells you things that you can see with your own two eyes are false, then you stop believing that the press is anything other than what it is, which is a for-profit industry which sells whatever sleaze and bad news it can, all while protecting its allies and business partners by printing bucketloads of propaganda. The press seemed to be our savior in the 1960s, but that image fell in the 2010s, and now, most people see it as a predatory business. Americans no longer trust the press, government, non-profits or academia, which leaves us few institutions to respect, indeed.

All of these institutions have failed. Academia got greedy, and used government money and easy degrees to sell college to a massive number of people who should never have been there in the first place; non-profits and the press became cheerleaders for a Leftist agenda that appeared to be shared by most people who worked for the government, and government was taken over by those who desired power for its own sake or at least to profit from it, and since Leftism justifies intrusion into every area of life to make sure that we are all “equal,” government swung Left and expanded massively both in its own size, and in the degree to which it created requirements for businesses and citizens, such that government compliance became an industry in itself.

The same thing was happening in Europe, where politicians imported third world people so that those could be worked and taxed to pay for the retirement benefits owed to the Baby Boomer generation. It seemed that our economies had become dominated by government, where it did things to force people to react to them, then taxed everyone and paid that out in benefits in order to keep the Keynesian pump primed, resulting in a tax-spend cycle which produced constant growth along with a steady lessening in actual wages and currency value. This circular Ponzi scheme originated during the JFK and Clinton years, and seemed to work until it collapsed on a ten-year cycle, leaving a Republican to inherit the mess and get blamed for it.

To those who survived the last few decades, the combination of taxing, spending, social benefits and strong ideological governments reminded us of something we do not like, which is the failed idea of Leftist Socialism, a mental cancer which takes prosperous, happy places and turns them into desolate, impoverished and architecturally bleak wastelands:

After reunification, East Germany’s GDP per capita was just one third of the West German level. The poorest West German region, Schleswig-Holstein, was still two and a half times as rich as the richest East German region, Saxony. Every other available indicator of economic performance (productivity, capital intensity…) shows a similar gap. There was a three-year gap in life expectancy as well.

The cost of cleaning up the mess left behind by socialism has been colossal. Net fiscal transfers from West to East Germany since 1990 add up to €1.9 trillion (in today’s prices), which is roughly equivalent to the GDP of Britain.

Add to that the human cost associated with over four decades of totalitarian rule – the imprisonment of dissidents, the shooting of people attempting to commit Republikflucht (=’desertion from the republic’, i.e. emigration), censorship, surveillance etc. – and you can make a fairly strong case against socialism.

Americans realized with great shock that they had fallen prey to soft totalitarianism, a newer version of what the Left imposed on people in the last generation through Communism. Now, censorship is done through angry mobs of citizens in the streets or private companies like Google, and the press is compliant because it gets leaks that way but is not strictly “government controlled,” and people are not thrown into gulags so much as they are denied opportunities which are regulated by government and popular opinion. The media became the conductor of this orchestra, and frequently destroyed lives of those who said something that was not “politically correct,” or in other words conforming to the narrative of equality, diversity, pluralism, entitlements and wealth redistribution.

Into this void came the Alt Right, who opposed both the Leftism of the post-Soviet era and the ineffectual “Right-wing” parties that had done nothing to stop it over the past six decades. By raising a principled objection and using aggressive humor to point out the utter stupidity and failure of our current way of life, not just the government but the values we have adopted, the Alt Right shot to the front of the line by addressing the actual concerns of people while government chased increasingly eclectic ideological concerns. People might not like the Alt Right, but they like how it has thwarted the path of decay that the Left under Hillary Clinton saw as a “sure bet.”

In the days after Charlottesville, the Left made a massive miscalculation, and by embarking on a regimen of censorship and oppression, made themselves look exactly like the Communists and Jacobites that the people of America and Europe feared that they were. While the Left was talking about bad optics for the Alt Right, the real bad optics were for the Left, who acted like blindly rigid and doctrinaire Leftist ideologues like we remembered from East Germany and other Socialist success stories. This just underscores our fear that our entire system is actually, contrary to what it tells us, extremely fragile and tottering over the abyss.

People now want to go back to the point before we went down this path. They are excited about the America of the 1980s and 1950s because those are the two most recent cases of respite from the steady Leftizing of everything. Even more, some are starting to realize that the assumptions upon which modern Western government are based — individualism and equality from The Renaissance™ and The Enlightenment™ — are wrong and lead to an endless cycle of shuttling between Right and Left versions of the same style of government. This means that we never get what we need, and spend all of our energy on the big football game of polarized politics.

Now that the Left is making further missteps by censoring non-Rightists for saying true things that the Right might use, resistance is growing. More than ever, people in the West realize that we are living under the nu-Soviet regime, and that our only escape is to remove the idea of equality that gives it perceived legitimacy, and seems to cordycept people and make them chase it to their doom, simply because like “world peace” it is an idea that seems to solve all problems, even when by removing conflict it creates regression toward the mean.

Another word for that regression is “randomness,” as it means when applied to groups:

But none of these had any major impact on our study’s results. Regression to the mean can be thought of as an application of a statistical concept called the Central Limit Theorem, which mathematically describes the average tendency for any measurable process controlled by random forces to orbit a central (mean) value. In other words, if one tries to measure some attribute on multiple occasions, and that attribute is governed by random forces, then the measurements will tend to hover around an average value. When one tosses a pair of dice, for example, the sum of the two dice tends to be seven. Regression to the mean simply means that a roll of two or twelve (extreme departures from the mean) will tend to be followed by a roll that falls closer to seven, or the mean value.

When governed by random forces, human results tend toward an average instead of a number above it. This means that the more random our behavior is, the more mediocre we become. It would be hard to find a better summary of America, which is being battered by forces of randomness: consumer trends, political issues of a symbolic nature, social changes based on rebellion, and other factors of entropy have worked together to make sure that the path of events in America is wholly arbitrary and without deliberate, consistent purpose.

Leftism is a force of randomness because it is based in the individual and therefore, in rejection of any order above that individual, with token exceptions made for one all-powerful General Secretary and commonsense prohibitions on murder, assault and theft of personal items. Since there is no greater order, the individual does whatever it wants, and society absorbs the consequences. This contrasts Rightism, where the there is a purpose to society and the individual maintains it as a term of their membership in that society.

The “fash wave” that is sweeping the West consists of a desire for order. We did not thrive under Leftism, but it took several centuries to break down what was left of our social order. Now we realize that we must not only defeat Leftism, but rebuild society in an entirely new direction, one based on order and the type of principles and realism that are required to desire order and maintain it. This is not something we are doing as a political choice, but a social and cultural one. We want a thriving, top-notch society again and we cannot have that while civilization is held hostage to the acts of individuals, which cause randomness and break it down.

Overreaction as seen on the Left only occurs when we have challenged an existing order deeply, and by demanding order, we have attacked the fundamental premise of the Left. This is why we do not have to dress up in Nazi uniforms or bring Confederate flags — although I have no problem with this — in order to provoke the Left. They know what we are, which is their undoing. We will always trigger them.

Because of that, power is on the side of the Alt Right now. Whenever we show up in town, Antifa and riots/vandalism will follow. Cities have the choice to either crack down on Antifa by removing masks, which seems to do the trick, or to refuse to help the Right and therefore to end with damage to their towns. Now is the time for the Alt Right to do more rallies, more public appearances, and issue more political and cultural ideas. Every thing we do will cause the Left to contort in a paroxysm of rage, and this will make life worse for ordinary Americans, but instead of this forcing people to obey the Left, it is making them hate the Left.

Neo-Nazis are reacting badly to the Alt Right because we have replaced them. There is no longer a need for swastikas and 14/88 when there is a group saying a plain-language, commonsense and un-fetishized but more mature version of what White Nationalists and neo-Nazis have desired for years. We took out all the antisocial and historical elements, and replaced them with what one might call a fearless conservatism that is not limited to, but includes, racial and ethnic awareness, as well as in defiance of the Left, caste and class awareness. This is why the neo-Nazi wing is critical of the Alt Right:

Stormfront posters complained that the ragtag collection of groups brandishing homemade shields and screaming openly about Jews gave other neo-Nazis a bad name. They viewed the death of 32-year-old Heather Heyer almost exclusively as bad PR.

The rifts between Stormfront’s white supremacists and the younger, more internet-savvy generation that cut its teeth on 4chan have shown before.

…Stormfront’s present-day concerns coalesce around recruiting best-practices. The alt-right’s flamboyance, they say, could alienate potential enlistees to their movement of hate.

The point is that they missed the boat: the Alt Right has recruited people by being defiant and open, instead of cult-like and clandestine. The Alt Right shows up and speaks common sense and everyone loses their minds; the neo-Nazis show up and blart out angry hateful propaganda and no one is challenged because they have seen this behavior in movies and television, and it is what they expect. The Alt Right is the opposite of what they expect.

In the future, the Alt Right might consider just showing up in suits with tiki torches just to see cities burn. When our normalcy causes the Left to behave like insane criminal vandals, then people recognize the Left for what it is; when we behave like we might be unhinged, then the Left looks more moderate. Our goal is to make them look extremist and to make ourselves look like the sane, normal and wise alternative.

We want the message that we are the sensible adults here to be battered into the heads of everyone watching these conflagrations from afar, in this case voiced by miscegenating violence aficionado Kyle “Based Stickman” Chapman:

Chapman then went on to blame “commies” and “international domestic terrorists” for recent violence at right-wing rallies in California and other parts of the country.

Regarding Berkeley, he said the police failed to keep right-wing and leftist protesters separated during the first two rallies and that this resulted in violent clashes. For what he called “Berkeley 3.0,” the third political rally in April, Chapman said the police “finally did their job,” and this resulted in “not one incidence of violence.”

Let the police know: if they keep us safe, and unmask Antifa, there will be no violence or vandalism. We do not initiate the violence, because our goal is not violence or power but change. We have no interest in violence until it is necessary and we hope to avoid that point from the standpoint of simple efficiency and reduced risk to all parties. But we are here to replace Antifa and the Left because they are following insane ideas that are mostly responsible for the destruction of our civilization. Cities can either accept this changing order and accommodate us, or continue supporting Antifa and suffer the concomittant violence/vandalism.

The official narrative has collapsed, and because nature abhors a vacuum, there is need for something to take its place. Instead of ideology, we offer calm and commonsense assessments of our position in history and as a civilization. The main difference is that our scope is larger than a focus on the individual alone as the Left demands, and this difference is crushing them as people realize how far America and Europe have unraveled. The Left will fail because they insist on defending the status quo while the Alt Right wants to rebuild and improve it.

Winners

Friday, August 25th, 2017

“Masks on,” came the voice through the radio. Garan and his second, Jobe, put on their light filter masks and resumed their positions on the deck of the massive structure. Sunlight had come filtering through the omnipresent smog, heating up the dust and exhaust below, and as happened every morning at about this time, it had risen to their level and was now at toxic concentrations.

From a distance, they were invisible, just another aggregation of detail on the face of the massive structure. Stretching a third of a mile into the air, the giant cube concrete, steel and glass occupied seventy square blocks in the city. Its base was made of reinforced concrete, with entrances only for delivery trucks. Inside, rows of apartments were divided by tiered gardens, all sealed within a greenhouse, generating the air that the colony needed. It was environmentally-friendly, self-sufficient and armed to the teeth against outsiders.

As the sun rose, it illuminated the waves of clutter on the low hills and valleys stretching outward — seemingly infinitely — from the cube. These were the favelas, or free economic zone, which were built by their residents and ruled by nothing. Somewhere in this mess, people grew food, slaughtered animals, made products and waged constant warfare on themselves. Jobe and Garan were wary because today was a lottery day, which meant that the residents would be restive.

In contrast, those in the cube did not play the lottery; they did not need to. These were the people who worked in the office jobs at the firms who made the products which were absorbed by the favelas. Batteries, tires, engines, guns, medicine and entertainment devices flowed out of factories far away and arrived at the stores in a separate security garrison at the other edge of the city. The citizens flowed in, walking with the shuffling gait and nod of people who were barely mentally there, to buy whatever they could put on credit. The people in the cube were of a class better than citizen, namely “employee,” which meant that they had the right to live in the cubes and could purchase products from the delivery network which brought them right to their doors. Most never left the cube at all, although the wealthiest would jet to some of the private islands that still remained out there in the perpetually gray, overcast, smog-encased globe which humanity called home.

In the cubes, the air was always cool and fresh, full of oxygen from the many plantings and the ten stories above that were an organic farm. Here everything was precious: each floor was named after an animal, some of which were not extinct, and recycling bins were everywhere. Their food was fair trade because it was produced by robots, carbon-neutral and consisted mostly of plants which never naturally grew here, from quinoa to acai berries and Icelandic kale. On every floor, the exercise rooms were crammed with thin and fit people working out on the machines, and most employees spent a fair amount of their free time in volunteer activities like making smocks for the infants of the citizens. Colorful murals adorned every wall, and each person was unique in that they had some activity that no other person engaged in, like collecting vintage Soviet radios or making artisanal wooden forks. To its inhabitants, this place was paradise.

For a twenty-first century person, the cube would seem like an aggregate of whatever had been popular in the past twenty decades. The digital libraries were full of books of Ideas like Malcolm Gladwell’s Outliers and Jared Diamond’s Guns, Germs and Steel. If you asked them, these people were the most progressive ever, against racism, sexism, homophobia or discrimination of any kind. They recognized only the hierarchy of money, and were proud of the fact that they had risen above the favelas, even if most of them had never been there. Inside the cube, these slender people resembled twenty-first century South Americans: slightly Eurasian, dark of hair and eye, with the slightly curved noses and curly hair of those who had absorbed something from the African continent as well despite their relatively pale skin. Out there in the favelas, people had higher amounts of Asian and African blood, but were short and squat, and tended to be not very bright. This was acknowledged with a wink and a smile within the cube. The employees considered themselves to be winners, and everyone else to effectively be a loser, and because this was not based in race or privilege, it was considered not only fair but a judgment greater than that of God, although no one would admit to such an anachronistic belief.

Every employee had a number, such as 001-090-1691, which was Garan’s number. This meant he was from the first row, floor 90, unit #1691. The units were spacious, with each having a view of a garden through which sunlight filtered from the greenhouses above, consisting of five rooms and a central area to which many had added pools or gardens of their own. Their food came from the restaurants staggered among the floors or the stores at the ground level: Amazon, Costco, Walmart and Target. There were even artisanal stores and smaller boutiques where people bought more advanced products, but everyone ended up at the discount stores at some point, because why pay more? Only suckers and losers paid full price for objects which originated in the same vertical farms and assembly lines. There were hospitals, schools, and pubs, but no jails. There was only one penalty here, which was to be ejected into the favelas, and for that reason, they had zero crime of any type. People were careful not to leave their belongings in the halls or to engage in any behavior which inconvenienced or offended anyone. Conversation centered around topics discussed in the big magazines or on the video feeds, but never ventured beyond that. Raising the idea of God, heritage, or even personal achievement was not forbidden, but might give rise to citizens filing complaints from their portable nodes, and if enough of those accumulated, the person who occasioned them would face a committee who had the power to vote for exile. It was always good to be friends with people who were rumored to be on those committees.

Out on the sixteenth-floor balcony, beneath giant vents which blasted heat from the cooling system into the already searing atmosphere, Garan adjusted the site on his APW-25. To a twenty-first century person, it resembled a small-scale anti-tank missile, a long tube with a digitally-enhanced sight.

“Dukhs on quadrant seven, four of them, coming in fast,” crackled through the radio. Jobe and Garan zoomed in with their scopes and as they expected, saw a group of four nehis — this was their term for favela-dwellers — coming down one of the jagged avenues between the cramped and chaotic tenements. Garan could see the rifles in their hands. Several dozen times a day, the cube came under assault by one of the perpetually-changing groups of dissidents who wanted “change” of some kind, even though in Garan’s view, the cubes were the best possible outcome for this world.

“Got ’em, esse,” Garan radioed back. He locked the tracking laser onto the group, painting them in an invisible cone of light which the missile would follow, striking in the center. Then he depressed the trigger, steeling himself for the bang! and whoosh! as the missile flew toward its target. He struggled to keep the tracking laser on target through the cloud of smoke and watched as the fire of the rocket engine, small amidst the towering ruins of the tenements, followed his signal toward the group. As they passed a doorway, a woman came out, squat and dumpy like a thumb, holding a baby which would grow up to be the same. Garan did not change the course of his missile. The only goal was to protect the cube.

Impact came just as the dukhs (their term for anonymous assailants) raised the first of their rifles. The warheads produced a “dome of death,” about ten meters of destruction in any direction, as they fragmented and then those fragments detonated, shredding anything within that range. This happened abruptly before the dukhs recognized they were under attack, which was what usually happened. The missiles raced toward their targets at seven hundred miles an hour, and so struck silently and invisibly from their cover of smog. The street lit up with the blast, which sounded like a pop from nearly a mile away, and the dukhs disintegrated. The now headless-woman dropped the baby into a street littered with fragments of metal and human animal, and a bolus of internal organs blasted through the door, no doubt covering the inhabitants within as they screamed. The baby squirmed twice in its dirty blanket, then lay still, probably a casualty of the shrapnel produced by the fragmentation of the warhead cover. Garan shrugged. It really had no life to look forward to, anyway, outside of the cube.

Smoke obscured the street. It was too far away for the men on the cube to hear, and they were already looking toward the next threat, which was a group to the north who were going to be the second attack. There were often bouts of attacks during the week when things were particularly bad in the heap of cobbled-together concrete tenements, and so the dozen men who were stationed outside the building maintained constant radio traffic as they scanned the hundred avenues converging on the cube. Jobe motioned to Garan, pointing two fingers toward one of the streets — these changed direction and location when a block of ghetto fell over on itself, as happened regularly — where another group were advancing. They wore black, which implied a religious group, and kept their hands behind their backs. Through his scope Garan could see the barrel of a rifle behind one, so he tagged the video and sent it to their commander inside. Then he deliberately relaxed his muscles and focused all of his attention on the group while waiting for approval from command.

Jobe identified another group a street over and was tracking them. They communicated by radio so they did not have to take their eyes from their scopes. Garan liked this job, and hoped someday to advance to be a commander, so he could sit in the nice air conditioning and take a higher salary for looking at video camera feeds and approving counter-strikes. As as result, he took his task very seriously. As he watched, one of the figures in black broke away and ran into the tenement. “One broke away,” he said to Jobe, then returning to tracking the group. They had paused, as if waiting for a signal, which made the pit of his stomach contract. This meant that several groups would attack at once. A few months ago, they had gotten close enough to batter their way into the underground delivery area with rocket-propelled grenades. The cube, named Byūt for an ancient God in someone else’s culture, was separated from the ghetto tenement by only a scant hundred yards of planted esplanade, road and parking spillway, which was why people like Garan and Jobe were hired to ensure that they did not close the distance. The nehis — this was their generic term for people living in the favelas — usually attacked in groups, at which point they became dukhs, or targets. The term, similar to the ancient usage “bogey,” meant “ghost,” and this was the way that Garan and his comrades kept their emotions at bay as they blasted dukhs into paste using their guided rockets.

This knowledge weighed heavily on Garan as he concentrated. The sun was always hot, the noise and smells of the street always disturbing, and inevitably something would itch. Today it was a spot on his left buttock. His deceptive mind summoned up a host of possible notions in response to any stimulus, and did so here as well, filling his head with options such as the possibility of a clogged pore, ingrown hair, insect bite or even fatal cancer. He did not flinch. Through his radio, he heard Jobe add groups down two more streets, and then after a pause, add, “That guy from the first group showed up with the second, and I think he’s bringing them RPGs.” This naturally made Garan wary; the rocket propelled grenade or RPG was one of the few things that could destroy walls, doors and the cameras on which they relied. If one of those defenses went down, more attackers would surge in and he would not be able to vaporize enough of them to repel the attack. He tracked his scope to the second street where he saw one of the dukhs from the first attack group had indeed joined the second group, and appeared to be offering them a backpack.

“Uh, we got weapons in street two,” Garan muttered into the radio. “Request permission.” He zoomed in and saw the backpack was rather full, and some kind of negotiation was going on. As he watched, a tall man came running from the shadows of the tenement. Garan squinted. There was something anomalous about this person, from his slender height to his stride. He moved confidently with a manic intensity that the slower-thinking nehis rarely managed. This man handed something small to the man with the backpack. The latter took the new object aside and flipped through it. He was counting cash, Garan realized, at the same moment he registered the removal of rockets from the backpack. He flagged that segment of the video and sent it to command with a few finger gestures.

“We have three groups forming now, ready to attack the second quadrant, and they’ve received new weapons from this guy. Request permission to fire,” Jobe said. Still no word from command.

Garan tensed. Was someone in the bathroom, or just playing politics? If they gave permission now, they took a risk of accidentally wiping out a few innocent nehis along with the dukhs, but to wait too long meant that the bad guys might get the first shot. He turned his focus back to the first group, which he thought were most likely to attack. When the scope focused, he saw the weapons merchant with a new backpack, and the tall man again handing over what looked like cash. Jobe reported the same on several other streets. “We have bad guys unpacking new RPGs on four streets,” Jobe said. “Command, please give us permission.” Both men were now furiously flagging and logging video.

They had standing orders to eliminate any group approaching with weapons. The grey area occurred where groups without visible weapons, before an attack had officially begun, were observed. The cubes sold a lot of product to the favelas, and an unclean kill could cause a backlash in which the entire tenement attacked, at which point the cubes would have to summon the mercenaries they kept on retainer. That in itself was a problem because not only was it expensive, but it also created disturbance for the workflow in the cubes, where most people worked from home or in large workspaces on the upper floors, which could impede the flow of business. That was ultra-taboo.

Jobe slapped the side of his launcher. “Ti amo, bellissima,” he said as he caressed it. Garan saw that he was nervous, and threw in the usual light-hearted banter they indulged in to avoid stressing out.

“She’s beautiful. Best in the world,” he said.

Jobe shrugged. “Maybe someday someone will invent something better. But for now, I am trusting her, and I love her with all my heart. Nie moge żyć bez ciebie, Najdroższa.”

Garan grinned, and turned back to his scope. There was movement on the street.

“Command, we need an answer, over,” Jobe begged onto the radio. No response. They turned back to their scopes. Garan was alternating between the first and second groups, and on one of these passes, he caught a flash of movement. “We’re under fire,” he said into the radio, seconds before a rocket detonated against the building. Since his weapon was fixed on the second group, Garan squeezed the trigger and then focused the scope so that he could guide the missile in toward the second group, who were now pulling rockets out of the backpack while the tall man watched nearby. Something garbled came over the radio but he did not have time to ask for clarification as he nosed the rocket down into the group and enveloped them in the warm orange glow of a two-stage explosion. He swung the weapon back toward the first group, who Jobe had partially destroyed, and focused on the weapon-seller, who was shuffling with an injured leg as he went toward a pile of junk to hide. The second missile kicked free, and Garan guided it to ground level so that it skimmed the ground and then veered left into the heap toward which the weapons merchant was heading. The bloom of fire was bigger than expected, and he realized that he had hit the heap where the man was stashing his weapons, along with what looked like illegal gasoline as well. Flames filled the narrow street and people began to flee the carbonizing tenement. He had only seconds to look, because he had loosed a third missile toward the group, half of whom were wounded, steering it into the hard concrete between them and watching as a satisfying upward blast scattered bits of meat and organs over both sides of the street.

“Command, please repeat, over,” he said into the radio. The line crackled and then the voice of his commander came on: “Belay the last order. We are under attack. Weapons free, I repeat, weapons free.”

Jobe and Garan wasted no time targeting the other groups converging on the cube. Jorge loosed two rockets in rapid succession and guided them into a large group assembling weapons far down one of the streets, sweeping his laser from left to right so that the rockets bracketed the group five seconds apart. Airborne meat and shrapnel from secondary explosions bathed the street, causing a number of nehis to fall clutching limbs or midsections. Collateral damage was part of the job. As Garan targeted another group, machine gun fire stitched across the concrete surface below them, and Jobe dropped a rocket down its path, then used his scope to find the group in black which was firing. Another dome of death lit the dismal scene below, and bodies dropped lifeless, one raising its hands as if praying, which Garan had come to recognize as a symptom of a fatal head wound. He fired toward the group he had seen, but not before an RPG slammed into the loading bay, lighting it from within and blasting bits of something out into the street. He realized that this was probably one of their loaders who had been caught in a confined space by the blast and liquefied. Swearing, he racked in another missile and loosed it toward a group who were flanking them through another avenue, guiding it with a sure hand to right in front of where the men were raising their weapons. Eight vanished into giblets or fell, but two began dragging themselves away, legs full of shrapnel. His next missile enwrapped them in flame, and then all was silence. For now, the attack was over.

Back in the locker room, Garan rested his forehead against the cold steel of the compartment that contained his only personal belongings. What a day… he had fired a dozen rockets and splashed many bad guys, and the attack had been driven back, but not without more than a handful of rocket-propelled grenades hitting the cube. He felt as if he had done all that he could — and where the heck was his commander when they were requesting permission to fire? — but that the situation had gotten out of control. Jobe slapped him on the shoulder, gave a smile, and said, “See you tomorrow.” That raised his spirits more than anything else, and so he went toward his cubicle, perhaps not the biggest or most elaborate model, but a decent box where he was comfortable in the hours between working or working out in order to keep his sexual appeal and business appearance high.

Along the way, he passed one of the hall murals, which had David Sterling, the founder of this particular cube, speaking from his office years ago. His firm — Kolowitz, Ionnadis, O’Malley and DiPietro — was responsible for securing the funding and permits to build this giant cubicle farm during the years when governments were defaulting, continents were possessed by warfare, and global order was disintegrating. KIOD had taken on outrageous loans, but by building the cubicles, guaranteed themselves a source of funding for the perpetual future, which enabled the cubes to continue operating. In the video, Sterling was describing the benefits of “statistical government,” which relied not on who citizens were but the mathematics of the likelihood of any given action they would take; in this way, it did not address individual cases, but behaviors, and provided for them with a community insurance fund that subtracted money from each person to provide for the future number of anticipated incidents. “And that way, statistical government guarantees a good life for all, by eliminating risk,” Sterling said in the muted colors of antique video. “See what good happens when Socialism and Capitalism join forces? We have removed risk, doubt and suffering, and left only a life of the most exceptional functionality,” he said, gesturing toward a long-destroyed city. Garan had seen the video a thousand times. He would often watch it after a rough day to remind himself why he went out there. Other than for the paycheck, of course.

His cubicle was dark because the lights automatically shut off to save power and reduce carbon. He waved them on, took a quick shower and collapsed on the sofa, then fired up the video wall, letting exhaustion drain from himself as he drank an Ethical Beer — these were low-alcohol and contained mood-regulating chemicals to prevent violence — and looked over the news report. He was glad that second shift had taken over. Smoke clouds drifted around the cube, and he thought he could hear the occasional blast of rockets, which meant that instead of being driven back, the nehis had advanced enough that others were joining the attack. He activated his personal node, knowing that if the attack worsened, he would be called out to fight, and then without intending it, drifted into sleep.

Garan found himself in the land of dreams, which like most educated people he regarded as the product of random firing of the synapses on par with superstitions and other religions, where he wandered among rooms from his past. These were all within the same cube in which he now lived, in different apartments, starting with his parents and grandparents, then a string of girlfriends and school friends, in each one marveling at how the person had made the space unique with furniture, gardens, video on the walls, and even the psychic stims that instilled a feeling of goodness and mercy in anyone who stood within their orbit. As often happens in dreams, these rooms were connected, so he found himself drifting from the kitchen of his grandfather, who like most men in this society dated his grandmother for a half-decade in order to have and raise children, into the living room of his first girlfriend, who revealed to him one night that he was only her forty-fifth sexual experience and her thirty-sixth with a man. For a reason he could not fathom, this unnerved him, and at first he thought it was the machine-like counting, but he could say nothing because to be offensive in that way would be a voteable offense. As he walked through the rooms, ticking off time through place, he finally realized that what bothered him was not the number, but that like the rooms, it was an elaborate attempt to cover up the same-ness of it all. He was to her a time, not a place, and since all places were generic, even that would have no lasting hold on her. There was nothing to compare with how he viewed himself, which was — if he got right down to it and spoke what burbled up out of him like a hot spring on a distant mountain — an eternal being or being-ness. And so he drifted through these rooms, with nothing permanent except himself, and as the rooms changed he suddenly began to perceive that only the decorations were changing, which meant that by converse, he was standing still in a universal room as decorations flew through it, marking time without place. With each change in the decorations, there was a thunderous drum, and yet it was empty to him. He woke in a sweat.

Someone pounded on the door. This by itself was anomalous because most visitors announced themselves, and to knock was considered rude. As the pounding continued, he heard other pounding outside, which sounded to him like the landing of rockets. He waved over the console to open the door. Three men in uniforms that he recognized from his defense class stood there. “You’re to report to the committee,” said one quietly. Garan looked between them, and understood immediately. He put on his uniform and joined them, then moved to lock his door. One of the men simply raised a hand and stopped him; instead, he used his portable node, and re-assigned the cubicle to the authorities, since Garan was now in custody and had indeterminate status as an employee.

“Hey buddy,” Jobe spoke out of the darkened room when Garan was deposited there, silently, by the three men.

Garan nodded and swallowed. “What are we in for?”

“No one’s saying. Yet.” And to punctuate that, another explosion radiated from outside. They were on a lower level, closer to the action. Men and women in uniform, carrying AGP-25s, rushed past, their shadows sliding across the glass panel in the door. A dull boom radiated from outside. Garan and Jobe exchanged worried glances. But as time passed, and silence descended, they relaxed and to their horror, found that boredom had replaced concern. In whispered conversation, they went over the events of the past day. As far as either of them could tell, they had followed the rules and if anything, more people should have listened to them and cut this attack off before it could gain momentum and others from the tenements — mostly lounging around in poverty with nothing exciting to do — joined in and made it an actual threat. But other than command hesitating to give them permission to fire, there had been no unusual events. They were baffled, mainly because while the rules were simple in the cube, often the interpretation was complex. For example, the cube had a list of basic commitments to which every employee pledged:

  1. All employees are born free and equal in dignity and certain unalienable Rights, and among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.
  2. No one may think or behave as if he or she is smarter, more special, better, knowing more or even as good as others. All employees must practice humility which recognizes that humans are born and remain free and equal in rights. Social distinctions may be founded only upon the general good.
  3. Liberty consists in the freedom to do everything which injures no one else; no employee is to think he is more important than others, is better at anything than others, that he is smarter than others, that he can teach them anything, or that anyone cares about him.
  4. Everyone has the right to own property alone as well as in association with others. No one shall be arbitrarily deprived of his property. No one shall laugh at anyone else.
  5. No one shall be subjected to torture or to cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment. Law can only prohibit such actions as are hurtful to society. Nothing may be prevented which is not forbidden by law, and no one may be forced to do anything not provided for by law.
  6. Everyone has the right to recognition everywhere as a person before the law. All employees, being equal in the eyes of the law, are equally eligible to all dignities and to all public positions and occupations, according to their abilities, and without distinction except that of their virtues and talents.
  7. All are entitled to equal protection against any discrimination in violation of this Declaration and against any incitement to such discrimination. No one shall be disquieted on account of his opinions, including his religious views, provided their manifestation does not disturb the public order established by law against discrimination.
  8. Everyone is entitled in full equality to a fair and public hearing by an independent and impartial tribunal, in the determination of his rights and obligations and of any criminal charge against him. Every employee may, accordingly, speak, write, and print with freedom, but shall be responsible for such abuses of this freedom as shall be defined by law.
  9. Since property is an inviolable and sacred right, no one shall be deprived thereof except where public necessity, legally determined, shall clearly demand it, and then only on condition that the owner shall have been previously and equitably indemnified. Everyone has the right to rest and leisure, including reasonable limitation of working hours and periodic holidays with pay.
  10. All are equal before the law and are entitled without any discrimination to equal protection of the law. Society exists for the individual and the freedom of the individual, and this must come before any abstract representation of the group, its identity or values.

These were in fact printed on a metal sheet affixed to the wall of the room in which they were now confined, which seemed to be a conference room in which certain items had been stored. He had read them before, and reflected on how fair-minded they were, but then began to notice a circularity. It was as if the text were some kind of exotic poem which tried to return to the same places in a different context, and make them new places, when in fact that meant their meaning had simply altered itself. He thought of what Jobe had said. Maybe this was good, but it was only the best until someone invented something better. He wondered if that would occur. Jobe lay down on the floor. Garan rooted through one box and found cleaning supplies, so began cleaning the table. Jobe laughed.

“It’s something to do,” Garan said. As he finished saying this something shuddered through the building. They looked at each other, perplexed. Were events this far out of hand? But then silence returned, and Garan, having finished cleaning the table, wiped down the chairs and then sat in one. He scanned the room once more, seeing again the same walls. It occurred to him that this room was roughly the size of his living room at what was once his home, and that if the decor and furniture were swapped, he would be doing roughly what he normally did at this time. He lapsed into a doze, and only awoke when Jobe shook him as the door opened. Three new people in uniform stood there. They pointed to Jobe, and he was led out of the room. Alone, Garan attempted to breathe evenly, dispelling his concern at whatever was going on, both for him and for the cube.

Hours later the door opened again. Five figures stood there. “You are charged with the killing of another employee,” said one simply, and they led him away. They told him that there were no charges against Jobe, and took him into another room where he recognized the tell-tale signs of a committee: a conference table, projection wall, portable nodes in front of chairs. And then the committee came in. They wore formal clothing and serious expressions. With equal parts terror and absurdity coursing through his mind, Garan struggled to contain his facial expression. The eldest sat at the head of the table, and one of the uniforms motioned for Garan to sit at the opposite end. At this point, his mind could barely handle the transition between three spaces: out on the shooting ledge, in his living room, and now here, facing a committee which could exile him.

“This is the video feed from your weapon,” said the elder, and on the projection wall, Garan saw his scope zoom focus to the group unloading rockets from the backpack. Nearby was a tall, slender man, who Garan now remembered as being anomalous. He saw the heat distortion of the image as the rocket launched, then the dark wisps of its exhaust, and finally the flare of its engine as it descended and impacted before the group. The video went to slow motion and faded out as the explosion consumed the figures standing there. Garan had to admit certain satisfaction with his targeting, but this dissipated as he looked at the stern eyes of the committee.

“The tall man to the left was an employee of this cube,” said one of the other committee members, simply. “Do you have anything to say?”

Garan cleared his throat. “It was a good kill. My partner and I observed that this group was receiving new rocket propelled grenades, like the kind I hear exploding against our walls outside, in exchange for money brought by the tall man. At the time of the shoot, they were preparing to use these rockets. We had no indication that this man was an employee, nor did we receive any word from command, but since they were in the process of arming their weapons for use, according to our code of combat conduct, my action to target and destroy them was not only legitimate but mandated.”

The silence took them all by surprise. They were accustomed to having activity going on around them, both as a background and as an agenda, to react to. Without it, the room took on a sparseness, as if all identifying objects had been removed, and they were adrift in time and place, unsure of how to orient themselves.

The elder spoke again. “This employee was enjoying his right to self-expression, and was unjustly terminated for it. No one of us knows any better than any others, so it was not your place to reprimand his behavior.”

Garan felt the giddiness return. “He was aiding the people who are attacking this cube at the very moment. He gave them money for weapons. We all saw this on the video, or at least you would if you rewound a few minutes before. Whether or not he was expressing himself, he had become a threat to the cube, and I acted to prevent that thread from manifesting.”

The other committee member spoke up. “Here we must decide on our highest values. On one hand, this employee was entitled to freedom. On the other, the group must be protected.” At this point, Garan was led from the room.

As he walked behind the uniforms leading him back to the conference room, he briefly considered escape. His mind rejected this after only a moment, since there was nowhere to go. Out in the favelas, he would be torn apart. His cubicle was locked. There were no places he could hide, and no way he could eat, live or wander. Garan watched his spirits dissolve within him. There was no way out. As his mind wandered, he noticed the woman ahead of him and how well she wore her uniform. She had medium-brown eyes, a rarity among the dark-haired and dark-eyed employees. Slender, with hints of musculature, she had a graceful neck that he admired, and a pleasant face. As if she felt the eyes on the back of her neck, she dropped back and spoke quickly to him.

“I hear you were our top shooter for this quarter,” she said.

Garan nodded, then slipped into the personality he wore like a new suit when he sought out women in the pubs, and said, “I had nowhere to go but up.” Self-deprecation always made the other party believe she was in power, and this affirmed Garan’s power, because he both dodged the voteable complaint of being prideful, and also, by aggressively asserting this humility, made it indefinably clear that he believed in no such humility for himself. Girls also liked that, he recalled, as he gave her his best smile. But one of the other uniforms made a guttural sound, and she caught up, leaving him with his thoughts.

During his time, Garan had experienced more than his share of girlfriends. Since casual sex was considered a health risk, people formed relationships for up to years at a time, coming together for sexual pleasure, companionship and raising children, but none of them lasted. Someone who stayed with another person for too long was perceived as powerless, so none of them stayed. The need for power was greater than the need for place. The names and faces of the girls changed, but never the feeling afterward. There was always an emptiness, like a room that needed to be filled, or a silence which needed driving away. But there were always more women, and he found himself choosing them by their job titles, enjoying the feeling of speaking their importance to others, as if they were attainments or targets he found on his scope. But then they left, never acrimoniously as that could create voteable complaints, just changing what they wanted, much like they might hang a new picture on the wall. And so his last resistance crumbled, because even if he got out of this jam he was in, this girl would be about as satisfying as the last few, whose names even he found hard to recall.

Inside the room, the woman whose neck had attracted him paused at the doorway, then pressed a generic node into his hand and pointed to a wall. He nodded his thanks, and a decent interval after the door closed and the shadows on the glass disappeared, he fired up the video and watched the news report, which occurred on a channel that otherwise played music designed to condition the mind into a place of peace and contentment, with announcements fading in with the voice of a child. On the background of a scene of people playing a complex sport involving a flying disc in a vertical maze, a video feed appeared with blurred chiaroscuro edges. It showed the feed from video cameras outside, which was a scene of battle interrupted by shrouds of smoke which drifted across the lens, creating the impression of scenes from a dream. Garan sucked in his breath. The nehis had taken over the road and were at the base of the cube. Rockets flew, blinding a camera and blasting jagged wounds into the surface of the concrete. He saw the cube was firing back as well, but with so many targets, he knew the shooters were paralyzed by too many choices. For them, the scenery had all flowed together and become the same, and so they were firing by rote, instead of choosing the strategic places that were important to the revolutionaries. Garan wanted to be up there on his ledge with his trusty weapon, but also felt himself withdrawing from it for the first time, perhaps because he had no idea if he had a future in this cube. Loyalties needed to be two-way, he remembered from one of his military history classes. As he mused on this, he saw the crowd part like an elaborate dance, allowing trucks through which then charged the front of the building. Two were firing the high-explosive RPGs he had seen sold on the street, severely damaging the loading door, but another simply charged ahead through the confused rocket fire from defenders and collided with the door. The video feed went orange and the sound cut out just as Garan felt a violent throb pass through the building.

The door opened suddenly. A uniform was standing beside the ashen elder. “We are under attack. Your services are needed,” the other said, and the uniform handed him his weapon and an amply supply of rockets, which he shouldered with difficulty under the weight.

“Quadrant six,” said the other. Garan nodded. This would put him right over the door that had been destroyed, eight stories up. He oriented himself toward the elevator that would take him there, and in doing so went past the committee room. He heard snatches of voices: “– when an employee invites the citizens in –” stated a pained voice, answered by a rumble of others, then “what about my rights to self-expression without citizens –” which then faded out as well. Garan had no time to puzzle over these, because as he rounded the corridor, a rocket slammed into one of the inside walls. He choked on smoke and ran to the edge of the massive courtyard that contained the garden and a public gathering space. In it, he saw a mixture of citizens and employees rallying behind a red and blue flag. Trails of rockets mingled as fire rose from the edges of this group. Garan raised his weapon, then realized he would be firing on employees. He triggered his radio and said simply, “We have intruders on the main patio. They are apparently working with some employees. Please advise.”

Static murmured through the headphones, then a voice cut in that he recognized as the elder. “Do not target employees. They have a right to self-expression. That is the basis of the rule of the cube. Citizens may be targeted.”

Garan clicked the mike again. “Respectfully, what about the citizens who are opening fire on us? They are standing with the employees. There is no way to separate targets.”

The voice, tired, came over the line with a heavy echo. “We cannot violate our most important policy, which is that every individual is sovereign. The tenth rule states this well.”

He slammed his fist into the concrete wall, which being of the nature of concrete, was unyielding and merely bruised the outer edge of his hand. “I submit to the committee that if we do not violate some policies, there will not be a cube for long. The terrorists are coming in greater numbers now.”

Another voice came on the line, that of the younger committee member to whom he had spoken before. She said simply, “They were invited in. Seek targets among those who are outside.”

Garan abandoned the courtyard and rode the elevator to the hall to the eighth-floor platform. There he took position and began scanning. While the others fired wildly, Garan looked at the human topography of the dukhs below. Some were clearly more active, commanding if not firing back, and he began to focus on these. He zoomed his scope on a small group that appeared to be distributing weapons, then guided in his flared missile and watched as the detonation blossomed into several others, the damaged weapons spraying shrapnel among the group. The black-suited enemy withdrew for a moment, and he heard cheers over the radio as for the first time, the attackers gave ground. Next he loosed a round toward a group with scopes of their own, obviously scanning the walls for defenders, and breathed with relief as the dome of fire enclosed and digested them. He loaded and fired mechanically, hitting the nodes in the layout of attackers before him, paring down those that were most active. A gratifying number of secondary explosions followed this activity. He saw that the line of attackers was steadily withdrawing, but to his horror, he also saw a tall slender man motioning in the attackers near the ragged hole where the loading dock had once been. Three of the shorter, rounder figures dressed in black were hurrying toward it. On instinct, Garan launched a rocket, but as the laser guided it in, he jogged his hand to make the rocket execute a wide arc, delaying it by a half second so that it impacted just as the group, carrying heavy packs, were within paces of the door. The orange doom swelled around them, and as bits of flesh rained down after the blast, the first of their packages detonated. The figure in the doorway seemed to melt in slow motion, disintegrating as the shockwave hit. “Friendly fire,” muttered Garan.

His fellow team members on the upper level, their number cut in half by enemy missiles, took his lead and began to target groups that were instrumental to the action of the enemy as a team. Soon the crowd was milling about, firing randomly, and this disorder caused the line to retreat further to more cheers over the radio. An animal spirit infused the rigid discipline of these thoroughly enlightened soldiers. More missiles rained down, and the ability of his team to intuit nodal points in the attacking surge was improving, because Garan saw more panicked attackers fleeing, and a rippling of explosions as munitions were triggered by the blasts. The fire raking the cube, both machine gun and missile, fell off as his team guided in warhead after warhead. He switched his perspective to the street-level camera and saw a vast stampede of people dressed in black among whom explosions flared, scattering bits of human being onto the others, many of whom screamed and ran. The back of the onslaught had been broken and now, it was a chance for targets of opportunity, and many of the cube gunners who had lost friends took advantage for a wave of punishment that cut the ranks of the attackers further. Garan increased the chaos by winging his missiles into the clots of enemy gathered at the bases of the tenements, igniting material inside and adding to the smoke and confusion while sending panicked people fleeing the burning favelas. One missile blasted the contents of a tank of gasoline into a first floor level of shops, creating a blaze whose temperatures cracked the fragile concrete, sending the facade of the building cascading down onto the heads of the attackers, with the survivors fleeing in terror.

More importantly, a battle war raging on the radio. Panicked voices had been replaced by calm professional ones, but these had been displaced by a feral and atavistic bloodlust and rage. Garan considered suggesting moderation to conserve ammunition, but then recalled the vast stores that existed in storerooms on every floor, and so shrugged. Then an idea struck, and he clicked the radio.

“KILL! DESTROY! WIN!” he howled, and seconds later a renewed barrage descended to victimize the fleeing figures in black, who dissipated in the searing concussions. Garan leapt up from his position, and raced back inside the cube, bringing his weapon to bear on the figures below. Employees and citizens were still united there, but looked less confident, which they began to rectify by chanting slogans. Garan scanned quickly with his scope, looking for the most elusive target of all. Finally, he found what he sought: an open space behind the crowd. He tracked in his missile and was rewarded with an explosion in which no one died, but which illuminated the crowd from within with a yellow-orange flaring. Panic struck them, and they ran for cover, rushing into the arms of uniforms who, emboldened by the panic, were descending with predatory eyes.

As the smoke wafted through halls scattered with papers, discarded ammunition, used bandages and broken equipment, Garan made his way back to the committee room. Two uniforms at the door moved to stop him, then backed away from this exhaust-blackened man and his determined eyes.

“There have to be some changes,” he said to the elder, who rose to stop him, but felt a firm hand on his arm. The lesser members of the committee seemed divided into two groups, one with the old, and another with the new, or perhaps the ancient. The younger woman who had spoken to him on the radio vacillated, and he stared her down.

“If we are going to fight together,” said Garan, “we need to be defending something other than rules.”

***

An inversion of history occurred that day. As most know in their gut, where dread forms when all hope is lost, history is like a grinding wheel. Humans build objects of gleaming gold and shining silver, and then history grinds them down into a uniform surface, and eventually all that is left is bronze and then clay. History goes only one direction, which like entropy is toward too many options, at which point all of those options become about the same, the human spirit is broken, and people accept and rationalize the decay as strength. For history to go another direction, people must recall something from the time before, back when we were unselfconscious and moved like animals among the forest leaves, formed purely of intent connected to a sense that this whole experience of existence had some root in a gradual movement from the disordered to the ordered, an organic growth like trees reaching toward the light above, rising to excel. This animal spirit moved in Garan as he and the committee argued late into the night.

Ten years later, the inversion had become normalcy. The cubicle stood above an empty plane where tenements once stood but now were erased by violence and bulldozers. Its employees faced a new standard. Where in the past they were expected to avoid violating rules, now they were expected to uphold principles. As once they had been in fear of falling below a minimum, they now were scared of being too far from the maximum. For the first time in history, the cube had windows on its outside, and people looked not inward but out on a world to conquer.

Organized Right-Wing Violence is Now Morally Justified

Tuesday, August 15th, 2017

The shocking violence observed during the Unite The Right protest at Charlottesville caused a devastating self-critique by the Right under a chorus of Leftist applause. What made this such a divisive event was the violence, which cause the optics of the protest to go off-script, and provided the Left with a point of entry for an attack on the Alt Right.

Violence is part of my environment (in Africa) and so its appearance is just another day. But for those who intentionally worked hard at differentiating Unite The Right as non-violent, it was devastating, while the “other” literally enjoyed it. Police and Leftist counter-protesters worked together to sabotage the demonstration and incite violence.

These strong variations in opinion allowed for calls by National Security Adviser H.R. McMaster to call for the Alt Right to be classified as domestic terrorists by President Trump. There appears to be a serious chasm in communication between rightists and leftists that masks the Leftist narrative and this is compounded by a similar chasm between general protestors and their elected or appointed officials thousands of miles away.

Human history is full of non-violent protests, passive resistance and non-aggression pacts. This advances the narrative trope that moderates are peaceful while extremists are violent. But the fact of the matter is that violence is a moral affair. In reality, most violence arises from moral action, which shows that what we are dealing with here is different moral systems on the Right and Left.

Clearly the Left are active on a world-wide scale with aggression and violence; for example, South African communists have caused the country to be dubbed the “Protest Capital of the World”. We should also not forget that American armies under liberal guidance and in service to globalism have been killing people in at least seven countries.

All of these protests, wars and drone attacks have been justified with moral reasons. The counter-protest in Charlottesville did not need a permit because the Left was perceived to have enough moral justification not just to engage the original protestors, but to motivate and plan aggressive acts of urine catapults, violent assault and spraying down the Alt Right with mace. Government and media agree that Antifa holds the moral high ground because, as Leftists, they are “moderates” in the view that the Left wants to promote.

The Charlottesville counter-protest did not need an objective, it simply needed a signal to release an insane hatred on whoever was there, right-wing or otherwise. This is how herd dynamics work: one person signals, and the crowd rushes forward to smash whoever is indicated as an enemy of the ideals of the group, much like a gang or cult attacking with insect consensus.

Non-aggression will not work because competitive altruism has people trying to be more moral than one another, which means that anyone who acts out what is known as “moral” — in this time, Leftism — will be perceived as the moderate party, while anyone who dissents is viewed as the aggressor, even when defending themselves.

In future protest actions, the Alt Right will have to profess a willingness to be violent because the other side will be bringing violence. By doing so, we will assert a contrary morality and reject the morality that prioritizes Leftism. By stating our willingness to defend ourselves, we are saying that we have the moral high ground, and the others are wrong, therefore we are attacking their presumption of the moral high ground entirely.

The moral motivation for such a restoration of violence is that we are facing an abounding hatred and pervasive insanity permeating our first world society and wholly directed at the Right. Their morality is based in the individual. We need to target that violence and use it to replace traditional enemies like Communists or Nazis, and instead to demand that we as a society mobilize with organizational violence against those who are causing these disruptions. Their violence is personal; ours is in defense of order and our long-term future.

A world boxing champion always gets a chance to defend himself against the next contender, despite suffering temporary injury. Charlottesville has made it clear that even our non-aggressive protests will end in violence. While we do not seek violence, we must avoid non-aggression, because the violence has found us and will continue to do so until we win.

On Ethnic Violence

Saturday, July 1st, 2017

There are many things that will soon be part of our daily reality that we do not necessarily like, but when they become necessary, we will want to know the finer distinctions among the different varieties of them.

One such thing is political violence. It is necessary as self-defense and powerful as an attention-getter (sorry, “raising awareness”) which is the primary way to get anything done as a minority group in a democratic time.

It makes sense to see what we think of the different types of political violence. We could compare Dylann Roof, Columbine, Tim McVeigh, Ted Kaczynski, The Holocaust, Anders Breivik, the 16th Street Church bombing and for kicks, The Terror.

Dylann Roof and Columbine strike me as very similar. Both are essentially exaggerated suicides with a final strike against society at large. Columbine may have in fact been more ideological than people think: it was a rejection of the modern world and its weak social morality. Roof on the other hand was in the early stages of a racial awakening, which happens when one realizes that race and ethnicity are the root of culture, and that other groups are trying to eliminate your own.

He struck back, but did so by victimizing the surrogate of the problem, a group of African-descended Christians, instead of doing something like useful like shooting a bunch of pro-diversity Leftists or conservative cucks who insist on “compromising” with them. Columbine was closer to a classic “disturb the bourgeois middle class” by harming its sleeping members terrorism, and probably more effective; while it killed (relative) innocents, it did not victimize groups traditionally seen as disadvantaged and persecuted, so might be seen as sociopathic but not bullying.

The 16th Street Church bombing presented the worst optics that an anti-diversity action can have because it killed four children who were, like Roof’s targets, engaged in an activity most of us find defensible, which is attending church. Not only that, it was unclear what it hoped to achieve as political violence, since when one attacks weak points one looks weak. If it had blown up a group of Black Panthers, that might have made more sense, but not really since they are working toward the same nationalism — ethnic and racial separation — that white nationalists desire. Again, it would have made more sense to target those advocates within one’s own race who were working toward diversity.

The Holocaust™ is one of my least favorite acts of political violence as well. Instead of doing something sensible, like rounding up all Other and dumping them all in North Africa, the Nazis used them as labor and later helped finish off what American bombers, starvation and disease did not. Most of the outright killings occurred in Eastern Europe before the Nazis arrived, but strong signaling to the effect of “hand us your Jews and we’ll relocate them” could have staved that off. The Holocaust™ comes across as nothing but bullying and a pointless, symbolic quest against Judaism, when always with the West, Die Ewige Jude is within our souls and came onto us when we threw out monarchy for a mercantile, middle class egalitarian system.

Similarly, while Ted Kaczynski targeted industrialists who he saw as polluting the planet and advancing technological civilization, he blew up an awful lot of secretaries. He got some good targets as well, but the random nature of bombs made this less of a decisive victory than lying in wait with an M14 and popping them as they got their morning lattes in disposable cups. His terror was absolute, however, because so many people were potentially in his target group. Maybe some of them reconsidered their evil ways. Probably not; they just had their secretaries open their mail instead.

Columbine at least took the terror to those self-satisfied middle class families who are oblivious to everything but their stock portfolios, and therefore oppose long-term sensible policies in favor of short-term advances for the mercantile aspects of society. If we have a group that we should probably enslave, it is the middle class, who are just bright enough to be self-congratulatory about getting basic functions to work, but not intelligent enough to make a functional society in the long-term or understand the qualitative dimension of function and aesthetics. In fact, the middle class strike most of us as simply crass, doubly so at the upper middle class level, where a more refined taste still does not reach the level of appreciating the eternal and transcendent aspects of life. Even their religion tends to be materialist and functionalist.

Like Columbine, Tim McVeigh and Anders Breivik took the fight to the groups they identified as the source of the problem. Responding to a government that had, through incidents like Waco and Ruby Ridge, become a bully, Tim McVeigh threatened not the seat of power but its everyday employees, or the people who were ignoring what government had become in order to get a paycheck. He took out 168 bureaucrats who were proud of their role in expanding the power of government, and so unreflective were they that none even reconsidered their role in government, but others did. Since that time, fewer people of good family and ability have been going into government, which means that it now requires fifty idiots to do the work that one person once did. Democracy as usual, unfortunately. Breivik targeted Leftists, and strikes me as the most effective example of political violence in the raised the cost of being Leftist, most notably to parents, ensuring that future generations back off of being Leftist as a social convention. It is like knowing that there is a fox in the raspberry patch; the parents of good little squirrels no longer let them play in there, and this gradually removes the raspberry from the squirrel diet.

Of course, The Terror was even more effective because it announced to a whole society that you either got on board with the new ideology or could be killed as a family based merely on hearsay. Whole families were herded to the guillotine, spat on, tortured and killed in front of jeering crowds. If your neighbor had a business you wanted, you went to a magistrate and swore that he supported the aristocracy, and then they hauled him off and killed him and you could seize his business as payment for informing on him. It also made terror an instrument of control over the Left itself, since purity spirals ended up sending those who were insufficiently fanatical to the guillotine, creating a natural selection that favored extremists who were unconcerned with factual or logical truth. The Leftists really are the best at political violence, but maybe deporting a few million of their True Believers to Dubai or Brazil will form a new kind of political violence, one that is less violent but more intimidating.

American Anarchist (2016)

Friday, June 23rd, 2017

“I am happiest where I do not belong, where I am an outsider looking in.” William Powell, who wrote The Anarchist Cookbook in 1969 at age 19, reflects on his life in this lengthy documentary which seems almost like a therapy session trying to make him take responsibility for his words.

While many of us have doubts that publishing information about how to construct weapons of warfare is in any way a bad thing, The Anarchist Cookbook is more than a list of recipes. It is also a screed against the government, society and humanity in general. It is only fitting that its author was a complete outsider.

Director Charlie Siskel (nephew of Gene Siskel of movie review fame) takes us through the prerequisites for alienation: a Western European father who married a Southern European woman, life in England until a sudden move brought him back to the states, an unsteady relationship with his family and finally, a world coming apart in the late 1960s. He refers to it as an apocalyptic time.

The uncontroversial facts come out through interviews, family pictures and films, and montages of the era. A troubled but wealthy child who had been expelled from his private school for marijuana and vodka consumption, Powell moved to New York in his teens, got a job at a bookstore known for selling controversial works, then went into the massive New York Public Library at night to research what would become The Anarchist Cookbook. He cobbled together military manuals and previous works on subversion and sabotage into a giant list of everything one might need to overthrow the government, as he encourages people to do in the book.

Siskel probes Powell repeatedly on variations of the question with which the movie begins, which is essentially whether he feels culpability. Powell offers an interesting response. Although he claims the agency was with others, he expresses remorse for writing the book and what it has caused, but not regret. Indeed, we get the impression that he would do it again if he could.

What comes out in his words is that Powell is not so different from the people, like the Columbine shooters, who used his book: he wanted revenge on the world, and once he had sent the book into the world, he wanted a normal life with no responsibility to the rest of society except what he got paid for with his educational NGO.

The portrait that comes across in the documentary is of a man who has no connection to his world. Having married an Asian wife, he moved away from the United States and claimed to be uncomfortable there, living instead in rural France when not in Africa or Asia with his organization. (Powell died in 2016, about a month after the film finished shooting, although his voice in it is comprised of interviews done during a single week in 2015.)

Although not a sociopath, he seems detached, but likeable for his ready wit and insight. After all, this is the man who invented the term cuck when he wrote: “There is no place for emotionally or politically cuckolded people in the society I speak of. Survival of the fittest.”

If you think that makes him potentially a right-winger, he addressed that as well: “There is no justice left in the system. The only real justice is that which the individual creates for himself, and the individual is helpless without a gun. This may sound like the dogma expounded by radical right-wing groups, like the Minute Men. It is.” Elsewhere he opines: “Allow your love of freedom to overcome the false values placed on human life. For the only method to communicate with the enemy is to speak on his own level, using his own terms. Freedom is based on respect, and respect is earned by the spilling of blood.”

In interviews subsequent to the publication of the book, but not in the movie, he identified a fear of the draft and the war in Vietnam as a motivating force at the time he wrote the book. His Leftist credentials are solid however: like too many conservatives, he speaks in French Revolution language about the importance of freedom and the individual choosing what is true for himself.

American Anarchist, tightly edited and with an unobtrusive but powerful soundtrack, looks deep into William Powell and pulls away an image of a man who was more like the society he detested than he wanted to admit. Detached, morally neutral — it seems as if he wrote the book to be a hit because it was what the times called for — and seemingly completely unaware of himself, he resembles the loose cannon of the book itself.

While this movie references the events of forty-five years ago, it also brings up timely reminders. Sociopaths stalk the streets, the youth are (still, tediously) restless, and it seems like the world is heading to the end. Indirectly, American Anarchist offers us a moral parable of the accountability we face for our actions, even if only sentimentally and much removed from the events they help trigger.

The Panic At MSCCCP Is Really Good News

Wednesday, June 21st, 2017

So Joe Scarborough has finally decided that violence against his former political party, The GOP, that recently occurred in Alexandria, VA was a bad thing.

It showed up in an outside organization’s ad against Jon Ossoff and even before the results came in last night, he knew this one left a mark. When the Democratic Party loses elections over it, then violence is bad. When Twitter is an example of Marxian groupthink that grosses out typical Americans, MSCCCP turns on Twitter.

No, it wasn’t Samuel L. Jackson calling on Georgia voters to unleash furious anger on behalf of Jon Ossoff.

No, what stopped the Democratic Party’s “better candidate” was Jon Ossoff.

This advertisement needs to run against every Democrat running for every office. They need to answer it in some constructive fashion. If you don’t want a Civil War in Amerika, the Left needs to be punished for their rhetorical support for killing Conservatives that helped fuel the blessedly inept rampage of the Bernie Bro Shooter in Alexandria, VA. There is only one way to hold a political organization accountable in a Democracy. You have to directly challenge a behavior of theirs’ that you do not approve of in a way that causes then to lose elections.

Speak to them the language they really comprehend. Your views will mean nothing in a Democracy until you air them in a fashion that alters the outcomes of elections and thereby changes the power structure. Your brain only counts in a Democracy if you make it count by either supporting or threatening somebody’s power. Therefore, Democracy, by it’s nature; invites at least some level of conflict. It is the kiddie pool version of the politics of who/whom.

Worse than that, it is the gateway drug. As overprescribed opioids are to Heroin, Democracy is to Socialism. You therefore have to be able to use both the First Amendment and The Second Amendment to defend yourself and those that you love against American Democracy. You use the First Amendment judiciously and effectively, so that you are not forced upon recourse to the Second One. You avoid having it be a game of the politics of who/whom involving firearms by socially criminalizing deliberate physical intimidation and violence.

The rhetoric of “Get in their face.” “Don’t bring a knife to a gun fight.” “Push back twice as hard!” “Resist them by all means possible.” This rhetoric may be sincerely hyperbolic rather than mandative. However, not all people receive messages the way they are intended to be sent. Communications can be a challenging art. People who already want to shoot one another over differences of race, religion, nationality, gender or opinion, will hear “Resist them by all means possible” and assume they are green to open fire on the enemy. This has nothing to do with whether Barack, Hillary or even The Bern really believe that the road to Hell is paved with dead, white Conservatives.

So we fight back by putting it right in front of those voters exactly what their lives will be like if they reward this sort of Liberal rhetoric. Make the electorate toss off Ossoff today, and you may not have to medevac the next Congressman Scalise tomorrow. Make the cost of deliberately toeing the edge of hate speech escalate so that Liberals stop doing it. If fewer people are revved up for war by MSCCCP, war is a lot less likely to be interested in you. That is all.

American Police De-Mask Antifa As A Means Of Preserving Social Order

Saturday, April 29th, 2017

Police in Berkeley, California came to an amazing conclusion: since police in Auburn, AL avoided political violence by simply unmasking Antifa, if police in Berkeley did not do the same, they could well be liable in lawsuits for negligence. So the cops ordered the masks off, and the violence dropped way down:

Leftists always use anonymity to bully individuals, where Rightists tend to use it to get the word out about things that would otherwise be censored. As a result, “empowering” protestors by allowing them to wear masks and bring bike locks to protests results in violence, which inverts its purpose in protecting free speech into destruction of free speech through Leftist violence.

Why Gun Control Is A Failed Agenda

Monday, September 19th, 2016

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A former CIA agent reveals some of the secrets of self-protection, and in doing so, makes a profound argument about gun control and its futility:

Taking guns away from people and making it harder to get them obviously does no good, because it only keeps honest people from having guns … criminals will always find a way to get guns no matter what laws are made.

The more technology for machining guns in small workshops spreads, the more likely this is to be an issue. The real game-changer is not 3D printers, but machine tools that accept designs from CAD programs, which means that great firearms of the past can be replicated from free designs.

Those who have read this blog for some time know that for every Leftist agenda like gun control, there is another problem they are trying to conceal, distract and deflect from. In this case, the problem is dysgenics and class warfare, which has resulted in legions of people too mentally incompetent to use guns:

I carry a gun on a daily basis and I believe guns would save lives if every responsible person carried one. (The key word being “responsible” people.)

How many responsible people do we have left in the West? For someone to be responsible, they need to have the physical wiring to anticipate the results of their actions (highish IQ) and the moral fortitude to care about those consequences, plus the incentive to do so, which does not exist under diversity, because no one can say that those who will be affected by a stray shot are necessarily “their” people.

While the Leftist agenda of gun control seems designed to aid tyranny, and it may well be, its fundamental goal is pacifism. It wants to make all people equal by removing the ability of any individual to resist the herd by force. In so doing, like most Leftist programs, it ends up creating a new criminal elite who rule because they are not befuddled by the lies, distractions and concealments (maskirovka).

Why Western Europeans Are Unfazed By Terrorism: It Happens Daily

Sunday, July 31st, 2016

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Although most of the people living in Austin, Texas are parasites living off easy government jobs or moronic carny culture, it is disturbing to see a mass shooting in the midst of its blithe-vapid party nexus:

He said the Sixth Street incident was believed to have begun after a disturbance between two individuals led one of them to shoot into the crowd.

A woman, believed to be in her 20s, died on the scene. Four other people were shot, three of them women believed to be in their 30s, who were taken to University Medical Center Brackenridge. The other person injured, a man, refused to be taken to hospital. Commander Mike Benavides of Austin-Travis County emergency services said the women had serious but non-life threatening injuries.

The gunman, believed to be a light-skinned black or Hispanic male, escaped,Manley said.

Other than the occasional white school or workplace shooter, the violent crime in America is generally pepetrated by minorities and minority-admixed whites like the Irish (Middle Eastern), Italians/Greeks (Middle Eastern), Slavs (Asiatic). Remove those, and leave the original Western European mix, and you have a low-crime environment like Scandinavia before it opened its borders to Americans and every other kind of immigrant.

Others go into their reasoning for why this disparity exists, but a simpler and more direct analysis is to point out that in a society designed by Western Europeans for Western Europeans, those who are not Western European will never feel at home and in control of their destiny. They are always a conquered, captive and subjugated population by virtue of the fact that their people did not design and create the society in which they live. The natural human tendency is to lash out.

Instead of blaming these groups for their crimes, it makes sense to see the crime as an effect of an underlying cause, which is the psychological, moral and social instability of diversity as a policy. Remove diversity, and all of this madness goes away, and Western Europeans can stop enslaving themselves to the futile task of keeping the multiculture barely functional and subsidizing it.

Every Western European who spends his days as a police officer, a public servant or a business person takes on the burden of making many exceptions to the obvious and necessary so that the multiculture can survive within a society where it otherwise has zero relevance. The reason that political correctness is so strong is that this task is thankless and perpetually incomplete, so requires people to go into a psychotic level of denial in order not to feel that their civilization is collapsing around them.

Our lax response to terrorism arises from this state. We are accustomed to everyday violence and to living by being in denial of it, so the fact that the terrorist attacks are slightly more intense — usually a factor of three times your average ghetto gun battle — does not faze us. We are already worn down by the constant violent crime that has fractured our society since the late 1950s.

Despite that, until the great push for massive integration in the 1970s, there were still many areas entirely separate from this dysfunction. These pleasant enclaves were not all wealthy, merely of a single ethnicity, and not all of them were white, either. When we see photos of these places now, they look naïve to us because every single object in them is not designed to resist theft, vandalism, public defecation and other signs of our decline.

Since that time, and especially in the 1990s with the Great Leap Forward on diversity, that America has vanished, replaced by a place that looks like we turned a prison inside-out and painted the normal areas with it. Safety glass, bollards, chains, alarm systems and private security are everywhere as diversity tears us apart, much as it has done to every group of people foolish enough to make it policy.

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