Majorityrights Central > Category: Race realism

by Alexander Baron

Recently, while doing some totally non-controversial research into contemporary music, I happened upon a website called 100GreatBlackBritons; I was led there by the name Phil Lynott. I was surprised to find his name on this site, because although I knew he was born in Britain, I have never regarded him as great in that context. I have been a Thin Lizzy fan since I first heard Whiskey In The Jar way back in the early 1970s, and have studied no less than three biographies of the man.

Phil Lynott was one of a kind, along with Rory Gallagher he is unarguably the most influential figure in Irish rock music. Thin Lizzy hailed from Dublin, and Lynott himself often claimed to be Irish born and bred. In March 1973, articles in Melody Maker and New Musical Express said he was born at Dublin and in the Irish Republic respectively; the former gave his date of birth as August 20 1951. In fact, Philip Parris Lynott was born in the Hallam Hospital, West Bromwich, the illegitimate son of an Irish Catholic teenager and a Negro civil servant. Although black, or technically half-black, he was totally assimilated, paying only lip service to his Negroid roots by writing a mere handful of songs with racial themes, mostly early on in his career. In his personal as well as his musical life he was surrounded by white people, and was totally accepted by them as he grew up between Manchester and Dublin. It is doubtful if he ever experienced racism, even if such an entity existed.

Although renouncing his British identity, Lynott was not in any way ashamed of it; he identified with Ireland for mystical reasons, primarily his fascination with Irish history and legend, which is reflected in many of his songs. This romanticising flowed over into his personal life; he liked to claim his father was a Brazilian seaman, but in January 1976, after rising star Phil and his band were featured in the popular weekly Titbits, Cecil Parris materialised. Rather than a character from an Errol Flynn film, he appears to have been more like Del Boy out of Only Fools And Horses. They did not meet again.

Phil Lynott was the archetypal rock star – live fast, die young. He succumbed to septicemia and multiple organ failure in January 1986, the result of his addiction to heroin. Although not the greatest bass player in the world, he was a competent rock musician, but his true strength was as a writer/composer. A lot of his songs, even the more commercially oriented, have deeper meanings, and to call him the High Poet of Irish Rock is no exaggeration. But was he a great man?

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by The Narrator

The following text was written by Thomas Jefferson two centuries ago. The subject: blacks. His observations and conclusions look surprisingly fresh and modern in both the good and bad sense.

For example the first president of the Banana Republic of North America comes to mind when Jefferson states:

They astonish you with strokes of the most sublime oratory….But never yet could I find that a black had uttered a thought above the level of plain narration….He is often happy in the turn of his compliments, and his style is easy and familiar, except when he affects a Shandean fabrication of words. But his imagination is wild and extravagant, escapes incessantly from every restraint of reason and taste, and, in the course of its vagaries, leaves a tract of thought as incoherent and eccentric, as is the course of a meteor through the sky. His subjects should often have led him to a process of sober reasoning: yet we find him always substituting sentiment for demonstration.

The existence of rap and hip-hop seems quite natural, as centuries ago it is observed that blacks:

In music…are more generally gifted than the whites with accurate ears for tune and time, and they have been found capable of imagining a small catch. Whether they will be equal to the composition of a more extensive run of melody, or of complicated harmony, is yet to be proved.

Indeed the verdict is still out.

His most profound observation on them, though, is at the heart of why any kind of social/political/religious agreement or mutual understanding with them is impossible. He writes of them:

They are more ardent after their female: but love seems with them to be more an eager desire, than a tender delicate mixture of sentiment and sensation. Their griefs are transient. Those numberless afflictions, which render it doubtful whether heaven has given life to us in mercy or in wrath, are less felt, and sooner forgotten with them. In general, their existence appears to participate more of sensation than reflection.

Most interesting of all though is Jefferson’s seeming moments of slipping into sentimental leftism that seems a habit of some Whites. For example, of black crime he writes (the very modern looking apologetic):

That disposition to theft with which they have been branded, must be ascribed to their situation, and not to any depravity of the moral sense.

Of course, as their situation has changed much over the past two hundred years while their proclivity towards crime remained unabated, we can see the faulty conclusion of Jefferson’s appraisal. It’s his motivation for writing such that is of interest, though.

In his concluding sentence we can see the all too familiar appeal to religion and a murky notion of “social justice” as Jefferson writes:

The spirit of the master is abating, that of the slave rising from the dust, his condition mollifying, the way I hope preparing, under the auspices of heaven, for a total emancipation, and that this is disposed, in the order of events, to be with the consent of the masters, rather than by their extirpation.

Naturally that can also be read as a warning. Still it’s interesting to see Jefferson do what so many in our own time do in coming to a natural conclusion on the obvious differences in the races, yet flirting with the idea that he wishes it were not so and that it will one day, miraculously, go away.

Like so many Whites of modern North America, Thomas Jefferson makes reasonable deductions based on an abundance of study and observations on the undeniable and profound fact of the multitude of differences in the races, yet still wishes to imagine that it will all resolve itself in some egalitarian utopia at some unspecified future date under some mysterious bit of magical circumstance.

The text is interesting not in so much as it represents a mirror image of our thoughts as modern White Americans, but as more of an old home movie of how those thoughts used to look.

Here it is in full.

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by Happy Cracker

Why is it that the glimpse of a related physiognomy opens so innocently the floodgates of affection? Why is so much of our ‘liking’ dependent on the face of the person we interact with?

I had a chance to ponder this last month, as I filled a temporary position working for a catering company, and interacting with several thousand party guests - each of whom I had to greet, make small talk with, answer their questions and hand them off to be seated. I myself was determined - regardless of the type of person I was interacting with - to be a non-stop fountain of charm. I did my best to smile as wide, and think as warmly of the other person as possible. This is a technique I’ve learned to convey the most positive image to the other person: think about them as warmly as possible. And although I am committed to the 14 words and the existence of my people, I don’t think giving lukewarm receptions to wogs is going to advance the white cause. So I did everything possible to beam charm at everything that came before my eyes. I looked into thousands of faces, always the same eye contact, and performed the same motions thousands of times.

What I discovered is that physiognomy reigns over us - pre-determining the trajectory of our interactions far more than we would like. There are secret stores of human affection whose access is restricted based on physiognomy - and these secret stores don’t represent gifts which one is conscious of, and thus eager to distribute fairly, but primordial feelings of liking, which spring up innocently from within us and are beyond conscious control. They are thus hard to quantify - it is even hard for people to recognize the subtle influence these feelings have on their dealings with others, in the case of people with limited introspection.

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Warfare as waged by Sub-Saharan Africans is significantly more chaotic and excessively brutal than that which was known historically in Europe. In order to get a taste for what African warfare entails, I catalogued some passages from a 1999 Human Rights Watch report  on the RUF’s massacre in Sierra Leone.

Some of the readership will wonder what connection this has to political theory or our situation in the West.  Well, there are several, but let me suggest just one. We have to cultivate a more coarse, and less squeemish sensibility for all things. We have to be able to look every truth in the face, regardless of whether it’s aesthetically pleasing. This is a lesson in itself, to halt the recoil of aesthetic reflexes and digest the ugliness of the world without flinching and without conceptual cushioning. Don’t draw back into your Victorian or Edwardian citadel - these people now live amongst us. Let us, instead, look at them in an unflattering but not uncharacteristic moment, as they slay each other in their natural habitat.

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Steve Jones, the professional professorial race-denier and friend to snails in and out of the Labour Party, has been guiding the insufficiently universalist Telegraph reader away from harmful thoughts.

Stevie-baby is an interesting case.  All through his career he has exemplified the triumph of leftist politics over scientific integrity.  But as the haplotype blocks relinquish their secrets it is becoming much harder for him to operate.  These days he mostly confines himself to soft targets.

He first came to my attention in the late 1990s when BBC Radio 4’s “Today”, always keen for a bit of white-race baiting, regularly turned to him for expert wiseacreage.  He was just required to mouth a few pieties, condemn racism and genetic determinism and kill off all complaint with a few forbidding words like “chromosome” and “mytochondrial”.  The listening audience, presumably floored, was left to embrace the nearest wonderful human being in any skin colour but white.

It’s strange how memory dances around the detail, but I remember one “Today” interview from the late 1990s involving Jones the Gene and an expert, unusually, from the other side of the argument.  The subject was the then-imminent effort to crack the human genome.  I heard the broadcast while on the return leg of the morning school run.  I can remember being caught in traffic in Seaford at the time - not an intellectually stimulating environment.  But I was certainly stimulated when Our Steve’s opponent, whose name I do not recall, caught him cold with a straight right, “The race debate is over,” he said, “Our side is proved to have been right all along.”

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