Steve Sailer says what everybody knows but nobody admits.
Wow, that will definitely heighten awareness among Today’s Youth of Color: Harry Belafonte! Don’t let anybody tell you the NAACP is the National Association for the Advancement of Certain People resting on their laurels.
And it’s amazing how quickly recent immigrants latch on to the We Are Colored Victims trope.
How could they have forgotten America’s litany of historic crimes against Sikhs?
As I said, just an internal squabble among the Crust, using the underclass (and their own kids) as tools and dupes — a more-disorganized-than-usual bit of Street Theater.
So, they are organizing the logistics of their campout: How many different kinds of recycling bins should we have? That sort of thing. Middle class white people find this kind of self-organizing to be pretty fascinating. It also bores the heck out of most minorities and non-middle class whites, which has the salutary effect of driving away undesirables.
Heh.
The obvious model for this is the successful Burning Man campouts that take place each September on a godforsaken dry lake bed in Nevada. A bunch of naked white hippies do a pretty fine job of setting up a huge community for one week each year. (My cousin, the tough hippie, goes there every year, and now his octogenarian mother, a lifelong outdoorswoman, wants to go to Burning Man, too.)
Let’s them blow off steam and forget for a week that NOBODY ELSE GIVES A SHIT ABOUT THEIR PATHETIC ADOLESCENT WHINING.
Burning Man started out in San Francisco, but moved to the middle of nowhere for various reasons, one unmentionable one being: barriers to entry. Ticket prices are now a few hundred dollars for entry, plus the cost of travel and camping equipment. That keeps out the petty criminals, homeless guys, gang-bangers, and other predators, parasites, and losers. Old San Francisco hippies remember, even if they won’t mention it, what kept the Haight-Ashbury Summer of Love in 1967 from continuing: criminals, especially black criminals from the Fillmore district, discovered, to their delight, that drugged-up white hippie chicks were easy prey. So Haight Ashbury went from a utopian middle class scene to a dystopian underclass one in weeks. Hence, it’s really expensive to get to Burning Man now.
Reality always intrudes upon left-wing fantasy. If you own the country and its guns, you can stretch it out for a bit, as the old Marxist-Leninists found out, but eventually either it all comes apart, as the old Soviet Union discovered, or you hold the note and change the key, as the Chinese eventually decided.
Unlike some people, I remember the sixties and seventies, when such demonstrations were the social herpes of college campuses — they’d go into remission for months, only to break out in embarrassing sores when it was most inconvenient for the uninfected.
Read any of the hippy memoirs of the 1964-1974 period and you’ll find that the Voices of the People spent most of their time wrangling over political posturing while badmouthing the Judean People’s Front deviationists. It was very amusing if you were over for a visit but didn’t have to live there, and inexpressibly tedious if you had to step over the dogpiles while trying to get to work.
(I’ve always loved their use of the word ‘demonstration’ — it encapsulates the truth that these gatherings were only for show and didn’t represent an actual working version suitable for production.)