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Am I a Nationalist? No, I’m an Englishman.

Written by UNWAShED.

I’ve never fallen for labels before. When I fell in love with punk rock, it never made me want to spike my hair in a mohawk and wear studded sweatbands. I’ve always loved the guitar work of Dimebag Darrell whilst maintaing that metalheads, without exception, look ridiculous. Not once have I ever been a sucker for a label, trend, or fad. Since the days of emo I’ve been able to smell them a mile off, always used to sell products or push ideological conformity. Labels crush independent thought, and should be avoided at all costs.

I’ve always known this, so why did I forget? Probably because I thought western civilization depended on it, like all the others.

Discovering my identity as a ‘nationalist‘, I felt that same fervor of commitment that I’d always managed to see right through before. I’d found a community that could give me purpose, and since I was shedding so much of my old life in the process, the idea of adapting my behaviour to fit the herd didn’t seem as treacherous to my own personal sense of self as it does now. Porn, gay marriage, left-handedness, all these things I’d previously been perfectly tolerant of were simply part of Satan’s toolkit, and I hadn’t been able to see it. How could I trust my own judgement when I’d been so wrong about so much for so long? There’s nothing wrong with taking moral guidance from those who’ve been around longer.

“Punching Right” is the most essential thing anyone on the Right can do. Leftists are populists because leftism is predicated on egalitarianism first and foremost, and the Right is elitist because it holds the inverse principle in equally high regard.”


Any talk of concern-trolling or punching right or whatever directly translates to “lower your standards”. The Right IS standards, that is what it IS.

You don’t need much more than a few high caliber men to change the world, and sometimes you only really need one. “Making exceptions” in light of this is not only irrational, but completely fucking caustic and counterintuitive to cultivating a serious right wing community of any kind.

Franz Schubert

Why do I criticise my own side and ‘punch right‘? The same reason a friend doesn’t let a friend skip leg day, I don’t want you going out there looking like a dick. And I invite harsh, harsh criticism on myself. Modernity feminised me, and internet shit-slinging has served to toughen me up a bit. I welcome, and embrace it.

The idea that you should never criticize your own team is so obviously dysgenic. Whilst left-wing socialists will cater to people’s pronoun demands and obscure forms of phonophobia (e.g. the fear of clapping), national socialists will complain about what they term ‘infighting‘, but I would term ‘warning‘. One man’s pragmatist is another man’s bad faith actor.

And whilst the tendency to ‘shut their mouths for the sake of nationalism‘ is one thing, the purity spiralling is a whole different ball game.

To be a good, proper nationalist you must:

  • Have at least 3 white children and a wife with no history of pre-marital sex and absolutely no non-European DNA.
  • Run a weekly stream to chat shit about ZOG.
  • Work a 40-hour physical job shirtless.
  • Bench your own bodyweight.
  • Box.
  • Slonk 18 raw eggs a day.
  • Get those tattoos removed.
  • Be literate in the complete works of Oswald Spengler, Julius Evola, William Luther Pierce and George Lincoln Rockwell.
  • Have absolutely no history of transvestisism in any form.

You must also do all of this with your identity hidden, because if you do it publicly a rather bizarre group of anonymous manchildren who congregate in a corner of telegram called xxxviigang will trawl through your old Facebook and Instagram photos all the way back to your 18th birthday looking for infractions.

Nationalists, above all their other principles, should ‘love their people‘, and that means warts and all. The entire indigenous population. Can nationalists truly bring themselves to love the pampered, metropolitan cat-ladies of extinction rebellion, or the scrounging, grotesque underclass of Benefits Street? Considering the animosity they (and perhaps even us at VILE) display towards classical liberals, the Tommy Robinson movement, and heaven forbid Corbyn’s BDS-minded support base, I somehow doubt it.

Was Carl Benjamin doing England a service by taking a whopping audience of demonised young men trampled by fourth-wave feminism, and red-pilling them on the European Union? Or was the only Englishman who bothered to burst off the internet and into the real world just a fifth column sent to ruin UKIP.

How about Gerard Batten, led to ritualistic slaughter in front of the MSM time and time again for being the only televised party leader to speak about Pakistani rape gangs? Well no, Tommy’s a Zionist, so fuck Gerard.

Online nationalism (or perhaps internet-based politics as a whole) is based on a dog-eat-dog/holier-than-thou heirarchy. Whilst YouTube still allowed dissident voices to flourish, you could stake your place in the heirarchy by sticking it into a milder, yet more prominent voice. The alt-right managed to convert thousands, perhaps millions, of open minds by demonstrating the inconsistencies of sceptics, libertarians, and race-deniers. I myself was no different; channels like Triggernometry were low-hanging fruit, and a simple, laughable common enemy to rally around.

But everyone’s banned now. The 45th President of the United States’ tweets have been memory-holed forever, and dissident voices are even being booted from DLive and Bitchute. Censorship is total. The parties over.

And with the total clampdown on true speech surpassing any and all previous iterations of Bolshevisim, I find myself in a sticky situation. Yes, I care about the demographic trajectory of the native British. But I care about the complete denial of basic civil liberties much, much more. Britain needs to break out of the house arrest, and we’re going to need the help of the anti-racist masses to do it.

Take the race question off the table, and just focus on who the most prominent, active, anti-lockdown voices are.

Now let’s play compare and contrast. Illegal immigration has tripled since Brexit, the experimental medical trial without consent continues unabated, and our entire parliament from left to right, backed up by a media elite, is ‘committed to diversity.’ And their physiognomy?

The most British man in this lineup is a Jewish Turk.

Just as with Brexit, the fight for our freedoms is nationalists vs. globalists, people vs. elites, natives vs. outsiders. And just like with Brexit, the race question may not be so helpful in the short term.

In reality, Brexit is a damp squib, fudged by an elite who were never going to enact the will of the people. But as a cultural victory, the referendum result sent shock waves around the world that set the stage for everything that’s come since. And we wouldn’t have bagged 17.4million votes without the middle-class ‘economic‘ argument.

Am I a nationalist? No, I could never live up to such a preposterous book of rules, and nor do I want to. I’m an Englishman. But if nationalists proclaim to ‘love their people‘, they’re going to need to learn to love me. They’re going to need to learn to love any and all race-blind cucks who are fighting for our freedoms. They’re going to need to love the chav underclass who simply will not be told what to do. They’re going to need to learn the lefties who have suddenly taken an interest in ‘the right to protest‘. They’re going to need to learn to love the English.

Nationalists: Love your people. Even Laurence Fox.

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