The collective white guilt

In light of recent political events, this may seem a somewhat controversial, even dangerous subject. But that won’t stop me. It never will. The truth must be spoken.

The white race is suffering from a terrible malaise, a sickness that has hung around its neck for decades. This is the collective guilt for the actions of our ancestors, for slavery and colonialism, for the Great British Empire and others. In our multicultural society, it seems the celebration and pride in the white race is hidden behind guilty looks and disapproving pc-morons. Whereas black and asian communities are known for celebrating their roots, their traditions and culture, it seems we shy away from doing this ourselves.

Why is this? The immediate answer that jumps to mind is a deep-rooted terror and paranoia over anything that seems close to Nazism. But racial pride is NOT racial supremacy. A man can show pride in his race without believing it superior to all others. To further illustrate this problem, new UFC Heavyweight Champion, the Mexican-born Cain Velasquez, has a tattoo across his chest proclaiming, in big, bold letters, simply “Brown Pride.” Racial pride is no bad thing, so long as it doesn’t move into supremacy, but that’s not the problem. The problem, as far as I see, is the hypocrisy of people’s reaction to the tattoo. Velasquez is praised for his pride in his culture and heritage, but what would happen if say, Keith Jardine- a shaven-headed white guy- stepped  out with “White Pride” emblazoned across his flesh? The reaction, I’m sure, would be very different.

Perhaps this malaise is a side-effect of the permeation of the New Testament Christian theology throughout western society, destroying the Nietzschean noble morality in favour of the weak, submissive slave morality. But the effect of the forgiveness-religions are not restricted to the west, or by racial lines.

The complete answer is no doubt long and complex, but in an age where boundaries look increasingly likely to be redrawn along continental lines, where greedy, corrupt little politicians in Brussels threaten to undermine the very notion of a sovereign state and independent country, I hope we can recover from this sickness before it is too late.   

REVIEW: The Forgotten Legion- Ben Kane

The turbulent history of ancient Rome has become a popular subject of late, with books, TV shows and films popping up consistently. Ben Kane’s The Forgotten Legion takes a slightly different tune than most.

Set in the latter years of the Republic, as the First Triumvirate of Caesar, Pompey and Crassus struggled for power, it centres on four main characters whose stories weave together in a fascinating way.

Romulus is a fiery young slave, sold to the Ludus (a gladiator school) at fourteen by his harsh master, who becomes disgusted by the practice of slavery in Rome and, inspired by the tale of Sparatacus, harbours a deep desire to lead a similar slave revolt. His twin-sister, Fabiola, is at the same time sold to a brothel, though her quest is more personal- discover the identity of the noble who raped her mother years ago, and exact revenge.

In his time at the Ludus, Romulus becomes close friends with Brennus, a fearsome Gaulish fighter and sole survivor of the Allobroges tribe, haunted by the Roman destruction of his people, and the killing of his younger brother, his wife and his child.

Finally, Traquinius, an Etruscan haruspex (or soothsayer) is introduced early on, but only about halfway through the story does he encounter Romulus and Brennus. He is driven by the need to preserve the legacy of his race and vocation, which have been all but subsumed into the Roman culture.

There is some feeling of stock character types to them- the fiery, noble youngster; the proud old warrior and mentor; the wizened mystic and the beautiful, tragic young woman. However, Kane weaves their stories together in a compelling fashion that overrides these concerns easily. Of course, readers of Bahktin will probably see the connection to his concept of how all folk tales- the source of our modern stories- are made up of the same set of character types, but that’s a question for another day.

One of the interesting things about this novel is that, though it begins in Rome, by the end of the book, the three male characters are half the world away, on the furthest fringes of the Parthian empire. I won’t spoil how they got there, but suffice to say that they are swept up in the disastrous invasion of Parthia by Crassus.

Fabiola, meanwhile, keeps us updated with events in Rome and provides an anchor to the adventures of Romulus, Brennus and Tarquinius, reminding the reader of where this story truly centres. By acquiring Brutus, Caesar’s closest friend and ally, as a lover, Fabiola gives the reader a glimpse into the goings on at the highest echelons of Roman politics and society. Also, by forming a relationship between a fictional character and a historical figure, Kane adds a sense of realism and involvement that might otherwise have been missing.  

Now, it is clear from the outset that this is going to be a long and involved tale. Standing at some 500 pages, this is just the first in a series. As the final sentence comes to a close, you realise the story has only just begun, leaving the reader with a deep desire to simply go out and buy the next book so one can continue reading with barely a pause. Job done there then.

Some reviewers have picked up on a few historical inaccuracies, however, though I am usually a stickler for detail and realism in my historical fiction, here this doesn’t overly bother me. The story is compelling enough and the backdrop- Crassus’ invasion and the struggles of the Triumvirate- are accurate enough to avoid grating.

However, there were two things that did jar slightly. Firstly, the consistent and startling accuracy of Tarquinius’ prophecies, made from examining weather patterns and animal guts. This asks for a suspension of belief that may be a little too much, and seems to direct the flow of the story. However, this small bugbear does little to detract from the quality of the novel.

Secondly, Fabiola’s quest for information regarding the noble who raped her mother- and who therefore, we are told, is father to herself and Romulus- leads to suspicion falling on Julius Caesar, yet to make an actual appearance in the tale (something I have a feeling will be coming later on). Of course, I cannot truly know what kind of man Gaius Julius Caesar was, but nothing I have read about him implies he was a rapist. Having said that, the Roman culture was far removed from our own, and a young patrician raping a slave wouldn’t be considered worthy of a mention.

Overall, this is an intriguing and compelling opening to what promises to be a truly epic saga- I look forward to reading the next instalment.

The death of masculinity: what the fuck is wrong with the male race?

We’ve all seen them. We see them every day. Whether it’s some fake-tanned prissy boy with his designer gear, fancy highlights and shiny diamond stud, or some skinny emo kid wearing his mums pants and eyeliner, crying about how nobody understands him, it cannot be denied that the male race is at an all-time low.

It seems that notions of masculinity and manliness have drastically changed in our society. Now, it’s the norm for guys to use make-up and have manicures. I even saw on one guy carrying a Burberry fucking handbag! Not a rucksack, or even a satchel, but a frigging handbag. I laughed so hard it hurt.

Now, I’m all for freedom of expression and individuality. Truth be told, I’m probably somewhat off the ‘norm’ myself. I express myself how I see fit, and don’t give too shits about what society has to say about it.

I also like to fart and burp, to scratch my nuts and talk about tits. That’s when men do.

But now we come to the source of the problem. I cannot help but think that the overwhelming majority of guys who partake in the current metrosexual fad do so simply because it is the ‘in-thing’, it is what’s ‘cool’ right now. These vacuous morons would probably dress up as smurfs and act like they had tourrettes if some magazine told them it was cool or some celebrity started doing it.

The implications, however, are far worse than the tame submission to the ever-changing social and cultural standards and norms that have plagued the masses throughout history.

The fundamental traits of masculinity- strength, courage, self-sufficiency and, of course, the urge to procreate (though no socio-cultural standard has managed to keep that in check)- are vital instincts that has allowed our species to survive and thrive. In the age of technological convenience, what would happen if we were suddenly left to fend for ourselves, without the modern trappings that make our lives so easy? In a near-apocalyptic scenario, would any of these wusses be capable of gathering food and providing shelter, protecting themselves and their ‘herd’ from enemies and predators? Something tells me no. I fear for what we may have already lost, and fervently hope the male race can find its balls once more.