As I said in the previous piece, now that the long-feared race war is on, the imperative question is What now? However, the previous observation is so striking, and so paralyzing, that many Americans won’t get around to asking themselves what they should do next.
Unfortunately, for perhaps two-thirds of us, the failure to address that question might cost us our lives.
Please take note: The following observations and recommendations are addressed to all races. Whites might be in the greatest degree of danger — at least, there haven’t yet been any reports of a pack of black youths attacking a black passerby — but when savages are prowling freely, all non-savages are at risk in some degree.
Please take further note: Some recommendations will be harder to follow for certain categories of persons than for others. This is merely an observation of fact. However, as with all natural laws, this one is self-enforcing. Failure to be realistic about one’s self-defense capabilities and to take appropriate remedial action will not be excused should the worst happen. There are no suspended sentences for the crime of wishful thinking.
Finally (and most seriously) for this series of caveats: Assume that no third parties will come between you and your assailants. There was a time when third parties were more likely to intervene in a street brawl or a mugging. Yet even in our best eras, it was less likely than not; the “mind your own business” street ethic Americans have always practiced is strong enough to inhibit even the capable from “taking sides” in a matter they know little to nothing about.
The situation is grave. The risks are high — higher for some than for others. And you’re on your own.
The war in progress isn’t a “clean” war. It has no discernible “front.” Neither do the combatants wear uniforms, though some identifying marks exist and should be taken seriously. Worst of all, there’s no way to declare oneself a “neutral” or a “non-combatant.”
Such a war demands the highest possible degree of situational awareness. He who ventures beyond a well-fortified “safe zone” must be continuously aware of everyone and everything around him. He must maintain a dynamic, continuously adjusted assessment of who and what might be a threat — and he must be as ruthless about the assignment of “threat” status as any military analyst.
Your personal circumstances — where you live; what sort of people live around you; pertinent statistics about street crime in your locale; the times, durations, and other qualities of your mandatory exposures — are the enveloping context, and must always be kept in mind. Specifics about this particular exposure must be folded into that context in real time.
Neither set of considerations should be allowed to “trump” the other. If you must travel through a high-crime area, do not assume that simply being surrounded by trusted friends renders you “safe.” Similarly, traveling through a low-crime area doesn’t guarantee that the neighborhood’s lone street thug poses no threat to you. Stay awake and aware.
This is the paramount principle of personal protection.
This war recognizes no hard-and-fast alliances. Just as the combatants wear no uniforms and form no perceptible battle lines, you cannot assume that all whites are “on your side.” There are white thugs just as there are black ones — and the worst of them travel with black wolf packs, eager to show their solidarity with “the blood.”
Tactical decisions about whom you can trust to “have your back” must be made in “real time.” More, they must be based solely on what you know about the individuals in question, on their behavior when trouble looms, and on their responses should trouble start:
- You cannot assume allegiances that arise solely from skin color;
- You cannot assume affinities that arise solely from age or sex;
- You cannot assume that even a trusted friend will come to your aid should violence erupt.
Sadly, there are a lot of pansies out there. Some of them are pretty big; size is no guarantee of readiness to defend life or limb. Also, many a PC type would excuse a black thug of your murder on the grounds of “white capitalist oppression”…as long as he got away cleanly, of course. You must know as much as you can about anyone you intend to trust with your well-being.
When traveling through an area in which you are an unknown, your first reaction to anyone who draws near enough to be a threat must be suspicion.
How near is “near enough to be a threat?” I suggest the following loose guideline:
- 75 feet: Practical limit on accurate handgun fire for a non-specialist.
- 20 feet: Practical limit of a “confinement ring” in which you can be trapped.
- 5 feet: The zone of personal non-ballistic combat, in which kicks, punches, and muscle-powered weapons are most important.
No one’s situational awareness is perfect. You can be pot-shotted from a tenement window. You can be trapped within a confinement ring despite your best efforts. A capable and determined assailant can get within bludgeoning distance of you if the surroundings are noisy and distracting, or if he’s sufficiently sneaky. You cannot protect against these possibilities with absolute confidence; all you can do is make them less likely.
Suspicion is the key to reducing your risks. Do you know the person advancing on you? Is he within your age bracket? How is he dressed? Is he carrying something he could use as a weapon? What’s his overall demeanor?
Most important of all: Is he a young black male in proximity to other young black males? That’s the paramount threat category, and no PC bullshit can do anything about it.
Your aspirations for racial harmony mean nothing at this time. The stakes are your life. Make your decisions, both preparatory and instantaneous, accordingly.
Here we come to the grimmest observations of all:
“What is combat, Christine?”
“What is combat? How does it differ from other kinds of human interaction?”
“Well, you’re trying to hurt somebody.”
Louis cocked an eyebrow. “You’re never trying to hurt somebody under other circumstances?”
She thought it over. “Well, yeah.”
“So what’s the difference?”
“Well, you have to have an opponent.”
He waited in silence.
“And he has to be trying to stop you.”
“From doing what?”
“Whatever you’re trying to do!” She was growing impatient.
“And what are the rules?”
“Um, do there have to be any?”
He shook his head. “There have to be none.”
“You heard me. If it’s combat, it has no rules, only objectives. That’s really the defining characteristic.”
He went to a wooden rack across from his punching bag and lifted a large, gently curved sword from it. She had never seen him handle the thing before, and had wondered why he had it.
“This is a medieval saber. A thousand years ago, it was one of the most potent weapons a man could carry. Moreover, possession was restricted by law. You had to be a member of the ruling class to own one legally.”
He swung the sword in a complex pattern that defeated her attempt to track it.
“You can kill with one of these, if you have enough strength and skill. Of course, it’s a little conspicuous, and it takes a lot more effort to use than most people would guess. Would you want to have to tote one around?”
“And why is that?” He laid the tip of the saber in his left hand and held out the sword as if offering it to her.
“Because there’s better available. We have guns now.”
He nodded. “Yes, we do. And for quite a wide range of combat situations, a gun is a better weapon than a sword. In fact, there are a number of cases where bare hands are better than a sword, but that’s beside the point for now. If you were in a combat situation, where you had this and your opponent had a gun, what could you do about it?”
She looked hard at the old weapon. It had a certain antique beauty and simplicity, but she couldn’t imagine ever wanting to wield it.
“Not a lot. Try to take the gun away from him, maybe?”
Louis snorted. “I hope you never have to do that, Chris. The odds are going to be on his side. But one thing you wouldn’t do is to shout, ‘Hey, that’s not fair.’ Right?”
She laughed. “Silly man!”
His face went dark. “I’m trying to make a very important point here, Chris. Combat means no rules. What he has is what you have to deal with, period. If you can’t face his size, his skills, or his armament, you’d better be prepared to run.”
“Well, you know I can do that.”
He glowered. “I said prepared to run.” His voice had acquired an edge she hadn’t heard before. “Emotionally. You don’t ever duke it out with someone who’s got the edge. A lot of guys have been killed by pride and unwillingness to admit they’re facing superior force. Chris, this might be the most important thing anyone will ever tell you. Do you understand?”
[From On Broken Wings]
Do you know yourself?
Do you really?
Do you know your capacities, both physical and emotional?
Are you willing to commit violence — possibly lethal violence — in self-defense?
What about in defense of others?
Are you willing to carry a weapon?
What about an “illegal” weapon?
Should violence erupt, would you be ready, willing, and able to use that weapon?
Are you willing to strike the first blow?
Are you really being honest about all the above?
Most important of all…
How do you know all that?
Allow me to repeat myself: There are no suspended sentences for the crime of wishful thinking. Your beliefs about yourself could well be at odds with the realities. Moreover, the only way to determine whether a disjunction exists between your beliefs and the realities is when violence erupts.
Actually, it’s even worse than that. No two violent altercations are exactly alike. What you did in that gin-mill brawl back when doesn’t necessarily mean anything about the street mugging you’re about to stumble into. Heraclitus was a smart old dude; it pays to keep his maxims in mind. Everything changes. You’re not exempt.
What Louis was trying to impress upon Christine in the blockquoted passage above is the absoluteness of reality in a life-and-death situation. Reality is what it is. Your knowledge of it is guaranteed to be incomplete and inexact. That includes your knowledge of yourself.
I’m only going to say this once, so you’d better be paying attention:
Whatever you might once have known…whatever you might once have done…whatever you once knew about your neighbors and neighborhood is all historical information. You cannot know what elements of it have changed until the changes are made manifest to you in real time…and by then, it could well be too late.
All the rest of the above hangs critically on that one bit of wisdom.
So: It’s on. Like it or not, if you’re a decent human being of any race, you’re a front-line combatant. I want you to go home alive. There are others who don’t. You cannot wish that away; you can only cope with it, according to your personal abilities, circumstances, and station in life.
Are you prepared for what’s upon us?