Oh, if I had a nickel for every time…
Many of our readers ask me if I still work in politics—if I am currently managing any campaigns, what my opinion is on candidate X, whether I will one day return to that treacherous arena.
And I wish I had a simple answer to any of those questions, but in fact the truth is this: I am not sure if I can return…and I'm just fine with that!
This may be the situation for many of us here at VDARE.COM.
Ruffling feathers is effortless for us—but smoothing those feathers at a later date, now, that's the tricky part!
America today is basically a long pour of political correctness run amok, shaken with a lethal dose of cultural diversity and served on the rocks by self-righteous social activists.
We all know it, we all live it…we just can't talk about it.
If you want a successful career in politics, as a staffer or as an elected official, there are certain things you should never do:
1. Never fraternize with anybody other than your spouse—unless you are unmarried, in which case you would do well to first check the age of consent in your respective state. Also off-limits: lobbyists and anybody who has a business card with the letters P-A-C on it.
On second thought, just keep your hands to yourself.
2. Never, NEVER, speak with the media unless you are giving this precisely scripted statement:
"…it was my duty to heroically charge into that burning, fifty-story building and carry 12 children, two dogs and an elderly couple to safety.
Three of the children were severely handicapped, the dogs were sight-assisting animals and I left no Black children behind. All of those involved in today's tragedy are receiving top-notch, taxpayer funded healthcare.
The first responders took an appalling 12 minutes to arrive on scene therefore the elderly couple is suing the state of California for gross negligence. They are Mexican nationals with very limited English proficiency so I have offered them my services as a translator."
3. NEVER, NEVER, NEVER, EVER, EVER, EVER TALK ABOUT IMMIGRATION REFORM!!!
Careful or you'll burn, kiddies!…immigration reform involves race and social equality—controversial issues that must be handled with flame-retardant gloves—issues that carry this invisible warning label for anyone who even thinks about tackling them:
Do you have a mortgage? Do you have children? Are you independently wealthy—or do you need your job?
If you answered yes to any of these questions, this is your one chance to walk away quietly and forget that you ever saw us. If you choose to continue on this path, we will erase your seed from the planet.
Most politicians heed this warning. Instead, they champion a "safe bet" like education reform—humdrum and yet always a crowd-pleaser.
Then again, politics is a full-time job. This means 24 hours a day, seven days a week. And folks, as chief of staff for a member of the California State Assembly, I gladly made that commitment.
And if my purpose in life was to have no purpose, I would still be in Sacramento, reveling in mediocrity and celebrating my success—but I wanted a lot more than that.
Enter here Peter Brimelow—the umm, infamous former senior editor of National Review and Forbes Magazine. The author of some book about immigration…and I suppose a few other topics as well.
He liked my background in politics and offered me a job which, I am happy to say (except when he's giving me grief about deadlines), I accepted.
Yeah, then he went cuckoo on me.
He started blithering on about the professional risk I was taking by attacking the favorite policy of the political elite and aligning myself with a controversial webzine.
Side note: When you factor in his immigrant accent which renders him, at least to my ear, virtually incomprehensible, you might understand how I was a tad confused.
But then I noticed something odd about the tone of Peter's voice: He was genuinely concerned that I was committing professional suicide.
In my years in politics, I had endured many disingenuous, professional relationships. So I was greatly impressed by this honest display of duty on his part.
VDARE.COM was where I belonged.
Now, almost two years later, it is like my home. But when I think of all the readers I correspond with, and the unwavering support I get from our Editorial Collective, it is like my family.
Look at us—we have got to be the wackiest and most diverse collection of outlaws ever assembled to promote a single political ideal.
"We never could toe the mark, and never could walk the line."
(Courtesy of my late, beloved Waylon Jennings who will always remain at the top of my Favorite Men List)
Side note: We win unless you are considering the asylum types; the wacky people who sleep in padded rooms. To be honest, Joe Guzzardi only sleeps in a padded room on Sundays, Wednesdays and holidays so technically, you can't lump him in with that lot.
I have spoken about the VDARE.COM family but I also want to share one of the great experiences I have had with our readers.
The daily email I receive comes from a wide range of people representing every personality type. Additionally, they have surprisingly disparate political opinions…except where immigration reform is concerned.
It is the one issue that seems to transcend party lines.
So there was this new VDARE.com reader who never once pondered the impact of illegal immigration…he didn't even know it was a problem. He is from North Dakota or ones of the Dakotas…somewhere in the middle.
Illegal immigration has yet to take over in his neck of the woods...I said yet.
Then one day he read my Tram From Vietnam article and found it funny, after which he sent me an email.
Of the total, I receive a respectable amount of email from a peculiar faction of the male species that I have warmly named the Cyber Cyranos.
A Cyber Cyrano is the patron saint—indeed the heart and soul—of the "Hotties over 40" chat room at eharmony.com.
Shark-like, he mingles in virtual anonymity by means of a charming nom de plume which is always something like RicoSuave4You or StaminaMan.
At all times, he is stalking for—oops, I mean searching for—that special someone. (Oh yes—we are talking about a real, live girl!!)
My new reader friend was most definitely a member of this illustrious group…in fact, he could be the Maharaja
So how did he find our obscure little webzine? Well, pretty much the same way that I did—by accident.
Apparently, he tried to click on the "get to know" feature for an eharmony babe named Valerie and inadvertently hit the link to VDARE.com which was somehow listed near the VAL link.
Oddly enough, he initially mistook us for an immigrant rights organization.
The same man would probably mistake a Black Panther rally for a Betty Crocker Bake-Off but hey, it takes a village…of idiots…just kidding.
But this anecdote gives me the warm fuzzies every time I repeat it.
Because we (OK, I) converted him. My Cyber Cyrano is now an enlightened immigration reform militant.
It does indeed take a village to make a difference. And where immigration reform is concerned, it will take every able body we have.
This story speaks to the future of immigration reform. It speaks to young, uninformed voters who are not yet aware of the doom that lies ahead—the calamity they will incur by way of their own apathy.
YOU CAN PREVENT THAT FROM HAPPENING.
By donating to VDARE.com, you contribute to the education of a nation and quite possibly save it from utter ruin.
Forgive my flair for drama—but the potential consequence of non-action today is a wasteland of catastrophe tomorrow.
So please donate whatever you can afford and see my VDARE.com family through to the end—whatever that may be.
As I mentioned earlier, many of our writers (including me!) have likely impaired their future careers by telling the truth, writing the tough stories and generally infuriating the powers that be.
These are the same powers by which many of us might normally hope to be employed. So, frankly, prospects don't look so good.
In my case, hindsight may show that I made some not-so-smart choices of column topics.
After all, it is true that I once called Congressman Joe Baca a Professional Mexican…yeah, that little zinger might follow me around for awhile.
But SO WHAT?!!
Writing for VDARE.com is more fun than a barrelful of monkeys.
(Although truth be told, I don't really know what that means. I could say that I am happy as a clam, but now we are moving from an expression that is mildly confusing to one that is utterly nonsensical.
(Are clams supposed to be uniquely happy? For example, do they smile and laugh more than say, other crustaceans?
(Smiling clams, what an absurd idea…clams don't even have lips…or do they? Maybe it is the squid that is sans lips...now talk about a happy species…)
Look at that, me ranting on about nothing.
Eureka, I found it!! I discovered the ultimate fundraising tool.
Until we reach our fundraising goal, I am going to inundate you with my endless supply of mad rantings, using only the most insignificant subjects…such as the psychology of clams.
So far we have raised almost $10,000. Help me get us into five figures!
Think hard about that donation, friends.
My next ranting topic continues the study of illogical idioms—here is an excerpt:
"We're going to ____ until the cows come home!" Is that really a long time? Do cows dawdle? And where did they go anyway? Were they sent to the store for milk? A cow would probably find that ironic and laugh…
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· P.S. From VDARE.COM: This isn't the new picture we promised…that's coming, if we can pay for it!