Whose Flag Is It, Anyway? A Question of Identity

As absurd as it sounds, the American flag is under attack in the United States today.  The Disease has progressed to the point that the host’s self-cannibalization has become visible, even to the unenlightened.  Not being a football fan, to say the least, I had never heard of Colin Kaepernick until he somehow projected himself beyond the limited perceptions of NFL fans by refusing to stand during the National Anthem.  But his repeated displays of anti-patriotism have grown among his peers, a group from whom we have been led not to expect political statements, or at least not to bite the hand that feeds them so blatantly.  All of which is part of a farcical tradition of spoiled-brat rebelliousness whose first manifestation within my human memory was the Black Power salute given by American athletes during the 1968 Mexico City Olympics.  There is only so much, I think, to be gained from trying to interpret the statements of the incoherent.  It is in my own reaction to these events that I find a more interesting challenge.  Because they pissed me off.

The modern professional athlete is the creation of a society without heroes.  He is a human by-product of the process of social devolution that leads from the Golden Age to the Age of Lead, in the course of which it can be seen that event the Age of Heroes was an attempt to recover lost grandeur; but that great process is beyond the scope of this little essay.  Read your Evola.

The actions of the ingrate Colin Kaepernick and his crew of spoiled rich boys piss me off on a good many levels, but I think the emotional core of it, when examined, is that they are unappreciative and presumably unconsciousness of the irony manifest in their incoherent “statement”.  I don’t know Colin Kaepernick and don’t want to; probably every sports fan and everyone who watches TV or follows the mainstream media knows more about him than I do. For me he is just a symbol of a class, or rather, to avoid the tainted implications of that word, of a type; it is as such I deal with him, with apologies more to my reader than to him for the over-simplification.  I’m sure he thinks he has something to say, and because “our society” elevates trained monkeys to the status of icons, he is given the platform upon which he has spit.

My referring to Kaepernick as a trained monkey here is not meant as a racial statement, particularly.  Kaepernick is a mixed-race being in a culture of the same.  Most of America is a racial mixture these days, and that is not what I am writing about here.  The truth about which I write her permeates and percolates up from America’s social subconscious.  It is manifest in our popular culture from The Hunger Games to American Idol and its ilk, and is indeed too obvious to even waste words on.  We are supplied by the media with false and undeserving heroes with whom to identify, to obscure our need for authentic ones.  When these media-created creatures turn around and spit in our faces, we find them ungrateful. Bad monkeys.

Day after day, year after year, the natural urges of the swirling, mixed and heterogeneous cultures who make up our increasingly multi-racial and multicultural societies are misdirected, by the aforesaid controlling forces manifested by the Disease itself, and by their own drives to identify with someone, anyone, who can help them rise as an unperceived people from their existential graveyard.  They are misdirected and pointed toward a group of people whose sole talent is that they can play a sport well.  I am certainly not against sports – football itself has merits as a social training device that I never appreciated when I was young enough to play it.  I am however totally opposed to the mentality of the modern sports audience.   Sports, in this postreligious age in the West, is one of the latter opiates of the masses.

But what was, is, Kaepernick trying to say?  Who or what does he oppose, and therefore who or what does he support or purport to represent? It seems he shares the entitlement of the Black Lives Matter “protesters” who have been most recently been seen tearing up and terrorizing Charlotte this week.  Those who have been given the benefits of a society that they didn’t build, couldn’t have built and don’t really understand, are not satisfied with what they have been freely given, or of what has been taken from us and given to them.  They want what we have, and by wanting it without having to pay for it, they want more.  And that makes us angry.

The irony in my own reaction, and the source of this reflection comes from this: I am not and never in my life have been a supporter or fan of the American flag.  As a child and as an adult I have whenever discretely possible, such being more difficult in earlier times than it is today, not stood for it, not put my hand over my heart, not sung its anthems.  Strangely, this personal reaction has been consistent as I moved across a range of self-perceived political positions.    As a youth, if I had been asked to vocalize my reasons for this instinctive reaction, I would have probably said that I found the culture of force which it represented, oppressive.  The actual protestors at Kent State were shot by the National Guard when I was twelve.  I grew up during the Vietnam War, during America’s first twentieth-century walk down the path of mass and open disillusionment by their governing entities (which entities we see in hindsight had only just then achieved relatively total power).  Very few member of my high school class joined the military.

As I grew older and more aware, I became more conscious of why I could not support the flag, as the emblem of an Empire that had indeed suppressed my culture, and had conquered and occupied the country in which half my ancestors had lived and in which I was born and grew up, the American South.   My mother’s family was from the North, and of the German stock with whom I most strongly racially identify; but my father’s family, my paternal line and my name, the English and Irish side of my ancestry, were from Tennessee.   Being a child of the twentieth century, many of my ancestors fought in Wars, hopefully all valiantly.  But as much as I respect the heroism of my father and his four brothers who all fought on the American side in WWII, they fought as puppets of a government their people no longer ruled.  The last ancestral soldiers who died for my freedom wore gray.  My great-great-grandfather died for my freedom at Chickamauga.  And when the North invaded and conquered the Confederacy of States which had justifiably and Constitutionally seceded from its Union, it quashed the American dream; the American Republic died there and became the American Empire.  Just as surely as Caesar transformed Rome when he crossed the Rubicon, Lincoln’s War destroyed the American experiment which was surely doomed in its inception, but at any rate lasted less than a century.

As a child and rebellious youth growing up in the South, amongst what was at the time an unabashed, explicit and encouraged Southern patriotism – which was accepted even, if also mostly humorously deprecated by the North – I was no fan of the images of the Confederacy, but when I was older I was intuitively drawn back to its flags and symbolism.  I remember my incomprehension when as a still mostly unconscious being, living in New Mexico in the late 1980’s, I was first made aware that someone took my Confederate battle flag bumper sticker as “racist”.   To the extent I was conscious of meaning, I think I thought of it as a symbol of rebellion (which is was not, really, but that’s another, ‘nother topic) – and also perhaps of the burgeoning of my racial and cultural awakening as a White Southerner, after immersion in a leftist University law school and the multiracial State of New Mexico, of which I was still a fan.  At any rate I am clear that I did not intend anything anti-Black by it and didn’t see how where that perception came from.  Having been taught something close to true history of the War Between the States, I did not yet understand that the masses had been taught about a Civil War in which the South fought for slavery.

At any rate, long after my return to the South and after awakening to a more authentic sense of my heritage, I openly embraced the Confederacy and just about everything it stood for, my only hesitation coming, then and now, from its open embrace of Protestant Christianity, an illness the culture had brought with it from Europe like smallpox.  As such, a few years ago, I joined the Sons of Confederate veterans.  I still pay dues in the SCV, but I find I can no longer be bothered to attend their meetings, both because of their political and cultural cuckoldry, of which they are I think largely unconscious – the “Heritage Not Hate” thing is embarrassing, mostly because they don’t see why – and their refusal to do anything proactive in support of their heritage and culture.  They merely try to slow the tide, preserve their monuments.  While I support that effort, it is not enough.

But mostly I just couldn’t say the Pledge of Allegiance.  That’s right, at the opening of their meetings, the local SCV Camp does a little respectful pledge to the Confederate battle flag, followed by a full-blown, hand-over-heart Pledge of Allegiance to the flag of the empire that conquered them, murdered their ancestors, humiliated their grandmothers.  The Empire ransacked their homes, destroyed their governments, disenfranchised their soldier, “disrespected” and denigrated their culture, and their families.  And now they pledge allegiance to the dying empire like good corporate slaves who cling even to that true slavery in the face of chaos.  I have empathy for them but I cannot be one of them.

So, what do Colin Kaepernick and I have in common? How is it that I share his dislike for the American flag, and yet resent his disrespect for it?



My dislike for the American flag goes deeper and further than my identification with my Confederate ancestors, the nation, the culture, the heritage and the blood for which they stood.  Actually I think they were a little unclear about it themselves.  They just instinctively and consciously identified with their European roots, in a way that their Northern contemporaries for the most part no longer could.  My mother’s family, as I have said, were Germans, and the Germans fought almost exclusively for the North, for the Empire.  Indeed, the family rumor was that the first immigrant on that side was a Hessian mercenary, which although I can’t identify him, is highly likely.  You have to remember that there was no German nation-state, in the sense of the times from which were are just descending, until 1871.   The Germans prior to that time were citizens of kingdoms, duchies or margravates, of which the most powerful were Prussia, Austria and maybe Bavaria.  Nationalism as we know it was the bastard stepchild of Napoleon, scion of the French Revolution, itself a weird European version of what occurred in the previous decade in America.   It was while standing in Schloss Charlottenburg last year, that I understood for the first time how the people of Europe “identified” before the Age of Nationalism.   Likewise, the new citizens of the new American nation between their Revolution and the Empire were among the first people in the modern West to consider themselves primarily as citizens of a consciously and intentionally created nation, rather than as a people, a Folk.

So no matter what that flag stood for prior to the American “Civil War”, it meant something else after, and for me it was always the flag of the Empire that sent mercenaries on behalf of its foreign rulers to conquer Europe, and the rest of the world for those rulers.  Its soldiers fought against their true brothers,for the sake of their masters.   So today we see that Empire, in its broader sense, intentionally and yet mindlessly destroying its host states, here and in Europe.  My heart also lies with those other gray soldiers who died for Germany, although none of my ancestors were among them (although my more distant relatives undoubtedly were).  My mother’s biological father was mustard-gassed in WWI while fighting against Germany, like Hitler, who of course fought for her.

So, all my heroes lost their wars.  The Confederates lost theirs.  My ancestors from the American Empire won their wars against their Southern cousins, and against the last battalion to stand against the Empire in Europe.   The American flag since at least 1865 has been the flag of that Empire. I do not love it.

So, why do I resent its disrespect by the spoilt and unconscious children of America? When foreigners, particularly victims of the Empire, attack it, even when I most zealously oppose their own causes, at least I understand.  What these “protestors’ in America do, however, is to spit in the face of their victims.  Of course, in a sense, Kaepernick and his overpaid friends and the BLM zombies are victims, too, in that they are tools of cynical powers who use them, manipulate them, to strike at the remaining core of the only people who can stand against the ruler’s race of destruction – destruction of us, the world, and of course, of themselves.  I resent Kaepernick’s disrespect of all that has been and will be stolen from me and my people, by him and the ones who run him.  Stolen by the hidden masters and their puppets among the “leaders” of the World.  They take our food, our air, our land, our water, and our self-respect, and then don’t have the grace to appreciate a bit of it.  They waste and despoil it like animals, leaving us to starve and die, deprived even of our sense of ourselves and who we are.

So in one sense I supposed, I identify with the people, the heritage of the people whose symbol was stolen from them, although I cannot identify with the symbol itself.   We all long to identify.  And it is only by recovering, in our own hearts and minds, our true Identity – not as Americans or Germans or Southerners or even as Europeans, but as the embodiment of a power that comes from beyond the stars, that is older than the earth on which we walk, that we can transcend these material and mundane struggles which we, being more than material beings, cannot win on the level on which they are most grossly enacted. Lead surely sinks.  Yet just are surely, the pure light is not bound by gravity and time and shines eternal.  It is only by becoming consciously one with that light that we can truly live as who we really are – the children of the sun beyond the sun.

As such we of course rise beyond disrespect and beyond resentment.  Yet we must not be purely Above Time.  If you read this and identify with it, know that you are manifest as human for a reason.  We are here not only to enjoy, but also to struggle and to purify ourselves thereby.  It is by realizing and becoming this struggle that we become who we truly are.  Participation is true Identity.


Kalki Written by:

One Comment

  1. September 24, 2016

    Well said! …and well reasoned with a sincere and noble language.

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