The

Neanderthal Right, 1

An Analysis of Primitive Responses Among White
Nationalists and Other Pure Yang Personalities and The
Requirement for The Balance of The Yin

by Benjamin

I was introduced to the thinking of the American Alt-Right by a US Strasserite in around 2017. Before then, it is safe to say that I was to all intents and purposes a normie. I had had a tough few years previous, to say the least (and which I have recounted in my autobiography)[1] and I think that I was looking for direction in life, perhaps even a purpose that I could throw my all into. I was extremely naïve, and not as well-read on historical matters as perhaps I should have been, but willing to learn, and with a great curiosity for hidden details, and for those matters considered off-limits by orthodox society, and not often discussed (at least in my usual circle). I was, at least, not offended by anything he wrote to me, although it took me a little while to get on board, as at first I was immature, and prone to making poor taste remarks and faux pas, especially when it came to discussing the ‘Nazis’ and their impact on Western civilisation. I was 31 years old, and quick to learn, although invariably I was to be disappointed.

Even back then I found his attitude crass, a mixture of low-brow anti-cultural remarks and pop music interests, posturing, and in deep deference to Christianity. It was him indeed who encouraged me to briefly return to Christian worship, or at least, to be open-minded towards it, after many years of firm atheism since my late teens, considering Catholicism from a religious perspective and discussing the benefits of communal prayer and the positive influence of Christianity on American society, words I now realise were complete nonsense. His perspective lingered with me, still subconsciously dwelling on my own unresolved issues in the background, from many years before. However, it would take until about late 2019, slightly traumatised and in withering grief just after the death by suicide of one of my neighbourhood friends, before I finally took that desperate, regressive plunge, and began tentatively to attend Mass. Thankfully – in a sense – an allegation of terrorism later on into the following year, and the grim, extended lesson it taught me in aftermath, put paid to my ill-considered revival. I regret losing even those brief months to such idiocy.

My friend never shared that particular ideology with me, bar naming it, particularly in relation to a pop band he loved, but I was shown a load of digital cartoon graphic glyphs in ‘New Wave’ palettes with repetitive slogans plastered over them and was familiarized with obnoxious open discussions on social justice and Muslims, with a small mention of Jews and blacks.

I say ‘obnoxious’ as it occurred to me at the time that they may look ridiculous, for the sake of being meme-worthy, and there were certainly enough slang terms and neologisms and ways to deliberately insult them, but they certainly weren’t acting silly, and these people didn’t appear to be winning, or indeed denting their onslaught at all, as opposed to just doing the papers a business favour by daily second-hand reportage, and showing the world how tough their enemy were, akin to addictive demoralization propaganda for the outraged at their tea-tables. His approach to the problems didn’t really rub off on me, but it sparked enough curiosity to go off into the background and spend many months privately researching the Second World War, the NSDAP, and the terrible Allied destruction of Germany.

Much as Strasserism is nothing but incoherent subversion, looking back, I just can’t match anything he said to that kind of thinking. Perhaps it was simply a fad and a term he liked. We fell out a few years later. Initially, I had made the remark by internet messenger to him that I wanted us to “drive the enemy into the fucking sea!”, and I think he took umbrage at this for some reason, thinking it an extreme response, and admonishing me with a “oh, come on now, you can’t say that…”, coupled to my recorded presentation to him of a particularly acerbic song-poem titled Lesson One in which I sincerely recommended us (or indeed incited, depending how one looks at it) to drag our racial and political foes out of their dwellings en masse and hang them from the walls of this country, to “put out their eyes and rip out their tongues!”, to “desecrate their emptiness!”, and to “excise this blighted flesh and build a pyre of it all!”, remarking, just in case there was any doubt, that “everyone, and everyone, and everyone will fall!!!”As he told me condescendingly at the time, “I see you’re just working off steam…” It simply didn’t occur to him that I might be being serious, having penned the poem as a slab of macabre, aurally degenerate, yet sincere audio propaganda, intending to use it in public to rouse others to violent direct action, rather like those repetitive ISIS marching songs such as Saleel al-Salawim that the Muslims play here when they’re mobbing to attack us.

The final straw was when, some months later, in despair at the lack of such action, and observing the idiotic, brain-dead thralls all around me in my dead country, atomised, sheepish, and unable to think as a collective, my resolve faltered, and I asked him in panic “what the hell do we do now? How do you get these people to wake up! It’s hopeless here… I think we’re going extinct!” hoping for at least some racial solidarity, some hope or psychological assistance delivered long-distance, in setting me back on track. Instead, he replied to me, in evident irritation “Stop whining. Just fucking survive!” and washed his hands of me forever. I gather he hated the British on principle and the devastating plight of our people here, finding it all very wearisome, as if burnt out, and yet, ironically, was hoping for a political superstar saviour, to deal with his own nation’s problems so he didn’t have to. Another one who was convinced that, given the opportunity to, Donald Trump, the inept, narcissistic Jewish stooge of American decline, would ‘sort it all out’.

Last I heard, he’s “dropped out” now, and gone back to being switched off, with his job, and his truck, and his Jesus fetishes, as he prefers to fit in. It’s disappointing that he seems to have seen his adopted (and cynically abandoned) views as some form of game, as if part of a club. I was occasionally told off by him for being “too serious” or “going too far.” To think that at one point I presented as a complete normie to him.

I don’t like America or England. Hate is a better term – I think the countries are both unforgivable. I couldn’t see what he had to be proud of compared with this nation. The Allied guilt issue is totally whitewashed and buried. What Eisenhower and his men did, of their own accord, to the 750,000 German POWs of his Rhine Meadows death camps has not been suitably accounted for, let alone the rest of the appalling destruction of Germany,[2] from the torturous fire-bombings of Dresden and Hamburg, and more than a hundred other German civilian cities, to the systematic dismantling of Germany’s entire industrial infrastructure through the publicly shelved yet privately implemented Morgenthau Plan and Hooton Plan, and broadcasting of the popularly accepted (yet thankfully undelivered) Kaufman Plan, envisaged as a means of sterilising 48,000,000 Germans, and then the brutal massed rapes, gang rapes, and sadistic abuses directed against hundreds of thousands of German women and girls, from age 7 to 69, by the occupying armies of Russians, British, French and Americans, including over 190,000 rapes conducted by the American forces alone, often at gunpoint. The forced mass expulsion and subsequent deaths of more than 14,000,000 German civilians can never be apologised for. We have simply done too much.

The American never mentioned this side of his history to me, proud as any other patriotard, satisfied in his Christianised, anti-Aryan melting pot, a failed country from its very origins. An anti-Europe from conception, and now a New Zion, in the words of Sebastian Ernst Ronin. I’m aware that his ludicrous position is not uncommon.

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[1] Consumption: Memories of My Childhood, Books I & II, Benjamin Power, Lulu Publishing, 2025.

[2] See pages 296-304 of my previous work, The Less Than Jolly Heretic, available by private sale, for a full overview of these horrendous crimes, and a list of relevant reference literature.