The greatest Americans were those who settled this country.
George Dangerfield: "... the settler who committed himself to the westward migration wa like a man entering a whirlpool, who passed as he sank the various stages of civilization, all of them intensely active, and who sank, more often than not, forever out of sight and memory..."
"... the movement was relentless and imaginative, and the backwoodsmen who sold their rude clearings or abandoned them at the first approach of civilization, and 'lit out for the tall timber,' were more typical than were those who settled in one place for the rest of the lives.."
"The pioneer farmer was a restless man, as in a world of cheap land and dear capital he might well be; and he moved as often as he felt attracted by the thought of better soils just ahead, selling his cleared land for a small profit."
"... the majority of settlers, upon reaching a destination, began by hewing out a clearing in the midst of the forest... After this, if a settler were fortunate enough to have accessible neighbors, which was by no means always the case, he summoned them to a 'raising,' with whisky and a frolic, and the log cabin was built by a communal effort."
"The pioneer farmer raised his own wool, cotton, and flax for his summer and winter clothing, which his women spun and wove into garments; his cap was fashioned out of raccoon fur; he was shod from the skins of deer or cattle..."
"His household furniture, his farming utensils, his harness, were all homemade... The valiant women helped with the planting, the hoeing, and the raking at harvest time; and if there was milking to be done, they did that too..."
"The backwoodsman who dragged his wife and children on and on into the forest, and away from the face of civilization, was a highly imaginative type—'half-wild and wholly free'—a curious variant of classical cenobite..."
"The 'generals, colonels, and majors; who infested land-office towns like Kaskaskia were not obsessed with some idea of social distinction; while they probably used these self-bestowed titles as a screen for some very sharp practices..."
"...they were just as probably expressing their belief in the uncommonness of the common man. For it was the common man who, like a giant, subdued the wilderness, and the frontier never forgot it."
—George Dangerfield, The Era of Good Feelings
Malachi 4:6
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Taking and holding onto power is the priority; everything else is just window dressing. For all the grumbling over bad leaders and corruption, for all talk of fighting and winning, most people are terrified to touch power. There are millions of crowns in the gutter.
Your local zoning board has more real power than your favorite podcaster or activist.
Pursuing abstract quests like defeating the “woke right” is for charlatans and dupes; these are not people who take power seriously.
It shouldn’t have to be said, but most Americans don’t know their own history:
Americans were overwhelmingly hostile to communism and fascism during the 20s and 30s. The idea that they weren’t, and that the country was dangerously close to flipping Brown or Red is just plain wrong.
It matters because when the tragedy of the 20th century gets pinned on your fathers and grandfathers, it also gets pinned on you. Communism and fascism destroyed the Old World, but they did not win here (a controversial take for some of you, I know). America has always been something separate, and all the horrors of the Old World are not yours to take on, past or present. You are not stuck in some 1930s samsara, locked in a battle between communism and fascism. We have our own tradition here, and it lives on.
I’ll be the first to tell you that the Soviet infiltration of our government was a serious problem and did untold damage, and we have yet to come to terms with that, but it did not conquer us.
FDR was not a communist, America First was not a Nazi front, and much of what you take as gospel from the 1930s is propaganda.
Maybe you're like me, a sharp kid from the lower middle-class who left a deep-red area for a good job and elite education and is now doing better than the folks back home. Maybe you're like me and the shock of going somewhere from nowhere had you reeling, and you had to learn the hard way that the humble values you grew up with, even your patriotism, aren't respected in your new environment...
Maybe you felt like an alien imposter. Maybe you slowly adopted their ways—talking and even thinking like them—hiding your light under a bushel... or worse, maybe you felt ashamed where you came from and started looking down on the folks back home. Maybe you were scared that if you truly brought your "whole self to work," you'd strain relationships, miss out on opportunities, and risk sliding down that greasy pole... back to where you came from.
But then Trump came along...
It doesn't matter whether you supported him or not, but maybe you're like me and were surprised to find that almost everyone around you suddenly despised him with a relentless intensity you couldn't fathom. And maybe all the histrionics, resentment, and denunciations of Trump made you uncomfortable too, particularly when you saw how much the folks back home loved and admired him.
V-J Day: had someone in the family survive the Bataan death march. He was uneducated, a nobody from nowhere… but he was a rancher, tough and gritty, and it probably saved his life. He had to carry weaker comrades most of the way: Decent, brave soldiers from good families who were just as committed to the fight as he was, but who were not hard men. A comfortable childhood had left these soldiers unprepared for horrific conditions of the march, and so many had to be dragged or carried.
As my relative recalled years later, he and the other hayseeds fought desperately to keep these men alive, taking turns carrying and shielding them from the guards. An officer he carried most of the way eventually attracted the attention a Japanese soldier, who threw the exhausted man to the ground, dragged him away, and bayoneted him. Thankfully my relative and many of the hayseeds from his unit did survive, but he never forgot the horror of watching good men die, especially the killing of that officer.
As the country comes apart, I’ve thought about this experience from time to time… the cultural and class divides between town and country were more stark then, and education was hard to come by… But war brought everyone together, and in extreme suffering such differences melted away and every man came to see his fellow for what he was: a man. My relative had never been to a big city or darkened the door of a lecture hall, but he had brotherly love for his comrades who had, and he mourned them for the rest of his life.
I don’t know what the future will bring, but I do know that the only way this nation can possibly come together again will be through extreme suffering and shared sacrifice… and what that might look like makes my blood run cold.
🥃
I have a copy of his memoirs… may share some passages sometime.