There were two…styles, let’s call them, of revolutionary movement that captured large, modern(-ish) nations in the 20th century. Since people can’t seem to read about this stuff without having their eyes blocked by visions of screaming guys with bad facial hair, let’s call them Style A and Style B,
Style A is your “intellectual” revolution. It starts (and usually ends) in college classrooms. It is preoccupied with doctrinal purity. The further you get from the centers of power, of course, the greater this preoccupation becomes — Frank S. Meyer, who was a Style A revolutionary (and wrote a fascinating book about it), was told never to mess with “theory;” you’ll make a dozen errors in just the first page. Doctrinal purity is a must for Style A revolutionaries, because their actions are justified by the doctrine, and the doctrine always comes from “Out There” — God, History, whatever. It is imposed, top-down.
Style B is a “popular” revolution. These have their “intellectuals,” of course, and you’re welcome to slog through their productions, but you don’t have to, because if you’re a Style B revolutionary, you already know everything you need to. Style B comes from “In Here” — the racial soul or what have you. It is organic; it grows bottom-up.
Successfully resisting a revolution, then, starts with recognizing which kind it is. We Americans really blew it back in the Sixties. Style A is, of course, a Communist revolution, and the Sixties radicals tried real hard to come off like Commies. They talked like Commies, they acted like Commies, they were bright-but-directionless college kids who read Marx and Mao in between bong hits. They loved issuing manifestos, and were obsessed with “revolutionary” violence in the name of Communism.
But they weren’t Commies. These guys
were total poseurs, as you can tell just by looking at them — that’s Revolutionary Chic, brought to you by Mugatu’s “Derelicte” collection. The Sixties, as everyone knows, were all about feeeelings, maaaan. It’s no accident that the Weather Underground’s sole contribution to revolutionary theory was mandatory homosexual group sex, to, like, smash patriarchy or something.
This was a Style B revolution, first and always. “Freaking out the squares” was the only point. There were huge shakeups in the Communist world throughout the Fifties and Sixties; at one point, Communist China and the Soviet Union were on the brink of a nuclear exchange. None of that bothered Weatherman types in the slightest.
To be fair, the Sixties radicals were victims of their own success. If they hadn’t been just cosplay Commies, there was a whole post-victory support network to tap into. By the late 1980s, when the “radicals” had been in total control of American culture for a generation, there was nearly a century’s worth of revolutionary experience out there. The only excuse for not knowing how to set up a Five Year Plan, at that point, is that you don’t want to know. It harshes one’s mellow, which is why all the Sixties “radicals” retreated to the faculty lounge as fast as their feet could carry them.*
The reason all this is important: We’re on the verge of a counter-revolution. We could have endless debates on whether it feels more like 1960 or 1860, but nobody not living under a rock can deny that something huge and horrible is coming. I’m not worried that Donald Trump will become a dictator; I’m worried that he won’t.
Trump mostly seems to regard the being President as a great way to troll his enemies, but when he actually does some Presidentin’ he does the kind of simple, obvious things that someone who actually likes the country he’s in charge of would do. We’re so used to seeing Kenyan Marxist retards in the Oval Office that renegotiating NAFTA seems wild and revolutionary, instead of the plain common sense it would’ve been just 30 years ago. Trump loves nothing more than cutting deals, but since Trump’s actually, you know, an American, his deal-cutting tends to have nifty side benefits for America.
But that’s just Trump, the man. There’s no “Trumpism.” Revolutionary movements don’t have to have detailed ideologies, as we’ve seen, but they do need symbols, rallying points, everything I (and Tom Wolfe!) dismissively called “radical chic.” Billy Ayers et al actually accomplished what they set out to do — destroying traditional America — and they did it with catchy tunes, righteous bud, back-alley quickies, and college.
We need some radical chic, and fast.