A Nod To The Gods

Open borders + Democrat policy has consequences. A native Californian reflects back to the good old days.

I recently took a few road trips longitudinally and latitudinally across California. The state bears little to no resemblance to what I was born into. In a word, it is now a medieval place of lords and peasants—and few in between. Or rather, as I gazed out on the California Aqueduct, the Golden Gate Bridge and the San Luis Reservoir, I realized we are like the hapless, squatter Greeks of the Dark Ages, who could not figure out who those mythical Mycenaean lords were that built huge projects still standing in their midst, long after Lord Ajax and King Odysseus disappeared into exaggeration and myth. Henry Huntington built the entire Big Creek Hydroelectric Project in the time it took our generation to go to three hearings on a proposed dam.

The old measured migrations from Mexico did not tax the system. The American host was confident in helping the immigrant learn a new culture (or why else had he left his own in Mexico?), and so was not shy about assimilating and integrating newcomers. Not now.

Huge numbers, illegality, and the far greater presence of indigenous peoples meant there were more immigrants, more who were poorer and more who did not speak English or even Spanish as their native language—at a time when the salad bowl and hyphenation replaced the melting pot. The result is that there are large areas of Central California that resemble life in rural Mexico. Within a radius of five miles I can go to stores and restaurants where English is rarely spoken and there is no racial or cultural diversity—a far cry from Jeb Bush’s notion of an “act of love” landscape. Keep reading…..

On immigration policy, party elders were caught completely by surprise. Even canny operators like Ted Cruz didn’t appreciate the depth of voter anger on the subject. And why would they? If you live in an affluent ZIP code, it’s hard to see a downside to mass low-wage immigration. Your kids don’t go to public school. You don’t take the bus or use the emergency room for health care. No immigrant is competing for your job. (The day Hondurans start getting hired as green energy lobbyists is the day my neighbors become nativists.) Plus, you get cheap servants, and get to feel welcoming and virtuous while paying them less per hour than your kids make at a summer job on Nantucket. It’s all good.

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A tribe’s essence may sleep, but it never dies. It may lie dormant, but it will never go extinct.

As new immigrants gain numerical power and ruling class protection in their host nations, the tribal instinct within their second and third generation cousins already in the country is released from its artificial suppression. The few secular liberal minority tokens that equalist leftoids, in a pique of supreme naivete, assume are representative of all of the minority tribe’s people, will recede to nothingness as their half-hearted voices are drowned out by the ululations of their extended family.

To put it more bluntly, that smiling taxi driver praising America will revert with a quickness to the mores and standards of his race as soon as there are enough of his kind in close proximity to safely let his assimilationist mask slip.

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