Seiyo Scores First Round KO over MacDonald

By Nicholas Stix

Between here and Europe, I’ve attended four different colleges and universities, some of them world famous, but the finest one was New York State’s unheralded little Sullivan County Community College, where I got my start. But the story to follow is more about SCCC’s um, atmosphere, though that too contributed mightily to its greatness.

In the spring semester of my freshman year, I took Western Civ II with a man I’ll call “Willis Anderson.”

Anderson was a wild man. In class, he bellowed about his hero, Martin Luther, with a deep, booming voice that gave me headaches, when he was too close at hand. He was handsome and athletic looking, notwithstanding a slight paunch and a jaw (like my own) of Biblical dimensions, with a theatrical flamboyance which, I was told, had served him well in local amateur productions of Gilbert & Sullivan. I also once heard a tape of his comical, inebriated rantings at a saloon, when he did an unscripted “Rev. Billy Ray Hargis” (I believe he used Hargis’ name) standup shtick.

Entertaining fellow, and known to all the local barkeeps, who he may have occasionally spelled. He once threatened me in class, if I didn’t shut up, saying “After three straight nights in [saloon]….,” the implication being that he had tended bar, though I’m no longer sure one should make that assumption.

Prior to teaching college, Willis had taught high school history. Based on his widespread local reputation, I think that in addition to easier hours and better pay, he chose to jump to teaching college, because he would no longer have to worry about possible statutory rape prosecutions.

Although he was legally married, he and his wife seemed to lead separate lives. He would offer coeds with “incompletes” in his classes the opportunity to do “research” for him. At one point, he offered a girl I was dating (unbeknownst to him, not that it would have mattered) such an opportunity. She told me she’d take an “F,” before she’d do any of his “f-ing research.”

I’d never heard of Willis being sighted off campus sober. It was as if the moment he left campus, he hit a secret button, and immediately became soused.

Anderson gave me a B that semester; I thought I deserved an “A.” It turned out, he thought so, too.

During the summer, whenever I had a moment, I’d visit the local watering holes looking for Willis, to ask him why he’d given me a “B.” I always missed him, but one day, as I was riding my bike to my job as a restaurant dishwasher, I saw Willis stagger out of “Bum and Kel’s,” my own favorite saloon.

“Willis?”

“What the fuck you want?”

I’d like to talk to you about something.

[More of the same.]

“Why the fuck did I give you a B? You deserved an A.”

That’s what I’d like to know.

“Alright, if you take me, I’ll give you the A.”

Assuming the nine-inch taller man meant a round of fisticuffs, I put up my dukes. He shook me off, and put out his arms to signal we were to wrestle.

The place we were at was an inhospitable mix of sand and tiny pebbles, between some pickup trucks parked in front of the joint, but it would have to do.

We tangled, and went down in the sand and pebbles, and I pinned Willis on his shoulders, counting him out 1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3. But he wouldn’t admit that I’d beaten him and continued struggling with me, our legs by now under someone’s parked pick-up truck. Finally, the beefier of the two owners came out, said “Boys, that’ll be enough,” and dragged us up from under the truck, and separated us, each in one of his meaty hands. Willis had bloody knees, due to wearing shorts (I was wearing jeans), but that was his choice.

I then went across the street to Ralph’s Pizza, where I triumphantly told the owner’s son, Ralph Jr., of my exploits.

“It doesn’t count, because Willis was drunk.”

“But he’s always drunk off campus!”

I don’t recall succeeded at bringing Ralph Jr. around to my way of seeing things. And Willis was no gentleman; he never changed my grade, and I had no intention of chasing after him like a bill collector, dunning him for a grade change.

These reveries were inspired by the thoroughgoing thrashing that Takuan Seiyo gave to Kevin MacDonald at Gates of Vienna, in “Critique of the Culture of Kevin MacDonald.”

MacDonald, who knows little about Jews, whom he understands not one bit, considers himself the world’s greatest scholar of all things Jewish. His “scholarship” is reducible to the statement, ‘The Jews are an alien race that is a cancer on the white race, and responsible for all that ails the latter,’ or more succinctly, ‘The Jews are our misfortune!’

Seiyo proceeds by showing that MacDonald’s “method” consists of finding anything negative about any Jews, and attributing it to all Jews; ignoring all Jewish contributions to Western civilization; ignoring any injustices committed by gentiles against Jews; and writing as though any defect observed among Jews were unique to them, rather than common to many other, and possibly all other religious and ethnic groups. The philosopher Walter Kaufmann called such sophistry, “gerrymandering.”

The only blemish on Tak’s victory is, of course, that it came against the slovenly thinking Kevin MacDonald.

However, sometimes a man has to fight “the Bum of the Month.” Contrary to Ralph Jr.’s criticism, if I’d waited to find Willis sober, I would have never had my day. Was I supposed to let him slide? I don’t think so. And in an admittedly imperfect analogy—aren’t they all?—was a high-powered intellect like Tak Seiyo supposed to say, “This pathetic excuse for an intellect is beneath me; I won’t dirty my hands on him”? Of course, not. America and the rest of the West are collapsing due to such snobbishness, which often is a front for intellectual cowardice and laziness.

Anyone who would consider himself an intellectual today must, perforce, join the Bad Books Club, and pummel the intellectual Bum of the Month, or pretty soon, all intellectual exercises will have been outlawed.