Media Watch – Implicit whiteness, with pyrotechnics: Or, the night white people took over Washington, DC

The other night I saw AC/DC at the Verizon Center in Washington, D.C.  For those out of the know, AC/DC is an aging Australian hard rock band (founded 1973) famous for thundering, simple-themed songs that revolve around alcohol, women, and rock.  Its guitarist, a pale, slight Scotsman named Angus Young, is known for performing while wearing a British schoolboy uniform (jacket, tie and shorts) which he sheds (except for the shorts) mid-concert and duck-walks the length of the stage with sweat and hair flying.

Of the thousands of human beings packed into the arena, I did not see a single non-white face.  They may have been there, but in numbers that can only be described as statistically insignificant.  They were working-class class whites, for the most part, spanning a range of ages, with the occasional obvious yuppie-with-a-black-T-shirt-for-the-occasion thrown in.

The swarms of whites did not go unnoticed by the smaller crowds of blacks orbiting the Verizon Center that night.  They seemed slightly alarmed by the rugged whites, many of whom sported Celtic cross tattoos, Germanic cross T-shirts, and other signs of what psychologist Kevin MacDonald calls “implicit whiteness.”  Some taunts were thrown in our direction by a group of black girls, and one black man was prompted, for reasons I could not discern, to bellow “suck my d***.  Suck my big black d***” for all to hear.

The only blacks who interacted with whites were ticket scalpers, whose activities were ignored by the all-black police force on the scene.

Inside, the concert was an electrifying spectacle of deafening anthemic rock that drove the crowd nuts.  Smoke, lights, a giant inflatable “Rosie” (you had to be there) and, for the finale song of “For Those About to Rock, We Salute You,” six full-sized battlefield canons were wheeled onto the stage and blasted at the appropriate moment.  Women wore flashing devil horns, which went nicely with songs like “Hell’s Bells” and “Highway to Hell.”

I had a blast.  But the pro-white observer in me could not help but play field anthropologist at the same time.  Here I was, in the thick of thousands of whites, all communing, if you will, around what was essentially a pagan convergence.  The same folks who heaped hatred on Sarah Palin could not have been much more comfortable with this panorama:  a sea of white males all thrusting their fists in the air and yelling “oi!”, and the occasional buxom white woman — probably a non-feminist — gyrating with glee.

I am sure that conservative Christian whites would not have approved of much of it.  But if we as whites are looking for what works, we should not overlook the “Viking” whites as an element of healthy, vigorous white life.  They like the beer, the fighting and the sex.  Properly directed, this is what a race on the survival track does.

In considering it further, I decided that the real function of AC/DC’s music is to whip up whites for war and male fertility.  Again, these aren’t bad things for a race declining in numbers and influence across the Western world.  And it all operates free from the scrutiny of the SPLC and other “hate hunters”, because it’s just too attenuated from anything explicitly pro-white (this explains why the criticism of “Lord of the Rings” as “racist” wasn’t taken seriously by anyone — though it was certainly accurate).

I have heard that at shows by another hard rock band, Pantera (with which I’m totally unfamiliar, except to know that they are not a skinhead or “white power” band), the implicit slips into explicit with occasional yelps of “white power”!  Good.  The more of this, the better.

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There is a wonderful mystery to the dark forests of our European ancestors — the sprites, the gnomes, the elves, the swords, the axes, the knights, the maidens, the witches and warlocks, the war-party bonfires.  It’s a bottomless lake for the white imagination, and I am sure that an experience like an AC/DC show taps into it.

Whatever is going on, whites show up, in large numbers, ready to rock.  That’s about all we need, if you think about it.

Christopher Donovan is the pen name of an attorney and former journalist.