A Tenth White American Voice
Recently (it’s now January, 2023) I wrote a couple of articles that provide the backdrop for what’s here: “The American Political System and White Discourse”; and “Nine American White Voices.” The thrust of the two was the suggestion that a possible underpinning for American White racial advocacy is this country’s political and cultural heritage, with the emphasis on “possible.” I’m not contending that this frame of reference should be the way American White advocates look at racial concerns; rather, that it is a way. It happens to be my outlook, but it needn’t be anyone else’s. Personally, I’ve found White advocacy to be too strident, alpha-male-dominated, European-referenced, collectivist, authoritarian, and fringy-right-wing. I’ve gone so far as to argue for gay and lesbian involvement in the movement (“The White Racial Movement and Gays.”)
In the week following the “American Political System and White Discourse” posts, I identified nine people I believe deserve consideration in this country’s racial dialogue and debate: philosopher, essayist, and lecturer Ralph Waldo Emerson; novelist and short story writer Ernest Hemingway; Civil War combatant William T. Anderson; film director Sam Peckinpah; poet Emily Dickinson; artist and art educator Robert Henri; U.S. Congresswoman Jeannette Rankin; comic book illustrator Steve Ditko; and country singer Hank Williams. The “Nine White American Voices” article was given over to brief references—quotes, descriptions, accounts, lyrics in Williams’ case—to the nine.
What I didn’t note in that article and should have, and I’m doing it here, is to point out that I didn’t just pick the nine names out of a hat, as it were. At some point in the last decade, these nine individuals jumped out at me. I gave them time and attention. They had an impact on my thinking and, really, my total being—and that includes Hank Williams’ lyrics to “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry.” I decided that each of them was a White American voice: I couldn’t envision their expressions coming from a Black, Hispanic, Asian, or Jewish person, or from a European. All nine were inside me, part of the physically-felt internal referent I drew upon, when I produced the 59 articles I have written for this publication over the last few years. To understand me and what I have written is to take into account, or at least sense, that someone like comics illustrator Steve Ditko has had a major impact on me and someone like Anthony Ludovici hasn’t.
With that as the context, I’ll cite a “tenth White American voice” here: Samuel Francis Smith. Just now I had to look up Smith’s name; I didn’t know it before. In 1831 while a student at the Andover Theological Seminary in Andover, Massachusetts, he wrote the lyrics to “America” (“My Country ‘Tis of Thee”) to the melody of “God Save the Queen.” Doing so, he contrasted the British monarchy with the young American republic. I remember singing the song in elementary school, and I took its words to heart. I still take them to heart, including, and I’m not religious, the references to God:
My country ’tis of thee
Sweet land of liberty
Of thee I sing
Land where my fathers died
Land of the pilgrim’s pride
From every mountainside
Let freedom ring
My native country, thee
Land of the noble free
Thy name I love
I love thy rocks and rills
Thy woods and templed hills
My heart with rapture fills
Like that above
Let music swell the breeze
And ring from all the trees
Sweet freedom’s song
Let mortal tongues awake
Let all that breathe partake
Let rocks their silence break
The sound prolong
Our Father God to Thee
Author of liberty
To Thee I sing
My country ’tis of Thee
Sweet land of liberty
For all eternity
Let freedom ring
All to say, White nationalism and Alain de Benoist don’t have the favorable ring for me that they do for others. I identify with and care about all White people, but I am first and foremost a White American who loves my country and what it stands for.








