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One of the most important things my father, and my uncles, and my grandfather had was honour. It was necessary because they lived in a bad world, in a country occupied by communists and everybody you spoke to could be a Securitate informant.

Which is why honour was important. The social system was so based on the alien values of communism that all a man had was what he was.
Social capital was something that was gained from hard work, from being a good husband and father, from being truthful and trustworthy. From keeping your word in the smallest thing.

Respect was given and received based on these metrics and our men were strong and true.

My father, much as he was married to an evil bitch from hell , never for a second considered divorcing her and leaving his child despite every second at home being a living hell.
It led him to drinking and an early grave, but he kept his word and his vow because he chose to.
And when he wasn’t drinking to dull the pain, he was a good man, and that is how I shall think of him.

My grandfather, a Romanian nationalist who knew and worked with Codreanu and spent 14 years in prison for the crime of being a legionnaire and a patriot never told his wife that she wasn’t Jewish, albeit he knew from the day he married her.
She had been adopted- probably kidnapped or bought from poor parents by a Jewish family as a baby and never knew who she was. We found out later that everything she had held dear was a lie. She never even knew her own name.
 But grandpa rather had the stigma of marrying an orphan Jewish girl than break her heart by telling her that everything she knew of herself was a lie. That even her name wasn’t hers.

When we did find out, when one of my cousins tried to immigrate to Israel under the law of return only to be told that he didn’t qualify because in the papers of the local synagogue my grandmother figured as “Christian girl Theodora”, grandfather told us that he knew, and he happily changed the plaque on her tombstone to her real name so that God might know his lost lamb.

He’d rather face the stigma than break the heart of his wife, and he did.  And the people around him including the Captain, who hated Jews, knew and accepted his choice.
The Captain called him his friend and shook his hand.

That is honour.

My other grandfather was a poor peasant from the mountains. At the end of the war the country was taken over by communists, and he wouldn’t have that. Together with a few friends, this poor peasant with 2 years of school, who could barely read and write his own name, who never had shoes until he was drafted took to the mountains to defend his people and land from the Communist scourge.
He left home a wife and three children.

We never knew how he died. He was unheard of after 1951, and communists didn’t quite keep records of whom they killed back then.
His group was isolated, pushed into the mountains, hounded and denied shelter in the cruel Romanian winter.
Did he die of hunger like many others? Of cold? Eaten by wolves? Shot by communists and thrown in a shallow grave for the beasts to clean the flesh off his bones?

Did he even know what he was fighting for? Because democracy was not a thing for us. But freedom was.  Did he even ask himself why he left his wife and kids behind?


His land and people were in danger so he did what any man of our people did for centuries, took his weapon and go fight off the invaders.

His wife never begrudged him that. She raised her kids by working other people’s land, and when the famine left her too poor to feed all three she gave away her youngest to a rich relative rather than have him starve.

She never resented his choice. She knew, because that is what our women always did, that men’s work is higher work and that women’s work is to support men and look after the home and the children while men do their high work.

This is honour.

In my long travels through the West honour was one of the rarest things I encountered. I have to teach my zoomer herd colleagues the importance of it. Why one’s word matters. Why marriage is sacred.

These kids, raised in a rich decadent Western country… had no idea what honour is. Why it’s the only thing that matters. The only thing that makes us, US.

Honour is all a man has. He can be tired, fallible, cold. He can lose the fights of life.

But as long as he has honour, as long as his word is true, he has all he needs to be a good man.

Our culture is based on honour. On the entirety of this mud spheroid only us and the Japanese have the understanding of what honour of a man is.
This is what the covert war on our minds has stolen from many a Western man. Honour. Purpose. Dignity.

But as a new generation is rising, who imbibed all the lies until they became immune to it and are naturally returning to our people’s traditions? There’s nothing more important in the world than the fact that they are taught honour.

We’re nothing without it. We can’t live without it and surviving without it isn’t worth it.

Soon, very soon, the war fought covertly against us will break out in the open. Every white man will have to fight or submit to our enemies and die.

Which is why honour matters. Which is why it’s the job of White men to be honourable and true.

Which is why it’s the job of White women to support our men in their higher work and be honourable in theirs- to be mothers and look after the house, to be our men’s shelter from a hostile universe, to give care and healing when they return to us wounded from battle.

It’s our job to be not burdens to them but support and shelter. To guard the home while they are away and to preserve it.

White people need honour and purpose to thrive.

What’s killing us is the lack of it. 

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