Breaking up with Neoreaction

Leaving the far right intelligentsia isn’t easy.

I was always one of those punk rock chicks who hated the liberal establishment for being too capitalist. It felt like the quote-unquote-revolution had been ruined by the commercialization of Occupy Wall Street, a movement that turned into a think tank for the banality of startup culture. I refused to believe that taking pictures on my iPhone was journalism, and had no interest in reaching a democratic consensus with my assigned collective. I longed for my days in the radical left, where running through the streets with black bloc was my prime form of socialization.

There was this fascination with the extreme left and the extreme right that I held. It seemed like they sat directly next to each other in a political circle; my job being to immerse myself in that nice little space between the two. This was my obsession. I read a lot of far right literature because it stimulated me in an intellectually provocative way. Initially I thought this was merely an aesthetic choice, and declared that I didn’t agree with it politically. I claimed that I read it so I could understand the enemy. Yet truth be told, I believed humanity wasn’t very nice, let alone posessive of a concept like equality. All the HBD stuff was weird, and I certainly had no issue with gay people, but civilization was definitely collapsing.

Cue meeting people who I could finally talk to about these ideas. It was like discovering the mutants all over again. The artists and the rebels and the freaks. I began networking with people on Twitter; forming a tight group of fringe philosophers who were willing to talk to me about tyranny, realpolitik, and the problems of modernity. I even wrote for a website that was considered to be hate material. I was a Jewish woman, but I never believed in identity politics. This was me at the core of my taboo adventures in crimethink. I was starting a counter-revolution, and bringing forth a right wing renaissance of thought.

Death to the Cathedral. Long live the neoreaction.

Of course I never quite fit in with the other warriors. Even though I was there from the beginning, dark enlightenment trading card for the masses to mock, I knew that something was wrong. Many people in this new scene disliked me because I was an outspoken woman. They told me that it was my role to be as feminine as possible, in order to reverse all the liberal decay. They accused me of being an entryist becaue I was Jewish. They made fun of me for displaying my emotions in public. They spoke a lot about reproduction and mating selection criterea. Yet I stuck around because I was intellectually lonely. Nobody else was willing to discuss the mechanisms of empire with me, at least not from the mental position of dictator.

I lost a bunch of people who I cared about. They thought I had lost my mind and become some kind of fascist. I explained to them that the counter-revolution of today was the revolution of tomorrow, but they simply weren’t having it. My feelings were hurt, but I chalked it up to thinning out the herd. Their minds weren’t as open as mine was. After all, they were progressive zombies.

One of the roles that I took involved encouraging neoreactoin to start music projects, create propaganda, and meet each other in person. I saw this as a movement that would overthrow the dominant power structure of liberal capitalism. To me, the Cathedral was no different from the Man. I found myself canceling plans with my real life friends so I could talk to my neoreactionary friends on Twitter. This was something new and exciting. This was inventing history.

Eventually I had to admit it. There was nothing neoreactionary about me. I was just a punk rock chick who refused to believe that humanity was good or that “rights” existed. I had been dealt a crappy hand in life, and saw through the humanitarian facade of our not-actually-civilized era. I quit engaging with people in neoreaction who said bad things about women and Jewish people. I didn’t distance myself from the entire group, because a few of them had become actual friends of mine. They were seekers like I was, and wished me no harm. Our political and philosophical discussions were something I could never give up.

If a mainstrem website wanted to interview me about neoreaction, I would tell them no in a heartbeat. I am not a liberal, and don’t think I ever will be. I’m an anarchist who is fascinated by the totalitarian mindset. People may see this as a contradiction, but I really don’t care. If anybody stopped talking to me because of my associations, this was their own ignorance. There was nothing I ever said or did that would be considered fascist. Truthfully, the mainstream could learn a lot from neoreaction. The way people are so honest with each other is refreshing. The community is like a fight club for right wing intellectuals, only the fights are over ideas and power. It’s my favorite role-playing game.

Yet my time as a neoreactionary is over. I quit considering myself a part of the movement a while ago, but the attachment remained like some bizarre cult. Leaving the far right intelligentsia isn’t easy. It may take some time before people stop relating me to that scene. I try not to get hung up on it. I was there to push the buttons of the people in power. I was an agent provocateur. Some people loved it and other people hated it. All I know is that the Cathedral never cared.