Keith,

That’s a really slick little attempt to twist the kinist position (“your kin is comprised of people who are like-minded, not like-skinned. By your definition, a black man who also agrees with kinism is your brother, and I am not”), but if you want to get a square shake from us, you’re going to have to stop lying and playing word games. And here’s a bit of guidance for you and your cohorts on here: you’re going to have to do some homework. I’ve noticed that so many of y’all come on our blogs and start asking us to re-re-re-explain everything we believe and hold dear, just for little ol’ you. Well, it’s all out there in black and white (I know those distinctions are hateful to you, but the print medium just works better that way). Read Harry’s definitive statement on kinism at the Little Geneva site. Read Badonicus’ posts. Read JLH. Read Barn Cat. Pick any kinist and read. When you’ve done your work, come back and be ready for substantive discussion. We’re not going to start from scratch just because you’re used to being spoon fed pabulum from your pulpits.

So you think I’ve painted myself into a semantic corner, and that I’m implying that a Negro who agrees with kinism is my brother, etc.? Let me say it again: I respect any Negro (or Japanese, or Hottentot, or whatever) who loves his family, loves his race, loves his nation, wants to see them prosper, and wants his grandchildren to have the same things in common with him that he had in common with his grandparents. Any Negro with this mindset IS a functional kinist, yes, he is. And I applaud what he’s doing, and I say, “Go to it, sir.” But he is not my brother. If he’s a true Christian, he is a fellow believer, a “brother in Christ,” as it were. His salvation is not dependent on the color of his skin, just as mine is not. But God drew boundaries between the nation of his fathers and the nation of my fathers. And we each function best when we follow God’s design, not ours, just as a woman functions best as a beloved helper for her husband, not as a beskirted co-leader. The hypothetical Negro you mentioned is like-minded, and to be admired for what he believes (as long as he puts real action to his beliefs). But that’s all he is. But you, Keith? You? A man who declares, “If, when [my daughters] are grown, they bring home a Godly man they would like to marry, I don’t mind at all if he has more melanin in his skin than I do?” You may have White skin, but you certainly are not my brother, not if you really believe that. Ah, but there’s the rub. I don’t for a moment believe that you really do think that way. I think you’re either a liar (out of fear of being called a racist, or intolerant, or hateful, or old-fashioned, or whatever), or you’re deluded (because, like most White men, you’ve spent too much time letting Jews do your thinking for you via the mass media and popular culture and the modern emasculated pulpit). I think that if you felt really free to say what you believe in your heart, you’d bellow in rage and horror if your pretty little White daughter (I’m assuming you’re not married to a stranger) came home with a baptized Tiger Woods or Denzel Washington on her arm…much less a Flava Flav or a Fitty Cent. I sat on a PCA pastor’s back porch one evening a few years ago and listened to him say, almost verbatim, what you’ve written here, that he wouldn’t care if his daughter brought a Negro home, “as long as he was a godly young man.” But this pastor continued with a more chilling statement. He said, “And I have to tell you, I can’t really say that if the White race were to die out tomorrow, I’d be particularly upset about it.” See, he was being consistent. And if you’re being consistent, you share his nonchalance about the death of a race that God ordained and created and blessed. And if you can’t see that, you’re worse than a liar. You’re literally a damned fool, and generations after you will have cause to hiss and spit when they see a fading picture of you. If you can’t understand that your self-professed faith in Christ will mean little to your own children if you throw them to the savages, then there’s no reaching you. You’re unteachable. And that, Keith, is why you are not MY brother.

I mean, come on, Keith. REALLY, now. Walk away from the keyboard and look at your daughters right now and ask yourself, “Do I want them to marry someone who is a stranger to my blood? Do I want to dishonor my fathers (who would have condemned me to a man) by sacrificing her and her future and her childrens’ future on the altar of current social trends?” Look at their skin, their hair, their eyes. Think about that skin being pawed and mauled by a foreign hand while you stand meekly by and say, “That’s my new son!” If you can do this and answer yes, you are to be pitied. But you are not to be excused, and you are not to be embraced. I don’t know you, and I don’t want to know you. If you can do that to your daughters, then you’re not a man, and you’re certainly not a White man. Not the type of White man who can fall into line behind the White men on whose shoulders you stand every time you vote or buy groceries or look at your own White wife. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Keith. You ought to be ashamed.

The Blue Angel deals with the humiliation and breakdown an inhibited, overbearing, sexually-repressed instructor at a boys' prep school. Professor Immanuel Rath discovers some of his students passing round seductive photographs of a sexy cabaret singer. His best pupil confesses that Lola Lola sings and dances at the "Blue Angel," a variety club near the docks. Rath visits the club that night to put a stop to all this indecency, but is entranced by his first glimpse of Dietrich straddling a chair crooning "Falling in Love Again" in top hat, stockings, and bare thighs. Rath's self-righteousness cannot survive the seductive, throaty voice of the siren. Three of Rath's pupils are watching from the dark, though they duck out of sight of their teacher. Rath decides to corner Lola for "misleading" his pupils while she is in the dressing room preparing for her next appearance. One of the boys smuggles Lola's panties into the teacher's coat pocket. Rath uses the "garment" as a pretext to see her again. They spend the night together; for the first time in his life, he arrives late for school the next morning to find his class in an uproar. When the principal shows up to investigate the goings-on, Rath leaves his job and marries Lola. The mismatched couple enjoy themselves until they have spent every cent of Rath's bank account. Consumed by desire and tormented by his rigid propriety, Rath's morality degenerates. Lola finally forces him to return to his home town and appear as a clown there. The performance ends scandalously. Lola leaves him for another man. A broken old man unable to bear the humiliation any longer, Rath returns to his old classroom and falls dead on the floor.