[From "7-11 Nationalism"]
There’s an old time capsule video from 1987 titled “2:30am at a 7-11 near Disney World” that has made its way around the Internet over the years and has been viewed millions of times. Time capsule videos from the 1980s and early 1990s are often a bit grainy, depicting rather ordinary occurrences and interactions. They often depict completely ordinary events like kids buying snacks and talking to strangers in a 7-11, and yet they frequently get thousands to millions of views. These videos give a fleeting glimpse into how our nations once were, effectively depicting countries that no longer exist. They show younger people how safe, clean, friendly, and white our nations once were. Videos like this one leave some in awe at how happy and carefree people could once be in their local convenience store.
The corner store experience and 7-11 Nationalism is a sharp metaphor for the gradual decline of the West and the slow march of diversity that encroaches upon every facet of our lives.
I remember going to gas stations late at night with my dad when I was a kid, when I couldn’t sleep. We would get snacks. He knew the names of everybody who worked the late shift. They always seemed to play cool ‘80s music. That’s the America we were supposed to have.
As I grew up, I kept going to convenience stores often. I always enjoyed the experience and would take my time: grab a soda, chat with the clerk, maybe talk with a friend in the parking lot. But just in the course of my own short life thus far, there are places I went not all that long ago that were awesome, fun, clean, and safe that are now infested with aspiring rappers and welfare tourists – and nobody speaks English.
Not that long ago, I stopped at a convenience store in one of the most “diverse” parts of the city to buy a soda as I was driving through. The experience was “enriching,” you might say, in that I did learn something new about how non-whites live. The establishment’s front door was chained shut and locked. The windows were all barred. The clerk asked what I wanted through a microphone, and I had to put my money in a bulletproof box from outside. The clerk then closed the window on the box, got my soda and change, and then put it back in the box and closed it on his side so that I could receive it. The way that low-trust, low-impulse control populations live is wild. When my dad was growing up, the neighborhood I stopped in was nearly entirely white. Now, it’s a ghetto. There was once a gas station on the corner where I stopped, and it had no bars or chains or bulletproof glass. But then the blacks and Hispanics started moving in, and the whites moved away. Not even blacks want to live around other blacks; that’s why they move to white neighborhoods in the first place, perhaps not realizing that wherever they go, they bring crime and dysfunction with them.
The chill vibe that once existed in places like your neighborhood 7-11 has been shattered as a result of non-white migration and forced racial integration. Meandering through the aisles looking for snacks to eat during a movie with your friends or girlfriend is part of a bygone era, and we know who is responsible. Today is the age of looking over your shoulder, wondering if the group of loud urban youths gathering outside are about to commit their next felony, and being gawked at menacingly by a car full of dirty cholos, as if you’re the one in the wrong country.
7-11 Nationalism is about all the little things and day-to-day experiences that matter to our quality of life. The GDP can be at an all-time high, but if you can’t safely go to buy a soda, are you really any better off? Sure, your TV is bigger and crisper than ever, but do you know the first name of the guy who works at your grocery store? Do you even want to know his name? One of the more unfortunate aspects of ethnic diversity is that as social cohesion and trust break down, in-group trust also declines. Not only are we alienated by the presence of racial outsiders, but they cause us to be less trusting and sociable with those of our own kin as well. Even when the clerk is white, you are less likely to know his name in a diverse country, which robs us of the relationships we could have cultivated under different circumstances, leading to a more enriched society.
The experience at your local convenience store is, arguably, a more relevant indicator of the quality of life and social health in your nation than economic factors. When you pull into the parking lot, get harassed for money by some aspiring rappers, are nearly run over by a hijab-wearing woman in a new SUV as you cross the parking lot, and are unable to communicate with the Indian clerk while you’re being given the eye by urban youths, you come out of the experience feeling annoyed and angry. This is diversity fatigue: the result of the constant low-grade harassment and alienation we experience just by living among these vile racial aliens.
Diversity fatigue and psychological terrorism are the norm in today’s multicultural polyglot. Seeing a Mexican woman use her EBT card to buy snacks for her six children who will soon be outvoting and replacing you is a form of psychological terror. Seeing people in hijabs in a Western setting is jarring and unnatural. You know none of this is “normal,” but you’re forced to accept it all the same.
Mass migration and the fruits of “civil rights” legislation are coalescing to create an environment that is utterly inhospitable for us. Whites are being forced to live among a violent, impulsive, high-time preference scourge, with no way to legally segregate ourselves from them. It’s a form of anarcho-tyranny: the criminals are allowed to commit crimes and operate rather freely in society while the innocent are forced to live among them, while the law does little to protect them. The authorities allow criminal aliens to enter the country and will enforce the law against a white person who tries to escape forced integration. By making it impossible for whites to choose who they live with, we have been forced to abandon the cities we built and the towns we grew up in for the next suburb.