Originally published on December 24, 2015
It’s that time of year when we Americans gather together with our loved ones to admire decorated evergreens in our living rooms, bake and consume a myriad array of cookies and other sweets, binge watch a list of holiday television specials, and shower a plethora of cheap Chinese trinkets upon our spoiled children. Some of us try to weave an amorphous Christian message into the festivities. Others do not. But all in all, it is a season marred—for all of us—by frantic shopping sprees, desperate rushing to wrap the last gift, and a whirlwind of party planning.
Holidays are great because they perhaps represent the one last concrete excuse that we overworked and overtly distracted Americans have left to spend time with our families. But I can’t help this nagging feeling that even these rare and fleeting holiday get togethers are becoming as hollow as the over-commercialized holidays themselves. Most of the time spent at a typical American’s Christmas party will consist solely of lighthearted jokes, requisite pleasantries, and simply “catching-up.” Now, there is nothing necessarily wrong about any of these things (and at least the children will get to see their cousins for once); however, as I recline back in my chair, sip my seasonal beer, and—now that the kids have all gone to bed—stare at my Christmas tree, I ponder: isn’t there some sort of deeper tranquility that this holiday is supposed to bring to me?
I am not what one could consider a particularly enthusiastic adherent to the Christian faith. Nevertheless, Christianity is a part of Western culture. It is more-or-less synonymous with being a White American. And I thus embrace it as a part of my heritage, but only nominally. So my holiday lamentations aren’t meant as a prelude to teary-eyed pleas for more giving to the poor, praying, or singing happy birthday to Jesus on December twenty-fifth. But there exists an undeniable void in the spiritual life of the contemporary American, and what Christmas has become is a symptom of that inner sickness.
I say that because this holiday that is intended to bring families together and make them stronger only makes me sad. It makes me sad because the family itself has been mortally wounded by liberalism and cultural Marxism. It makes me sad because we Americans have become so atomized and so alienated. It makes me sad because I look at the children, and I wonder what their lives will be like under this junk culture that has been foisted upon us, this hollow consumerism, this Mammon worship.
American’s have become so Satanically individualistic that many of us are refusing to even rear families—even when locked in heterosexual matrimony! Indeed, countless White American couples will be attending family Christmas parties tonight merely to laugh at the siblings or cousins of theirs with children, believing them idiots for being duped into having those kids. Sure, they’ll pat their nieces or nephews on the head for five or ten minutes but then go back to their adolescent escape-artist world of booze, marijuana, and smartphone Facebook.
And what of these few children that some of us still insist on having this holiday season? They will lay on the floor, over-stimulated and unsure over which one out of the twenty-seven new and over-sized plastic toys in front of them to play with the wrong way first. Doubtless, we adults will have also turned on the latest mass produced Disney Junior holiday special (with a moral about sharing, or something, of course) for them on the giant flat screen so that we adults can sip an extra Mimosa undisturbed while we gossip and wisecrack—no real substantive conversation here because we all know that you never talk religion or politics at a party, folks (heavens no, you’d might have to disagree with someone if you did that).
We tell ourselves that we are making warm memories for these children, and I’m sure that we are. Unfortunately, those warm memories will be of Frosty the Snowman saying “Happy Birthday,” or of some gay little elf wanting to pull teeth instead of make toys. Yes, we spent all year chasing the almighty dollar, and during the holidays—instead of giving them real family memories and making sure they imbibe a firm basis in tradition—we spoil them with toys from China. Now, we only have to sit back and wait to see which of the girls will grow up to have mixed-race babies with a string of deadbeat baby daddies. Or which of the boys will grow up to be a pothead video game addict who hopes to dwell in the basement well into his thirties. Or, worse yet, which of the girls and/or boys will come home from school one day at the age of fifteen demanding that he or she or it or whatever be referred to by pronouns of the opposite gender and that you take them to see a psychologist so that they can be prescribed hormone therapy treatment.
The very celebrations that we get together to celebrate this time of year are under assault. For, as we all know, all of Western civilization itself is under assault. Our way of life and all our traditions—all the foundations of family too—are being threatened by the liberal elite apparatuses that hold our people in bondage. And they are being threatened too by the pullulating Muslim hordes at the gates, clamoring to be let in in order to destroy us. Meanwhile, we eat gingerbread and fuss over which Precious Moments ornament we’re going to go all out for this year. What we should be doing is trying desperately to find a way to make our holiday season substantive once again, to make of them something that truly helps hold onto and propel forward traditions and traditionalism instead of serving as some vehicle to facilitate escapism, distraction, and hollow consumerism.