Everyone Hates Creative White Men

What Should the Soyjacks Do?

I. The Disenfranchised Core

Vivek Ramaswamy was right about Americans.

Every healthy society has a core of creative men who shape its imagination and give it a face. They are the builders of stories, monuments, and symbols that speak across centuries. A civilization without them forgets how to speak at all.

Western civilization still produces these men. You can find them painting in basements, writing on obscure blogs, composing music that no orchestra will play. They are not gone. They are simply excluded. Neither side of our cultural divide wants them.

The Left despises them for who they are. To the Left, their whiteness and maleness disqualify them from moral legitimacy before they have spoken a word. The Right despises them for what they do. To the Right, art is decoration, the province of hobbyists and malcontents.

This exclusion is not an accident. It is a structural failure, a sign that the political class has lost all respect for the imaginative class. A society that casts out its own builders of meaning will end up renting its culture from enemies.

They are not merely disenfranchised. They are disenfranchised at the precise moment when their talents are most needed. The men who could sustain our cultural life have been sent into exile and told to be quiet. Yet they still sharpen their craft in the dark, waiting for a civilization worth serving.

A civilization that ignores its own core does not endure. The cost of this neglect grows heavier each year, and the silence of these men is beginning to sound like a curse.

II. The Left’s Punishment

The creative white man is tolerated only when he helps dismantle himself.

On the Left, the hostility toward creative white men is open and doctrinal. Every institution and narrative casts them as oppressors or irrelevant. Their skill is treated as a relic from an order that deserves to be dismantled. The fact of their existence becomes the indictment.

Those who enter Leftist cultural spaces quickly learn the price of admission. Their presence is tolerated only if they disavow themselves. They must apologize in advance for what they are and bow to an aesthetic designed to humiliate them. The higher their skill, the heavier the burden of guilt they are expected to carry.

Contemporary art under the Left no longer seeks to amaze or elevate. It has been recast as therapy for grievance, a mirror for resentment rather than a window to the eternal. Beauty is viewed as suspect, mastery as oppressive, and wonder as naïve. A man who insists on these qualities becomes dangerous.

Those who comply survive by learning to shrink themselves. They adopt irony to shield their sincerity. They bury excellence under layers of apology. They produce work that flatters enemies and diminishes themselves. Each concession moves them farther from their own purpose.

The punishment is not refinement. It does not produce better men or better art. It produces stunted souls who learn to fear their own brilliance. The Left allows them to work only if they agree to build monuments to a future that excludes them.

III. The Right’s Neglect

A civilization that scoffs at beauty becomes easy to rule and hard to love.

On the Right, the hostility takes a quieter form. Here, the creative white man is not hated outright but dismissed as unnecessary. He is treated as an ornament at best and a nuisance at worst. His work is regarded as impractical, self-indulgent, and faintly suspicious.

This neglect is rooted in the Right’s confusion about culture. Many believe politics comes first, that culture merely reflects power and can be ignored or outsourced. They mistake art for decoration and forget that it once carried the weight of law and faith. To them, cultural ambition looks frivolous compared to policy or profit.

When the creative man approaches the Right, he meets blank stares and polite contempt. His seriousness is read as vanity, his insistence on standards as arrogance, his skepticism of mass taste as elitism. Those who do notice him often reduce his work to propaganda, stripping it of its dignity and wonder.

A movement that refuses to inspire cannot endure. The Right behaves as if cultural sterility is a sign of moral strength, as if slogans and spreadsheets can replace cathedrals. This is a mistake so large it scarcely recognizes itself as a mistake.

Without its creative core, the Right remains at the mercy of those who know how to build meaning. Power without vision becomes brittle and forgettable. The creative man is not a luxury. He is the only one who remembers how to write the story.

IV. The Flight to the Left

The more he apologizes, the more they despise him.

Given the choice between contempt and indifference, many creative white men flee toward the Left. At least there, someone pretends to care. On the Left, they are scorned yet included. On the Right, they are scorned and ignored. The decision feels inevitable even as it corrodes them.

This flight is tragic because it deepens their exile. The Left uses them as fuel for its own moral machinery, extracting their skill to glorify an ideology that despises them. Their brilliance is harvested to decorate campaigns of resentment, their sincerity repurposed as a shield for doctrines that seek to erase them.

They tell themselves it is better to be tolerated than forgotten. They convince themselves that compromise will earn them a place. In practice, it earns them only a longer leash and sharper ridicule. They begin to speak the language of their enemies, to shape their art into confessions and apologies.

The Left never grants respect in return. It rewards submission with more contempt. The creative man becomes a servant to his own destruction, crafting stories and symbols that hasten the collapse of the very civilization that taught him to dream.

Each year he spends in exile he forgets a little more of what he once was. He becomes a craftsman of his own diminishment, hammering his gifts into weapons for those who hate him. That is the price of seeking refuge in a house that wishes him gone.

V. The Right’s Missed Opportunity

Politics is downstream from culture. We’ve known it for years. But what did the Right do? It doubled down on wiggerdom.

The Right’s refusal to claim these men is not merely a failure of taste but a failure of strategy. Here stands a population brimming with skill, loyalty, and disillusionment, yet the Right averts its eyes. It prefers to flatter the crowd and placate donors rather than build a vision worth defending.

Creative white men are the only ones who know how to craft permanence. They understand how to carve a story into stone, how to compose symbols that outlast regimes. They are the architects of meaning. The Right, mistaking culture for ornament, leaves them outside the gates to wither.

This is not shrewdness. It is suicide. A political movement that cannot inspire its own artists has already surrendered its future. Power without beauty becomes a cudgel. Authority without imagination becomes a parody of itself. Culture is not downstream of politics; it is the riverbed.

Instead of granting these men a workshop, the Right offers suspicion. Instead of giving them a mission, it offers a market survey. Instead of recognizing them as the authors of its future, it misreads them as liabilities.

Yet they remain willing to serve, if called. Their loyalty is still there, waiting for recognition. Recognition does not flatter them. It makes them dangerous again — to the Right’s enemies, and to mediocrity itself. The longer the Right delays, the more it teaches them that silence is safer than creation.

VI. The Necessity of Reintegration

The creative man is the last living link to the possibility of greatness.

Bringing these men back into the fold is not a gesture of charity. It is a matter of survival. A civilization without a creative core cannot sustain itself, let alone aspire to anything higher. Without them, the Right will continue to speak in borrowed words and fight in borrowed myths.

Reintegration begins by restoring their rightful place at the center of cultural production. That means rebuilding patronage, reestablishing standards, and giving them work that carries weight. These are not perks. They are the scaffolding of a real society.

Beauty does not emerge by accident. Purpose does not write itself. Without the creative man, the public square becomes a mall, the cathedral becomes a warehouse, and the family becomes a marketing segment. He is the last living link to the possibility of greatness.

The Right’s refusal to see this reveals how much it has forgotten. It no longer remembers that culture is a kind of governance, that beauty disciplines people more profoundly than fear. A people without beautiful things becomes easier to manage and harder to inspire.

If these men are left outside, the future remains empty. If they are brought back in, the future can be furnished with wonder. The question is whether the Right still believes the future is worth furnishing or whether it is content to rent its culture from its enemies until the end.

VII. Toward a Vision

What does the Right aspire to? Hunting, fishing, and beer. Why should it even participate in civilization at all?

Reclaiming creative white men is the beginning of a vision, not its end. The Right cannot continue to treat culture as an afterthought. It must see it for what it truly is — the architecture of meaning that makes power intelligible and worth wielding.

A movement without culture is nothing more than a campaign. Campaigns win elections and vanish. Cultures build civilizations. The Right’s reluctance to build anything lasting explains why it keeps finding itself living inside the stories written by its enemies.

To correct this, the Right must provide these men with something better than tolerance. It must give them institutions to belong to, standards to exceed, and work that matters. They need a place where their craft is recognized as essential, not ornamental.

A society that wants to endure cannot subcontract its imagination. Vision does not arrive uninvited. It is built deliberately, brick by brick, line by line, note by note. Those who know how to build it are waiting for the signal that they are wanted.

If the Right fails to offer that signal, it should not be surprised when these men build for others. A culture of grievance will always welcome them eventually, even if only to devour them. A culture of greatness would make them its authors. The choice is simple, but it will not remain available forever.

VIII. Will the Creative White Man Ever Win?

They dedicate their lives to running all of his
He tries to please them all, this bitter man he is
Throughout his life the same, he's battled constantly
This fight he cannot win
A tired man they see no longer cares
The old man then prepares to die regretfully
That old man here is me, yeah
-Metallica, the Unforgiven 

The creative white man has been cornered for decades. Each attempt to belong is met with contempt or dismissal. He works in silence, hoping that someone, somewhere, still values what he makes. Yet the more he gives, the more both sides push him away.

He remains standing because he has no choice. He does not create to flatter movements or curry favor. He creates because he knows that without beauty, there is nothing left to save. The world around him may despise him, but it still depends on him more than it dares admit.

Winning, for him, is not a question of dominance. It is a question of being allowed to build something worthy. If the Left continues to devour his loyalty, and the Right continues to squander his gifts, his silence will deepen into finality. When that silence comes, the rest will follow.

There is still time for him to win. His hands are still steady. His craft is still intact. His loyalty is still there, though frayed at the edges. What he needs is not permission but recognition, not flattery but a home.

If the creative white man is never given his place, the society that denies him will not endure. If he wins, we all win — because he does not build only for himself. He builds so that something can remain when the noise finally stops.