Once Aryan Skynet Goes Live It Doesn't Matter Who Pulled The Switch
“This is certainly the greatest paradox of the 2016 presidential race,” observes Hunter Wallace at Occidental Dissent: “the candidate with some of the strongest ties to the Jewish community has emerged as the favorite of White Nationalists and Alt Righters.” Naming names, he adds, “From Occidental Observer to The Daily Stormer to AmRen to Radix, everyone is in the tank for Donald Trump.”
There are exceptions. B’Man’s Revolt and the Renegade Tribune, for examples, have maintained a healthy skepticism toward the Alt-Right’s man of the hour; but the bulk of the reactosphere, and particularly those corners of it putatively devoted to white racial interests, have thrown in whole-heartedly with the celebrity Zio-whore’s ostensibly populist presidential bid. As Aryan Skynet has repeatedly warned, however – here, here, and here – Trump is anything but the nationalist he pretends to be.
Some of Trump’s support among racialists comes from those who view him as merely a useful political opportunity – a figure who, notwithstanding his motivations and questionable associations, is doing white nationalism’s work by budging the Overton window; but others – a vast and disturbingly zealous quantity of Trump-championing others – appear to have been taken in whole-hog by the casino magnate’s confidence game and his Hollywood persona.
The basis of the irrational faith in Trump is the notion that he is independently wealthy and therefore politically incorruptible. “He’s in nobody’s pocket,” proclaims Jared Taylor. Trump does not depend on the banks and the Jews, he can and will finance his own campaign, and – Odin willing – he will, with iron-winged victories soaring overhead to herald the dawn of an undying Reich, deliver on all of his promises – and more! – and thus #MakeAmericaGreatAgain.
The amen corner notwithstanding, the depth of those legendarily deep pockets on The Donald has been questioned now and again. “How much cash does Donald have? We don’t know for sure,” said Dallas Mavericks and Landmark Theaters owner Mark Cuban, who referred to Trump’s alleged net worth as “a play number.” “What’s He Really Worth?” asked Timothy O’Brien in The New York Times ten years ago. His findings are worthy of dredging from the media’s memory hole:
For decades, Donald Trump, America’s most effervescent rich guy, has made his wealth a matter of public discourse. But sometimes his riches are hard to find. […]
By 1993, with his casinos in hock, most of his real estate holdings either forfeited or stagnant and his father slipping into the fog of Alzheimer’s disease, Donald Trump, at the age of 47, had run out of money. There were no funds left to keep him aloft, and as the bare-bones operation he maintained in Manhattan started to grind to a halt, he ordered Nick Ribis, the Trump Organization’s president, to call his siblings and ask for a handout from their trusts. Donald needed about $10 million for his living and office expenses, but he had no collateral to provide his brother and sisters, all three of whom wanted a guarantee that he would repay them.
The Trump children’s anticipated share of their father’s fortune amounted to about $35 million each, and Donald’s siblings demanded that he sign a promissory note pledging future distributions from his trust fund against the $10 million he wanted to borrow.
Donald got his loan, but about a year later he was almost broke again. When he went to the trough the second time, he asked his siblings for $20 million more.
“We would have literally closed down,” said another former member of the Trump Organization familiar with Donald’s efforts to keep the company afloat. “The key would have been in the door and there would have been no more Donald Trump. The family saved him.” […]
Before Donald could get to Phase 2 of his career, he had to muscle his way through the dismantling of his business empire and a thorny financial restructuring with his bankers and bond holders that left him on the precipice of personal and corporate bankruptcy. As bankers who once fell over one another to throw money at him now lined up for their share of what was left over, Donald scrambled to hang on to whatever he could while maintaining his facade as America’s most savvy entrepreneur. And in terms of maintaining his popular mojo, Donald proved remarkably resilient. […]
Although Donald’s brush with bankruptcy separated him from some of his showiest assets and from the banks whose loans had first puffed him up, his penchant for claiming billionairedom remains. To this day, he closely monitors his ranking on Forbes magazine’s annual list of America’s wealthiest individuals, the Forbes 400, and his ability to float above the wreckage of his financial miscues and to magically add zeroes to his bank account has ensured that he remains an object of fascination. But how much is Donald Trump really worth?
In September 1982, with Trump Tower a year away from completion, Forbes published the Forbes 400 for the first time. (In 1918, Forbes produced a list of America’s 30 richest people, but that was a one-time event.) Chock-full of anecdotes about how the rich became rich and what they did with their richly deserved riches, the Forbes 400 was financial pornography of the most voyeuristic and delicious sort.
While there was a refreshing inclusiveness about the list (Mafia treasurer Meyer Lansky made the inaugural tally, for example), some on the roster held rank upon the loosest of foundations. For those whose wealth was based on a stake in a publicly traded company, calculating their Forbes worthiness was relatively straightforward: put a value on their stock. But for those with privately held money who weren’t a Rockefeller, Mellon, du Pont or Kennedy, the process of ascertaining fortunes was trickier. Forbes relied on those people to willingly fork over an honest and somewhat exact self-appraisal of their wealth.
It also turned out that some big buckaroos, understandably averse to receiving an avalanche of phone calls from charities or scamsters that would follow such publicity, loathed being on the list. Nonetheless, the Forbes 400 drew scads of attention from the moment it was published. The list became capitalism’s Rosetta stone, a decoding device for divining the American Way. Even prominent economists parsed it for social truths. […]
This, then, was the dividing line: Those who were secure enough not to reveal their wealth abhorred the Forbes 400, or at least tried to avoid it; those who were less secure, needed to keep score and had their identities wrapped up in the concept of billionairedom turned the list into a white-collar fetish. For the latter group, to be off the Forbes 400 represented emotional and social exile.
Donald, paradoxically, was a loner who did not want to live in exile. He was obsessed with the Forbes list. And his propensity for inflation, matched with Forbes‘s aversion to hiring the sizable staff it might need to assess accurately the wealth of each of its designated 400, got Donald on the magazine’s inaugural list in 1982. Forbes gave him an undefined share of a family fortune that the magazine estimated at $200 million — at a time when all Donald owned personally was a half-interest in the Grand Hyatt hotel and a share of the yet-to-be-completed Trump Tower.
Donald and the Forbes 400 were mutually reinforcing. The more Donald’s verbal fortune rose, the more often he received prominent mentions in Forbes. The more often Forbes mentioned him, the more credible Donald’s claim to vast wealth became. The more credible his claim to vast wealth became, the easier it was for him to get on the Forbes 400 — which became the standard that others in the news media, and apparently some of the country’s biggest banks, used when judging Donald’s riches.
In some years, Donald insisted on impossibly high figures for his net worth and then, in a faux fit of complaining, settled for an estimate that Forbes convinced itself was conservative — even though it was often wildly high anyway. The one gap in this mating dance was 1990 to 1995, when Donald didn’t appear on the list at all. Forbes was apparently so chastened by the $2.6 billion difference in its estimate of Donald’s wealth between 1989 and 1990 that the magazine needed a six-year hiatus before it had the confidence to begin helping him inflate his verbal fortune again.
Donald’s verbal billions were always a topic of conversation whenever we visited. In my first conversation with him, in 1996, he brought up his billions. When Donald and I spent time together one weekend in Palm Beach, Fla., earlier this year, the subject inevitably came up. Donald had gamely and openly fielded a diverse range of questions all day, so I was curious to see where he would go when we got to money. When I popped the wealth question, he paused momentarily and scrunched his eyebrows. We had reached a crossroads. Out it came. He pursed his lips a little bit. Out it came. He blinked. Out it came, rising up from deep within him.
“I would say six [billion]. Five to six. Five to six,” he said.
Hmm. The previous August he told me that his net worth was $4 billion to $5 billion. Then, later that same day that August, he said his casino holdings represented 2 percent of his wealth, which at the time gave him a net worth of about $1.7 billion. In the same day, Donald’s own estimates of his wealth differed by as much as $3.3 billion. How could that happen? Was Donald living in his own private zone of wildly escalating daily inflation, a Trump Bolivia? And his $1.7 billion figure in August was well below the $2.6 billion that Forbes would credit him when it published its rich list just a couple of months later.
Now Donald was saying he was worth $5 billion to $6 billion.
“Five to six. Five to six.”
And on the nightstand in my bedroom at Donald’s Palm Beach club, Mar-a-Lago, was a glossy brochure that said he was worth $9.5 billion. […]
Three people with direct knowledge of Donald’s finances, people who had worked closely with him for years, told me that they thought his net worth was somewhere between $150 million and $250 million. (Donald’s casino holdings have recently rebounded in value, perhaps adding as much as $135 million to these estimates.) By anyone’s standards, this still qualified Donald as comfortably wealthy, but none of these people thought that he was remotely close to being a billionaire. […]
Donald whittled down his mammoth personal debts by forfeiting most of what he owned. Chase Manhattan, which lent Donald the money he needed to buy the West Side yards, his biggest Manhattan parcel, forced a sale of the prized tract to Asian developers. Though Donald would claim after the yards were sold that he remained a principal owner of the site, property records did not list him as such.
According to former members of the Trump Organization, Donald did not retain any ownership of the site’s real estate — the owners merely promised to give him about 30 percent of the profits once the site was completely developed or sold. Until that time, the owners kept Donald on to do what he did best: build. They gave him a modest construction fee and a management fee to oversee the development. They also allowed him to slap his name on the buildings that eventually rose on the yards because his well-known moniker allowed them to charge a premium for their condos.
Retained for his building expertise and his marquee value, Donald was a glorified landlord on the site; he no longer controlled it.
Donald Trump, in other words, is living the life of a Jim Carrey, not that of a George Soros or a Warren Buffett. It was after his fortune slipped from his grasp that The Hair started doing cute cameos in TV shows like Sex and the City (1999) and movies like Home Alone 2: Lost in New York (1992) and The Little Rascals (1994) to pick up a few extra bucks and to keep his brand current in the minds of the fickle masses. A member of the Screen Actors Guild, the great savior of the white race receives a six-figure pension from that organization to complement the dough he collected as the star attraction of NBC’s highly popular game show The Apprentice. As Aryan Skynet’s own Hipster Racist quips, “It’s the CEO he plays on TV, not in real life, that is his most valuable asset.” More recently, Trump has been scheduled to host Saturday Night Live – a circumstance that must have The Donald’s defenders scratching their heads as to how to fit this into their Unassailable Trump vs. The Liberal Media narrative.
The true believers will never relinquish their hero – at least, that is, until he craps out as a candidate. Up to now the edgelord choir has embraced the myth of Trump the tycoon, believing that the real estate money launderer can afford to disavow SuperPACs founded in his name because he can afford to dig into his own pockets. As the Associated Press reports, however, “despite the billionaire businessman’s early pledge to finance his own campaign”, financial disclosures show that “more than 70 percent of the $3.9 million he raised from July through September came from people giving $200 or less”, with much of the influx of funds coming from purchases of his “Make America Great Again” hats and T-shirts.
Furthermore, as The Daily Mail reveals, most of the proceeds from these sales go not toward the establishment of an on-the-ground political apparatus in the highly prized early primary states, but toward the manufacture of more hats and T-shirts. This, as far as the balance of Trump’s checkbook is concerned, is what making America great again is about. The Donald is cashing in just like the Reagan eighties were here again. An anonymous 4chan poster confesses the following:
I’ve made a huge fucking mistake, /pol/. I’ve been spending the day volunteering at at Trump event in Tennessee along with his strongest supporters.
I liked Trump because he wasn’t afraid to speak the truth and was a refreshing voice in politics.
His supporters are entirely old white people. They’re clueless about politics. The only discussions they’re having are about his reality shows that I’ve never seen. I’d say 80% of them are only supporting him because they don’t like Mexicans. That’s fine, but there’s no substance whatsoever.
His campaign staff give off the vibe that it’s all a big joke and they’re in on it. Not taking anything seriously. They’re all public relations, marketing, and legal folks. No policy people at all. Nothing about his campaign disproves the “meme candidate” criticism.
No observer of any political wisdom ever thought that Donald Trump was any sort of de facto (i.e., moneyed) frontrunner with a solid chance of winning the Republican Party’s presidential nomination. Even now, after so many months’ squandered hype for Trump, he trails behind Rubio and Bush at the Intrade-style prediction market PredictIt. Third place is hardly a shabby showing, though, for an aging reality TV star hawking tacky apparel emblazoned with his name and gimmicky slogan. This is not an attack on those white nationalist brothers who feel their time is best spent plugging Trump’s T-shirt brand on Twitter; it is only a wake-up call for dreamers.