If the Underclass Wins, We All Lose
The Barbarians Who Will Destroy Western Civilization
I. The Shape of Collapse
Yes, you is.
-Mary Jones, Precious
Walk a block in North Philadelphia or the South Side of Chicago. The first thing you’ll notice is not crime, but mood. A spiritual poverty deeper than material lack. Churches with broken stained glass now double as shelters or soup kitchens. Graffiti covers the stones where crosses once stood. Liquor stores glow like shrines under flickering LED signs, their walls fortified not against thieves—but against customers. On the curb, a mother scrolls through her phone while her toddler climbs into a pit bull’s mouth, unsupervised. Nearby, a stolen car idles to no one’s concern.
What you are seeing is not a failure of policy or a gap in resources. You are seeing a new mode of life. It is governed by resentment, sustained by subsidies, and immortalized on camera. It has no vision of the good, no memory of duty, no fear of God. It survives not because it is strong, but because no one is willing to bury it.
This is what conquest looks like in the modern West. Not tanks, but tantrums. Not ideology, but instinct. The underclass has not seized power in the conventional sense. They have simply outlasted those who built. Where civilization requires restraint, they require nothing. Where it requires memory, they forget. Where it honors craft, they consume.
Their world is not the ashes of a once-great culture. It is the culture now.
II. Albion’s Illegitimate Seed
It's not the fucks in caves... halfway around the world that keep me up at night.
(Shakes head) Mm-mmm.
They're right here in the middle of our own g*dd*mn base.-Colonel Lincoln Redding, The Hills Have Eyes 2
They were once called Borderers. Scattered along the rough frontier between England and Scotland, they were forged in the lawless pressure of clan warfare, theft, and revenge. When they came to the Americas, they brought their code: loyalty to kin, suspicion of authority, and a disdain for refinement that smacked of weakness. They were not tamed by the New World—they carved their way into it.
They settled Appalachia and the Deep South. Proud, poor, hard-edged. They didn’t trust preachers, didn’t read books, and didn’t ask for permission. They made moonshine, feuded over insults, and died in large numbers for causes that rarely served them. They weren’t polite, but they were fierce, and they knew what was theirs.
But the modern regime had no use for such people. Bureaucracies replaced blood. Safety nets replaced self-reliance. Generations that had once lived hard and died harder began to soften—then rot. When the government subsidized fatherlessness, they obliged. When television offered a stage for their humiliation, they performed. Today, their grandsons are tattooed, addicted, and livestreaming their own slow suicides. Their granddaughters raise children by three men, all absent.
This descent wasn’t inevitable. It was engineered. The same state that punished their pride offered them pity. The same media that mocked their ignorance now rewards their worst instincts. They were never invited into the managerial class. They were left to degrade in place.
The Borderer still exists—he’s just wearing a WorldStar hoodie and selling pills behind the Family Dollar.
III. Not a Joke Anymore
First they ignore you. Then they laugh at you. Then they fight you. Then you win.
-Gandhi
There was a time when the underclass was something America laughed at. Daytime television paraded them across the screen—shirtless, shrieking, swinging at each other under studio lights. “Who’s the father?” was a national pastime. Audiences jeered, judges smirked, hosts egged them on. These shows were not comedies, but they were treated like them. The pain was real, the dysfunction was obvious, but the laughter drowned it out.
That laughter had a cost.
Mockery has a way of backfiring when it is not followed by judgment. What was once ridiculed slowly became normal. The viewers who laughed on weekdays began to dress like the people on screen by the weekend. Tattoos migrated from prison walls to soccer moms. Profanity became everyday speech. Aggression became authenticity. It started with irony. Then it wasn’t ironic anymore.
The spectacle grew. Social media handed everyone a camera. The humiliations were no longer televised—they were self-inflicted. People began to compete in the degradation games. Fight videos. Twerking in Walmart. Screaming at minimum-wage workers. The grotesque became popular because the grotesque had been familiar. The underclass became cultural capital.
And the laughter faded. Because when your children begin to talk like the guests on Maury, when your dating pool starts to resemble Jerry Springer contestants, when the chaos escapes the screen and enters your neighborhood, you stop laughing.
What began as mockery has ended in mimicry. What America used to laugh at is now raising its children.
IV. Resentment as a Worldview
So what exactly are the rewards of resentment? It is always a relief to know that the reason we have failed in life is not because we lack the talent, energy, or determination to succeed, but because of a factor that is beyond our control and that has loaded the dice decisively against us.
-Theodore Dalrymple
The underclass does not seek to rise—it seeks to drag down. Its politics, its culture, its language all bend toward one axis: destruction of the higher. What you see in the streets, in the welfare offices, in the comment sections of viral brawls is not simply poverty. It is metaphysical revenge. A war of the low against the noble, the built, the beautiful.
Nietzsche called this ressentiment—the inverted morality of those too weak to create, who then declare creation itself evil. It is not that they lack ambition; they lack the capacity for upward striving. And in its absence, they poison the very idea that greatness is desirable. They say, He thinks he's better than me, as if that thought were the true offense. They reframe discipline as oppression, hierarchy as hate, refinement as betrayal.
Jacques Ellul warned that propaganda takes root not in the rational mind, but in the wounds. The underclass does not absorb arguments. It absorbs narratives of pain. Every social failure becomes proof of systemic evil. Every authority figure is cast as enemy. Every sign of excellence is an insult. Their resentment grows not because they are wronged, but because they cannot compete.
This is why programs fail. You can hand them housing, food, and scholarships—but you cannot hand them virtue. The problem is not their material lack. It is their moral appetite. And it grows each time it is fed.
V. The Death of Shame
Je-rry! Je-rry! Je-rry!
-The Jerry Springer Show
Shame once stood guard at the gates of civilization. It whispered in a man’s ear before he struck his wife, before a girl dressed like a prostitute, before a son dishonored his father’s name. It tethered people to standards—unwritten, but deeply known. It did not always prevent sin, but it made sin painful. And that pain preserved dignity.
Then shame was declared violence.
The regime taught us to tolerate everything: broken families, vulgar speech, aimless men, and degraded women. We were told to “understand” the roots of dysfunction, to accept every pathology as a form of personal truth. A girl with three children by three fathers wasn’t shameful—she was strong. A man collecting handouts wasn’t cowardly—he was a victim. Every inversion was protected by the threat of public scorn against those who noticed.
And so the old shame died. But something worse replaced it.
Today’s shame is selective. It falls not on those who behave disgracefully, but on those who dare to judge them. To condemn degeneracy is to commit a social sin. To call ugliness what it is—to name disorder, disorder—is to invite cancellation, or worse, pity from the well-trained who assume you're speaking from hate.
But civilizations built on excuses don’t survive. They dissolve. And when shame retreats, imitation rushes in. The middle imitates the bottom because it no longer fears becoming the bottom. And the bottom keeps falling, confident that no one will say the word low.
VI. Aesthetic Trashfire
With blacks as with whites, the redneck culture has been a less achieving culture. Moreover, that culture has affected a higher proportion of the black population than of the white population, since only about one-third of all whites lived in the antebellum South, while nine-tenths of all blacks did.
-Thomas Sowell, Black Rednecks & White Liberals
You can measure a people by what they glorify. Look around.
The music screams of murder, addiction, and lust, all layered over computer-generated bass lines so repetitive they could be used for torture. The faces on billboards wear vacant stares and sell flesh like gum. Strip-mall tattoo parlors churn out ink for arms that will never raise a family or build a house. On TikTok, teenage girls grind against car hoods while their infant siblings sit unattended in the background.
This is not culture. This is collapse dressed in neon.
The underclass worldview has flooded the mainstream not because it won a debate—but because it required nothing. Beauty takes effort. Vulgarity is easy. So easy that even the comfortable classes adopted it out of boredom and cowardice. The line between parody and performance collapsed. The children of dentists now wear face tattoos. Suburban girls model themselves after porn stars. Middle-aged men blast drill music at stoplights.
Postmodernity greased the slope. It told us beauty was subjective, that taste was elitist, that the museum was no better than the graffiti wall. That lie opened the gate. The trash poured through it.
And here we are: a civilization that funds symphonies but fills its ears with synthetic grunts. That builds libraries no one visits, while half the country lives in a digital carnival of nudity, envy, and rage.
There is no high culture left to resist the flood. And the flood, as always, is rising.
VII. Not Idiocracy
Premise 1: I like fun.
Premise 2: It’s fun to be dumb.
Premise 3: I don’t care about the consequences.
Conclusion: Therefore, be dumb.
The temptation is to laugh it off. To say this is all the natural drift of a free people—some dim comedy of errors, a harmless slump in taste, a passing phase. We reach for the Idiocracy metaphor because it flatters us. It lets us believe we’re still sane observers in a world gone stupid.
But stupidity is not the engine here. Malice is.
The underclass culture is not a passive consequence of low IQ. It is an active rejection of order. What you see in the underclass is not dullness—it is defiance. There is strategy in their disorder. The refusal to speak properly, to behave modestly, to live cleanly—is a kind of power. It is the only power they believe they have left. And so they wield it like a club against everything they were once taught to admire.
This is not the world of lovable oafs and accidental decay. It is the world of vindictive inversion. These people do not want to join civilization—they want it to fail so they are no longer beneath it. They want its rules to collapse, its standards to be mocked, its dignities to be exposed as lies.
And the ruling class—too cowardly to enforce limits, too self-satisfied to care—lets it happen. Sometimes it even cheers.
This is not a world run by dunces. It is a world torn down by people who know exactly what they are doing—and have nothing left to lose.
VIII. A Country of Baby Mamas
Yeah, this one right here goes out to all the baby's mamas, mamas
Mamas' mamas, he-he-he, baby mamas' mamas-Outkast, Ms. Jackson
Family used to be the civilizing force. The man led, the woman nurtured, the child was formed. It was a hierarchy grounded in nature and refined by tradition. It taught discipline, gratitude, and restraint. And it didn’t need a therapist or a grant to function.
Now walk into the underclass household—if you can call it that. The father is gone, if he was ever there. The mother is exhausted, entitled, or online. The grandmother may be raising the child while the daughter chases validation in public housing hallways or on Snapchat. There are often three last names at the dinner table and no dinner.
This is not poverty. It is disintegration. And it is not accidental—it is rewarded. Subsidies flow freely so long as no man is present. Entire bureaucracies exist to financially penalize intact families. The baby mama is not a tragic figure. She is the regime’s preferred citizen. Unattached, perpetually needy, politically reliable.
The men, stripped of role and reverence, drift. Some become addicts, some become criminals, most disappear into a haze of video games, fast food, and resentment. There is no expectation placed upon them, no path laid before them, and no one calling them back from the abyss.
Civilization cannot endure where men are useless, women are reckless, and children are liabilities. The underclass is not merely poor—it is post-civilized. And the consequences of that condition radiate outward, corrupting every institution that tolerates it.
IX. The Only People Reproducing
When barbarians overran Rome, they found themselves the stewards of civilizational infrastructure they were unwilling and unable to keep. Thus began the dark age.
The future belongs to those who show up for it. And in America, those who show up are increasingly the least prepared to shape it.
The college-educated delay children until their thirties, hedge with insurance policies, freeze eggs, and consult spreadsheets. They speak of “parenting” like it’s a side hustle. By the time they’re ready to start a family, many can’t. Or won’t.
Meanwhile, the underclass breeds without hesitation. Pregnancy is not planned—it’s expected. Children are not investments—they’re accessories, bargaining chips, or anchors. A teenage girl with no diploma, no skills, and no husband is often on her second child before a law student finishes their second year.
This isn’t biology alone. It’s a system of incentives. Housing vouchers, SNAP, Medicaid—all depend on broken homes and expanding households. The regime rewards reproduction divorced from responsibility. And so the population grows from the bottom. Fast.
But demographics do not care about narratives. They are arithmetic with a knife. A civilization that replaces its most competent members with its most chaotic cannot survive. And yet we are doing exactly that—one birth at a time.
The consequences are not distant. They are visible in schools, where the children of dysfunction set the tone. In cities, where feral teenagers swarm streets. In politics, where appeals to grievance now outweigh appeals to excellence.
The underclass is not growing because it is strong. It is growing because no one stopped it. And soon, it will outnumber the people who could have.
X. Genetic Patterns and Hard Truths
The idea that man is a tabula rasa… is an old one with disastrous implications. I do not think though that the cults you mention could survive honest thought about human nature.
-Theodore Dalrymple
No one wants to say it, but everyone knows. Culture is not a costume you can take on and off. It is built, in part, on biology—on temperament, impulse control, time preference, and inherited patterns of behavior. These traits do not determine destiny, but they shape possibility. And some populations, over time, become better adapted to building civilization than others.
The American regime insists on the blank slate. That every failure is external, every difference a social construct, every problem solvable by more funding. But what if the slate was never blank? What if some of the chaos we see isn’t learned but inherited?
This doesn’t mean individuals are beyond redemption. But it does mean that civilizational planning must deal in averages, not exceptions. You cannot build a functioning society around statistical anomalies. You must plan for what is typical, and in the underclass, what is typical is dysfunction.
Traits like low future orientation, emotional volatility, and aggression aren’t random—they concentrate over generations in communities where virtue is neither taught nor rewarded. A girl raised by a mother who never married will likely follow the same path. A boy surrounded by thugs will not become a philosopher. And government programs cannot rewrite blood.
What this demands is not cruelty, but clarity. If culture is partly downstream of genes, then some lines must be pruned, not praised. And if we refuse to speak this truth, then no amount of school funding or social work will save what’s coming.
XI. The Tyrant and the Trash
Do I know Michael Myers? Of course I know him. He’s me.
The underclass cannot govern itself. But it doesn’t need to. The regime governs for it—feeds it, flatters it, funds it. And in return, the underclass becomes its shock troops.
When protests are needed, they appear. When riots erupt, they’re excused. When cities burn, media call it catharsis. No matter the destruction, the same justification is whispered from every elite mouth: They are victims. But the lie is strategic. Because while the trash breaks the windows, the tyrant walks through the door.
Anarcho-tyranny thrives on this relationship. Low-level chaos gives cover for high-level control. While the poor throw bricks, the state writes policies. While shoplifters empty shelves, bureaucrats empty bank accounts. The disorder at the bottom creates justification for repression at the top.
Meanwhile, the middle class—those who build, save, and raise children—find themselves policed more harshly than criminals. Code violations are enforced, pronouns are monitored, taxes are extracted. You are watched, not because you are dangerous, but because you are manageable.
The underclass is the battering ram. The tyrant is the one holding it.
This alliance is not accidental. It is the logic of a system that no longer believes in the good, the beautiful, or the true. It believes only in power. And for now, the quickest path to power lies through the ruins of civilization and the mouths of the angry. The regime does not want order. It wants obedience. And nothing helps obedience more than fear of the mob outside your door.
XII. Imposing Moral Order
Hello Officer Rigg. If you are hearing this, then you have reached Detective Matthews and Detective Hoffman in under 90 minutes, resulting in their deaths. The rules were clear. You were warned. Tonight, you faced your obsession. They had to save themselves. Their salvation was out of your hands. Time was on your side, but your obsession wouldn't let you wait. Instead of saving Detective Matthews, you cost him his life. You failed your final test.
-Jigsaw, Saw IV
The future will not be saved by slogans. It will be saved by walls—of custom, of shame, of law. Not walls to keep others out, but to keep ourselves in—to remind us what we are, and what we must not become.
A civilization that will not impose moral order is a civilization that will be ordered by something else: chaos, appetite, or brute instinct. The underclass has no philosophy, no tradition, no loyalty. But it does have momentum. Left alone, it spreads. Tolerated, it metastasizes. Praised, it conquers.
The answer is not pity. Pity built this mess. Pity taught a generation of misfits to feel aggrieved by standards. It told women that restraint was repression. It told men that effort was optional. It told children that disorder was their heritage. Pity is not mercy—it is surrender dressed as virtue.
What’s required now is not a gentler tone or better outreach. It is division. A clean and unapologetic distinction between the builders and the burners, between those fit to carry forward the goods of the past and those who would wipe them out for the thrill of erasure.
You don’t fix the underclass. You contain it. You disincentivize it. And you remind your own children that its values—if they can be called that—lead only to ash.
If the underclass wins, we all lose. So the time for apologies has passed.
The question is no longer how to uplift them.
The question is whether we will defend ourselves.