Where Indic wisdom meets global strategy. Reflections on culture, power, memory and the forces shaping civilizations past and present.
Pages
Tuesday, November 30, 2021
Twilight of the warlike: The long shadow of defeat in Germany and Japan
On America's Aspiration to be the World's Professor
Monday, November 29, 2021
In Defense of Tribalism
Saturday, November 27, 2021
The West’s Totalitarian Mission to Promote Capitalism
Friday, November 26, 2021
The Four Stages of Capitalism
Wednesday, November 24, 2021
The Problem of Great Art
Tuesday, November 23, 2021
Imperialism, Racism, and the Human Genome
On Capitalism and Communism
Monday, November 22, 2021
On The Brahmi Script
On Eric Hoffer’s View of Holy Cause
Sunday, November 21, 2021
On the Sintashta-Arkaim Culture
Friday, November 19, 2021
The Problem of History: Emic and Etic Perceptions
Thursday, November 18, 2021
The Yamnaya Migrations and Lactose Intolerance
Wednesday, November 17, 2021
The Funeral of the Western Empire
Tuesday, November 16, 2021
Race Is not a social construct—It’s written in our DNA
“Analysis of genomes from around the world establishes that there is indeed a biological reality to race, despite the official statements to the contrary of leading social science organizations.”
“Racism and discrimination are wrong as a matter of principle, not of science. Science is about what is, not what ought to be. Its shifting sands do not support values, so it is foolish to place them there.”
— Nicholas Wade, A Troublesome Inheritance: Genes, Race and Human History
For decades, we have been told that race is a “social construct,” a convenient fiction invented by history’s oppressors. This is the catechism of modern academia—repeated so often that it passes for self-evident truth. But the human genome does not care for ideology, and the genetic record says otherwise. If you want to accuse something of creating race, don’t start with politics—start with DNA. It is the fountainhead of human difference, the wellspring from which every variation in capacity, resilience, and aptitude flows.
In A Troublesome Inheritance, Nicholas Wade commits the heresy of pointing out the obvious: human populations are not the same. The differences are measurable, reproducible, and stubborn. That they make many people uncomfortable is irrelevant. Science is not a comfort service.
Consider the evidence Wade marshals. The Ashkenazi Jews—0.2% of the world’s population—have claimed Nobel Prizes at nearly a hundred times the global average. Since 1980, every single Olympic 100-meter finalist has had West African ancestry. Tibetans and Andean highlanders thrive at altitudes that leave lowlanders gasping. Some populations digest milk with ease; others cannot. Some suffer devastating hereditary diseases at much higher rates than others. And yes—average IQ scores vary: East Asians score around 105, higher than the global mean. Intelligence, Wade reminds us, is not morality. High IQ societies have committed their share of atrocities.
The academic priesthood prefers to keep genes and culture in separate temples—never to be mingled. Wade bulldozes that wall. Genes and culture, he argues, are in constant interplay. Civilizations do not emerge from thin air; they evolve within the constraints and opportunities that biology affords. “Each of the major civilizations,” he writes, “has developed the institutions appropriate for its circumstances and survival. But these institutions… rest on a bedrock of genetically shaped human behavior.”
This is why American-style democracy cannot simply be “exported” to Iraq any more than Iraqi tribal politics can be imported to Washington, D.C. Institutions are not Lego blocks. They are living organisms, adapted over centuries to the behavioral ecology of specific populations. Try to transplant them without regard for that ecology, and they wither—or mutate into something unrecognizable.
We can cover our eyes and chant the slogans of the new moral order, but the biology will not go away. Race is not a conspiracy of historians; it is a fact of nature. Biology shapes races, races shape cultures, and cultures build (or destroy) civilizations.
Does this mean that human potential is set in stone? No. Within every population, some individuals break the mold—thriving where others fail. If some can, others can. But pretending there is no mold to begin with is intellectual fraud.
Wade does wander into speculation—his talk of an “inbuilt sense of morality” is thin on evidence. But given that we only cracked the human genome in 2003, we are in the early dawn of this knowledge. The next two decades will bring more clarity, and perhaps more discomfort.
The tragedy of our age is that instead of facing these truths, we smother them under euphemism and denial. We treat biology as if it were a hate crime. Yet history will not be kind to civilizations that build their moral systems on deliberate self-deception. Wade’s book may be “troublesome,” but only because it dares to speak the language of fact in an age intoxicated by fiction.
Monday, November 15, 2021
The Battle for the Rig Veda and Sanskrit
Sunday, November 14, 2021
On Political Power and Biracial Couplings
Saturday, November 13, 2021
On Reagan’s Naive War on Communism
Is Man the Highest Product of Evolution?
Friday, November 12, 2021
On The Yamnaya Migrations
From Civilization to Barbarism
Thursday, November 11, 2021
The Myth of Democracy and Capitalism
Wednesday, November 10, 2021
The Rediscovery of Neanderthals
Tuesday, November 9, 2021
Thomas Sowell: Defender of Slavery and Imperialism
A J Ayer’s Near Death Experience
Monday, November 8, 2021
Contributions of the Failed Civilizations
Sunday, November 7, 2021
History’s Dialectic: From European Thesis to Asian Resurgence
Saturday, November 6, 2021
The Foundational Stage Of Capitalism
Thursday, November 4, 2021
Who We Are and How We Got Here
Wednesday, November 3, 2021
The Hindu Cosmology of Seven Continents and Seas
Tuesday, November 2, 2021
Hume: The Power of Propaganda
Monday, November 1, 2021
The Myth of American Humanitarian Intervention
Saturday, October 30, 2021
On Kipling’s “Lesser Breeds Without the Law”
Friday, October 29, 2021
Agamemnon's Dollar
Thursday, October 28, 2021
The Homeric Rage of the Europeans
Wednesday, October 27, 2021
King Tobacco and the American Revolution
Tuesday, October 26, 2021
The slaughter of the bison: When the plains turned silent
In the year 1800, the Great Plains of North America trembled under the thunder of life. Between forty and fifty million bison roamed its grasslands — vast herds so immense that early travelers described them as moving continents of flesh. By 1895, less than a thousand remained. What had once been a symbol of abundance had become a symbol of annihilation.
Contrary to popular myth, it was not the Native Indians who brought the bison to the brink of extinction. The destruction came from another source — the white pioneers employed by commercial hide companies. These hunters, driven by profit and armed with new rifles, turned the plains into killing fields. They shot bison by the tens of thousands, stripped their hides, and left the rest — meat, bones, life itself — to rot beneath the prairie sun.
In Dodge City, Kansas, two traders, Charles Rath and Robert Wright, shipped 200,000 bison hides in the winter of 1873 alone, with another 80,000 hides stacked in their warehouse. The land, once alive with motion and sound, was reduced to silence and stench.
That same year, Lt. Col. Richard Irving Dodge witnessed the devastation with the eyes of a soldier and the heart of a poet. His words remain among the most haunting in the chronicles of the American frontier:
“Where there were myriads of buffalo the year before, there were now myriads of carcasses. The air was foul with a sickening stench, and the vast plain which only a short twelve months before teemed with animal life, was a dead, solitary putrid desert.”
The wholesale slaughter of the bison did more than destroy an animal species; it destroyed a civilization. For the Plains Indians, the bison was not merely sustenance — it was sacred order, economy, and identity. The animal’s disappearance was not ecological alone; it was spiritual erasure.
When the hunters pushed into the Texas Panhandle in the 1870s, some tribes rose in desperate resistance. They attacked the hide hunters, defending not just the herds but their very existence. The American military replied with ruthless efficiency. The tribes were labeled “hostile” — a word that justified extermination. Soldiers burned villages, slaughtered horses, and shattered whatever remained of Indigenous autonomy.
With their homes destroyed, their mounts seized, and their herds gone, resistance became impossible. A civilization that had endured for centuries on the rhythm of the plains was forced into submission — not merely by arms, but by hunger.
No testimony captures this tragedy more poignantly than the words of John Fire Lame Deer, a Lakota holy man, who described the sacred intimacy between his people and the buffalo:
“The buffalo gave us everything we needed. Without it we were nothing. Our tipis were made of his skin. His hide was our bed, our blanket, our winter coat. It was our drum, throbbing through the night, alive, holy... Not the smallest part of it was wasted... When you killed off the buffalo you also killed the Indian — the real, natural, ‘wild’ Indian.”
The extermination of the bison was thus not only an ecological disaster; it was an act of cultural and metaphysical warfare. The Great Plains, once vibrant with life and spirit, were transformed into a graveyard — a landscape of bones bleaching under an indifferent sky.
The silence that followed was not merely the silence of extinction. It was the silence of a people bereft of their world.
