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Manifiesto Redneck
El Manifiesto redneck es una devastadora defensa, razonada y oscuramente divertida, del grupo social más vilipendiado de Estados Unidos: el clan cultural al que la gente se refiere indistintamente como rednecks, hillbillies o basura blanca de tráiler. Con audacia y brillantez, demuestra que el secretito más sucio de Estados Unidos no es el racismo sino el clasismo y, con una inigualable habilidad para echar sal en las heridas, desmantela todas las ideas preconcebidas acerca de la raza y la cultura, arremetiendo a mazazo limpio contra las delicadas concepciones populares de gobierno, religión, medios de comunicación e historia.
390 pages, Paperback
First published May 14, 1997
About the author
Jim Goad
25 books195 followersGoad started his writing career with the magazine "ANSWER Me!" Which got connected with a triple suicide by British gothics and of the white house shooting of Francisco Martin Duran.
In 1998 he was convicted of abusing his girlfriend and was released in 2000. In prison he wrote his autobiography "Shit Magnet."
In 1998 he was convicted of abusing his girlfriend and was released in 2000. In prison he wrote his autobiography "Shit Magnet."
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 143 reviews
November 12, 2016
Redneck. Hillbilly. Yokel. Have you ever used any of these terms to describe other people in your society? I have, (sorry Queenslanders!) and after reading The Redneck Manifesto I can see the classist, snobby error of my ways.
If you're easily offended, I recommend reading something else. Goad is vulgar, occasionally extreme and prone to long, enraged rants. He's also damned entertaining, and has produced a fascinating book that looks the lives, hopes and stereotypes of poor white Americans.
As much as our neo-liberal masters would like to pretend otherwise, class both exists and matters. Trump and Brexit give us a glimpse of the shocking things that can happen when you ignore the reality of what life is like for large sections of our societies. Class is very much alive in the US and Goad shoves that reality in your face, while verbally slapping you and yelling at you to not look away.
He paints an ugly picture, its lines and colors dictated by poverty, the disdain of the mainstream, substance abuse and a government that hurts more than it helps. Goad traverses a lot of territory, from history through to leisure, politics and race relations, taking up the literary cudgel in defense of that most maligned of groups- the American redneck. The Redneck manifesto is vicious kick in the face to assumptions people make about poor white folks who are seen to be outside the acceptable white middle class mainstream.
I've never read anything like this book. This is unfiltered rage put onto page, with an intellect and wit the equal of its passion. I don't know how Goad was able to see his keyboard past his personal cloud of anger-spittle, but I'm glad he did. His writing is near musical in its torrent of insults and expletives and it's a joy to read, providing you have the stomach for his deliberate provocations. The insights he provides into the real, everyday lives of poor Americans are often shocking, giving readers a glimpse into a near hopeless world where life is getting worse, not better, and everybody involved knows it.
I don't agree with some of Goad's assertions, and his tone is often needlessly (if entertainingly) antagonistic, but his point of view is not often heard in our cultural discourse. When the results came in on the 8th of November 2016, I thought of this book. In the era of Trump (the Trumpassic? The Trumpermian? The Bullshitocene?) Goad points a flashlight at a largely ignored section of American society and helps us understand why so many people are so angry, and why they feel their nation has let them down.
If you're easily offended, I recommend reading something else. Goad is vulgar, occasionally extreme and prone to long, enraged rants. He's also damned entertaining, and has produced a fascinating book that looks the lives, hopes and stereotypes of poor white Americans.
As much as our neo-liberal masters would like to pretend otherwise, class both exists and matters. Trump and Brexit give us a glimpse of the shocking things that can happen when you ignore the reality of what life is like for large sections of our societies. Class is very much alive in the US and Goad shoves that reality in your face, while verbally slapping you and yelling at you to not look away.
He paints an ugly picture, its lines and colors dictated by poverty, the disdain of the mainstream, substance abuse and a government that hurts more than it helps. Goad traverses a lot of territory, from history through to leisure, politics and race relations, taking up the literary cudgel in defense of that most maligned of groups- the American redneck. The Redneck manifesto is vicious kick in the face to assumptions people make about poor white folks who are seen to be outside the acceptable white middle class mainstream.
I've never read anything like this book. This is unfiltered rage put onto page, with an intellect and wit the equal of its passion. I don't know how Goad was able to see his keyboard past his personal cloud of anger-spittle, but I'm glad he did. His writing is near musical in its torrent of insults and expletives and it's a joy to read, providing you have the stomach for his deliberate provocations. The insights he provides into the real, everyday lives of poor Americans are often shocking, giving readers a glimpse into a near hopeless world where life is getting worse, not better, and everybody involved knows it.
I don't agree with some of Goad's assertions, and his tone is often needlessly (if entertainingly) antagonistic, but his point of view is not often heard in our cultural discourse. When the results came in on the 8th of November 2016, I thought of this book. In the era of Trump (the Trumpassic? The Trumpermian? The Bullshitocene?) Goad points a flashlight at a largely ignored section of American society and helps us understand why so many people are so angry, and why they feel their nation has let them down.
September 6, 2007
As someone who isn't too far removed from his Cracker roots, I was hoping that this book would be a "Fanfare for the Redneck Man", of sorts.
God, was I disappointed. Instead, it's pretty clear that Goad is a self-loathing Redneck, and desperately wishes that he could be part of the "bourgeois" class he claims to despise. If you think I'm lying, check out his obsessive compare/contrast essay on the beautiful lawns of the nicer neighborhoods where he grew up, compared with the squalor of his own home.
Also, he borrows an argument from Engels that the lower classes enjoy monster truck rallies and professional wrestling because it is an extreme diversion, something jolting to get them out of their dead-end lives. Personally, I thought it was because both of these things are AWESOME. I'm a big believer that anyone will try something new, given the right encouragement and the resources to do so. Nevertheless, as a whole these people aren't very wealthy and well-traveled, so rallies and matches are what they know, and what they can participate in.
After about two or three chapters, you'll get tired of Goad's bile. In fact, the only part worth reading is the section about the early days of the North American colonies. Goad argues that white indentured servants were basically slaves, and the truth is that they probably were. His portrayal of the Irish in America is also spot-on and heartbreaking. This, however, can be read in the bookstore; don't bother taking the rest home with you.
God, was I disappointed. Instead, it's pretty clear that Goad is a self-loathing Redneck, and desperately wishes that he could be part of the "bourgeois" class he claims to despise. If you think I'm lying, check out his obsessive compare/contrast essay on the beautiful lawns of the nicer neighborhoods where he grew up, compared with the squalor of his own home.
Also, he borrows an argument from Engels that the lower classes enjoy monster truck rallies and professional wrestling because it is an extreme diversion, something jolting to get them out of their dead-end lives. Personally, I thought it was because both of these things are AWESOME. I'm a big believer that anyone will try something new, given the right encouragement and the resources to do so. Nevertheless, as a whole these people aren't very wealthy and well-traveled, so rallies and matches are what they know, and what they can participate in.
After about two or three chapters, you'll get tired of Goad's bile. In fact, the only part worth reading is the section about the early days of the North American colonies. Goad argues that white indentured servants were basically slaves, and the truth is that they probably were. His portrayal of the Irish in America is also spot-on and heartbreaking. This, however, can be read in the bookstore; don't bother taking the rest home with you.
November 28, 2007
This is one of my favorite and most lent-out books. It's a very brash, no punches pulled look at race and class issues in America. As someone who has zero interest in political correctness, and in fact feels it's one of the main reasons this country is going to shit, I share many if not all of Goads opinions. However, if you can't handle offensive language and a completely fearless (and maybe tastless) inspection of these delicate issues, you might not want to sully your virgin eyes.
If you can handle Goads way of expressing himself, you will get your eyes opened to alot of things that only he has had the balls to say outloud.
If you can handle Goads way of expressing himself, you will get your eyes opened to alot of things that only he has had the balls to say outloud.
April 20, 2012
The Redneck Manifesto is a rant. The sort of rant you might hear at any number of grimy dive bars across the country on any given night. A rant that is, unquestionably, entirely more entertaining and slick that you would hear at those dive bars. It’s even a rant with endnotes! But if it’s an intelligent rant, it’s not an accurate one, endnotes notwithstanding.
Jim Goad is angry, and if you’re a hillbilly, hick, redneck, or white trash of any variety (a bit broad there, but we’ll return to that) he’s angry on your behalf. And he’s got a point in there somewhere. White and black men are much more likely to mingle in a factory than a white-shoe law firm, in a dive bar than a martini bar, and in a trailer park than a gated community. Life as an indentured servant was more than a little hard (the early, historical portions of the book are easily its best). We really should have been a bit more worried in the 90s about foreign, Arabic terrorists.
Well, yes. But American, white terrorists aren’t any less nasty. We would kindly ask people to not knock over our buildings and, failing that, not ask and not do it kindly. The portion of his rant on tidewater cavaliers would have been considered roughly accurate had he written it a few decades ago, but historiography marched on without Mr. Goad, and he would have benefited from picking up a newer book.
Therein lies one of Mr. Goad’s primary problems. He’s always got a source ready at hand, but by his standards it need merely be in support of his position. Accuracy and intellectual honesty are optional, at best. Hence the bad history above. And a ready willingness to quote Alexander Hamilton on guns that is strangely absent when it comes time to talk about banks. Would I betray my hillbilly roots as high-faluting to demand that if you use endnotes you not be completely full of BS? (And it’s not a bad bibliography. One can overlook a little A People’s History of United States for some Mind of the South and Night Comes to the Cumberlands.)
You can’t hardly rant without throwing your own biases in, but I guess this is a rant too, so I won’t shed too many tears over pointing Mr. Goad’s biases out. Mr. Goad has a very specific view of what the very broad people he is talking about are, and he’ll fit them into that square hole come heck or high water. He thinks religion is silly so he just talks about Bigfoot and Elvis instead (he’s channeling his inner Marx here, which is a bit bourgeois, to tell the truth). Well growing up in backwoods southern Appalachia we took religion REAL serious, and hellfire and brimstone flew every Sunday. Mr. Goad, Portland white trash that he is, only has a passing familiarity with my people, now doesn’t he? He commits that old sin of lumping us highland southerners with the lowland southerners (and letting a bunch of people from Lord knows wherever take up cause with us while he’s at it!). As anyone who has lived in both the highland and lowland South could tell you, David Hackett Fischer was right. They remain two very different places populated by two very different cultures.
And so Mr. Goad’s rant goes down the path of so many other lonely fools on barroom stools. He can turn a phrase or two and hit a button, yes, but that son of a gun doesn’t know his rear-end from a hole in the ground.
Jim Goad is angry, and if you’re a hillbilly, hick, redneck, or white trash of any variety (a bit broad there, but we’ll return to that) he’s angry on your behalf. And he’s got a point in there somewhere. White and black men are much more likely to mingle in a factory than a white-shoe law firm, in a dive bar than a martini bar, and in a trailer park than a gated community. Life as an indentured servant was more than a little hard (the early, historical portions of the book are easily its best). We really should have been a bit more worried in the 90s about foreign, Arabic terrorists.
Well, yes. But American, white terrorists aren’t any less nasty. We would kindly ask people to not knock over our buildings and, failing that, not ask and not do it kindly. The portion of his rant on tidewater cavaliers would have been considered roughly accurate had he written it a few decades ago, but historiography marched on without Mr. Goad, and he would have benefited from picking up a newer book.
Therein lies one of Mr. Goad’s primary problems. He’s always got a source ready at hand, but by his standards it need merely be in support of his position. Accuracy and intellectual honesty are optional, at best. Hence the bad history above. And a ready willingness to quote Alexander Hamilton on guns that is strangely absent when it comes time to talk about banks. Would I betray my hillbilly roots as high-faluting to demand that if you use endnotes you not be completely full of BS? (And it’s not a bad bibliography. One can overlook a little A People’s History of United States for some Mind of the South and Night Comes to the Cumberlands.)
You can’t hardly rant without throwing your own biases in, but I guess this is a rant too, so I won’t shed too many tears over pointing Mr. Goad’s biases out. Mr. Goad has a very specific view of what the very broad people he is talking about are, and he’ll fit them into that square hole come heck or high water. He thinks religion is silly so he just talks about Bigfoot and Elvis instead (he’s channeling his inner Marx here, which is a bit bourgeois, to tell the truth). Well growing up in backwoods southern Appalachia we took religion REAL serious, and hellfire and brimstone flew every Sunday. Mr. Goad, Portland white trash that he is, only has a passing familiarity with my people, now doesn’t he? He commits that old sin of lumping us highland southerners with the lowland southerners (and letting a bunch of people from Lord knows wherever take up cause with us while he’s at it!). As anyone who has lived in both the highland and lowland South could tell you, David Hackett Fischer was right. They remain two very different places populated by two very different cultures.
And so Mr. Goad’s rant goes down the path of so many other lonely fools on barroom stools. He can turn a phrase or two and hit a button, yes, but that son of a gun doesn’t know his rear-end from a hole in the ground.
May 23, 2020
The Redneck Manifesto by Jim Goad was published in 1997 and is still as Raw as ever. This book is extremely funny, insightful, and as stated above Raw. A breath of fresh air is to be felt while reading thru the pages. I can see why Gavin holds this book in such high esteem. Definitely worth the read and I will also add that the amount to which it opens your eyes is incredible, all of a sudden that which Goad speaks of you see and hear all around, I can’t give any examples, read it and see for yourself.
“Silent Whitey. Scared and quiet. Smile and act nervous. Shit eating albino chimpanzee. Take the blame. Swallow the pill. Apologize for the past. Sweat through the present. Surrender the future. Sack cloth and ashes for as long as you live. White people don’t make a peep. They just peck their birdseed and huddle within their cages. I can’t see how a mental diet of guilt and self flagellation would be healthy for any ethnic group. Being apologetic and meek is as unbecoming in white people as it is in anyone.”
“Complaining is bad enough. Party line piety is unforgivable. The white liberal is an unsavory hybrid of Joseph Stalin and Mother Theresa. Too many rules mixing with too much righteousness. Too little to back everything up. Sensitivity by force. Understanding through indoctrination. Brotherhood at gunpoint. The left, like the right, has drawn a clearly perceptible party line, and to wonder astray of it immediately makes you a suspect. You disagree with one factoid, and all of a sudden you are the king Kleagle. The white liberal’s ideological opponents don’t merely disagree with him, they are “sick.“ White liberals aren’t freethinkers, they are ideologues. And they don’t possess the wisdom to tell the difference.“
“Silent Whitey. Scared and quiet. Smile and act nervous. Shit eating albino chimpanzee. Take the blame. Swallow the pill. Apologize for the past. Sweat through the present. Surrender the future. Sack cloth and ashes for as long as you live. White people don’t make a peep. They just peck their birdseed and huddle within their cages. I can’t see how a mental diet of guilt and self flagellation would be healthy for any ethnic group. Being apologetic and meek is as unbecoming in white people as it is in anyone.”
“Complaining is bad enough. Party line piety is unforgivable. The white liberal is an unsavory hybrid of Joseph Stalin and Mother Theresa. Too many rules mixing with too much righteousness. Too little to back everything up. Sensitivity by force. Understanding through indoctrination. Brotherhood at gunpoint. The left, like the right, has drawn a clearly perceptible party line, and to wonder astray of it immediately makes you a suspect. You disagree with one factoid, and all of a sudden you are the king Kleagle. The white liberal’s ideological opponents don’t merely disagree with him, they are “sick.“ White liberals aren’t freethinkers, they are ideologues. And they don’t possess the wisdom to tell the difference.“
January 30, 2016
Rednecks of the world, unite! You have nothing to lose but your bills. Jim Goad's The Redneck Manifesto is a raucous mixture of southern pride and Marx-esque social criticism which examines the plight of working whites. Although few would take seriously the concept of white plight, in Goad's eyes 'privileged whites' constitute a minority of American whites; most are working-class slobs like himself who have been treated as miserably throughout American history as any minority, even slaves. His aim is to expose anti-prole bigotry, by shock therapy if need be, and demonstrate that America's big problems are rooted in class, not ethnic tension.
His history might echo A People's History if Howard Zinn had focused on working whites and were give nto telling the reader to "f*** off". It is a history rooted in class conflict: since time immemorial, a wealthy few have kept most of the power in their hands, and America is no different. Though our national legend involves Pilgrims seeking liberty, in the fact of the matter is that most whites who immigrated came against their wills; they were the poor pushed off the fields, scraped off the streets, and shanghaied across the Atlantic to toil as indentured servants. Volunteering or conscripting in the Revolution, they died to help create a Constitution which had no place for them, and the centuries of progress that followed brought only more of the same. The Civil War destroyed the economy of the south, but did little to displace the power-elite; industrialism proved even more lethal than the killing fields of Europe's Great War, at least for Americans, as thousands died every year from factory and mining accidents. The rest of the century was no better; homes were blown apart as companies tried to crack open the Appalachian mountains like a walnut, with no mind given to the people who lived there, and free trade agreements saw the disappearance of jobs which remained. To add insult to injury, institutions that persecuted blacks, like slavery and Jim Crow laws, were somehow blamed on the impoverished working class, despite it being just as disenfranchised by local elites. (Documents like the 1901 Alabama Constitution remain equal-opportunity oppressors of the working poor.) While the 20th century saw various populations gain media shielding and political protection, the white working class remained a common horse to beat on, a pleasure shared by both formerly-marginalized minorities and the elite.
Against all this, Goad doesn't call for sensitivity; no self-respecting working man would whine. What he does want is for everyone to leave rednecks the hell alone. Making fun of his kin on TV is one thing; everybody likes their scapegoats. What he has his sights on is excessive tax burdens; let the government be paid for by people who receive the services, or the propertied -- and the United States' foreign policy, which typically involves sending the sons and daughters of the poor to fight to fulfill the elite's ambitions. War is the harvester of the home, and nothing else. In addition to calling for an end to death and taxes, Goad celebrates the culture of the white working family, with chapters given over to "Playing Hard" and even to "Praying Hard", despite Goad's firm belief that religion and politics are both full of it.
The Redneck Manifesto may have a serious intent, but it's hard to take the delivery as such. Goad is deliberately and enthusiastically vulgar, employing racial slurs throughout to goad the reader, hopefully forcing them to see 'redneck' and 'hillbilly' as pejoratives on the level as kike, Chink, and yea, even the dreaded "N-word". That's artistic license, but his seemingly schizophrenic style -- alternating between informal if serious analysis and seemingly insane ranting, throwing in nicknames for personalities and employing colloquial spelling randomly -- can easily throw a reader off. It's surely deliberate; Goad's whole purpose in writing the book is defy conventional attitudes.
The Redneck Manifesto is a fascinating if problematic book; it's not a perspective I'm used to hearing. Class is a taboo topic now, relegated only to Marxists -- and few working men would give Marx's conflict theory of society a moment's consideration after a half-century of being assured by the TV that in America we're all one big happy middle-class family. Good luck, too, finding the self-described Marxist who would go anywhere near ethnic consciousness if they are white. As a product of the white working class with a sympathy for Marxist social critique, I had a ball reading this -- even while wading through the eccentric treatment of the English tongue. It's funny, cringingly inappropriate, and yet thoughtful at the same time; a tirade with a point. There's tremendous value in looking at an often ignored segment of the impoverished population, but considering the abuse Goad hurls out, readers other than southerners looking for a sympathetic voice -- of which Goad's is surely one -- might put it down early.
Related:
The Renegade History of America, Thaddaeus Russell
His history might echo A People's History if Howard Zinn had focused on working whites and were give nto telling the reader to "f*** off". It is a history rooted in class conflict: since time immemorial, a wealthy few have kept most of the power in their hands, and America is no different. Though our national legend involves Pilgrims seeking liberty, in the fact of the matter is that most whites who immigrated came against their wills; they were the poor pushed off the fields, scraped off the streets, and shanghaied across the Atlantic to toil as indentured servants. Volunteering or conscripting in the Revolution, they died to help create a Constitution which had no place for them, and the centuries of progress that followed brought only more of the same. The Civil War destroyed the economy of the south, but did little to displace the power-elite; industrialism proved even more lethal than the killing fields of Europe's Great War, at least for Americans, as thousands died every year from factory and mining accidents. The rest of the century was no better; homes were blown apart as companies tried to crack open the Appalachian mountains like a walnut, with no mind given to the people who lived there, and free trade agreements saw the disappearance of jobs which remained. To add insult to injury, institutions that persecuted blacks, like slavery and Jim Crow laws, were somehow blamed on the impoverished working class, despite it being just as disenfranchised by local elites. (Documents like the 1901 Alabama Constitution remain equal-opportunity oppressors of the working poor.) While the 20th century saw various populations gain media shielding and political protection, the white working class remained a common horse to beat on, a pleasure shared by both formerly-marginalized minorities and the elite.
Against all this, Goad doesn't call for sensitivity; no self-respecting working man would whine. What he does want is for everyone to leave rednecks the hell alone. Making fun of his kin on TV is one thing; everybody likes their scapegoats. What he has his sights on is excessive tax burdens; let the government be paid for by people who receive the services, or the propertied -- and the United States' foreign policy, which typically involves sending the sons and daughters of the poor to fight to fulfill the elite's ambitions. War is the harvester of the home, and nothing else. In addition to calling for an end to death and taxes, Goad celebrates the culture of the white working family, with chapters given over to "Playing Hard" and even to "Praying Hard", despite Goad's firm belief that religion and politics are both full of it.
The Redneck Manifesto may have a serious intent, but it's hard to take the delivery as such. Goad is deliberately and enthusiastically vulgar, employing racial slurs throughout to goad the reader, hopefully forcing them to see 'redneck' and 'hillbilly' as pejoratives on the level as kike, Chink, and yea, even the dreaded "N-word". That's artistic license, but his seemingly schizophrenic style -- alternating between informal if serious analysis and seemingly insane ranting, throwing in nicknames for personalities and employing colloquial spelling randomly -- can easily throw a reader off. It's surely deliberate; Goad's whole purpose in writing the book is defy conventional attitudes.
The Redneck Manifesto is a fascinating if problematic book; it's not a perspective I'm used to hearing. Class is a taboo topic now, relegated only to Marxists -- and few working men would give Marx's conflict theory of society a moment's consideration after a half-century of being assured by the TV that in America we're all one big happy middle-class family. Good luck, too, finding the self-described Marxist who would go anywhere near ethnic consciousness if they are white. As a product of the white working class with a sympathy for Marxist social critique, I had a ball reading this -- even while wading through the eccentric treatment of the English tongue. It's funny, cringingly inappropriate, and yet thoughtful at the same time; a tirade with a point. There's tremendous value in looking at an often ignored segment of the impoverished population, but considering the abuse Goad hurls out, readers other than southerners looking for a sympathetic voice -- of which Goad's is surely one -- might put it down early.
Related:
The Renegade History of America, Thaddaeus Russell
December 12, 2008
Basically looks at how poor and working class whites are the last acceptable target for hatred in the current pc mind control time we live in now and are the most exploited class in our current society. Goad is a very entertaining writer so despite the subject matter don't think this book is going to be some stiff uptight right wing conservative crap. More of a personal/real world look at anti-white racism and propaganda.
May 12, 2009
On school you are taught from many different perspectives. But there is a certain perspective of a certain people they won`t touch with a ten yard stick. That`s the perspective of the white working class.
Esspecially the American white working class. First they were fucked when they arrived as serfs on American soil.
Then after they were freed their jobs were stolen by people that don`t even wanted them.
And after that and after the civil war they were supposed to like the free black people, while the former slave holders moved to areas without any freed slaves
Esspecially the American white working class. First they were fucked when they arrived as serfs on American soil.
Then after they were freed their jobs were stolen by people that don`t even wanted them.
And after that and after the civil war they were supposed to like the free black people, while the former slave holders moved to areas without any freed slaves
February 7, 2017
Parts of the book were really good. Goad is convincing on the class contempt the richer save for the poorer, and on how the white working class is the only group in US society one can publicly look down upon in "fine company".
The first part, about white slavery (perhaps under another word, but slavery nonetheless), is sad and every bit as infuriating as other tales on slavery. And it might be a story which could be told more often: I for one had heard about it, but never much, and never so systematic.
But it gets tedious after a while. I get the point. I got the point. I GET IT!!! ... but Goad rambles on. It might still be points worth making, but more and more, the book feels like listening to a speech which will never stop, a preacher who goes on and on like Fidel Castro in his prime (eight hours without a script wasn't unheard of). I GET IT!
Also, the book is written for an American audience to an extreme, filled with cultural references you more or less have to grow up in the US to understand, with the language becoming very convoluted inside these references after a while and it's almost impossible for an outsider to get. Actually, it's like a style from Norse poetry: a ship wasn't just a ship, but a "wave-horse". War wasn't War, but "steel discussion". And one could build images within images within images like this, after a while making it quite a feat to understand. Cockney English might work the same way, thinking about it. It's alright, the book IS for an American audience, most of which would understand the parts I don't, but in my opinion, it's too much of it.
Definitely worth reading for the first 3-4 chapters, though.
The first part, about white slavery (perhaps under another word, but slavery nonetheless), is sad and every bit as infuriating as other tales on slavery. And it might be a story which could be told more often: I for one had heard about it, but never much, and never so systematic.
But it gets tedious after a while. I get the point. I got the point. I GET IT!!! ... but Goad rambles on. It might still be points worth making, but more and more, the book feels like listening to a speech which will never stop, a preacher who goes on and on like Fidel Castro in his prime (eight hours without a script wasn't unheard of). I GET IT!
Also, the book is written for an American audience to an extreme, filled with cultural references you more or less have to grow up in the US to understand, with the language becoming very convoluted inside these references after a while and it's almost impossible for an outsider to get. Actually, it's like a style from Norse poetry: a ship wasn't just a ship, but a "wave-horse". War wasn't War, but "steel discussion". And one could build images within images within images like this, after a while making it quite a feat to understand. Cockney English might work the same way, thinking about it. It's alright, the book IS for an American audience, most of which would understand the parts I don't, but in my opinion, it's too much of it.
Definitely worth reading for the first 3-4 chapters, though.
December 29, 2018
Muy crudo.
Desesperanzador.
Desesperanzador.
March 2, 2026
El primer tercio es donde está toda la información. A partir de ahí el ensayo es sustituido por una soflama identitaria que el autor defiende solo a medias, porque se le ve el plumero; quería ser burgués, pero nació redneck. Desprecia a su propia gente menos que a los negros (grupo sobre el que se despachó a gusto no mucho después).
Si lo lees porque te interesa el la sociología de los Apalaches o porque te gusta la música hillbilly, deja de leer cuando se pone a desbarrar, porque ya no para.
Si lo lees porque te interesa el la sociología de los Apalaches o porque te gusta la música hillbilly, deja de leer cuando se pone a desbarrar, porque ya no para.
December 27, 2020
I don’t know what I was expecting from this but what I got was disappointing.
First of all, Goad writes the entire book in this weird southern boomerspeak dialectic, like a much more vulgar Jeff Foxworthy. And that’s really what this feels like. It feels like he’s playing a character. Which would be fine if he didn’t go to such painful lengths to convince you of his “white trash” street cred. This guy grew up in Philadelphia, got a degree from NYU and married into a Jewish family. Sorry but I’m not really buying the “redneck” routine.
He uses this persona to tackle some of the most basic talking points about race relations and PC culture ever. “If a black person does or says (X) then it’s fine, but if a white person does or says (X) then he gets called RACIST!” Ok, we get it. There’s a staggering and blatant double standard in this country when it comes to race and being able to discuss racial issues. But this is not a hot take. We all know this already. It might have been a hot take in 1997 but I doubt that too. I guess I was expecting some kind of deeper analysis. Maybe a little insight into the linguistic war on white people. A look into the WHO and WHY of this double standard. Something.
Another thing that really bugged me to the point that I almost stopped reading in the first chapter: For a guy who supposedly loves and embraces his poor white heritage, it does not come across in the language he uses when describing poor rural folks. He goes through great effort to describe them as dirty and ugly and stupid and all around vile. Talking about his hometown: “The cheap houses... always smelled like methane and rotted fruit. Toenail clippings and balled-up boogers lurked beneath the sofas. The men were very hairy and dumb, while the women were somewhat hairy and dumb.” Who talks like that about their own people? I grew up in a poor white town and would never dream of describing my town or my neighbors in such a derogatory way.
The chapter on taxation and the federal reserve lacked any libertarian minded insight and instead reads like the rantings of an angry drunk who just hates paying taxes. The chapter on religion sounds like it could have been written by an edgy seventh grader with a chip on his shoulder because his parents made him go to mass.
The saving grace of the entire book is the history of the white underclass in Europe and America. There’s some good information there. However, this part could be read in the bookstore. No need to take it home. If you want a picture of rural southern culture, read Faulkner. If you want to know about taxation and the federal reserve, read Ron Paul. If you want race realism, read Jared Taylor. I really can’t think of a good reason to read Jim Goad.
First of all, Goad writes the entire book in this weird southern boomerspeak dialectic, like a much more vulgar Jeff Foxworthy. And that’s really what this feels like. It feels like he’s playing a character. Which would be fine if he didn’t go to such painful lengths to convince you of his “white trash” street cred. This guy grew up in Philadelphia, got a degree from NYU and married into a Jewish family. Sorry but I’m not really buying the “redneck” routine.
He uses this persona to tackle some of the most basic talking points about race relations and PC culture ever. “If a black person does or says (X) then it’s fine, but if a white person does or says (X) then he gets called RACIST!” Ok, we get it. There’s a staggering and blatant double standard in this country when it comes to race and being able to discuss racial issues. But this is not a hot take. We all know this already. It might have been a hot take in 1997 but I doubt that too. I guess I was expecting some kind of deeper analysis. Maybe a little insight into the linguistic war on white people. A look into the WHO and WHY of this double standard. Something.
Another thing that really bugged me to the point that I almost stopped reading in the first chapter: For a guy who supposedly loves and embraces his poor white heritage, it does not come across in the language he uses when describing poor rural folks. He goes through great effort to describe them as dirty and ugly and stupid and all around vile. Talking about his hometown: “The cheap houses... always smelled like methane and rotted fruit. Toenail clippings and balled-up boogers lurked beneath the sofas. The men were very hairy and dumb, while the women were somewhat hairy and dumb.” Who talks like that about their own people? I grew up in a poor white town and would never dream of describing my town or my neighbors in such a derogatory way.
The chapter on taxation and the federal reserve lacked any libertarian minded insight and instead reads like the rantings of an angry drunk who just hates paying taxes. The chapter on religion sounds like it could have been written by an edgy seventh grader with a chip on his shoulder because his parents made him go to mass.
The saving grace of the entire book is the history of the white underclass in Europe and America. There’s some good information there. However, this part could be read in the bookstore. No need to take it home. If you want a picture of rural southern culture, read Faulkner. If you want to know about taxation and the federal reserve, read Ron Paul. If you want race realism, read Jared Taylor. I really can’t think of a good reason to read Jim Goad.
June 24, 2019
Amigo Jim, no hace falta machacar repetidamente la cabeza del lector con una misma idea para que éste capte su esencia. Este ensayo de tono macarra sobre la clase paupérrima blanca estadounidense tiene claros que iluminan todo un segmento de la población del próspero USA vilipendiada hasta la naúsea, objeto de todo tipo de sambenitos, puerta de atrás con acceso al contenedor de basura de la clase media y alta urbana. Diversos grupos, en su mayoría rurales y marginales, de endogámica pobreza, que jamás han gozado de populares defensores ni han sido objeto de campañas mediáticas que denuncien el trato que se les dispensa desde tiempos lejanos. Han sido, son y serán materia de escarnio, mofa y maltrato a varios niveles y de varias formas.
Jim Goad maneja fuentes y las detalla. ¿Hasta qué punto son fiables? No lo sé. Cierto destello de verosimilitud tienen, desde luego. Es decir, su tesis de fondo se apuntala con profuso detalle y no suena descabellada: la llamada "basura blanca" es el gran chivo expiatorio de la sociedad norteamericana, ganando en el escalafón a negros, hispanos, asiáticos, homosexuales, transexuales, etc. No es la raza, es la clase social.
El lector se ve en la necesidad de familiarizarse con un glosario de términos que no son otra cosa que populares motes colectivos: redneck, hillbilly, yokel, hayseed, cracker, y demás especies. Seres del inframundo rural o montañoso, de costumbres bárbaras, aislados e incomprendidos, sobre los que recaen todos los vicios y maldades.
Si no fuera por lo repetitivo que en ocasiones resulta el ensayo y por lo insistente que se muestra el autor en narrar con aire agresivo y chulesco, la lectura hubiera sido algo más satisfactoria. Con todo, merece la pena escuchar lo que Jimmy tiene que decir porque sirvió de preludio en su día a la reacción que llevó a Donald Trump a la presidencia del país.
Jim Goad maneja fuentes y las detalla. ¿Hasta qué punto son fiables? No lo sé. Cierto destello de verosimilitud tienen, desde luego. Es decir, su tesis de fondo se apuntala con profuso detalle y no suena descabellada: la llamada "basura blanca" es el gran chivo expiatorio de la sociedad norteamericana, ganando en el escalafón a negros, hispanos, asiáticos, homosexuales, transexuales, etc. No es la raza, es la clase social.
El lector se ve en la necesidad de familiarizarse con un glosario de términos que no son otra cosa que populares motes colectivos: redneck, hillbilly, yokel, hayseed, cracker, y demás especies. Seres del inframundo rural o montañoso, de costumbres bárbaras, aislados e incomprendidos, sobre los que recaen todos los vicios y maldades.
Si no fuera por lo repetitivo que en ocasiones resulta el ensayo y por lo insistente que se muestra el autor en narrar con aire agresivo y chulesco, la lectura hubiera sido algo más satisfactoria. Con todo, merece la pena escuchar lo que Jimmy tiene que decir porque sirvió de preludio en su día a la reacción que llevó a Donald Trump a la presidencia del país.
Read
October 22, 2025A sawed off shotgun blast at the moral and intellectual pretensions of the American liberal ruling elite. Jim Goad's thesis is that throughout American history, poor powerless whites have been scapegoated by powerful wealthy ones for the sin of their own privilege. Please don't let his provocative and vulgarity-laden style fool you. Goad is fanatical researcher, obsessed with accuracy and detail. He supports his claims with reams of historical and sociological data. Whether you like how he makes it, his case seems airtight. But then, as historically literate white trash myself, maybe I'm prejudiced.
Yet while I do regard The Redneck Manifesto as classic of sorts, I don't find it quite timeless. Looking back, it seems ensconced in the decade of its composition. This is a Clinton presidency/pre-internet era book, set against the backdrop of the Oklahoma City bombing, the siege of Waco, the Rodney King riots, and the O.J. Simpson trial: a book that for all of its deep reach into history seems about, and for, the 1990's. Yet its theme remains as relevant as ever. I think I'd enjoy reading a second edition, updated for our times. Goad was still half a Marxist when he published The Redneck Manifesto. Since then, his thinking has evolved (or devolved, if you will) into what might be described as Darwinian nihilism. I suspect a clash between the young and old Jim Goads would be fascinating.
Yet while I do regard The Redneck Manifesto as classic of sorts, I don't find it quite timeless. Looking back, it seems ensconced in the decade of its composition. This is a Clinton presidency/pre-internet era book, set against the backdrop of the Oklahoma City bombing, the siege of Waco, the Rodney King riots, and the O.J. Simpson trial: a book that for all of its deep reach into history seems about, and for, the 1990's. Yet its theme remains as relevant as ever. I think I'd enjoy reading a second edition, updated for our times. Goad was still half a Marxist when he published The Redneck Manifesto. Since then, his thinking has evolved (or devolved, if you will) into what might be described as Darwinian nihilism. I suspect a clash between the young and old Jim Goads would be fascinating.
February 17, 2009
Greatly enjoyed this book, informative and provocative throughout. Was utterly unaware of much of the history of indentured servitude for many of the white europeans brought to the states. Goad points out how poor whites historically have always been more likely to live in more ethnically diverse areas than the wealthy, white liberals yet are always portrayed as hatefilled racists; how they have very little actual power yet are seen as the cause of the rot in US society; and the disturbing world of Bigfoot erotica.
Not one for the easily offended but the well researched anecdotes, laugh out loud humour and fierce intelligence make it impossible to put down.
Not one for the easily offended but the well researched anecdotes, laugh out loud humour and fierce intelligence make it impossible to put down.
March 22, 2017
A bit more populist and less right wing than I had anticipated. Very interesting description of Irish slavery in US. It was eerie how this book, written 20 years ago, seemed current.
September 27, 2013
“The Redneck Manifesto” is a flawed classic; a case of a brilliant idea running out ahead of a book weighed down by the author’s own frenetic style and tackled at the five yard line by error. It’s a book everyone should read, and no one should get their hopes up about. Goad’s aim is to make a case for the “redneck”, by which he means poor and working class whites. While the book’s title might suggest to some that it is a racist screed, it is, in fact, exactly the opposite. In taking the right that any human being has to simple dignity for granted, Goad demonstrates that this right is (or should be) colorblind. Deploring the popular inclination to treat poor whites as cardboard cutout objects of legitimate social scorn he creates of this socio-racial hillbilly class a group of living, breathing human beings with real feelings, comprehensible motives and an inalienable right to respect. When he explores history, he’s brilliant. When he examines culture, he’s insightful. When he discusses ideology, however, he’s really, really smart, until he gets dumb.
While normally I wouldn’t delve too deeply into an author’s writing style, Goad’s style is such an integral part of his message that to ignore it would be an unforgiveable omission. As much shtick as it is prose, his writing style is a manic fusion of in-your-face irony and comedic rapid-fire realism that is designed to be at once shocking, funny and thought-provoking. Irreverent disregard for social taboos is a huge element of his riff. During the first third of the book, for example, he carpet bombs his pages with the word “nigger”, and yet the violation of this most scrupulously attended social taboo is to a valid point. Those who are offended by his usage will quickly put the work down, which is a shame as he’s reserved the entire last chapter of his book for them. Those who wade through it will see what he’s on about – that the power of marginalizing racial pejoratives, which can be as hurtful as we make them or as liberating as we choose to let them be, is colorblind. For me his style worked right up until it didn’t anymore. Somewhere about half way through page 132 I’d had enough…..not that I was offended so much as it had stopped being funny, and so created a barrier between his ideas and my interest in hearing them.
Perhaps the books greatest achievement is to cogently articulate the status of poor whites throughout our nation’s history and the means by which natural class allies, enslaved blacks and indentured whites, were set against each other to the benefit of the powerful. While there’s a bit more to it than what he’s letting on, his point on the whole is accurate – that England essentially made America the place they used to “take out its social trash”, and that a huge proportion of the whites who came to America in the 17th and 18th century did so against their will, were treated horribly once they got here and have lived horribly ever since. This is not to diminish the depredations of slavery, Jim Crow or our current era of post-racial oppression – these Goad takes for granted - , but rather, to acknowledge that regardless of a victim’s race awful treatment has awful consequences, and to ignore one group's suffering in deference to another’s is to blind us all to common suffering’s root cause. “It’s not about race” he declares, “– it’s about class.” For the last year or so, I have immersed myself in America’s racial history, current issues of race and the contemporary schools of philosophical thought. “It’s not about race, it’s about class” is nothing short of black philosophical heresy. In saying it, he whacks a hornet’s nest……or churns butter, depending on your willingness to abandon dogma in the search for answers.
In adopting a class view of human disadvantage, his ire is reserved not for people of different races, but rather, the people whose wealth and influence allow them to control society. Their tactics, he argues, have always been to divide and conquer; to set poor whites against poor blacks in a manner that renders each group powerless and leave them free to pursue their own financial and social interests unperturbed by plebian dissent. Anyone who has carefully studied American’s racial and social history would be hard pressed to disagree with him. Where he errs, however, is in then ascribing to “government” the inevitable role as the instrument of class oppression. He embraces the “get government off our backs” ethos which, in the fifteen years since he published the book, has been the guiding inspiration behind America’s Tea Party movement. This just doesn’t make sense to me…..and never has. If the wealthy and the powerful are inclined (by self-interest, and not necessarily malice) to abuse and exploit the poor, “government” can indeed become a tool of “oppression” when surrendered into their hands or it can be a tool of liberty when entrusted to the people. By stripping government of its power, the Tea Party and proto-advocates like Goad would strip away the only thing standing between the poor and the power of the rich. Deregulation does not help the poor, but instead, robs them of their leverage. Lower taxes do not benefit people who are one parking ticket away from financial ruin or so destitute that they’re not paying taxes anyway. Yet in, what is to me an incomprehensible irony, Goad summarily and cynically rejects the possibility of governing well, and would instead strip the last vestiges of buffer between those who have nothing and those who control everything. His answer is no answer, and is as much a dead end as the black community’s fifty year old campaign to guard some imaginary branded franchise in human misery.
The bottom line is that, notwithstanding its deliberately coarse plebian tone, the book is deeply thought provoking, While I disagreed with much of what he had to say, there is much that he has to say that is correct, and in that his thoughts are ultimately informed by a sense of fairness and social equality, they deserves to be taken seriously.....except when they're really, really dumb.
While normally I wouldn’t delve too deeply into an author’s writing style, Goad’s style is such an integral part of his message that to ignore it would be an unforgiveable omission. As much shtick as it is prose, his writing style is a manic fusion of in-your-face irony and comedic rapid-fire realism that is designed to be at once shocking, funny and thought-provoking. Irreverent disregard for social taboos is a huge element of his riff. During the first third of the book, for example, he carpet bombs his pages with the word “nigger”, and yet the violation of this most scrupulously attended social taboo is to a valid point. Those who are offended by his usage will quickly put the work down, which is a shame as he’s reserved the entire last chapter of his book for them. Those who wade through it will see what he’s on about – that the power of marginalizing racial pejoratives, which can be as hurtful as we make them or as liberating as we choose to let them be, is colorblind. For me his style worked right up until it didn’t anymore. Somewhere about half way through page 132 I’d had enough…..not that I was offended so much as it had stopped being funny, and so created a barrier between his ideas and my interest in hearing them.
Perhaps the books greatest achievement is to cogently articulate the status of poor whites throughout our nation’s history and the means by which natural class allies, enslaved blacks and indentured whites, were set against each other to the benefit of the powerful. While there’s a bit more to it than what he’s letting on, his point on the whole is accurate – that England essentially made America the place they used to “take out its social trash”, and that a huge proportion of the whites who came to America in the 17th and 18th century did so against their will, were treated horribly once they got here and have lived horribly ever since. This is not to diminish the depredations of slavery, Jim Crow or our current era of post-racial oppression – these Goad takes for granted - , but rather, to acknowledge that regardless of a victim’s race awful treatment has awful consequences, and to ignore one group's suffering in deference to another’s is to blind us all to common suffering’s root cause. “It’s not about race” he declares, “– it’s about class.” For the last year or so, I have immersed myself in America’s racial history, current issues of race and the contemporary schools of philosophical thought. “It’s not about race, it’s about class” is nothing short of black philosophical heresy. In saying it, he whacks a hornet’s nest……or churns butter, depending on your willingness to abandon dogma in the search for answers.
In adopting a class view of human disadvantage, his ire is reserved not for people of different races, but rather, the people whose wealth and influence allow them to control society. Their tactics, he argues, have always been to divide and conquer; to set poor whites against poor blacks in a manner that renders each group powerless and leave them free to pursue their own financial and social interests unperturbed by plebian dissent. Anyone who has carefully studied American’s racial and social history would be hard pressed to disagree with him. Where he errs, however, is in then ascribing to “government” the inevitable role as the instrument of class oppression. He embraces the “get government off our backs” ethos which, in the fifteen years since he published the book, has been the guiding inspiration behind America’s Tea Party movement. This just doesn’t make sense to me…..and never has. If the wealthy and the powerful are inclined (by self-interest, and not necessarily malice) to abuse and exploit the poor, “government” can indeed become a tool of “oppression” when surrendered into their hands or it can be a tool of liberty when entrusted to the people. By stripping government of its power, the Tea Party and proto-advocates like Goad would strip away the only thing standing between the poor and the power of the rich. Deregulation does not help the poor, but instead, robs them of their leverage. Lower taxes do not benefit people who are one parking ticket away from financial ruin or so destitute that they’re not paying taxes anyway. Yet in, what is to me an incomprehensible irony, Goad summarily and cynically rejects the possibility of governing well, and would instead strip the last vestiges of buffer between those who have nothing and those who control everything. His answer is no answer, and is as much a dead end as the black community’s fifty year old campaign to guard some imaginary branded franchise in human misery.
The bottom line is that, notwithstanding its deliberately coarse plebian tone, the book is deeply thought provoking, While I disagreed with much of what he had to say, there is much that he has to say that is correct, and in that his thoughts are ultimately informed by a sense of fairness and social equality, they deserves to be taken seriously.....except when they're really, really dumb.
March 1, 2018
Well this was one hell of a read. Not for the faint of heart or sensitive to incessant racial slurs. Goad proposes a less popularized sentiment regarding our use of profanity surrounding the "white-trash" of American society, and the likeness to using the "N" word. He proposes well researched historical data and statistics. However his argument is often lost due to his uncanny late late late night stand-up humor and often contradictory remarks. Do however read if you are interested in a completely biased self-centered account of how class-war from the time of serfdom to the civil war to now, has been masked by a race-war. I give it three stars for it's lack of public support, which says more about his stance than anything.
August 26, 2020
Jim Goad has your number, assholes.
January 4, 2019
Un manifiesto en forma de ensayo o un ensayo que se vuelve manifiesto. Es un mazazo brutal, políticamente incorrecto, escrito con muy mala leche. A lo largo de poco menos de 400 páginas Jim Goad expone la forma en que rednecks, hillbillys, hicks, hayseeds, yonkels o demás apelativos que se han usado para nombrar y denigrar a la Basura Blanca, han sido los chivos expiatorios y los repositorios de toda la culpa de los biempensantes respecto al racismo y todos los males de Estados Unidos.
Declarándose un redneck de cepa, Goad vocifera los agravios históricos que los blancos pobres han sufrido desde el origen del país del norte. Señalando cómo sus antepasados (los Goad y los redneck) han sido sometidos a situaciones poco disímiles de los ultrajes sufridos por los esclavos negros. Esta serie de acontecimientos sirven para justificar toda la rabia contenida y el odio acumulado por el autor en contra de las élites (políticas y económicas).
Hace evidente la eterna dicotomía entre el Cosmopolitismo Urbanita vs Paletismo Rural. En donde el blanco de ciudad, universitario, progre y con acceso a los medios de comunicación ataca, humilla y culpa de todos los males a aquella Basura Blanca que le encanta vivir en terrenos inhóspitos, bebiendo cerveza, disparando armas, practicando incesto y odiando a los negros. La argumentación de Goad se centra en otra lucha Raza vs Clase. Dice el autor que mientras unos abogan, hipócritamente, por luchar contra el racismo, poco dicen sobre la serie de desigualdades socioeconómicas en las que viven la gran mayoría de la población.
Ese enfrentamiento entre racismo vs clasismo se lleva a cabo sólo entre los de abajo. Confrontando a rednecks vs negratas obviando que, éstos tienen más en común y tendrían más motivos para unirse en contra de aquellos que, sentados cómodamente, dictan a quiénes hay de odiar.
Resulta un texto antisistema escrito por alguien que se siente cómodo con ser un bravucón que traza una reivindicación de la Nación Redneck. Sin ser marxista (Goad se encuentra a basta distancia de ello), expone una lucha de clases que parecer ser olvidada de cualquier discurso o lucha, incluidas aquellas que se hacen llamar de izquierda.
Escrito en 1997 es tan vigente y ayuda a entender los ascensos de tipos como Trump. Las izquierdas edulcoradas se han volcado al neoliberalismo disfrazado de identidades de todo tipo y de lo políticamente correcto. Mientras, la derecha (la derecha siempre es una), ha decidido tomar las desigualdades socioeconómicas de la sociedad para seguir agenciándose el poder. Ejemplo de esto es este libro “Las diferencias culturales ahogan las similitudes económicas” sentencia Goad.
Sin embargo, el autor lejos está de llamar al diálogo y el entendimiento entre los de abajo. Por el contrario, está fascinado por dinamitar los puentes que puedan unir a rednecks y negratas, a los oprimidos. Parece curarse en salud sólo por el hecho tener claro cuál es el verdadero problema.
La lectura vuelve inevitable hacer el paralelismo con otro ensayo, aunque posterior al de Goad, que también aborda la estigmatización del pobre escrito por Owen Jones (Chavs. La demonización de la clase obrera, 2013). Resultan evidentes las conexiones entre Chavs y Rednecks. Unos desde centros urbanos pauperizados; otros desde el corazón de los Apalaches se enfrentan a la ridiculización de las biempensantes. Aunque seguramente Owen Jones sería tachado por Goad como un progre Varón Blanco Culpable, sus textos pueden llegar a ser esos primos hermanos tan opuestos que terminan siendo casi iguales.
Manifiesto Redneck es un ensayo rabioso y muy peligroso que levanta muchas ampollas. Aderezado con música de Johnny Cash, Woody Guthrie y Elvis.
Declarándose un redneck de cepa, Goad vocifera los agravios históricos que los blancos pobres han sufrido desde el origen del país del norte. Señalando cómo sus antepasados (los Goad y los redneck) han sido sometidos a situaciones poco disímiles de los ultrajes sufridos por los esclavos negros. Esta serie de acontecimientos sirven para justificar toda la rabia contenida y el odio acumulado por el autor en contra de las élites (políticas y económicas).
Hace evidente la eterna dicotomía entre el Cosmopolitismo Urbanita vs Paletismo Rural. En donde el blanco de ciudad, universitario, progre y con acceso a los medios de comunicación ataca, humilla y culpa de todos los males a aquella Basura Blanca que le encanta vivir en terrenos inhóspitos, bebiendo cerveza, disparando armas, practicando incesto y odiando a los negros. La argumentación de Goad se centra en otra lucha Raza vs Clase. Dice el autor que mientras unos abogan, hipócritamente, por luchar contra el racismo, poco dicen sobre la serie de desigualdades socioeconómicas en las que viven la gran mayoría de la población.
Ese enfrentamiento entre racismo vs clasismo se lleva a cabo sólo entre los de abajo. Confrontando a rednecks vs negratas obviando que, éstos tienen más en común y tendrían más motivos para unirse en contra de aquellos que, sentados cómodamente, dictan a quiénes hay de odiar.
Resulta un texto antisistema escrito por alguien que se siente cómodo con ser un bravucón que traza una reivindicación de la Nación Redneck. Sin ser marxista (Goad se encuentra a basta distancia de ello), expone una lucha de clases que parecer ser olvidada de cualquier discurso o lucha, incluidas aquellas que se hacen llamar de izquierda.
Escrito en 1997 es tan vigente y ayuda a entender los ascensos de tipos como Trump. Las izquierdas edulcoradas se han volcado al neoliberalismo disfrazado de identidades de todo tipo y de lo políticamente correcto. Mientras, la derecha (la derecha siempre es una), ha decidido tomar las desigualdades socioeconómicas de la sociedad para seguir agenciándose el poder. Ejemplo de esto es este libro “Las diferencias culturales ahogan las similitudes económicas” sentencia Goad.
Sin embargo, el autor lejos está de llamar al diálogo y el entendimiento entre los de abajo. Por el contrario, está fascinado por dinamitar los puentes que puedan unir a rednecks y negratas, a los oprimidos. Parece curarse en salud sólo por el hecho tener claro cuál es el verdadero problema.
La lectura vuelve inevitable hacer el paralelismo con otro ensayo, aunque posterior al de Goad, que también aborda la estigmatización del pobre escrito por Owen Jones (Chavs. La demonización de la clase obrera, 2013). Resultan evidentes las conexiones entre Chavs y Rednecks. Unos desde centros urbanos pauperizados; otros desde el corazón de los Apalaches se enfrentan a la ridiculización de las biempensantes. Aunque seguramente Owen Jones sería tachado por Goad como un progre Varón Blanco Culpable, sus textos pueden llegar a ser esos primos hermanos tan opuestos que terminan siendo casi iguales.
Manifiesto Redneck es un ensayo rabioso y muy peligroso que levanta muchas ampollas. Aderezado con música de Johnny Cash, Woody Guthrie y Elvis.
June 22, 2007
not for the faint of heart, jim goad's the redneck manifesto has a fairly simple message at its core -- that most of what we attribute to "race struggles" in america are in fact class struggles, with the rich pitting the poor of different colors to inherently fight in order not to violently overthrow the class-based status quo instead. now, he expresses this opinion violently here, crudely at times, in ways that have profoundly offended lots of different groups over the years; this book isn't for everyone, to be sure. i think, though, that it's definitely worth checking out, something not quite a classic but a big step up from his old
answer me
zine days.
January 26, 2010
There's a lot to Goad's book and I hope the historical and social punch in the face it offers does not get lost in my reaction. The sources he cites run from Edward Abbey to Howard Zinn. The first third reads as an alternative history lesson, one that made perfect sense when I read it, but the implications of which probably didn't stay with me when I initially learned it because extreme leftism embraces a notion of continuous, uninterrupted white privilege that is heresy to deny. The middle third was a look at the contemporary mores of the working class/white trash culture and the last third was a sociological look at how, in America where we all wanna be rich or die trying, no one seems to get the fact that we at the bottom benefit the powers that keep us here each time we snap at each other's neck. Read the rest of the review here: http://ireadoddbooks.com/?p=276
August 18, 2007
Fuck. Okay, I think Joad's racist, sexist, and deeply troubling in many ways. On the plus side, he's written an (often) entertaining and probing book about the white lower classes. He's a good writer and has done his research, at least that which suits him. He got pretty deep into the history and implications of indentured servitude. I found this book interesting and strangely gripping, but I made a point not to let my impressionable teenage stepkid anywhere near it.
January 9, 2008
Very enlightening. My son recommended this book as a way of understanding how racism is not a red/black/religious phenomena. Anyone wanting a better understanding of what it really means to be a 'red neck' or 'hill billy' or any of the other thousand derogative terms usually applied to these folks should settle down with this book and a good cup of coffee! It will truly give the reader a better understanding of our early ancestry for those Americans not red, black, or yellow.
July 13, 2020
Por ahí va Jim Goad. ¿Ey, Jim, a dónde coño vas? Jim Goad está muy cabreado. Escribe desde las entrañas o desde el intestino, como el que escupe o arroja su mierda redneck a la progresía bienpensante. ¡Ojo! que aquí hay verdades como puños (americanos). Un puñetazo de verdades en nuestra jeta 'flower power'... Jim Goad es un hillbilly, un paleto con mala hostia, un macarra. No te acerques demasiado o acabarás escaldado.
May 20, 2011
Its a white trash thing, you wouldn't understand.
July 16, 2017
I can't recommend this book enough.
July 28, 2019
Lectura imprescindible. No pasan los años por ella.
Todos somos rednecks.
Todos somos rednecks.
August 14, 2026
Vamos allá. Y que conste que no soy un abogado del diablo, pero después de haber leído las quinientas páginas de Jim Goad, uno se siente un poco como el cura que ha escuchado la confesión del pistolero: no apruebas el método, pero entiendes la rabia. Se me ocurre que este libro es como esa botella de whisky barato que encuentras en el fondo del cajón de un camionero: el cristal está sucio, la etiqueta es un insulto a la tipografía, pero cuando la pruebas, te quema la garganta con una honestidad que los vinos de marca no se atreven a tener. Jim Goad, que no es un filósofo ni un académico, sino un tipo que ha sudado la camiseta en la imprenta y en la cárcel, se ha propuesto una tarea que muchos intelectuales de salón esquivarían: escribir la contrahistoria de Estados Unidos desde el punto de vista de los que siempre han estado debajo, pero que, por culpa del color de su piel, nunca han podido reclamar el estatus de víctimas oficiales. Y lo hace con una ira que, reconozcámoslo, es tan desbordante que a veces se vuelve contra él mismo, como esos fuegos artificiales que explotan en la mano del pirotécnico. Pero no nos precipitemos.
Ustedes saben que la corrección política es esa señora que llega a la fiesta con un letrero de "no se permite fumar" y luego se fuma un cigarrillo a escondidas en el baño. Pues bien, Goad le arranca el letrero y le vacía el cenicero en la cabeza. Su tesis central es sencilla y, sin embargo, tan incómoda que nadie se atreve a repetirla en voz alta en un campus universitario: el racismo es un invento de los ricos para que los pobres no se miren entre sí. ¿Acaso alguien cree que los hacendados virginianos, con sus pelucas empolvadas y sus libros de contabilidad, no se frotaban las manos cuando veían a sus siervos blancos y a sus esclavos negros odiarse a muerte? Por supuesto que lo hacían. Y lo siguen haciendo. La diferencia es que ahora el odio se vende en envases de plástico con etiquetas de "conciencia social". Goad no es el primero que señala esta hipocresía, pero es el primero que lo hace con la pasión de un tipo que ha visto a su padre volver de la refinería con las manos ampolladas y a su madre recoger los sándwiches a medio masticar de las señoras del club de campo. Y eso le da una autoridad que ningún profesor de sociología puede comprar con su sueldo de funcionario.
El libro se divide, en la práctica, en tres grandes bloques que Goad entremezcla con la destreza de un malabarista borracho. El primero es histórico: Goad se pone sus gafas de arqueólogo de la basura y rastrea el origen del redneck hasta los campesinos medievales, los siervos de la gleba, los esclavos blancos de la Antigüedad y los convictos que Inglaterra enviaba a América como si fueran paquetes de mercancía podrida. Y aquí es donde el lector se queda con la boca abierta, no porque Goad invente datos, sino porque los datos que presenta son tan aplastantes que uno se pregunta por qué no los enseñan en el colegio. ¿Sabían que la mayoría de los inmigrantes blancos que llegaron a las colonias en el siglo XVII eran siervos por contrato, muchos de ellos secuestrados directamente de los callejones de Londres? ¿Sabían que su tasa de mortalidad en la travesía era del ochenta por ciento en algunos barcos, y que se les vendía en subastas públicas como ganado, con los dientes y las extremidades inspeccionados como si fueran caballos? ¿Sabían que la palabra "villano" viene del latín "villanus", que significa "aldeano", y que designaba a los campesinos sin derechos, a los que el señor feudal podía golpear, violar y asesinar con impunidad? Goad cita a Howard Zinn, a Eugene Genovese, a docenas de historiadores, y lo que construye es un mural de sufrimiento blanco que la historiografía oficial ha preferido pintar con un color más suave, para que no estropee el contraste con el mural del sufrimiento negro. No se trata de competir, dice Goad, pero cuando el sistema te dice que todos los blancos llegaron libres y que todos los negros llegaron encadenados, y resulta que la realidad es mucho más compleja, algo huele a podrido en Dinamarca. O, mejor dicho, en la Universidad de Harvard.
Y entonces Goad da el salto lógico que muchos se niegan a dar: si los blancos pobres también fueron esclavizados, también fueron explotados, también fueron masacrados en las guerras de los ricos, entonces ¿por qué se les exige que paguen una deuda histórica que no contrajeron? La pregunta es tan brutal que casi duele formularla. ¿Acaso el hijo del minero de Virginia Occidental, que ha heredado una cuenta bancaria de tres dólares y un cáncer de pulmón, tiene que disculparse por los pecados del plantador de algodón de Luisiana? Goad responde con una risa sardónica: "Yo no he faltado nunca al trabajo, he pagado mis impuestos y, aun así, hay una camarilla de hijos de puta sin rostro que no dejan de hundirme cada vez más en la deuda". Y ahí está el núcleo de su ira: el sistema no distingue entre blancos y negros a la hora de exprimir, pero sí a la hora de repartir culpas. El pobre blanco es el pagano que no puede entrar en el templo del multiculturalismo porque su tez es demasiado pálida, y su sufrimiento, por el mero hecho de ser blanco, se considera menos legítimo que el de cualquier otro grupo. Esto, señores, es el clasismo disfrazado de progresismo, y Goad lo desnuda con la furia de un niño que descubre que el rey va desnudo.
Pero aquí es donde el libro se vuelve incómodo, incluso para aquellos que simpatizan con su diagnóstico. Porque Goad, en su intento de reivindicar al redneck, termina a menudo convirtiéndolo en una esencia inmutable, casi mítica. Habla de "la cepa resistente que ha sobrevivido a las invasiones bárbaras, al feudalismo, a la Peste", como si la pobreza fuera una herencia genética y no una estructura económica. Y esto, queridos lectores, es una trampa en la que caen muchos críticos del capitalismo cuando se dejan llevar por el romanticismo de la clase obrera. Goad idealiza el parque de caravanas, la lucha libre, el whiskey de contrabando, la metanfetamina casera, como si fueran formas de resistencia auténtica en lugar de síntomas de una derrota colectiva. ¿Acaso alguien cree que beber hasta perder el conocimiento es una forma de lucha política? Claro que no. Pero Goad lo presenta como una respuesta racional a la alienación laboral, y en cierto modo tiene razón, porque el trabajador que se embriaga el sábado no está eligiendo el nihilismo por capricho, sino porque no tiene otra manera de escapar del lunes. Sin embargo, hay una fina línea entre la comprensión sociológica y la apología, y Goad la cruza con la misma naturalidad con que un camionero cruza un semáforo en rojo a las tres de la madrugada. Su defensa de la violencia, de las armas, de las milicias, y su desprecio por cualquier forma de organización colectiva que no sea la banda de moteros, revelan un individualismo tan feroz que termina siendo el espejo del neoliberalismo que dice combatir. Es como si el enemigo de Goad no fuera el capital financiero, sino el Estado, y su solución no fuera la equidad, sino la huida a las colinas. Y todos sabemos cómo termina la huida a las colinas: con un helicóptero negro y una orden de desalojo.
El capítulo sobre las milicias es, probablemente, el más polémico y el que varios consideran peor ha envejecido. Goad escribe en 1997, apenas dos años después del atentado de Oklahoma City, y su defensa de los grupos antigubernamentales tiene un tono que hoy resulta, como mínimo, imprudente. No obstante, más allá de esa imprudencia, también resulta comprensible la indignación subyacente que anima estas posturas: la sensación de despojo, el abandono institucional y la frustración ante un sistema que muchos perciben como ajeno y corrupto. Cita a los Padres Fundadores para justificar el derecho a la insurrección armada, y ridiculiza a los "expertos en odio" que señalan el antisemitismo y el racismo de estas milicias. ¿Y por qué los ridiculiza? Porque, según él, la verdadera conspiración no proviene de los judíos, sino de la Reserva Federal, una entidad privada que controla la emisión de dinero y que ha endeudado profundamente al país. Y en parte tiene razón: la Reserva Federal es una institución financiera opaca y con un control muy discutible, algo que debería inquietar a cualquiera que se pretenda demócrata. Sin embargo, su argumento se desliza peligrosamente hacia el terreno de las teorías conspirativas, las cuales suelen requerir un chivo expiatorio; y ese chivo expiatorio, aunque Goad se esfuerce en negarlo, con frecuencia termina asociado a apellidos judíos. No estoy afirmando que Goad sea antisemita; sostengo que su retórica abre un flanco por donde el antisemitismo puede filtrarse con facilidad, y esa es una responsabilidad que un escritor de su talento debería haber manejado con mayor cuidado. Pero Goad no es de los que recurren a las sutilezas; prefiere la dinamita a la cirugía, y a veces la dinamita derriba el edificio entero, incluida la biblioteca contigua. Aun así, dentro de ese exceso, su capítulo refleja un malestar real y una desconfianza visceral hacia el poder financiero que, aunque mal canalizada, no carece de fundamentos en la experiencia cotidiana de muchos ciudadanos.
Ahora bien, si algo salva al libro de la hoguera es su honestidad brutal en el capítulo sobre los negros. Goad no se anda con medias tintas: dice que la mayoría de los negros tienen derecho a estar enfadados, pero que también la mayoría de los blancos tienen derecho a no sentirse culpables. Y para sostenerlo, suelta estadísticas que harían palidecer a un presentador de la CNN: nueve de cada diez víctimas de crímenes interraciales son blancas, los negros cometen más de la mitad de los asesinatos por motivos raciales, y los asesinatos entre negros en un solo año superan a todos los linchamientos de la historia del Sur. ¿Son datos incómodos? Por supuesto. ¿Son racistas? No, son datos. La cuestión es qué hacemos con ellos. Goad los utiliza para argumentar que la obsesión mediática con el racismo blanco es una cortina de humo que oculta el verdadero problema: la violencia de clase, que no entiende de colores. Y en esto, aunque suene a herejía para el progresismo de salón, tiene razón. ¿Cuántas veces hemos visto en la tele a un policía blanco esposando a un negro, y cuántas veces hemos visto a un sicario negro tiroteando a una familia entera en un barrio de Chicago? La cobertura es desproporcionada, y esa desproporción sirve para mantener a los pobres, de todos los colores, distraídos con su odio mutuo mientras los ricos siguen acumulando. Goad lo dice con crudeza: "Si los rednecks y los negros llegasen alguna vez a dejar de lado sus diferencias, el único enemigo que quedaría sería el que está por encima de ellos". Y esa frase, escrita con sangre y bilis, es quizá la más inteligente de todo el libro. Porque es la que apunta a la única salida posible de este laberinto de odios heredados: la alianza de los de abajo contra los de arriba. Pero entonces, ¿por qué Goad no desarrolla esa idea? Porque su individualismo redneck le impide confiar en cualquier forma de organización colectiva que no sea la pandilla de moteros, y su resentimiento hacia los progresistas le impide ver que muchos de ellos, aunque torpes y autocomplacientes, comparten el mismo sueño de justicia. Es la tragedia de los profetas iracundos: ven el fuego, pero no saben cómo apagarlo sin quemarse a sí mismos.
El estilo de Goad, hay que decirlo, es un personaje más del libro. Su prosa es una mezcla de sermón baptista, monólogo de motero y clase magistral de historia pop. No hay párrafo que no contenga una referencia a una película de serie B, una canción de country o un episodio de Los Picapiedra. Y esto, lejos de ser un defecto, es su mayor virtud: Goad habla el idioma de su tribu, y lo habla con la fluidez de quien ha mamado esa cultura desde la cuna. Cuando compara la lucha libre con la catarsis del obrero, o el culto a Elvis con la necesidad de redención del sur pobre, está haciendo antropología de la calle, de la que no se aprende en las universidades sino en los bares de carretera. Y hay que reconocerle que sabe contar. Sus descripciones de St. Johns, el barrio de Portland donde vive, son tan vívidas que casi puedes oler el alcohol y el crank en el aire. Sus retratos de las mujeres redneck, con sus cuerpos marcados por la violencia y la droga, tienen una ternura que desmiente su cinismo. Goad no es un misógino, es un tipo que ha visto demasiadas mujeres aguantar lo inaguantable y que, a su manera torpe, las admira. Pero también es un tipo que no puede evitar reírse de ellas cuando se pone el traje de payaso, y esa ambivalencia es lo que hace que su voz sea tan humana y tan irritante a la vez.
¿Y qué decir de su análisis del trabajo? Es, posiblemente, el mejor capítulo del libro. Goad sabe de lo que habla porque ha sudado la camiseta en imprentas, taxis y fábricas, y su descripción del obrero moderno como un esclavo asalariado que produce más y cobra menos es un diagnóstico tan certero que debería ser de lectura obligatoria en cualquier facultad de economía. Cita a Marx, pero no como un académico, sino como un compañero de fatigas: "El trabajo es para los esclavos", dice, y uno no puede evitar asentir. Porque, ¿quién de nosotros, al llegar a casa después de ocho horas de absurdo, no ha sentido que su vida se le escapa entre los dedos como agua sucia? Goad señala la hipocresía de los que hablan de "emprendimiento" mientras los sueldos se estancan y las prestaciones desaparecen, y lo hace con una claridad que los panfletos sindicales han perdido hace décadas. Cuando habla de su mujer, despedida de su undécimo trabajo temporal, y de cómo se maquilla para ir a la oficina sabiendo que todo es en vano, está escribiendo una de las páginas más dolorosas de la literatura estadounidense reciente. Esa es la fuerza de Goad: no necesita inventar monstruos, porque la realidad se los da ya hechos.
Pero también es su debilidad. Porque la realidad, aunque atroz, no es una sentencia de muerte. Y Goad, en su desesperación, parece haber renunciado a cualquier esperanza de cambio colectivo. Su solución es la huida, la autosuficiencia, la comunidad de marginados que se protegen mutuamente en el parque de caravanas. Y eso, siendo comprensible, es también una derrota. Como bien dice el refrán latino, "Ubi solitudinem faciunt, pacem appellant" (donde hacen el desierto, lo llaman paz). Goad no quiere hacer el desierto, pero se ha resignado a vivir en él. Y esa resignación, que él llama orgullo, es el mayor obstáculo para la transformación que tan ardientemente desea.
Al final, el Manifiesto Redneck es un libro sobre el dolor de ser invisible en un mundo que solo ve colores, y sobre la rabia de ser culpable sin haber cometido el crimen. Es el grito de un hombre que ha sido despreciado por los ricos por pobre y por los progresistas por blanco, y que ha decidido abrazar esa doble marginación como una bandera. Pero las banderas, aunque ondeen con orgullo, no protegen del frío. Y Goad, en el fondo, lo sabe. Por eso su libro termina con una imagen de las nucas que se enrojecen bajo el sol, una especie de llamada a las armas que suena más a poesía que a estrategia. Y quizá eso sea lo único que le quede a un escritor que ha visto demasiado: la poesía de la furia. Pero la furia, como el fuego, puede calentar o quemar. Y la de Goad, por momentos, calienta. Pero por otros, quema y no deja cenizas para sembrar. Nos quedamos, entonces, con la duda de si este libro es un diagnóstico o una profecía, un espejo o una maldición. Yo, que he visto demasiadas guerras y demasiadas tonterías humanas, prefiero quedarme con su pregunta, que es la única que realmente importa: ¿cuándo aprenderemos a odiar a nuestros verdaderos enemigos en lugar de odiarnos entre nosotros? Y mientras tanto, brindo con whisky barato, porque la botella está medio llena y el tiempo, ese viejo tahúr, sigue barajando las cartas.
Ustedes saben que la corrección política es esa señora que llega a la fiesta con un letrero de "no se permite fumar" y luego se fuma un cigarrillo a escondidas en el baño. Pues bien, Goad le arranca el letrero y le vacía el cenicero en la cabeza. Su tesis central es sencilla y, sin embargo, tan incómoda que nadie se atreve a repetirla en voz alta en un campus universitario: el racismo es un invento de los ricos para que los pobres no se miren entre sí. ¿Acaso alguien cree que los hacendados virginianos, con sus pelucas empolvadas y sus libros de contabilidad, no se frotaban las manos cuando veían a sus siervos blancos y a sus esclavos negros odiarse a muerte? Por supuesto que lo hacían. Y lo siguen haciendo. La diferencia es que ahora el odio se vende en envases de plástico con etiquetas de "conciencia social". Goad no es el primero que señala esta hipocresía, pero es el primero que lo hace con la pasión de un tipo que ha visto a su padre volver de la refinería con las manos ampolladas y a su madre recoger los sándwiches a medio masticar de las señoras del club de campo. Y eso le da una autoridad que ningún profesor de sociología puede comprar con su sueldo de funcionario.
El libro se divide, en la práctica, en tres grandes bloques que Goad entremezcla con la destreza de un malabarista borracho. El primero es histórico: Goad se pone sus gafas de arqueólogo de la basura y rastrea el origen del redneck hasta los campesinos medievales, los siervos de la gleba, los esclavos blancos de la Antigüedad y los convictos que Inglaterra enviaba a América como si fueran paquetes de mercancía podrida. Y aquí es donde el lector se queda con la boca abierta, no porque Goad invente datos, sino porque los datos que presenta son tan aplastantes que uno se pregunta por qué no los enseñan en el colegio. ¿Sabían que la mayoría de los inmigrantes blancos que llegaron a las colonias en el siglo XVII eran siervos por contrato, muchos de ellos secuestrados directamente de los callejones de Londres? ¿Sabían que su tasa de mortalidad en la travesía era del ochenta por ciento en algunos barcos, y que se les vendía en subastas públicas como ganado, con los dientes y las extremidades inspeccionados como si fueran caballos? ¿Sabían que la palabra "villano" viene del latín "villanus", que significa "aldeano", y que designaba a los campesinos sin derechos, a los que el señor feudal podía golpear, violar y asesinar con impunidad? Goad cita a Howard Zinn, a Eugene Genovese, a docenas de historiadores, y lo que construye es un mural de sufrimiento blanco que la historiografía oficial ha preferido pintar con un color más suave, para que no estropee el contraste con el mural del sufrimiento negro. No se trata de competir, dice Goad, pero cuando el sistema te dice que todos los blancos llegaron libres y que todos los negros llegaron encadenados, y resulta que la realidad es mucho más compleja, algo huele a podrido en Dinamarca. O, mejor dicho, en la Universidad de Harvard.
Y entonces Goad da el salto lógico que muchos se niegan a dar: si los blancos pobres también fueron esclavizados, también fueron explotados, también fueron masacrados en las guerras de los ricos, entonces ¿por qué se les exige que paguen una deuda histórica que no contrajeron? La pregunta es tan brutal que casi duele formularla. ¿Acaso el hijo del minero de Virginia Occidental, que ha heredado una cuenta bancaria de tres dólares y un cáncer de pulmón, tiene que disculparse por los pecados del plantador de algodón de Luisiana? Goad responde con una risa sardónica: "Yo no he faltado nunca al trabajo, he pagado mis impuestos y, aun así, hay una camarilla de hijos de puta sin rostro que no dejan de hundirme cada vez más en la deuda". Y ahí está el núcleo de su ira: el sistema no distingue entre blancos y negros a la hora de exprimir, pero sí a la hora de repartir culpas. El pobre blanco es el pagano que no puede entrar en el templo del multiculturalismo porque su tez es demasiado pálida, y su sufrimiento, por el mero hecho de ser blanco, se considera menos legítimo que el de cualquier otro grupo. Esto, señores, es el clasismo disfrazado de progresismo, y Goad lo desnuda con la furia de un niño que descubre que el rey va desnudo.
Pero aquí es donde el libro se vuelve incómodo, incluso para aquellos que simpatizan con su diagnóstico. Porque Goad, en su intento de reivindicar al redneck, termina a menudo convirtiéndolo en una esencia inmutable, casi mítica. Habla de "la cepa resistente que ha sobrevivido a las invasiones bárbaras, al feudalismo, a la Peste", como si la pobreza fuera una herencia genética y no una estructura económica. Y esto, queridos lectores, es una trampa en la que caen muchos críticos del capitalismo cuando se dejan llevar por el romanticismo de la clase obrera. Goad idealiza el parque de caravanas, la lucha libre, el whiskey de contrabando, la metanfetamina casera, como si fueran formas de resistencia auténtica en lugar de síntomas de una derrota colectiva. ¿Acaso alguien cree que beber hasta perder el conocimiento es una forma de lucha política? Claro que no. Pero Goad lo presenta como una respuesta racional a la alienación laboral, y en cierto modo tiene razón, porque el trabajador que se embriaga el sábado no está eligiendo el nihilismo por capricho, sino porque no tiene otra manera de escapar del lunes. Sin embargo, hay una fina línea entre la comprensión sociológica y la apología, y Goad la cruza con la misma naturalidad con que un camionero cruza un semáforo en rojo a las tres de la madrugada. Su defensa de la violencia, de las armas, de las milicias, y su desprecio por cualquier forma de organización colectiva que no sea la banda de moteros, revelan un individualismo tan feroz que termina siendo el espejo del neoliberalismo que dice combatir. Es como si el enemigo de Goad no fuera el capital financiero, sino el Estado, y su solución no fuera la equidad, sino la huida a las colinas. Y todos sabemos cómo termina la huida a las colinas: con un helicóptero negro y una orden de desalojo.
El capítulo sobre las milicias es, probablemente, el más polémico y el que varios consideran peor ha envejecido. Goad escribe en 1997, apenas dos años después del atentado de Oklahoma City, y su defensa de los grupos antigubernamentales tiene un tono que hoy resulta, como mínimo, imprudente. No obstante, más allá de esa imprudencia, también resulta comprensible la indignación subyacente que anima estas posturas: la sensación de despojo, el abandono institucional y la frustración ante un sistema que muchos perciben como ajeno y corrupto. Cita a los Padres Fundadores para justificar el derecho a la insurrección armada, y ridiculiza a los "expertos en odio" que señalan el antisemitismo y el racismo de estas milicias. ¿Y por qué los ridiculiza? Porque, según él, la verdadera conspiración no proviene de los judíos, sino de la Reserva Federal, una entidad privada que controla la emisión de dinero y que ha endeudado profundamente al país. Y en parte tiene razón: la Reserva Federal es una institución financiera opaca y con un control muy discutible, algo que debería inquietar a cualquiera que se pretenda demócrata. Sin embargo, su argumento se desliza peligrosamente hacia el terreno de las teorías conspirativas, las cuales suelen requerir un chivo expiatorio; y ese chivo expiatorio, aunque Goad se esfuerce en negarlo, con frecuencia termina asociado a apellidos judíos. No estoy afirmando que Goad sea antisemita; sostengo que su retórica abre un flanco por donde el antisemitismo puede filtrarse con facilidad, y esa es una responsabilidad que un escritor de su talento debería haber manejado con mayor cuidado. Pero Goad no es de los que recurren a las sutilezas; prefiere la dinamita a la cirugía, y a veces la dinamita derriba el edificio entero, incluida la biblioteca contigua. Aun así, dentro de ese exceso, su capítulo refleja un malestar real y una desconfianza visceral hacia el poder financiero que, aunque mal canalizada, no carece de fundamentos en la experiencia cotidiana de muchos ciudadanos.
Ahora bien, si algo salva al libro de la hoguera es su honestidad brutal en el capítulo sobre los negros. Goad no se anda con medias tintas: dice que la mayoría de los negros tienen derecho a estar enfadados, pero que también la mayoría de los blancos tienen derecho a no sentirse culpables. Y para sostenerlo, suelta estadísticas que harían palidecer a un presentador de la CNN: nueve de cada diez víctimas de crímenes interraciales son blancas, los negros cometen más de la mitad de los asesinatos por motivos raciales, y los asesinatos entre negros en un solo año superan a todos los linchamientos de la historia del Sur. ¿Son datos incómodos? Por supuesto. ¿Son racistas? No, son datos. La cuestión es qué hacemos con ellos. Goad los utiliza para argumentar que la obsesión mediática con el racismo blanco es una cortina de humo que oculta el verdadero problema: la violencia de clase, que no entiende de colores. Y en esto, aunque suene a herejía para el progresismo de salón, tiene razón. ¿Cuántas veces hemos visto en la tele a un policía blanco esposando a un negro, y cuántas veces hemos visto a un sicario negro tiroteando a una familia entera en un barrio de Chicago? La cobertura es desproporcionada, y esa desproporción sirve para mantener a los pobres, de todos los colores, distraídos con su odio mutuo mientras los ricos siguen acumulando. Goad lo dice con crudeza: "Si los rednecks y los negros llegasen alguna vez a dejar de lado sus diferencias, el único enemigo que quedaría sería el que está por encima de ellos". Y esa frase, escrita con sangre y bilis, es quizá la más inteligente de todo el libro. Porque es la que apunta a la única salida posible de este laberinto de odios heredados: la alianza de los de abajo contra los de arriba. Pero entonces, ¿por qué Goad no desarrolla esa idea? Porque su individualismo redneck le impide confiar en cualquier forma de organización colectiva que no sea la pandilla de moteros, y su resentimiento hacia los progresistas le impide ver que muchos de ellos, aunque torpes y autocomplacientes, comparten el mismo sueño de justicia. Es la tragedia de los profetas iracundos: ven el fuego, pero no saben cómo apagarlo sin quemarse a sí mismos.
El estilo de Goad, hay que decirlo, es un personaje más del libro. Su prosa es una mezcla de sermón baptista, monólogo de motero y clase magistral de historia pop. No hay párrafo que no contenga una referencia a una película de serie B, una canción de country o un episodio de Los Picapiedra. Y esto, lejos de ser un defecto, es su mayor virtud: Goad habla el idioma de su tribu, y lo habla con la fluidez de quien ha mamado esa cultura desde la cuna. Cuando compara la lucha libre con la catarsis del obrero, o el culto a Elvis con la necesidad de redención del sur pobre, está haciendo antropología de la calle, de la que no se aprende en las universidades sino en los bares de carretera. Y hay que reconocerle que sabe contar. Sus descripciones de St. Johns, el barrio de Portland donde vive, son tan vívidas que casi puedes oler el alcohol y el crank en el aire. Sus retratos de las mujeres redneck, con sus cuerpos marcados por la violencia y la droga, tienen una ternura que desmiente su cinismo. Goad no es un misógino, es un tipo que ha visto demasiadas mujeres aguantar lo inaguantable y que, a su manera torpe, las admira. Pero también es un tipo que no puede evitar reírse de ellas cuando se pone el traje de payaso, y esa ambivalencia es lo que hace que su voz sea tan humana y tan irritante a la vez.
¿Y qué decir de su análisis del trabajo? Es, posiblemente, el mejor capítulo del libro. Goad sabe de lo que habla porque ha sudado la camiseta en imprentas, taxis y fábricas, y su descripción del obrero moderno como un esclavo asalariado que produce más y cobra menos es un diagnóstico tan certero que debería ser de lectura obligatoria en cualquier facultad de economía. Cita a Marx, pero no como un académico, sino como un compañero de fatigas: "El trabajo es para los esclavos", dice, y uno no puede evitar asentir. Porque, ¿quién de nosotros, al llegar a casa después de ocho horas de absurdo, no ha sentido que su vida se le escapa entre los dedos como agua sucia? Goad señala la hipocresía de los que hablan de "emprendimiento" mientras los sueldos se estancan y las prestaciones desaparecen, y lo hace con una claridad que los panfletos sindicales han perdido hace décadas. Cuando habla de su mujer, despedida de su undécimo trabajo temporal, y de cómo se maquilla para ir a la oficina sabiendo que todo es en vano, está escribiendo una de las páginas más dolorosas de la literatura estadounidense reciente. Esa es la fuerza de Goad: no necesita inventar monstruos, porque la realidad se los da ya hechos.
Pero también es su debilidad. Porque la realidad, aunque atroz, no es una sentencia de muerte. Y Goad, en su desesperación, parece haber renunciado a cualquier esperanza de cambio colectivo. Su solución es la huida, la autosuficiencia, la comunidad de marginados que se protegen mutuamente en el parque de caravanas. Y eso, siendo comprensible, es también una derrota. Como bien dice el refrán latino, "Ubi solitudinem faciunt, pacem appellant" (donde hacen el desierto, lo llaman paz). Goad no quiere hacer el desierto, pero se ha resignado a vivir en él. Y esa resignación, que él llama orgullo, es el mayor obstáculo para la transformación que tan ardientemente desea.
Al final, el Manifiesto Redneck es un libro sobre el dolor de ser invisible en un mundo que solo ve colores, y sobre la rabia de ser culpable sin haber cometido el crimen. Es el grito de un hombre que ha sido despreciado por los ricos por pobre y por los progresistas por blanco, y que ha decidido abrazar esa doble marginación como una bandera. Pero las banderas, aunque ondeen con orgullo, no protegen del frío. Y Goad, en el fondo, lo sabe. Por eso su libro termina con una imagen de las nucas que se enrojecen bajo el sol, una especie de llamada a las armas que suena más a poesía que a estrategia. Y quizá eso sea lo único que le quede a un escritor que ha visto demasiado: la poesía de la furia. Pero la furia, como el fuego, puede calentar o quemar. Y la de Goad, por momentos, calienta. Pero por otros, quema y no deja cenizas para sembrar. Nos quedamos, entonces, con la duda de si este libro es un diagnóstico o una profecía, un espejo o una maldición. Yo, que he visto demasiadas guerras y demasiadas tonterías humanas, prefiero quedarme con su pregunta, que es la única que realmente importa: ¿cuándo aprenderemos a odiar a nuestros verdaderos enemigos en lugar de odiarnos entre nosotros? Y mientras tanto, brindo con whisky barato, porque la botella está medio llena y el tiempo, ese viejo tahúr, sigue barajando las cartas.
August 2, 2018
Un libro con mucha información controvertida, que da muchísimo material para reflexionar, especialmente en lo relacionado con la esclavitud de blancos en Estados Unidos (traídos mediante engaños o derechamente secuestrados) y cómo se crea el concepto de "redneck" o "White Trash" (haciendo referencia a clases sociales más pobres, a fin de cuentas). La etimología de los términos como hillbilly o yockel es muy interesante y un aporte.
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