How WASPs and Zionists Undermined America, 1620-2025

1.        Frank Capra’s America—and How We Lost It

The iconic Italian-American director Frank Capra is most known for Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, It’s a Wonderful Life, It Happened One Night, and Mr. Deeds Goes to Town. These are films that, to many of us, show Americans as we once might have been and, at our best, should and could be today. God, family, solid communities of independent farmers and laborers and small business owners and wanderers spread across the vastness of the republic while elites huddle in their halls of power—this vision is Capra’s most-known legacy to America, us as the deepest version of ourselves. But, arguably, Capra’s most perceptive contribution to American life is a less renowned film with a conceit that is trickier, more concealed, and more helpful to those of us trying to revive some of Capra’s values in the face of networks of concentrated, concealed power which gaslight people who question their authority.

The film is Arsenic and Old Lace (1944): an extremely dark screwball comedy starring Cary Grant as a misanthropic New York Mayflower descendant who falls madly in love and marries a wholesome preacher’s daughter but who, before his honeymoon, is forced to confront the shadows of his own family he never knew were there. Namely, two doting aunts, a cousin, and a brother who, Grant’s character finds out in true slapstick style on his wedding night, are all covert murderers and all certifiably insane. (The two aunts “scientifically” poison lonely old men “for their own good”; the cousin thinks he’s Teddy Roosevelt and helps the aunts bury the bodies in the basement, or “Panama”; and the brother is a criminal with a passion for killing then counting his kills. When Grant tells the aunts they’ve done wrong, they respond with what we’d today call gaslighting: they say they were doing it to help the old gentlemen, and their nephew had no right to disturb their “little secret.”)

The film, and Grant’s character’s comedic flight from relying on his family to fighting to get out from under their spell, ends when he’s told he’s not descended from them at all—he’s an adoptee. “I’m the son of a sea cook!” crows the man born, or not born, into America’s WASP elite, throwing off his assumed inheritance that, thankfully, is not his inheritance at all. Then he gets ready to enter a waiting cab—driven by a working stiff not too different, it turns out, from his old man—and go off with his wife to Niagara Falls: the de facto destination of the American working man on his honeymoon.

The key to the film’s weird comedy is that what we think we believe in most may not be what we want to believe in at all, and this is not an accident of fictional construction. Capra was an Italian immigrant who came to America in 1903 at the age of six. He bounced around doing odd jobs for much of his early life, and lived a “rags-to-riches” story that embodied the American Dream. Capra might have worked with powerful people but he breathed Niagara Falls—and so was the opposite of the aristocratic WASP ruling class which, despite its veneer of beneficent respectability and desirable worldliness, was not what anyone who shared Capra’s values would want to be.

It’s widely agreed that, in in Arsenic and Old Lace, Capra showed the strangeness of the WASP regime as it developed from its Puritan origins in the early seventeenth century. But this regime was more than strange: it was, by the time Capra chronicled it and as he showed in the film, increasingly empty of all but the trappings of virtue. Standing in the background of American development in Boston and New York and Washington, D.C., WASPs had spent the eighteenth, nineteenth, and twentieth centuries quietly building institutions in imitation of Europe: research universities, philanthropies, foreign policy institutes, administrative agencies, corporations and consultancies. The point of these institutions was mostly the same: to substitute technical instruction by educated elites for the raw, democratic contestation over ethics and interests of a constitutional republic. But WASPs’ marginalized status within America’s irrepressible republic troubled them. It created neuroses, repression, repressed sexuality and homosexuality, physical ailments, mental illness, and the emotional problems that accrued—and led to the depletion of the dynasty which Capra dramatizes in the film.

The tragedy of Capra’s film is that he traced a real conflict but misread its outcome. Before they commenced their fade, the WASPs had one more play to make that, paradoxically, locked in their vision for America. From 1941 through the several decades that followed, they used America’s wars against Nazi and Soviet expansion to put the institutions they had spent the past 150 years building at the center of American life. They also handed off their work to a subset of their elite which expanded it further—their even more ardent and quite fundamentally un-assimilative Jewish Zionist inheritors who have accelerated and inflated their legacy to our collective detriment as Americans.

That Jewish Zionist gloss on the WASP legacy is everywhere today, beginning with the setting of Arsenic and Old Lace: Brooklyn Heights and Dumbo, just across the East River from Wall Street. Those neighborhoods are no longer filled with old houses constructed by WASPs: they are filled with high-rises constructed by Zionists. The old WASP schools like the Episcopalian St. Ann’s send their graduates to Ivy leagues dependent on Jewish Zionist donors. Their old WASP philanthropies have now become theater “warehouses” funded by the Manhattan financial-philanthropic complex dominated by Zionists. Their WASP politicos have become Zionist politicos, namely Hillary Clinton, whose presumptively victorious 2016 campaign had its headquarters in the neighborhood. Their old waterfront areas which once housed warehouses and neighborhoods and small businesses and factories have become, at the hands of Zionists like New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg, Brooklyn Bridge Park: a residential and recreation area where the lawyers and analysts and consultants and H.R. administrators who work for hedge funds and philanthropies go on Saturday and Sundays for picnics and strolls. The unemployed and displaced in these and nearby neighborhoods—among them 64,000 blue collar laborers who lost their jobs in the 2000s, a 46 percent loss that was almost twice that experienced during the same period nationwide—have gone someplace else, displacing others lower on the income scale, who have become homeless.

And this process traces in miniature what’s happened across our country since 1944: not just the assumption of power from one group to another; but the spread of this power so that it disenfranchises the rest of us, those who do believe in Capra’s America. It is this process that has increasingly made us non-citizens, supplicants to our government, strangers in our country, which is increasingly being put to the service of a foreign country, Israel. This process of power accrual and power transition is, largely, an untold story. Knowledge of it is confined to an “elite,” “educated” readership in New York and Washington, D.C. and Boston unlikely to use this information to do what might be construed as “harm” to the WASP-turned-Zionist cause. It’s time for that to change—because these operators, over these years, thanks to their invisibility, have succeeded in doing to us what Cary Grant’s character’s family did to him in Capra’s film, until he snapped out of it. They’ve succeeded in making us think that they have our best interests at heart, that they have the right to rule us, and that they are equipped to do so, when the reality is the inverse.

The reality is that the weirdness and insufficiency of our current politics doesn’t come from us, any more than Cary Grant’s character was the scion of WASPs or than we share the values or interests of Zionists. The weirdness and the insufficiency come from the profound and foreign and quite fundamental weirdness of the people who try to rule us, unconstitutionally and in secret; and who have tried to do this since before the foundation of our republic. It's this profound weirdness and its policy and propaganda outgrowths from which we have to break free to rescue America. But doing that means understanding how this weirdness came to be: how WASPs consolidated power then passed the baton to Zionists, who expanded their remit.

2.        The Behind-the-Scenes Rise of the WASPs, 1620-1945

The rise of the WASPs in America began with the arrival of the Puritans: dissenting Christian sects who docked on rocky outcroppings of Plymouth and then expanded to towns like Newtown (Cambridge) and Boston, creating Massachusetts Bay Colony. Unlike other settlers who came to America looking to achieve independence from arbitrary power, the Puritans had a “higher motive” based on their assumption that they were chosen to establish their settlement by God. In the name of this belief, they set up a community to achieve salvation: giving authority to ministers, building universities to promote classical and religious education and equipping their towns and cities with councils to protect their liberty from the corruption of empire. The communal yet individual character of the Puritan settlements incubated strong, sturdy senses of equality and virtue among their citizens. Yet, as the community enriched itself off commerce with Britain and wars against Indians, its biggest winners took a different approach: families like the Cabots, the Lowells, the Eliots, the Delanos, the Hutchinsons, and the Whitneys who built up influence through commerce and education and connections to the British Empire.

Guilty about their wealth yet unwilling to renounce it, they trumpeted their earthly success as proof of their inherent “chosenness” while waging war against “heathenish” and “barbarous” Indians whom they saw opposing “ordered liberty.” The Puritan ministers, equally concerned over diminishing godliness, enacted ritual punishments to keep citizens in line, and labeled others dissenters and cast them into the Wilderness; one of them, Roger Williams, founded Rhode Island instead.

Over time, the thrust of life in New England was toward concentration of control to the political and economic benefit of this elite and their London connections, and to the detriment of others. Even members of the striving secular upper-middle class were resentful, like John Adams, a Massachusetts lawyer whose father was a shoemaker and farmer and who was caught between Puritan guilt and post-Puritan ambition, and who disliked more influential Bostonians as his undeserving superiors. The American Revolution gave Adams and his allies their chance to right the situation: after coming together with the rest of the colonies to kick their “betters” out, WASPs in Boston and New York saw their opportunity to rule.

They drew behind Adams, America’s first vice president, and Alexander Hamilton, the Treasury Secretary and most powerful official in George Washington’s first cabinet, to realize their vision of a nation run from Boston and New York with a powerful military, high taxes, a national bank, public debt, and national universities to mint an elite to govern the “common herd.” Hamilton was the intellectual and policy driver of this push and a fitting recipient for the task. The son of an illicit marriage in the Caribbean, he pushed into American life displaying an astonishing talent for administrative skills, an astute eye for patronship, and a chip on his shoulder which wrecked him. (He gained power organizing Washington’s army then threatened to resign in the middle of the war when he felt insulted by his commander; married a daughter of one of New York’s most influential families then began a dalliance with another woman which humiliated his wife; and, after losing power, fought a series of duels that ended in his death.) But, whatever the stars or strikes in Hamilton’s personality, he had fervent supporters convinced of the rightness of his cause and their own superior fitness to rule. 

Massachusetts Senator George Cabot; New York sugar refiner and State Senator Isaac Roosevelt; Gouverneur Morris, who chaired the commission designing Manhattan’s street grid; Robert Morris, one of America’s wealthiest men—these were members of Hamilton’s class of backers: successful, driven, insulated from the rest of the country. Their surprise was great when the American majority from the south and the west and the “Middle colonies” decisively rejected them in favor of a political ticket headed by Thomas Jefferson, constructed by James Madison, and standing for constitutional democracy via a decentralized republic. To Jefferson and Madison and their backers (small merchants and artisans, unionists and farmers, men of property not tied to empire or finance) the “Revolution of 1800” was a second American Revolution. It realized the promise of the first in the face of a new class of British imitators led by Hamilton who had contrived to steal it in secret from the top-down. This 1800 election was a decisive political rout which put what became the Democratic Party into power until 1860 on a populist policy platform. Boston and New York became outliers in America: refuges for a failed class of leaders denied, as they saw it, their birthright. But they regrouped—corporatively, and from the top down.

In 1810, Francis Cabot Lowell, a product of a marriage between the Cabots and the Lowells, traveled to Britain to realize an ambition of Hamilton’s and steal the blueprints for a power loom. Then Lowell used family money and connections to set up a mill in Waltham outside of Boston, capitalized at $400,000, to take cotton and make it into cheap cloth. Production boomed, profits soared, the mill became a factory town, and the “lords of the loom” like the Lowells quickly gave Southern slavery a new lease on life: empowering the “lords of the lash,” 25 percent of the white Southern population which owned slaves. Within twenty years up-and-comer immigrant entrepreneurs were jumping on the train: among them the German Jewish immigrants Henry, Meyer and Emanuel Lehman (The Lehman Brothers) in Montgomery, Alabama; and the French Jewish immigrants Alexandre Lazard, Lazare Lazard, and Simon Lazard (of Lazard Frères & Co.) in New Orleans. These players used the WASP-driven cotton boom to their advantage. They started trade or dry-goods businesses in the South then moved into finance in Boston and New York, and from there moved to make spots for themselves in the WASP elite.

The Civil War over slavery that resulted from this cotton-driven economy was prosecuted by the Republican Party—then the party of “big government” which owed its existence to WASPs who backed the charismatic frontier lawyer (and Puritan descendant) Abraham Lincoln. The Civil War gave these elite WASPs new opportunities for power by harnessing the national government behind their projects after the War was won. In many ways they weren’t emotionally equippedfor the job of rule. They were described, by critics from their own community, as "ornamental” inheritors who "could scarcely have earned five dollars a day in any modern industry” with faces "like a day-long brooding cloud." Many of them were insecure about their masculinity, “talking tough” in public and exploring homosexuality privately, and mental problems and neuroses were common among them. But their ambition was strong, and so was their pride. They looked down on the associations and legislatures that drove America’s politics, and its large immigrant classes of Irish and Italians who participated, in favor of rule by men “of the better class, who by virtue of intelligence, integrity and business training are specially equipped for the responsibilities of office.” Now they had the chance to show their superiority.

One of their leaders was Charles Eliot, of the original settler family to Massachusetts. Having turned down a supervisory position at a cotton factory in Lowell, Eliot was appointed president of Harvard on the strength of an essay published in The Atlantic Monthly, newly founded by Francis Cabot Lowell’s relation James, arguing that American colleges and universities should adapt their Puritan training in theology, the classics, and other fields to the applied technical skills of empire: business, economics, engineering, and administration. One of the first three PhDs awarded by this new Harvard was to future U.S. Senator from Massachusetts Henry Cabot Lodge, the great-grandson of George Cabot, like his great-grandfather a devotee of Alexander Hamilton. Along with the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, founded in 1861 with support from the Lowells to advance the applied sciences, the growth of Harvard made the Cambridge-Boston area a center of business growth. America’s first consultancy, Arthur D. Little, which advised corporations on psychological and organizational strategies to keep workers efficient and docile, grew in tandem with MIT, and was eventually joined in the city by Boston Consulting Group (BCG), founded by a former Arthur D. Little employee, and Bain & Company, today two of the three most prominent management consultancies in America.

Soon, New York followed Boston’s lead. Henry Jarvis Raymond, a co-founder of the Republican Party in 1856 and a prominent New York journalist, founded The New York Times in an effort to “reform” the Irish and Italian ethnic politics of New York. Edward Cabot Clark, the lawyer who’d shepherded the Singer Sewing Machine from contracts to market, invested in real estate to create the “Upper West Side.” Theodore Roosevelt, Sr., a prominent philanthropist, helped foundthe Metropolitan Museum of Art for the telling “end of furnishing popular instruction.” And it was from New York that the other major WASP leader, who said of Charles Eliot that “he is the only man in the world I envy,” rose to power: Theodore Roosevelt Sr.’s son Theodore Roosevelt, who brought the WASPs back into presidential politics for the first time since the Adamses.

Roosevelt, like Hamilton, thought he had something to prove. He had been born sickly and spent a lifetime demonstrating his martial worth in outsized ways, at the demonstrable expense of other people. Along with Henry Cabot Lodge; Secretary of State John Foster, who set the annexation of Hawaii in motion; and social theorist Brooks Adams, one of John Adams’s great-grandsons, Roosevelt was one of America’s most ardent proponents of elite rule—and he took to the pages of elite magazines like The Atlantic arguing for “the better sort” to affect civil service reform at home and lead wars abroad to “steward the backward races of the world.” Starting with what one of Roosevelt’s confidantes called the “splendid little war” against Spain in Cuba and proceeding to the bigger and more brutal war of attrition in the Philippines, Roosevelt got his wish. This, in turn, propelled him to notoriety and the Vice Presidency and then the Presidency, where he enacted a colonial agenda from the top down. From the White House and de facto bypassing Congress, Roosevelt founded the FBI with the help, perhaps tellingly, of Napoleon’s grand-nephew Attorney General Charles J. Bonaparte, like Roosevelt a Harvard graduate. Roosevelt also acted to eliminate “bad” monopolies while leaving corporate power intact; and took measures to limit state governments, though not when it came to segregation. (He saw blacks, along colonial lines, as racially inferior.)

During these years of overt political expansion, Roosevelt’s class also expanded its power while diluting its continuity by bringing new members in from different groups.

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