There is a general feeling of malaise among native communities of the Europeans. I was unaware of this as a child or perhaps it just didn’t exist yet, I was also unaware of it as a young adult. While now I am sensitive to it, and certainly sensitive to reflecting on past experiences with fresh eyes. This article will be such a reflection.
As stated above, many Europeans already have a feeling of being lost, not knowing why they are, overtly concentrating on statistics which show something is wrong – divorce rates, single motherhood, child abuse being more common, rape, murder, general crime, suicide and sexual confusion, gender confusion, and of course identity confusion.
When I was young, I certainly wasn’t told who I was in a deep meaningful way, what I am, where I come from and so on. My name was a clue as you can follow its origins, but that wasn’t explained to me: I had to research it myself when I was old enough to care. My parents are typical gen-x-ers, not explaining the chain which led to me, nor explaining what I am being given and what I shall pass on to my children. A Deistic mother who rejected Catholicism and a Protestant father who refuses to go to church, and only reads the Bible with no traditional guidance. The same goes for my upbringing about race, genes and nationality. It simply wasn’t spoken about.
I was raised by a single mother, and a strong father who moved on to marry a much more stable woman who I proudly call my second mother. But this story isn’t about me, but a male from my hometown in England.
This male will not be named, but given a false name. I wish to respect his family and him. I shall call him John from now on. As said, John was from my area, and he was also older than me. I have an older sister, and he was more her age than mine. It is through my older sister that I know of him and met him only a few times. She had known him for years, even dated him for a short while. They broke up, he moved on, ended up moving to another nation, and then came back after growing up just to visit his family. She (my sister) ran into him when he came back to visit and he explained he was ashamed of his past actions, and didn’t want to bother her. He just wanted to see his family and leave again. After what he did to her it was best to not dwell on the past and let both of them just move on. She was hurt by this, but understood. A few years later she found out he had committed suicide. This to her was out of the blue, but I didn’t find it so hard to understand, but me and my sister don’t use the same pair of glasses to see the world.
I am writing this to explain what my sister did not understand, and to try and clarify a common problem in the modern world. The difference between me and my sister is gendertive: she is more emotional and her world is constructed out of how people feel. Her concern is people’s state of mind, and having children whether through herself or adoption. My world is more historical and logical. I see people and patterns, I see groups and particulars from those groups (individuals). I want children, but they must be mine: by this I mean my wife must be like me tribally; I want children who look like me, I want my children to share my identity and race through a wife who is of my race and shares my identity – I want to procreate myself, and add another citizen to my nation. My children will not be citizens of the world, but citizens of their home and people.
Women in general are less inclined to care in the modern world about their children looking like them and fitting into a native population. What matters to most women is that their children (whether adopted or not) are happy regardless of location, husband/father, race, nation or single motherhood. I believe this difference which is not just merely gendertive, but identity based, is why my sister cannot and will not understand his suicide. In order to help you, dear reader, to understand I have to explain John’s backstory.
He grew up in a majority white lower to middle working-class area. Hard men who are honest and hardworking, and strong women who have many children and a heart of gold for all their local friends. His upbringing was no doubt hard and rough like all of the children’s upbringings in my area. His entire family are fighters, into fighting and football or drugs for fighting. His brothers are all boxers and his dad the teacher. His family has a strong and proud English identity: flags outside the family home, England football t-shirts on constantly, into football clearly as a form of expressing nationalism in a world that clamps down on any expression of nativity. This nativity was often expressed as what we commonly call today ‘racism’ or thuggishness in the same way that someone like Tommy Robinson, the founder of the EDL (English Defence League) presents and represents. This is considered unacceptable in today’s metropolitan world.
He often wrote NF (National Front) on toilet doors, spoke about his support of the BNP (British National Party, and did much more risky self-destructive stuff such as going to football matches just for the fights. He once spoke about how he would go to the local city to drink in a pub, this city is a forty minute or so walk from where we are from. He would walk back early in the morning, stinking drunk, and if he walked passed anyone, he would start a fight with them just for the kick of it.
This is not healthy behaviour, it is self-destructive rather than competitive. There is nothing wrong with a strong identity and pride in your heritage, but he acted like someone who was secretly insecure and lost. He expressed anger at how the local area was and still is being screwed over by immigration, how unemployment was rising as we took in cheaper Indian, Chinese, Pakistani, and Polish workers, while side-lining the natives. He identified this as abandoning the white working-class natives of England. I dismissed him as a simple, insecure racist. But, in our area it is, was and still is a land that has been abandoned by the middle class and political class. They refuse to do what the public overwhelming want – a control on immigration and a vast reduction of numbers coming in for the natives to have room to breathe and comes to terms with the changes that are outpacing us. Our region is one of the worst immigration areas since the 1960s. Wolverhampton, where Enoch Powell made his rise, and Birmingham where Enoch made his ‘Rivers of blood’ speech, is not far from where we are from. These areas are gang mauled by paedophile-Pakistani Islamic rape gangs, Somali knife crime and white self-destructive behaviour. He identified this and he became more and more self-destructive as his eyes to this were further opened from experience. It was not abstract: it was his home in front of his face changing and degenerating. I think he became disillusioned and hope left him more and more each day he had to see it happen and continue to do so.
There is a phenomenon in England where we call people Asian in order to extend group blame to an entire racial category just so we don’t have to talk about Islam, and then anyone who brings up Islam can be called racist because the Islamic community is called Asian instead of Pakistani or Somalian (which is African, not Asian – and is one of the worst Islamic communities to have in your area). Stuff like this drove him crazy. He believed he was watching England stop being England, and stop being English.
This became more personal for our family when my sister began dating John. He was unaware that we have a younger sister who is mixed race. When my mom and dad split up my mom moved on and had a child with a black man. On my mother’s fireplace in my family home was a picture of the dad of my younger sister. When he seen it, he asked rather bluntly ‘Why is there a n****r on your fireplace?’, when my older sister explained he was horrified. He himself had a black friend who everyone called the dreaded N word, and he jokingly referred to himself by this name too. But it was clear although he was his friend, he would never let him any closer, or become close friends intentionally. Again, I dismissed him as a simple racist, and thus dismissed him and all his points.
It turned out that before my sister had dated him, she had dated a black Muslim. While Islam bothered him, it was the race of the boyfriend that really bothered him. He explained how he loved her, but didn’t know how to deal with that piece of information. It continued to be a cause of argument, anger and upset on both sides of the relationship. He couldn’t understand how she could do it, to herself, to him, to her nation, people and future children. He couldn’t understand why she wanted it and didn’t see a problem with it, and why she was willing to make the same mistake as our mother. This caused several years of an on-off relationship, where he often broke down, and explained if only she hadn’t of done that, he would be able to be with her without such a problem with her past.
He didn’t want to be with, reward, love and have a family and children with someone who wasn’t ethno-centric, but he was frustrated by the fact that he wanted all of these things from a woman who clearly was blind to racial loyalty and familial feelings.
While he watched his area be destroyed by the ideology of multiculturalism, watched his own people pushed to the side, he also watched the local women fetishize black men and desire a ‘brown baby’ just for the novelty, while his local men fetishize Islam as masculine, or spent all of their time destroying themselves with drugs and meaningless sex from a lack of direction and end-goals.
He fell out of contact, moved to another Anglo-Saxon nation to pick up a trade, and got on with his life. As he did, he discovered meditation and began exercising in less explosive ways. As many find out, running and bike riding for exercise is a wonder for the wandering mind, and for him it began a path of reflection that he was unfamiliar with. He began to hate himself, and hate his hate. He hated that he had hurt others, and hated his family’s views. This led him to try and change his ways and self. It is noble to burn away your weaknesses and remove your previous thuggishishness. But what was left once he hated himself? One could argue many things, a new hope for the future and life maybe? For him however, it took away the one thing that kept him grounded: his identity; racial, gendertive and nationality.
This identityless John began to urge to destroy himself through meditation, thinking his identity was an illusion, like a Buddhist. Little did he know that race is the foundation of identity and that denying it would lead him to eradicate himself as many young white men are doing right now. You cannot take an axe to the root without destroying the fruit-bearing. We as whites are opting out of existence, of life, as the world pushes down on us and makes us deny the fundamental facts of our own existence and being.
Do not misunderstand me, John was not a virtuous man, nor would he be a welcome member to our movement, but he could have been, and the most depressing fact is that he could have been helped but wasn’t. He was young, angry and lost. Pouring his racial and national pride into football: the last bastion of overt nationalism left in England. But this last bastion is not the hill to hang yourself on. It (football) is a pool of wasted nationalism which could serve our nation better if expressed openly and about our racial identity instead of a sports game full of national euphemisms. This is what a young poor white male has been reduced to. If men set standards and women enforce them, then we native English men must pick our wives wisely. Not only could John have been saved, but he could have saved a woman from miscegenation and the single motherhood which haunts the wombs of our European women. He could have been saved, became a hero and saved a woman with a bad history – that is the only way we are going to save ourselves and rise up against our weaknesses and those who abuse our weaknesses.
We must be those who march on for England while the rest of the world pushes and crushes down on us. What they want and must not get is a great big goodbye from mister white guy. The real last bastion and the only last bastion of white people is us ourselves, and so long as we exist and affirm it: there is always hope.
This article was published 11th January 2019 on Counter-Currents: