Monday, 15 January 2018


Surplus to requirements

Words still mean something, even in the age of the computer.

Donald Cammell, Performance

The Wehrmacht never got in here.

Mark E. Smith

Coming as I do from a philosophical academic background, it is a part of my training always to be attentive to language. In the beginning, as the Bible tells us, was the Word. Whether or not language is, as Heidegger suggests, the house of Being, words matter still. And what is not written or said means just as much as what is. Take the Second World War.

The allies were never at war with the Nazis. They were at war with Germany, who happened to be led by Hitler’s Nazi Party. In case anyone is in any doubt – and the young will probably not even be aware of this, as there isn’t an app for it – WWII was Deutschland’s second attempt of the 20th century to subjugate the rest of Europe, and indeed the world, to its will to power. And I don’t invoke the spirit, the geist, of Nietzsche glibly. The Wille zu Machen has a specific meaning for the Lutheran pastor’s son, and he was sorely misrepresented by the Germans under Hitler. Nietzsche despised Germany, something else I have in common with the great man.

The English are always jokingly told before rugby or soccer matches that Scotland is the ‘auld enemy’. If not Scotland, it is France who gets the dubious distinction of being England’s perennial foe. Actually, Denmark has a far greater claim to be the greatest scourge of the so-called United Kingdom, raiding that country perpetually as they did before Scotland and France were in long trousers, demanding Danegeld and nicking all the best-looking chicks.

But, back in the non-revisionist world outside the one the BBC inhabits, it is Germany who has long been the greatest threat to the European world. Judged on its performance in the 20th century, Germany is the toxic heart of Europe. Little or nothing has changed.

What a pleasure it is, then, to see them finally being eaten away from within their own rotten heart. Angela Merkel, currently desperately trying to prolong her political career with a coalition government, has stated that there is good news for the German people. Whatever the new government looks like, it will still guarantee that almost a quarter of a million Muslim refugees a year come to Germany’s formerly green and pleasant land. She is on record as saying that there is no theoretical upper limit to immigrant figures. What does a sentence like that even mean? The only country currently rivalling Germany in the collective suicide stakes is Sweden, a country well on its way to ruination.

I am not often moved by the news, having long since developed that carapace, that exoskeletal armour necessary to make sense of the modern world without going on a killing spree. This week, however, I saw something which made the bile of rage rise in my throat.

The photograph at the head of this piece is the Church of St. Lambertus in the German town of Immerath. Dating from the 19th century as it does, or did, the townspeople are, or were, naturally proud of their church. That church again.
This austere but beautiful building has been bulldozed to make way for a lignite mine, lignite being a type of coal that apparently Germany can’t do without. The German economy, which presumably will be strengthened by the excavation of a fossil fuel we are constantly being told is destroying the planet, certainly needs strengthening, what with the arrival of hundreds of thousand of ‘new Germans’, 95% of whom are on benefits. Cultural enrichment doesn’t come cheap. And, as mosques and ‘cultural centres’ – ie. mosques – are built, often funded by Saudi Arabia, so churches like St. Lambertus become collateral damage in the Great Replacement.

As sorry as I feel for the residents of Immerath who, naturally, protested the destruction of their beloved church, I cannot help but come to a rational, considered and balanced conclusion; Fuck Germany. You started two world wars, and lost them. Whether it is your collective guilt for the Holocaust, Merkel’s psychosis, or globalist machination, you are the architects of your own downfall, and I couldn’t be happier. Bring in as many Mohammedans halfwits as you want. At least they won’t be going anywhere else.

You are no longer the country of Nietzsche and Thomas Mann, Heidegger and Beethoven, Goethe and Hesse, Schopenhauer and Wagner, Bach and Dürer. You are becoming the country of Mohammed and Achmed. As the Protestant spires crash to earth, and the minarets rise to replace them, you will destroy yourselves as surely as night follows day follows night. And, if the German people are so cowed that they allow this to happen, then they deserve it. All the AfDs and PEGIDAs in the world may not be enough to save you now.

And, as the north Americans say, it couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.

Sunday, 14 January 2018


The Leftist media, earlier today

Raheem Kassam is editor of Breitbart, former senior adviser to Nigel Farage, and is now, according to the Communist publication The Guardian, ‘the new face of the hard Right’. As far as the present writer is concerned, the last epithet alone is sufficient to clothe the man in imperial purple and wind laurels around his head.

Kassam, dapper and rugged in equal measure, has the type of impeccable ethnic minority credentials that would usually have the Left sniffing round him like a dog with his owner’s aniseed-coated leg. On the other hand, he disqualified himself from the attention of the Left, in any but a hostile way, by making a major faux pas. Born to Tanzanian Gujarati immigrants, Kassam was raised in the Ishmaili sect of Shia Islam. But he is an apostate, having been enlightened by Christopher Hitchens and become an atheist. Having left Islam, of course, already guarantees him a sentence of death from that most tolerant of religions.

The equally tolerant Guardian has bestowed on Kassam the role of figurehead to the new Right after an interview on SKY news with a news anchor who perfectly encapsulates the personality type that runs through the modern British media like a candied name through a stick of rock. The interview can be found here, and I discovered it on YouTube after the Breitbart version was disappointingly run with the audio track only.

The first thing you notice is the petulant tone of the interviewer. Anyone who has seen Jon Snow interviewing Jacob Rees-Mogg will already have had a masterclass in Left-wing media petulance. It is the ‘shambles’ interview here. The other character, incidentally, is Keir Starmer, a particularly oily specimen of the political class, and a disgrace to his old school, Reigate Grammar, where he was a year below me, along with Quentin Cook, better known as Fatboy Slim.

And so I watched the blacked-out video wondering what the lisping, stroppy, sarcastic interviewer looked like. I pictured one of those pasty, whey-faced little SJWs who infest the TV media. I was wrong. When I discovered the YouTube version, I saw that he was, as my nan would have said, as black as your hat. This, of course, goes some way to explaining the grievance-soaked, uppity tone he adopts while talking to Kassam.

When the audio link goes, this stuttering, fey little jackanape says ‘what a crying shame’ and, when sound is restored, says it is ‘smashing’ with ill-disguised sarcasm. He also has a dreadful speaking voice for a news anchor. Every time he tries to say ‘President Trump’ it sounds like ‘prescient Trump’, and in this at least he may be correct. But as for his childish tone, what type of news service thinks that this is good interview technique? It just makes the whole station look like what it is, a moody exercise in infantile Left-wing activism, lacking in intelligence but high on petulant foot-stamping. Kassam, in contrast, is suave and calm as he builds up to the payoff line.

The interviewer relishes using the word ‘shithole’ when relaying Trump’s now-famous quip. In fact, the Leftist media all did the same, CNN repeating the term 36 times on Thursday. Kassam’s inquisitor, Kamal something or other, repeats the word four times in five and a half minutes. The interview is quickly wound up, however, when Kassam does the same thing, and for an easily recognisable reason. After embarrassing little Kamal with his knowledge of crime statistics in the capital, Kassam describes Sadiq Khan’s London as a ‘shithole’. Well, that is enough for the aggrieved ethnic minoritarian, and the interview is over.

I have said many times that Left-wing thinking and behavior in the modern West displays a definite psychopathology, but I may have missed the obvious. Perhaps the psychopathology is actually a condition all of us have suffered from at one time, the same way you get measles or the mumps. Perhaps the psychopathology of the Left simply reduces to childishness.

It would be possible to respect the Left and, by extension, the media, if they didn’t act like angry and frustrated children. It is exactly the same in the USA. But childishness, and its attendant lack of sophistication, is the new cultural marque in the West.

Selwyn Duke makes a good point in a piece for American Thinker;

‘It’s the Left that, mainly via entertainment, has coarsened society, defining deviancy downwards and normalising vulgarity. This is why the younger generations now use profanity, publicly, as a matter of course.’

This is undeniably true. Diana West’s The Death of the Grown Up thematises this whole shift from society as a functional expression of maturity and adulthood to an increasingly juvenile and, following on from that, infantile society. As West writes;

‘Chucking maturity for eternal youth may have created the culture of perpetual adolescence, but it should now become apparent that it isn’t the same thing as achieving cultural longevity. The question is, what if turns out that forever young is fatal?’

There is a cult of youth in the West, and particularly in the USA. Argument is now childish, plastic surgery is a boom industry, older people increasingly dress as big children, floppy T-shirts, coloured play shoes, shorts. I wear shorts here in Costa Rica because the daytime is blazingly hot. In the evening, however, I would no more wear shorts than I would wear a pink pussy hat. The cool of the evening, however, doesn’t dissuade the north Americans from donning their big-boy shorts.

Kassam’s calm under fire shows what adulthood is. One can only hope that his example will be adhered to by the dissident Right, who are not without their own toy-throwing temper tantrums. But the Left are setting the pace when it comes to pathetic, lip-trembling, infantile shows of petulance and incoherent rage. Please do us all a favour, SKY, the BBC, and just about every other media outlet in the Western world. The grown-ups are talking and, if you can’t behave, you will have to sit at the special table.

Saturday, 13 January 2018


A shithole, yesterday

I can’t say that I am overly impressed with the Trump presidency, but not for the same reason his critics are raging and frothing. Now, he is not being allowed to govern, that much is as clear as an unmuddied lake, and is obviously having to cut threadbare deals in order to negotiate the intricacies of government. But I had hoped that he would go in with both fists swinging, like a drunken cowboy bursting through the Dutch doors of a saloon and throwing various ranch hands back out through the windows.

One way in which he has not disappointed, though, is with his rhetoric. Thuggish and crass, Trumpspeak goes against every tenet of the political class, and that is exactly what is needed in an age in which the Left are trying to sanitise speech and inform the little people – as well as the big ones – what they can and can’t say.

Speech is supposed to function, in part, as crude ornament. Look at Chaucer or the Latin vulgate poets. Just don’t go to university and expect to look at them. Do it in your own time.

I sincerely hope Trump did refer to Haiti and various African countries as ‘shitholes’. If the Left has a problem with that abrupt terminology, then by their works shall ye know them. It is not pretty language, but it is not a pretty world. Democrats and most Republicans, as well as Leftist Progressivist political elites across Europe, want more of these people because they are hell-bent on the destruction of the indigenous population, as well as wishing to see some serious civil unrest so they can impose some real draconian fun. That is why their language towards the countries Trump refers to as ‘shitholes’ is simpering, as they try to sell trash to their respective publics.

And, boy, does Haiti know about trash. Children, abandoned by their parents, live on rubbish heaps, much the same as they do in Brazil. Pictures show a country awash with garbage. Looking at these images, one wonders whether, if Haiti is not a shithole, where is? Curiously, Haiti’s national debt as a proportion of gross domestic product is less than half that of France and the UK, which either shows what an unreliable indicator that is, or shows that no one will lend money to a shithole.

John Derbyshire, the brilliant British expat to the USA who writes for the VDare website, quotes writer Rebecca Hersher in a feature about Haiti from 2017 as follows;

Port-au-Prince, Haiti, is one of the largest cities in the world without a central sewage system. There are no sewers connecting sinks, showers and toilets to hulking wastewater treatment plants. Most of the more than 3 million people in the metro area use outhouses, and much of that waste ends up in canals, ditches and other unsanitary dumping grounds where it can contaminate drinking water and spread disease.’

So, Haiti literally is a shithole. A+ for President Trump for factual accuracy.

The best of the knock-on effects of Trump’s alleged expletive – and we have only the word of his enemies - was Breitbart editor Raheem Kassam telling an aghast Sky reporter who was trying and failing to grill him that Sadiq Khan had turned London into a shithole. Personally, I think a coarsening of political and cultural discourse is profoundly to be wished for. I swear heartily and often, and my father – the fifth anniversary of whose death is today - swore if there were no women in the company, something which would be sneered at today.

Looming over this whole tawdry tempest in a tea-cup, however, is the same old concerns about the media. They need anything, literally anything, to divert the public from the real issues of the day. In this case, they don’t want the economy to be noticed, because it is doing better than it was under the pathetic Barack Obama. They don’t want the real effects of unskilled immigration to be noticed as it depresses working class, and particularly black, wages. They don’t want the latest investigation into the Clintons to hit the headlines. They would rather distract attention from the fact that the investigation into Trump’s supposed collusion with Russia has cost $7m and produced not a rouble’s worth of evidence. If Putin had wanted to damage the USA, incidentally, he would have done everything in his power to get Hillary Clinton elected.

The Left have turned political discourse and its media expression into a child’s playroom whose walls are covered in wildly flung excrement. The pathetic level of criticism shows the Left for exactly what they are, infantile, pre-formed, immature and petulant. This is why I ditched all my Lefty friends, this amounting to almost all my friends. I am not the world’s most mature man, as those who know me well will attest, but you have to look at politics squarely, warts and all, and assess situations, policies and likely outcomes. In this age of triggering and safe spaces, it seems as though the whole political class and their attendant pundits are simply copying the babyish students infesting modern university campuses. It is curious that a swear word, or cuss word, can have the effect of showing maturity in the context of the response to it, but this too is welcome.

So, you have been sworn in and sworn at, O Trump. Do please swear on.

Friday, 12 January 2018


Just as I remember it

From around 12 years ago until 2011, I kept another weblog. It charted my adventures moving a narrow boat around the Midlands of England, and my eventual return to London. It was also laced with politics and culture. Reading it again now, I am stricken with a strange nostalgia. 7/7, the London tube and bus bombings, had happened, but the murder of Lee Rigby had not, and awareness of the threat posed by Islam was definitely on the rise in some quarters. But there were no blocks on the pavements, no armed soldiers, no bouncers outside synagogues. London has changed, even in a few short years.

This is the first in an occasional series of re-runs from that weblog. The first line, and the memory of something else, places it at the very beginning of 2010.

There is a general election looming and so, as one might expect, the news is full of policies, manifestoes, suggestions concerning how our ruptured economy might be put right. Yes, you can barely move for sensible, balanced debate concerning the future running of the res publica, the public thing, our thing.

Oh, forgive me. My mistake. The newspapers and news channels [which are always showing, bizarrely, in banks] are actually full of Gordon Brown and his alleged temper tantrums. Is this mature political debate? Of course not. Maturity just at the moment comes as easily to this country as moderation to the alcoholic. Why has the question of whether Brown - to whom I suspect we should grant autistic licence - manhandled the odd wonk or displaced an errant secretary from a seat and a computer I paid for become the burning issue of the hour? The public sector is going to have to be more or less dismantled, but a charity bullying helpline hogs the spotlight. Our national credit rating is as imperilled as a grouse on the 12th of August, but we read only of lapels and airborne mobile telephones. What remains of our cultural sensibilities is gasping, its head above water for the third time, but we have to listen to Boy Miliband and that preening Nancy-boy Mandelson telling us that Brown is tough but fair.

What disgusts me most is our inability to escape this ideological emptiness, this void in thought and integrity. Like the poor, it seems, politicians will be always with us.

Cameron looks sweatier almost by the day. How would you feel? You watch your nominal rival become as popular as a rubber-Johnny machine in the Vatican city, and still the polls indicate that you may have to horse-trade with the Liberal Democrats. That's why he's entitled to look even more like Captain Pugwash than ever.

What happened to politics? I suspect that John Ralston Saul was right. The Enlightenment was a thoroughly good thing, but the west valorised the wrong aspect of its legacy. Instead of genuine enlightenment, we went for managerial technique, bureaucracy raised to the level of dogma, management of information instead of striving to be genuinely informed.

We've all been bullied by our ruling elites, we've all had our collective heads kicked like footballs by a managerial class who act as though they have slide rules inserted into their rectums.

There’s more to life than books, you know…

…but not much more, to quote the young Morrissey. I’m sure you don’t need me to sell reading to you, especially in our chuckle-headed cultural epoch. Books, however, can carry something of a threat in certain social contexts. Oh, alright then. In certain pubs.

Sit in a pub reading a book in Islington or Chiswick or Hampstead and no one will give you a second glance. Sit in the roughest of my home town boozers with a tome and the local faces will look at you as though you were a sort of cross between Quentin Crisp and Ian Brady. It is empirically verifiable – and might be quite fun to prove – that some pub-goers take to lone male book readers a good deal more affably than others.

I thought I’d picked a wrong ‘un on Saturday night. I was due to attend a party – an excellent party, as it transpired – at a south London hostelry. I had arrived early, having allowed far too much time for the tubes to go wrong.

A word about the tubes in passing. I have no complaints about the early services. I start work at 8am and, because of my peripatetic lifestyle, use a number of different stations and tube lines. I rarely have problems on a weekday morning. The weekends, in bold contradistinction, suddenly become nightmarish. My journey from Holland Park to Tottenham Court Road on Saturday evening does not walk off with the trophy for worst-ever tube journey, but it certainly makes the quarter-finals. What struck me was how well every one took the experience of recreating a cattle truck.

Anyway, I elected to go to another boozer for a pint of the refreshing and nutritional, as well as a quick perusal of John Irving’s A Prayer for Owen Meany, a book recommended by my brother.

I read The World According to Garp and The Hotel New Hampshire about 20 years ago and enjoyed them both, liked the slightly exotic familial dysfunction. I’ve needed something recently to live with for a while in terms of my reading. I’ve been pecking at books again, as the precariously stacked pagoda of books on a shelf on the boat bears witness.

So, there I sat, reading away and making it look easy. An early evening posse was already forming at the bar of this swiller, four men trying hard to out-shout one another. Christ knew what they would be like when they were pissed. I was attracting suspicious, mildly threatening looks, and then one of them finally came over. He looked capable of great violence but, it came to pass, had not come over to pummel me about the ears, but to indulge in a bit of lit. crit.

“What’s the book, mate?”

I showed him the cover. He registered no recognition. I enquired politely,

“Seen The World According to Garp?”

“My favourite book is The Celestine Prophecies.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. The Celestine Prophecies. Know why?”

I did not.

“Because it says ‘Don’t talk to children like they’re children.’”

And he strode back to his fellows, his literary opinions out in the open.

On the non-fiction side, I've been re-reading, not exactly Nietzsche, but Lesley Chamberlain's charming little study, Nietzsche in Turin. Her first line is the following:

"This book is an attempt to befriend Nietzsche."

And you think; Oi oi. Here we go. More post-feminist, post-structuralist old ballocks. But don't be put off. If you have ever read Nietzsche and are interested, this book's a little wonder. At just over 200 pages, it really is little - I wasn't being patronising - and it's as good an intro to the comedically-moustachioed German as I've read. And I've read a lot, including the entirety of the medical notes written by the doctor in the Jena asylum, when Nietzche was already long insane with tertiary syphilis, and in which Friedrich died, after drawing geometrical figures in the sand there with a stick, after insanely declaring his love for Richard Wagner's wife, Cosima, after declaring himself to be Dionysus and expanding on that grandiose theme to sign his correspondence, shortly before his death, with the following:

"I am all the names in history."

If you are, in any way, interested in philosophy, and you haven't read Nietzsche then you are as hobbled as an R 'n' B rhythm guitarist who has avoided Keef Richards all his life. There has long been a ridiculous Anglo-American argument along the lines of; "Was Nietzsche a philosopher?" Could Keef play drop G? Fuck off out of it. Nietzsche was a philosopher in a way that Wittgenstein, for example, was not. Wittgenstein hardly read any other philosophy, although that doesn't detract from the brilliance of, say, the Tractatus, which I also re-read recently. Doesn't the last line, incidentally, remind you of Hamlet?

Wittgenstein: That whereof we canot speak, we must remain silent.

Laertes: And the rest is silence.

Nietzsche read anything he could get his hands on, using the time to read when he wasn't affected by crippling myopia, which at least one critic uses to explain his later, more aphoristic style.

Chamberlain brings a wonderful and important side of Nietzsche to vibrant life; his loneliness. The story of Nietzsche's near-non-existent sex life is well documented. Less observed is how he dealt with his dreadful feeling of being alone, out of time, unseasonal, unheimlich. Every time I read him I mentally raise a glass - although Nietzsche was near-teetotal, believing that in veritas vino rather than vice versa - but I am not comparing myself to the great German. I simply recognise the great need western philosophy has had for the non-systematiser. If you crave your systems, head back to the homely shores of Hegel 'n' Marx, Hume, even Kant. But don't stop off at the stormier ports of, Heidegger and even Sartre. You may not get permission to dock.

From the library to the newspapers. Matthew Parris was genuinely incisive in Saturday's Times, I thought. He was writing about the emptiness of modern political discourse, the fact that 'our politics has become a race towards the perfect vacuum'. He compares the three main parties' election logos and finds them equally vapid. The Lib Dems' logos repeat the mantra 'change that works for you' in all four of its main manifesto points. Parris notes this:

'Yes - you've spotted it. An uber-slogan: "Change that works for you". As opposed to change that doesn't.'

Douglas Murray made this point well in a recent Standpoint. Try reversing a politician's aspirational statement and see if it makes no sense. 'We are against choice', for example. If so, there was no point in making the statement.

However, Parris fails, as far as I can see, to make a more obvious connection. Something which works - particularly for you - must, by definition, be something you can, indeed must, believe in. Change which works for you, then, is change you can believe in which, I think I'm right in saying, was a recent catchphrase during the election campaign in America.

The past. Always with us, particularly if we wrote it down. As John Dewey wrote; Litera scripta manet. That which is written endures. Another trip down Memory Lane soon…

Thursday, 11 January 2018


Europe after the Rain, by Max Ernst

Given the tragedy bearing down on Europeans and the futile disputes dividing identitarians, there’s an evident need for a worldview powerful enough to rally the Continent – to rally our great fatherland, that family of kindred spirits, however politically fragmented, which is united on the essentials, favouring thus the defence of our civilisation and our imperiled identity, but especially favouring the principles of our regeneration.

Guillaume Faye, Why We Fight

There has been much discussion on the dissident Right as to whether or not Europe can be saved. Before the question can be answered, however, it would seem necessary to isolate the elements from which it needs saving. What are the options? Who are Europe’s adversaries?

1.  Islam. The most obvious contender, and for reasons which are very clear. As we shall see, however, the Islamic invasion is not autonomous, but facilitated by other factions of Europe’s enemies. Islam erodes Europe in many ways. Demographically, Muslims have far more children than the indigenous populations of Europe. The Muslim population therefore grows as the native population shrinks. Of course, without the generous healthcare and welfare provided by European countries, none of this would be possible. Socially, Islam threatens Europe in two main ways. The aggravated crime rate they have introduced seems to be due to an inability of Muslim men to adapt to Western freedoms. They would be unlikely to get away with the crimes they commit in Europe in their home countries, and the sexual lassitude they find in the West, combined with an apparently natural inability to control their sexual impulses, effectively begins to impose sharia-like conditions on Europe’s women. Then there are the cultural demands. Halal food, segregated swimming pools, mosques, curricular changes, and so on. And with each met demand, the incoming population is emboldened to see how far it can demand concessions from the hosts. Also, now that the non-existent notion of offence has been weaponised, the behaviour of the host population can gradually be brought under Islamic control. A religious theocracy with a defined set of rules and punishments has been unleashed on a confused and secular set of populations who have no answer to this type of determination and will to power.

2.  The media. The media is a hard-Left institution in Europe. It is uniformly on the side of mass migration, despite the occasional token gestures which apparently highlight immigrant misdemeanours, or the stress on public services Islamic immigration brings in its wake. This is because newspaper sales are declining, and it would actually be suicidal not to throw a few crumbs to the concerned constituency the media is supposed to inform. The media is also committed to the replacement of the host populations of Europe, via their initial subjugation. Also, by promoting the cult of materialism both directly and via advertising, the media further weakens an already febrile population. An obsession with bodily perfection and an almost complete aversion to the improvement of the mind (these dualistic terms will serve us here, even if they are contentious) keeps the population narcissistic, docile, stupid and herd-like. Which leads onto to our next sub-set of foe.

3.  Academia. The aim of education should be to impart not just knowledge but wisdom, where wisdom is equal to the ability to discriminate between knowledge which is worth something in terms of bettering the individual and knowledge which is worthless in the same respect. Learning, by rote, every football score from a season ten years ago is knowledge, but it is unlikely to make you a better person. Learning how to separate a false argument from a valid one is a different matter. Modern academia now operates maliciously on children of all ages. The aim of education ought to be to produce enquiring individuals able to assess and grade all differing viewpoints which constellate around a given subject. Instead, the aim of modern education is to indoctrinate children to believe not only that there is just one acceptable viewpoint on any given topic, but also that all other viewpoints are dangerous and inadmissible. As Jordan Peterson says, the aim of the modern education system, from infancy onwards, is to produce not free-thinkers but social justice warriors. At the higher levels of education, debate and free thought are increasingly being replaced by hard-Left dogma, and students are being encouraged to take on vast debt in order to study worthless degrees. Genuine and worthy disciplines are being sidelined for ideological reasons, and an intellectually aimless and talentless generation is being socially engineered. Dissenting voices are silenced. To take an example at random, Professor Janice Fiamengo teaches English Literature at The University of Ottowa. Here, one of her series of videos explains why Women’s Studies courses and departments need to be closed down. In 2010, she was put before a Human Rights Tribunal for ‘offending a student’.

4.  Social services. Public sector workers and management across Europe are also of the hard Left. The police, in particular, are decreasingly concerned with actual crime, and are having their resources diverted to online ‘hate crimes’, which are almost exclusively concerned with criticism of immigration, ethnic groups, and perceived gender differences. Social workers, as was shown in Rotherham and other English towns in the Muslim child grooming scandal, are uninterested in taking action where ethnic minorities are concerned, but keen to remove children from the care of targeted groups such as white Christians or UKIP supporters. Far more time is spent on re-education with regard to favoured victim groups than it is to social service, and immigrants’ rights trump those of the host population. I saw this in action years ago in England while waiting for an interview in a benefit office. A foreign man, with a team of lawyers and translators, was brought in, and the rest of us in the queue were simply sidelined while he, an angry and petulant man, was given the full attention of the staff. One apocryphal example, certainly, but nonetheless indicative of a trend.

5.  The political class. Certainly, these people are last but by no means least. It is their policies, and those of the EU, that have enabled both mass immigration and the victory of cultural Marxism. The political class behaves as though the people are as Socialist in their beliefs as they are and, even though they are wrong, they bafflingly still get their way. Democracy is now little more than a joke, with all major parties across Europe having broadly the same policies. The exceptions are the Viségrad 4 countries, and the virulence of the attacks on them by the forces of the EU confirms this.

So, facing this formidable army of malevolent, orc-like creatures, can Europe be saved? It is hard to see how. The five cohorts above form a mutually supportive web. Each helps the other.

If, as Orwell famously wrote, the only hope lies with the proles, then the future looks even bleaker. The proles are busy shopping, drinking, borrowing money on credit, watching TV and cretinous movies, working in often meaningless jobs which they fear losing if they show dissent to the political and managerial order, and raising families who will grow up in an increasingly hostile and unpleasant world.

As I have said many a time and oft, the phoenix needs its ashes from which to rise, and the only possible saviour for Europe I can see is complete economic breakdown. To paraphrase the famous quote made by an unnamed officer in the Vietnam War concerning the Vietcong village of Bên Tre, it may be necessary to destroy the village in order to save it.

Wednesday, 10 January 2018


How low can you go?

Down down.

Deeper and down.

Status Quo

The twin political upsets of Trump’s election and the vote in favour of the UK leaving the European Union are producing a tremendous rearguard action by the establishments on both sides of the herring pond. Neither victory will, de facto, be allowed to take place. Trump is being opposed by all the artillery the Left can muster – it has been noted that the north American media are effectively the opposition party - and Brexit is being sabotaged by the familiar ruse of Socialist complication, and aided and abetted by a Prime Minister and governing party who have absolutely no intention of letting their pension pots slip away by leaving Europe.

What, however, is the nature of this new establishment? In pre-1970s Britain, the establishment was easily recognised. It was the rich and the powerful, cloaked as they were in the raiments of ‘the great and the good’. They were, of course, nothing of the sort, but they have been displaced by an upstart class, and the original ruling aristocracy, for all their faults, now look like choirboys in the context of those that have taken their place.

Now, in Britain certainly and seemingly in the US, the establishment has been made far more egalitarian, one area in which this chimerical and ostensible goal of the Progressive Left has succeeded beyond their most fabulous dreams. The enemies of ordinary people are no longer the landed gentry with their country mansions and their gentlemen’s clubs in Chelsea in London. The enemy now work in the social services. They are police officers. They are teachers. They are NHS managers. They are journalists. They work a desk away from you and, if you are not thinking what they are thinking, they are watching you.

They do not, of course, all believe in what they are promulgating, but the deep state – and it is a good enough phrase – has made certain that inauthenticity has become common currency. There is now a set of protocols which are not the subject of individual choice, but are increasingly mandatory on pain of unemployment, social ostracisation and even prison. The policemen and women, for example, who harass and hound Tommy Robinson in England will largely agree with what he has to say about Islam. But to give voice to this agreement will render them unemployed and unemployable at a stroke. Things are changing quickly. Every day in the UK is a small October Revolution and, even if there are Mensheviks, they had better look, speak and act like Bolsheviks, otherwise it is the social gulag for them.

As for the éminences grises behind this heart of darkness, arguments have been raging on the dissident Right for some time. Is it the Jews? Is it the bankers? The globalists? The Progressive Left? The Illuminati? Space Lizards? Some curious Venn sector where all or some of these intersect? It scarcely matters.

What does matter is that a malevolent part of humanity seeks ultimate power over the rest, over the little people, over me and you. And they will not stop and it does not look as though they can be stopped.

This is a problem with which you can wrangle until those genetically modified cows come home, or until the hell in which the West no longer believes freezes over in defiance of theories of global warming. It cannot simply be money, unless the acquisition of sheer wealth is a competition over-riding all others. We recall the scene in Bret Easton Ellis’s American Psycho in which Stephen Bateman, the insane and extremely wealthy protagonist, is incensed because a rival has a more expensive and classy business card than he does. I suppose it happens. I am rich, but he is that little bit richer than me. Therefore I need more money, and I don’t give a fish’s tit how I get it.

Materialism, I suppose, breeds these species like malevolent hothouse plants, the flowers of evil. It is difficult for me to understand the lure of money because I am not materialistic, at least not in terms of consumption. I have been dirt-poor. I haven’t got a pot to piss in now, but I am alive and reveling in it. But we must always resist the natural temptation to view the world refracted through the prism of our own individual selves as the only world available for inspection, the cell in which we are and will remain securely locked as the only cell. I am not you, nor can I ever be, and I would not expect you to share my value system. Christ, I hope for your sake and that of your loved ones that you don’t.

As I wrote to a friend the other day, the other option is that some men – and it is mostly men, which reflects history – simply like to use their wealth in order to see and treat the world as a gigantic chess board. And it must be tempting, to have the financial leverage and the political reputation to be able to trickle human beings through your splayed fingers as though they were so many grains of sand. There has been much speculation as to whether the world’s leaders are psychopathic, have under-developed amygdalas, lack all notion of conscience in the same way as serial killers do, and so on. Modern politicians certainly display a quasi-autistic lack of empathic vitality which indicates something along those lines. But I am no expert.

A lack of empathy is something I recognise. The suffering of humans has never particularly bothered me. The suffering of animals, however, even in films, is something I cannot contemplate. Working at the animal sanctuary here in Costa Rica can be very difficult. That natural empathic link that humans are supposed to feel for one another is not entirely absent in me, but it is severely diminished. Perhaps, at the end of the line on which I am a way station, there are those people who could, in another era, knit under a guillotine.

Certainly, to be a Stalin or a Mao or a Pol Pot, to allow one’s own people to die in their millions, must take either a dysfunction or a hideous strength unknown to most mortals. If the elites, the stygian commanders of this newly discovered deep state, have that, heaven help us all.

But regardless of the psychological condition of its members, the deep state is here, and it is an enemy to be feared. The coming battles will decide whether or not its dreams become reality. If so, it is not a world in which anyone reading this will enjoy living, breathing, and having their being.

Tuesday, 9 January 2018


The state of Welsh Leftist theatre

British readers will be familiar with the name Katie Hopkins, and likely with the woman herself. A funny, sassy blonde, Hopkins has made something of a name for herself by putting her head above the parapet on the subject of Islam. North American readers will probably not know of her, and may not know just how dangerous it is to criticise – which generally means to tell the truth about – the Religion of Peace™ in Britain. This speech will give you an excellent idea of where Katie Hopkins stands.
This is somewhat more frivolous, a collage of her more snarky moments, but it made me laugh, and that is a rare thing in these unamusing, Leftist times. 

Hopkins was originally a reality TV star on a programme called The Apprentice, in which contestants would seek to impress a panel of business-people with their proposed commercial plans. As they fell by the wayside, they were fired by the panel. I believe Donald Trump was a panelist in the concomitant US programme. Hopkins was unpopular on the programme, despite her articulacy, because she voiced controversial views. The cultural orthodoxy runs deep in Britain.

She went on to be an equally controversial columnist on a local paper, then secured work at The Sun and The Mail Online, both big-selling titles even in this era of the decline of the print media. She also hosted a show on LBC, London’s main talk radio station. All her contracts have either been terminated or not renewed, and almost always because of comments concerning Islam. She has, in short, been fired more times than I have, which is saying something.

Now, Hopkins is the subject of a musical. So far, so bizarre. What is the title of this toe-tapper?

The Assassination of Katie Hopkins.

Now, this is deliberately provocative. This is not art in and of itself, it is a vicious PR exercise whose aim is to fulfil exactly the promise of the title. The producers of this tawdry exercise would like nothing more than for Hopkins to be killed. We are in a situation where the Left are edging towards outright death threats. Twitter allows this, of course, while banning those who make the slightest of remarks against a preferred victim group. There are so many #KillAllWhiteMen hashtags, or something similar, that it is becoming a bore. All I can say is, bring it, bitches. And don’t bring a pussy hat to a gunfight.

The Left is actively pushing for the death of critics of both itself and its best new friend, Islam. They regularly make online death threats which, had they been made by a Right-winger, would have produced apoplectic responses from the malevolent Left.  Do you recall failing comedienne Kathy Griffin, and the picture of her, grim-faced and apparently holding up the bloodied head of Donald Trump? These people know perfectly well that these images have an excellent chance of triggering at least one of the mentally unstable hordes that have flocked to the Left because to do otherwise is to be one of the Wrongfolk. As for Muslims, well. They don’t exactly need provocation. In the UK, there is a phrase for a person in a bad mood. We say that they ‘got out the wrong side of bed this morning’. Muslim beds do not have a right side. It’s rage all the way down.

Here is a thought experiment. Imagine that Trump is gunned down tomorrow. Can you picture the glee on the Left? Can you see, in your mind’s eye, the romping in the fields of Twitter and Facebook, the sheer joy of the malevolent Left? Why, incidentally, is it the mind’s eye? We generally have two eyes. H G Wells writes that, in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king. But I digress.

Do you remember the jigs and reels the Left danced when Margaret Thatcher died? I don’t hold a torch for Thatcher, but that is not the point. These are genuinely nasty people, and this phenomenon does not exist, to any meaningful extent, on the Right. If Tommy Robinson were to be killed tomorrow – and it is amazing that he is still alive – the joy on Twitter would be unconfined.

The company producing this musical is Theatr Clwyd, Taffs as the name suggests. Their website is here.
If you wish, you can go and see the show, of course, although under Islamic rule it would not even be producible, as music is haram. Also, if you so wish, you can email the artistic director, Tamara Harvey. Her email address is here.
Here is my email to her;


How responsible do you think it is to advertise your musical The Assassination of Katie Hopkins on the London underground, or indeed anywhere else? How artistically valid do you think it is even to have produced it? You know perfectly well the effect that the promotion of this tawdry piece is going to have on certain members of Britain's 'community'. If anything happens to Ms. Hopkins, I would consider the blood to be on your hands. People like yourself are genuinely disgusting. There is nothing worse than a virtue-signaling luvvie. I sincerely hope that your production fails miserably. You may well find that it does. You may read The Guardian, but not many other people do.

I hope this email finds you well.


Mark Gullick PhD

If you visit their website, look at Theatr Clwyd’s board of governors. Councillors and lords. Did none of them have the courage to say that this whole project is childish and dangerous? No. Why is that? The reason is simple. They don’t have the guts. Many of them will have thought, in that part of themselves where, to paraphrase Graham Greene, we think what we really mean, that they realise just how petty and disgusting this enterprise is. But, in these progressive times, to object even to the most revolting show of solidarity with the wreckers, the pro-Islamists, the SJWs, the Leftists, the Progressives and the Orwellian hordes who will not allow truth to be spoken to power or indeed to anyone else is to risk losing employment and reputation.

A play entitled The Assassination of Barack Obama? Or Diane Abbott? Or Lily Allen? Or Nick Clegg? Or any of the other dangerous idiots ruining the modern West? Jail time, I should imagine. As Hopkins herself pointed out, this poster was banned from the London underground.
(Apologies. I am unable to publish the poster in question. It is the famous one that has the woman in a bikini and whose caption reads, Are You Beach Body Ready?)
Sadiq Khan had it pulled as a show of Muslim ascendant power. The poster advertising a call to kill a journalist is, however, perfectly permissible. How long before someone is killed because of this type of artistic baby-talk? We shall see.