Wednesday, 30 November 2016


God knows I’m good.
David Bowie, track from Space Oddity

Some years ago, starved of the company of women and forgetful of the potential and possibly deleterious consequences of acting on that hunger, I took to the online dating sites. I had a few adventures, met some nice women and some horrors, and generally learned one of the lessons of the modern world; virtue signalling. Psychologists call it the ‘self-serving bias’, and it is amazing how much human utterance reduces to the formula; I am good. It’s like Freud’s primal sentence passed through the meat grinder of the 60s Me generation. Now that virtue signalling has become best practice for the Pansy Left, however – what we might call the Be Like Me or Else generation – it is worth examining the anatomy of virtue signalling.
One of the ladies advertising herself on one of the sites had the usual list of her virtues. It was the bog-standard inventory of her goodness and kindness, but it was the very first auto-description that caught my eye. Gentle reader, this beazel described herself, before all other attributes as;
That’s right. The first thing this young lady would have you know about herself is that she reads the chattering classes’ anti-White newspaper of choice. She was white, although I have had a few black girlfriends. See what I did there? Virtue signalling. I was telling you I’m not a racist. I didn’t get in touch. She would have been unlikely to harmonise in love’s sweet melody with a cove who has Mein Kampf on his Kindle.
It is to speak, then, of virtue signalling that I have gathered you here today and, without further fanfare, we will examine some of the necessities for the successful virtue signaller.
Be Left wing. Shouldn’t really have to tell you this, but this is a beginner’s guide and there are still some of you who seem to believe that anyone who has a grudging respect for Nigel Farage, or thinks black chaps can be a bit surly sometimes, or likes to sneak a peek at Peter Hitchens’s column in The Mail on Sunday can be an acceptable human being and not literally Hitler. Don’t fall at the first!
Know your enemy! Take care out there, signallers! Don’t just signal away without checking your target. You might think you hate homophobia, but what if it’s black men doing the queer-hating? You see? Getting ethnocentric is a schoolperson error. Nothing is bad in and of itself. It depends entirely on the colour or religion of the person doing it. Black men on death row in Texas? Racism, pure and simple. Blacks playing the knockout game in Detroit? Slavery! Your enemy is white, heterosexual men, signallers! Tattoo that on your arm. And remember, virtue signallers; white men only! White women get a pass because they were busy being oppressed when white men built the fascist state we are trapped in. So white women, even straight ones, are not the enemy. Unless they’re Tory scum.
Wear a lot of badges and T-shirts. Nothing says you are on the right side of history quite like spelling it out at the bus stop every morning on the way to that job of yours. Colour your hair and have facial piercings if possible, although some fascists employers might try to oppress you for this. But the hair and piercings force people to look at you, and this leads them on to read your I am the 99% shirt.  But take care! A This is what a feminist looks like T-shirt may seem innocent and good, but what if you are visiting somewhere which may be predominantly Muslim? Like London, or France? Caution, virtue signallers! Free Palestine buttons and stickers are always a good fallback if in doubt.
Social media. Don’t let up on Facebook, Twitter and other approved platforms not run by the fash, where you might get up the wrong end of the playground due to words of three syllables and above being used. Re-Tweet and re-post on Facebook everything you can, provided it helps the cause. If you are not sure, let Mummy help you. If Daddy is there, or might be there at some time in the foreseeable future, ask him. Or ask ‘other Mummy’.
Avoid real people. Real people don’t really understand virtue signalling as they have been oppressed by white elites and think that goodness is shown by what you do and achieve rather than what you say and claim and repeat. Virtue signalling should be done mostly to other virtue signallers and, of course, the fascists and racists. Again, take care with Muslims, black people, lesbians, queers, bisexuals, transgenders, otherkin and all the many, many other approved identities. If you praise one group too much, you may offend another. Spread the happiness and absolute correctness of your position around.
Marches and demos. As many as you can, people! If it means taking time off from your degree in Queer Studies, or Women’s Studies, or Grievance Studies, or Fat Recognition Studies, no matter. As you know, any degree with the word ‘Studies’ at the end guarantees that you won’t actually have to study. You can take the afternoon – or the year – off, and no one will notice. You’ll still get that degree and you’ll still get that community organiser’s post, or that Saturday job at Tesco Local.
Police others. Actually, we call it guiding or helping or instructing or correcting others now, because the police are both racist and fascist. Really accomplished virtue signalling means scoring points off other people by pointing out their wrongness. There are people who still go on about ‘free speech’, which always means the ‘freedom’ to oppress other races and gender identifications. They are the ones who really need your signals. Never forget; we are right because they are wrong!
Okay, virtue signallers! You are ready to go! Get on that keyboard, get to that meeting agreeing on a no-platform for the woman speaker who has converted from Islam to Christianity – Yuk! – get on that march demanding free education so your Slavery Studies degree doesn’t get you into debt with the criminal banksters, and go, go, go! You. Are. Ready.
Now fuck off.

Tuesday, 29 November 2016


Well you loved me as a loser,

But now you’re worried that I just might win.

You know the way to stop me,

But you don’t have the discipline.

Leonard Cohen, First We Take Manhattan

The Left seems genuinely scared of the resurgent Right. Since Hillary Clinton made her ill-advised speech denouncing the Alt-Right, the MSM has suddenly become aware that there is a new circus in town, and they are naturally wheeling round the big guns and beginning the fusillades. The media’s scramble to attack the Alt-Right has a number of components.

Firstly, the US presidential election showed up MSM bias as never before. Every single legacy news outlet shilled for Clinton with the exception of Fox News and, I believe, one newspaper. Instead of reasoned criticism or economically and politically relevant commentary, however, the American public was served a constant diet of shrill ad hominem trash. This is proof, if it were needed, both that the media holds the north American people in utter contempt, and also that these are not journalists in the honourable sense of the word, but lickspittle courtiers to a new Versailles, one which they confidently expected would soon be inhabited by their Sun Queen.

Secondly, the legacy media is utterly devoted to the Left’s over-arching programme of globalist, Progressivist, miscegenating neo-Communism. One only has to look at the fawning coverage of Castro. The footage of Cubans dancing in the streets of Miami, one wearing a huge Trump puppet dressed as Uncle Sam on his shoulders, was broadcast, once again, only on Fox News. Journalists know that, if the political Right gain ground, their security of tenure will be at risk as the hoi polloi of citizen journalists gain a concomitant credibility, and people stop buying – and, more importantly, advertising in – the trex they collaborate in.

Thirdly, and this is an amalgam of the first two points, the media has always relied for its own conceited self-image on access to power, and that is not guaranteed granted a swing to the Right. Trump has treated the big guns of north American journalism with an amusing contempt, and journalists are thin-skinned, fey creatures. They will not forgive or forget the ongoing series of snubs.

Finally, there is also the thoroughly depressing question of Islam. Donald Trump actually caused more pearl-clutching from the new L├╝genpresse when he announced his intention to impose a year-long moratorium on Muslim immigration than he did with his famous beaner wall. It is also entirely feasible that many Brexit voters had no wish to remain in an incompetent alliance whose only guarantee was that it would provide thousands of Mohammedans to further stretch the NHS and education systems, as well as importing all the social unrest that invariably accompanies Islam. Up with this the press will not put. Islam is the main weapon in the miscenegation and banishment of the hated kufr for journalists, those despised white men who committed the unpardonable historical sin of creating Western civilisation.

As for the bogeyman of the ‘far-Right’ – there is no concomitant ‘far-Left’ for the lying press, even though it currently runs the West – one only need look as far as the recent conviction of the psychotic Thomas Mair for the slaughter of MP Jo Cox to see which way the wind blows. Everyone who is honest is familiar by now with the flash mob of politicians and journalists which forms immediately after each and every Islamic attack both to deny that the attackers had anything to do with Islam – no matter how many Allahu Akhbars they scream – and to denounce those who suggest any such link, those who, to paraphrase Steve Sailer, have committed the cardinal sin of noticing. The two murderers of Lee Rigby, for example, were both claimed to have been mentally ill rather than Islamic, as they stated quite clearly that they were. Of course, a very good case can be made for including Islam in the next edition of DSM, but we will leave that for now.

Contrast this amateur and specious psychology with the diagnosis of Thomas Mair. The legacy media are in no doubt as to Mair’s motivation;

CNN: A 53-year-old man with extreme right-wing views.

UK Daily Mirror: Nazi Thomas Mair.

UK The Independent: Neo-Nazi Mair.

The UK Guardian: A white supremacist who resented immigration.

And so on and so forth. The tone does not really change throughout the MSM coverage. Petulant public-school-educated Marxist James O’Brien, Leftist darling of the London Broadcasting Company, even admonished The Daily Mail for not giving the conviction front- page coverage.

The whole atmosphere reeks of fear. As soon as journalists start using the words Hitler, Nazi and fascism – always on their well-used hot keys, you just know what’s coming down the pike. And just when they need a combination of all the murderous dictators in history, with some Ted Bundy and Hannibal Lecter and Enoch Powell and Uncle Tom Mosley and all thrown in, enter… the Alt-Right!

The Alt-Right is a loosely defined, relatively inchoate group of dissident writers, thinkers and, increasingly, activists. They lack consensus – which I believe is a good thing – but they do not lack articulacy, intelligence and political awareness, attributes sorely lacking in the modern Left. Their main problem at the moment was summed up by Michael O’Meara in one of the essays that make up Towards a White Republic;

(T)he opposition is minuscule in number, confined to the internet, has a negative rather than a positive understanding of what needs to be done, lacks consensus as to its common aim, and attracts a great many dysfunctional types incapable of sustaining any sort of nationalist resistance.

However, now that the more thuggish elements of the European Right are beginning to protect their land and women-folk – witness the rise of the Mannerbund in Scandinavia and Greece – the only catalyst needed for the new Right to advance is for these dissident, masculine – ie. non-feminised and homosexualised – groups to link arms with the virtual community of the Alt-Right to give the Pansy Left, as well as its concomitant provisional wing of the Antifa, something to be really frightened about.

Monday, 28 November 2016


Football – or soccer, for my north American reader - until recently, has not been much of a politico-cultural barometer. It certainly ticks all the boxes as far as racial diversity is concerned, but that has come about as a result of market forces and meritocracy. As both of those phenomena are in bad odour with the Pansy Left, football is not a favourite of Progressives. This dislike is exacerbated by the fact that the audience is predominantly white men, a species the Left would like to see brought to extinction. In the last few weeks, however, Progressives have shifted their ongoing cultural war of attrition onto the pitch.

First was the FIFA ruling that the UK home nations not be allowed to wear the traditional poppy, at least in the form of an armband, in games played on Armistice Day. This kind of petty, vindictive nastiness bears all the hallmarks of the Pansy Left, of course. Nationalism, war, maleness and whiteness are all represented by the poppy, and these things are increasingly haram. Let us leave to one side the issue of any guidance or direction whatsoever being made by FIFA, an organisation so rank with corruption it makes Zimbabwe look like The Salvation Army.

How different was the treatment of another visual image sported by soccer players in the last week. Rainbow laces are now all the rage, to show football’s support of the LGBQT ‘community’. That acronym may well have expanded in the time it took me to write that sentence. If I have got it in the wrong order, even as an ex-sub-editor, it is not a fact worth the checking. As seen in the photo above, captain’s armbands have also been worn in the modish rainbow design. These are the gayest of times.

Before we proceed, homophobia is the only -phobia that genuinely disgusts me. These endless phobias are, of course, part of the programme of the cultural Left to pathologise Right – and now Alt-Right – thought. I suffer from most of them, but not homophobia, despite my glib use of ‘poofs’ and ‘pansies’, ‘bumboys’ and ‘benders’. The hatred of gays is one of the several reasons I dislike Muslim culture and, even more so, black culture. Let’s say, as a little thought experiment, that I am waiting for a train, me, a heterosexual white male, as noted rapidly becoming an endangered species if the Leftist elites have their wicked way. The train is the last one back into my home town and, if I miss it, I am, as my good friend Barry Shand would say, proper fucked.

Now, the extraordinarily efficient train announcer would have me know that the approaching train is formed of four coaches. Each coach has exactly one spare seat. The first coach, I am informed, is full of white English football supporters on their way back from a game. The second is full of young black men. The third is full of Muslims. The final carriage is full of homosexuals. Which one, gentle reader, do you think I am going to choose?

Some moments burn themselves into the mind’s CD for retrieval at a later date. I was working for a large London media company when I took one day a lift to the very top of the formidable tower in which its employees lived and breathed and had their being. In the lift with me was a personable chap from the post room, and what was obviously a new recruit to the team. I couldn’t see his appointment lasting, at first impression. He was standard-issue young south London black. Stupid braided corn-row hair with which he constantly fussed. Trousers worn in prison style – and prison was where he was heading at one hundred miles an hour, I fervently hope. His clown’s trousers were at half-mast, giving us all the delights of his underwear and buttocks. Why is it, incidentally, that these rabidly anti-homosexual miscreants always look as gay as a yellow feather-duster?

He was engaged in conversation with his co-worker. Why, he was whining, did he have to go all the way to the top of the building and work his way down, while other posties got to start on the lower levels? His fellow postman patiently explained that he would have to get to know the whole building before beginning the route proper. I imagined he had assumed his job would involve goofing off in the post-room improving his already Ozymandias-like self-image. The black sucked his teeth in that pleasant way and pronounced the whole situation ‘racist’. To his credit, the old hand said it wasn’t racist, he just wanted the job done properly. These were the days in which pride in a job trumped fear of losing it for fear of ‘being labelled racist’.

I travelled to the top with the new boy, me standing stock still and him jigging and prancing like a marionette. When the doors slid open, I ushered him to go first with an old-fashioned gesture. He sneered at me, walked out ahead of me with his loping pimp’s swagger, and began to ‘sing’ the ‘lyrics’ of a ‘song’. I will never forget this couplet as long as I live. It went;

Rude boy com inna twenty-firse senshree.

Batty man im nah get entry.

Now, for those of you who may require sub-titling for this gibbering pabulum, our friend was of the opinion that, while he and his brethren of indignant sons of croppers and cane-cutters would gain a joyful ingress to the new millennium, the same right of access would not be granted to homosexuals. Many lyrics of the ‘dancehall’ variety and others celebrate the killing of gays.

It was not the fact that this was openly directed at me that concerned me. I have been taken for gay my entire adult life, partly because I learned manners from my father, and all displays of gentility and social pleasantness are deemed homosexual traits by many blacks. What I mused on, as I do again now, is that this is such a widespread attitude among young urban blacks, and yet it is not something the ‘authorities’ are prepared to do anything about for fear of… well, you know the tune.

The police would not dare to parade through Peckham or Tooting lecturing blacks against homophobia. They would be laughed out of town, most likely with a boot up the arse to speed them on their way. Give authority the chance to tell white men about the dangers of even criticising gays, however, and top sportsmen in the land will be issued with rainbow laces even though they are not allowed to wear poppies. Top marks, incidentally, to England and Scotland for defying that petulant and overtly ideological ban.

The poppy represents the selfless heroic sacrifice of hundreds of thousands who died fighting for their countries. It represents a tragic past. Rainbow laces represent the self-absorbed cowardly ideology of those who will only fight against the freedoms the war dead helped to secure. They represent a tragi-comic future.

Saturday, 26 November 2016


Never kill the child in yourself.

Advice to me from a former boss.

When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things.

I Corinthians 13:11

Almost two decades ago the British comedian Chris Morris produced a spoof news programme called The Day Today. The format was convincing, the content surreal and madcap. It launched Steve Coogan’s famous character Alan Partridge, then an incompetent sports commentator. “And look at the children enjoying themselves,’’ he muses at a televised horse race meeting. “Let’s hope that doesn’t escalate into massive violence.” A financial piece describes the replacement of the Queen’s portrait on the ten-pound note with a picture of Iggy Pop. “What next,” asks news anchor Morris, “for man raised by puffins?” I loved it then, and it hasn’t dated on YouTube.

Nowadays, I increasingly whether Morris might be working behind the scenes of the modern media, a sort of cackling eminence grise testing the limits of our credulity. One such story I was forced to check and re-check concerned the help apparently offered by north American universities to students seemingly traumatised by the recent election of Donald Trump as president of the USA. The palliatives offered to weeping students – and here is where I suspected the hand of Morris – include puppies, bubble-blowers, Play-Doh and colouring books, as well as the usual panoply of safe spaces, ‘cry rooms’, ‘hug rooms’ and counselling. As P G Wodehouse wrote, one simply shakes one’s head and passes on.

The problem is that it is no longer possible to pass on. These weeping, crying, trembly lipped children are the future of the USA, which poses a far greater threat than Trump could ever muster. This type of behavior is one of the reasons Islam is finding the Reconquista a cake-walk. As Nietzsche observed, Islam does at least assuming it is dealing with men. In the USA, and much of Europe, it is not. It is dealing with eternal children, and not children of the attractive variety. I thoroughly recommend Diana West’s book The Death of the Grown-Up if you wish to see how far gone the USA is. I suspect Europe only lags behind the world’s first kindergarten-cum-superpower by a pace or two.

Trump’s election has brought an incontestable fact into sharp focus – and facts, and truth in general, will detain us very soon – that shows that Darwin’s reluctance to equate evolution with progress can be extrapolated from the biological realm in which he worked into the later area of study known as social evolution. Although it seems as though mankind is moving forward, it is in fact regressing, and not to the mean, but to something far more deleterious.

The response to Trump, a monster to whom the Left has acted as Victor von Frankenstein, has been childish to say the very least. The fashion symbol which has become accepted as a visual statement that the wearer is against Donald Trump is… Well, let’s see whether you have been keeping up with current affairs. If you are against Trump, you would wear which of the following on your lapel? Actually, you would be unlikely either to wear an item of clothing which had lapels or, indeed, even to know what a lapel is. On your T-shirt or reversed baseball cap, then, would you wear;

1.     A button or badge bearing the image of Che Guevara?

2.     A button or badge representing a dove?

3.     A safety pin?

That’s right. It’s number 3. An item traditionally associated either with UK punk rock of the 1970s or, more usually, the holding together of a diaper or nappy.
The petulantis, as I’ve come to think of them, are quite literally acting out the roles of small children in their response to a defeat which, much like Brexit, they brought on themselves. And this has extended into the media and politics. It is not just confined to the millennial special snowflakes who have been crying themselves a river. It is as though Orwell’s famous dictum that England was a family with the wrong members in control has been altered to state that the West is a dysfunctional family with the youngest members in control.

Plato warned, in jocular fashion, about what happens when children are given inappropriate influence, noting that the blame fell on the adults who tried to impress those they should have been teaching and over whom they should exercise authority. But these are malevolent brats, not naughty children in togas naturally rebelling against authority. And the problem is not going to go away. It is no great revelation to point out that when the contemporary Left wants an effective echo chamber it goes to Hollywood. This time around, it has found a whole phalanx of actors behaving exactly as though they were Shirley Temple with a skinned knee.

Ersatz children, then, are going to be running things for the foreseeable future, Trump’s victory and the thoroughly meritorious rise of the Right in Europe, and the alt. right in the USA notwithstanding. But these are not the charming, joy-filled, much-loved and well-behaved children I see in Costa Rica, they are more like the noisy, impudent brats I began to see as I re-entered Europe, stopping over in Frankfurt earlier this year. They are more Children of the Corn than children of love, more Midwich Cuckoos than lovable chitterlings. And they are not, in any way, aware of the world that will come into being if they get their petulant, spiteful way. They think they are upholding values of equality and social justice but they are not, they are preparing the Western world for chaos. These hideous infants are more reminiscent of the children in Auden’s famous poem, September 1 1939;

Lost in a haunted wood,

Children afraid of the night

Who have never been happy or good.