On Thomas Jefferson

Thomas_JeffersonI find hilarious the recent exchange at The Occidental Observer between those American patriots who still believe that the US started unpolluted and those who, like Jack Frost, rub salt into their wounds. The fact is that the principal author of the Declaration of Independence and the third President of the United States either committed, or allowed among one of the male members of his family, a Sin against the Holy Ghost—having sex with a non-white! Why this is a sin that should not be forgiven is explained: here.

Replying to his angry critics, Frost said yesterday: “The fact is that the Jefferson Y chromosome entered the Hemings line [a Negro family], and it is still true that it came either from Jefferson himself or one of his male relatives. In the latter case, either he knew his slave was being used sexually, which makes him a pimp, or he didn’t know, which makes him a fool. The Hemings case was not inusual…”

Uncle Adolf’s table talk, 130

the-real-hitler

12th May 1942, at dinner

One hundred million Germans in the Eastern territories—A policy of prudence—Jews with blue eyes and blond hair—Racial regeneration and moral issues.
 

Gauleiter Forster agreed that this [7 previous paragraphs omitted] might be achieved in the Danzig-West Prussian province. To succeed, it would be necessary, he thought, to appeal to the best elements of the old Reich and to restrict recruitment to men under fifty. To men above that age one could well apply the adage: “Old trees cannot be transplanted”.

I agree. For the re-population of our Eastern territories it is to the younger generation, obviously, that we must turn in the first instance. We must imbue them with a feeling of pride in being invited to go to a country where they will not find their bed nicely made for them, but will be compelled, on the contrary, to create from the beginning—and we must make them understand that we expect them to build up something truly magnificent. One attraction which will certainly appeal to the young is that by emigrating in this fashion they will find opportunities for promotion infinitely more rapid than those of their less enterprising comrades who remain quietly at home, content to follow the beaten track.

My long-term policy aims at having eventually a hundred million Germans settled in these territories. It is therefore essential to set up machinery which will ensure constant progression, and will see to it that million by million German penetration expands. In ten years’ time we must be in a position to announce that twenty million Germans have been settled in the territories already incorporated in the Reich and in those which our troops are at present occupying.

In Forster’s opinion, if any Pole desired to acquire German nationality, the decision should depend upon the general impression made by the candidate. Even in cases where it was not possible to trace exactly the antecedents of the individual, there were nevertheless certain ethnical characteristics, which, taken in conjunction with character and standard of intelligence, gave sure guidance. According to Forster, it would appear that Professor Günther, a specialist in these matters, was quite right when he asserts, after a tour of ten-odd days through the province of Danzig, that four-fifths of the Poles living in the north of that province could be Germanised.

The views of Gauleiter Forster met with strong opposition, especially from Reichsleiter Bormann. The latter admitted the necessarily empirical character of some of the decisions to be taken, but maintained that, as regards the Poles, care should be exercised not to Germanise them on too wide a scale, for fear they might inoculate the German population with too strong a dose of their blood, which could have dangerous consequences.

At this point the Fuehrer spoke again: It is not possible to generalise on the extent to which the Slav races are susceptible to the Germanic imprint. In point of fact, Tsarist Russia, within the framework of her pan-Slav policy, propagated the qualification Slav and imposed it on a large diversity of people, who had no connection with the Slavonic race. For example, to label the Bulgarians as Slavs is pure nonsense; originally they were Turkomans.

The same applies to the Czechs. It is enough for a Czech to grow a moustache for anyone to see, from the way the thing droops, that his origin is Mongolian. Among the so-called Slavs of the South the Dinars are predominant. Turning to the Croats, I must say I think it is highly desirable, from the ethnical point of view, that they should be Germanised. There are, however, political reasons which completely preclude any such measures.

There is one cardinal principle. This question of the Germanisation of certain peoples must not be examined in the light of abstract ideas and theory. We must examine each particular case. The only problem is to make sure whether the off-spring of any race will mingle well with the German population and will improve it, or whether, on the contrary (as is the case when Jew blood is mixed with German blood), negative results will arise.

Unless one is completely convinced that the foreigners whom one proposes to introduce into the German community will have a beneficial effect, well, I think it’s better to abstain, however strong the sentimental reasons may be which urge such a course on us. There are plenty of Jews with blue eyes and blond hair, and not a few of them have the appearance which strikingly supports the idea of the Germanisation of their kind. It has, however, been indisputably established that, in the case of Jews, if the physical characteristics of the race are sometimes absent for a generation or two, they will inevitably reappear in the next generation.

I shall have no peace of mind until I have succeeded in planting a seed of Nordic blood wherever the population stand in need of regeneration.

If at the time of the migrations, while the great racial currents were exercising their influence, our people received so varied a share of attributes, these latter blossomed to their full value only because of the presence of the Nordic racial nucleus.

Uncle Adolf’s table talk, 144

the-real-hitler

1st July 1942, midday

Our people therefore is only harming itself if it accepts half-castes into the Wehrmacht, and thus admits them to a position of equality with pure-blooded Germans. We cannot accept the responsibility of burdening our blood-stream with the addition of further foreign elements. Exceptions in favour of half-castes must therefore be reduced to a minimum.

Published in: on June 30, 2015 at 1:22 pm  Comments (2)  

Latin American loyalties

Recently I was asked these questions:

Are there any prospects that White Hispanics in Mexico and other Latin American countries might be willing to participate in a general revival of White interests? Or are they too cramped by the label Latino to identify as White? Or are racial categories in Latin America so imperceptible—due to the subtle gradations of white, near-white, off-white, almost white, mestizo—that forging a White identity is impossible?

I responded thus:

“Latin” America is in a far worse shape than the North. With 500 years of miscegenating experience these guys [“whites”] have lost almost all pride of their white skin (what remains of it). I have some writings about the subject in Spanish.

However, there’s something important missing in my reply. The real trouble I see in this part of the continent lies in the fact that, once you tolerate a few Amerindian genes in your bloodline, the race barrier is gone. The reason of this is not complicated. Due to Mendel laws, if you have an Amerind ancestor, even if you are predominantly white some of your offspring will come up darker that the rest.
mis primosThis for example is a 1960s photo of my cousins of two different families when they were children. (The blondest one passed away a couple of years ago as a mature adult.) You can see that my cousin at the bottom is darker than the one who had Scandinavian blond hair, his (now deceased) brother. This makes my point. Once you have darker brethren the ethnic barrier collapses within your psyche. You won’t be dismayed when, say, your whitest son starts dating a swarthy girl in Mexico because you already produced a child who, phenotypically, cannot be considered properly white.

This behavior produces a downward spiral of miscegenation due to the fact that most Mexicans are browns. The whitest genes dilute more and more in each generation, insofar as the browns are prolific and phenotypical whites not.

I have lived half a century in Mexico. I know the dynamics of mestization. Several people in white nationalism have criticized my one-drop-rule stance. For example, Andrew Anglin wrote about me: “He gets way into the Nordic stuff in a way that I find basically religious.” That’s only because Anglin et al completely ignore the psychological dynamics of mestization, especially the loyalties with swarthier offspring and cousins and uncles and aunts—and thus with who’s dating your daughter—once your bloodline is not pure.

Earlier this month I said, “Race-wise Americans should consider the sociology down the south of Río Grande.” However, I acknowledge it must be difficult for an American or European to figure out the psychological aspects of blood mixing throughout Latin America, unless he has lived in one of these countries for a long time.

With malice aforethought

by William Pierce

wlp_bas_relief

 

A review of the movie The Crying Game, American Dissident
Voices (September 18, 1993). The following text of a radio
address by Pierce is taken from Kevin Strom’s archive.

 

Today I want to talk with you about morality… about standards… about values.

Most of us have heard it said that the reason America is in such a mess today is that our people have lost the values we used to have, and that we need to regain them—that we need to begin teaching values to our kids in the schools.

And I guess I’ll agree with that… but there’s more to it. It’s certainly true that as a nation, or as a race, we’ve lost our values. Or, more accurately, we had them stolen from us. And now, unfortunately, the values we used to have are being replaced by new values which are worse than no values at all.

America hasn’t so much lost its sense of direction as it’s had all the road signs changed while it wasn’t looking. Values are our problem today… but even more, our problem is the people who have deliberately changed our values, deliberately perverted them.

I don’t want to beat around the bush or keep you guessing what I’m getting at, so I’ll come right out with it: the people who control the mass media in America have deliberately and consciously, with malice aforethought, used their influence over the thinking of the people who see their films, who watch their television programs, who read their newspapers and comic strips and popular magazines… they’ve used their influence to twist our values, to reorient our whole way of looking at the world.

Now, most of us have heard that too. We’ve heard about the destructive effect of television and the other mass media on public morality. We’ve heard that there’s too much violence and too much sex on television and that it isn’t good for us. And I guess that I’ll agree with that too… sort of. Too much television isn’t good for us, but it’s not just because of the sex and violence. It’s because television—and films and magazines and the rest of the controlled media—are used for propaganda aimed at subverting the values of our people, especially our young people. And they’re used with malice aforethought.

A lot of us have more or less realized this. We’ve sort of sensed that something was rotten in the media establishment. We felt that the media bosses who run Hollywood and the media bosses who control the TV networks were slyly twisting the view of the world they presented to us, slyly trying to change our attitudes. But the media bosses are clever and they’re subtle, and, of course, they denied everything. And so it often was difficult for ordinary people who felt they were being manipulated to really put their fingers on what the media bosses were trying to do.

And so people have jumped on the too-much-sex-and-violence bandwagon, but that really isn’t the problem at all. The sex and violence in films and television is simply pandering. It’s simply keeping the viewers distracted, so that they won’t complain about the real propaganda. The real propaganda the media bosses have been trying to slip into our minds is the idea of human sameness, the idea that the differences between Blacks and Whites, between men and women, between homosexuals and heterosexuals aren’t significant, aren’t important, that we ought not to notice these differences, and we certainly ought not to take them into account in choosing friends, associates, or lovers… that we ought not to feel any special affinity for people of our own sort, that, in fact, we ought to feel a little guilty if we still have any sense of racial or ethnic identity left, or if we regard homosexuals any differently than we do normal people.

TVThat’s the basic message. That’s the propaganda. But, as I said, the media bosses are subtle, and the average person usually doesn’t see that whole message in any single film or TV show, and so it’s difficult for him to recognize that he’s being manipulated.

The media bosses are getting bolder, however, and a film came out a few months ago which contains pretty much the whole message, and it contains it in a form that’s not at all subtle, that is in fact blatant enough for many people to see for what it is—at least, they should be able to see it once it’s pointed out to them. The film I’m referring to is The Crying Game. It was made by Miramax Pictures. That’s a film company in England which is owned by two Jewish brothers, Bob and Harvey Weinstein. When the film first came out I wasn’t interested in seeing it, because the reviewers in the NY Times and the other major media were all oohing and ahing over it. They considered it a very “sensitive” film, and so I figured it must be more of the same, old trash.

Well, I was wrong. A friend sent me a video of the film, and I viewed it a couple of days ago.

In case you haven’t seen the film, let me run briefly through the plot. It opens in present-day Northern Ireland. A British soldier is enticed by an Irish girl he meets at a carnival to head off into the bushes for a little sex, where he is immediately kidnapped by members of the Irish Republican Army, to be held as a hostage in retaliation for the arrest of an IRA man by the British Army. Nothing the matter with that as a movie plot, of course—except that the “British” soldier just happens to be Black. No one pays the least attention to that rather startling fact, even as the Black soldier kisses and fondles the blonde Irish girl in the midst of the carnival crowds. The message the filmmakers are sending us here is that the soldier’s race makes no difference, either as a soldier or as a lover. We are being told that we should see nothing amiss in a typical British soldier being Black, or in a Black man romancing a White girl.

While he is being held hostage, a friendship develops between the Black soldier and one of his Irish captors, a man named Fergus. Eventually the time comes to kill the captive, but before that the Black has shown Fergus a photograph of the girl back in London he really loves, a mulatto, and he makes Fergus promise to visit the mulatto girl and tell her that his last thoughts were of her.

Fergus keeps his promise—more or less. But he also falls in love with the mulatto girl. Then, in the course of trying to make love to her he discovers that she’s really a man: a homosexual female impersonator. At first that disconcerts Fergus rather badly, but by the film’s end he’s shed his prejudices, his bigotry, and he’s realized that it really doesn’t make any difference, that he loves the homosexual mulatto after all, just as the Black soldier had done before him.

Now, I’ve skipped a lot of the lurid details, which would get this program thrown off the air if I described them to you, but you get the picture: race doesn’t matter, sex doesn’t matter, sexual orientation doesn’t matter. All that matters is love. Every effort to discriminate—to distinguish—between Blacks and Whites, between men and women, between homosexuals and heterosexuals is bigotry, is prejudice, is hatred. We’re all human beings, the film tells us, and that’s the only thing that’s important. We should ignore everything else and love others, without regard for these superficial differences.

The people who made The Crying Game don’t believe that, of course. That’s just what they want us to believe. They understand that any race which absorbs their message, any nation which absorbs their message, any society which absorbs their message… has been morally disarmed and has been made helpless against its enemies. The race which absorbs and takes their message to heart has lost its ability to discriminate and therefore its ability to survive. It’s a race ripe for exploitation, ready to be plucked and slaughtered, a race unable to defend itself against the predatory tribe to which Bob and Harvey Weinstein belong.

As I said, the media bosses prepare their message for us with malice aforethought.

Now, if you think I overstate my case, if you think I exaggerate, if you think I’m being unfair to the media bosses, I invite you to view The Crying Game yourself. It’s available in video stores everywhere. View it for yourself. See if you don’t agree with me about what the Weinstein brothers are trying to tell us.

Their message, of course, is the same message we get from all of the controlled media these days. The only thing unique about The Crying Game is that it rubs our faces in their filth so much more forcefully than most other films do. Usually they don’t slap us right in the face with the whole message at once. Usually they sugarcoat it and slip in just a bit of it here and there. Usually they don’t let us see so clearly what they’re aiming at. Usually they just teach us to parrot a few of their Politically Correct clichés about the evils of “discrimination” and about how wonderful “multiculturalism” and “diversity” are.

After I viewed The Crying Game I reread the reviews of the film. I want to read you a few short extracts from these reviews. The NYT reviewer, Bernie Weinraub, bubbles about how the film explores “the blurred nature of love, trust, and compassion.”

Blurred, indeed, for Mr Weinraub and the Weinstein brothers!

Weinraub then goes on to quote the film’s director and scriptwriter, who says his film is “a love story, in the broadest possible sense. It’s about the extremes of love and the responsibilities of love, and how two characters find a way to love each other who are divided by many things. It’s also about how one person loses himself to find himself. The central character loses all the different facets of what he thought was his identity. Once he does that he finds the human being in himself.”

Newsweek magazine gushingly calls the film a “study of what constitutes moral virtue.” Newsweek tells us: “If the test of a good movie is how it makes an audience feel when the lights come up, The Crying Game is a very good movie indeed. It leaves one giddy.”

Isn’t that something! Not a mention of the film’s portrayal of homosexuality and miscegenation as normal, healthy behavior we all should feel good about. The film, according to the reviews, is about love, about finding the human being in oneself. It makes audiences feel so good they are giddy.

What are we to think about the people who made this film and the people who reviewed it and the people in Hollywood who awarded it several Oscars? The Weinstein brothers and Bernie Weinraub and the rest of their tribe are so arrogant as to tell us that every standard of quality, every standard of behavior, every standard of beauty and righteousness which has guided our race for thousands of years is bad because it discriminates, and that we have to throw them all out and be undiscriminating.

While laughing up their sleeves and smirking behind their hands they come into our country and tell us that it is wrong for us to discriminate between decent and indecent behavior, between our own race and other races, between what is natural and what is unnatural, between what is wholesome and beautiful and what is filthy and ugly. It’s all the same, they say; that’s the new morality.

How can anyone be so pushy? How do they get away with it? Why do we permit people who so clearly are working to destroy us morally to carry on their destructive activity? Why did we permit them to take over our newspapers and magazines, our film industry, our television?

Part of the answer to that question is, as I said before, that these people usually are not so obvious about their intentions as they were in The Crying Game. Usually they make films which simply entertain people, while slipping in just a little poison unnoticed by most of us.

And part of the answer lies in a peculiarity of human nature, a peculiarity which the great Danish storyteller Hans Christian Andersen commented on more than a century ago in his story titled “The Emperor’s New Clothes.” When the average person sees a film as shocking and evil as The Crying Game, he doesn’t simply say to himself, hey, that was a shocking and evil film, which aims at making us abandon our sense of right and wrong, our sense of discrimination.

And he certainly doesn’t say that to his friends and neighbors. Instead he looks around to see what other people’s reaction to the film is. He listens to what the opinion molders are saying, the film reviewers. And if they say, hey, this was a wonderful, sensitive film about love, then he’ll simply suppress his own reaction to the film, and he’ll tell the people around him, oh, wasn’t that a sensitive film! Even sophisticated, educated, intelligent people will behave that way. Remember, in Hans Christian Andersen’s story it wasn’t a professor or a successful businessman but a child who said, “Mommy, mommy, look, the emperor is naked!” And then, if you remember the story, the other spectators who heard the child also began saying, yes, the child is right, the emperor is naked.

Perhaps Andersen was a little too optimistic about human nature if he really believed that one lone voice of truth and reason could shatter the whole fabric of lies and deceit which the masters of the controlled media have woven around us. But I believe, nevertheless, that individuals must speak out now: we must say to everyone around us, films like The Crying Game are not about love. They are about the abandonment of values and standards. They are about giving up our power to discriminate. They are about surrendering to evil.

We must say these things not just because they are right, but also because some people who hear us will wake up, just like the people in the crowd admiring the emperor’s new clothes woke up when they heard the child saying what should have been obvious to everyone. We must say that it is not love to permit Blacks to fondle and kiss White women or to treat a homosexual female impersonator as if he were a normal woman. It is racial suicide. It is filth and sickness. We must say that loudly and clearly. And we also must say that the people who have been trying to twist our values, the film-makers and the film reviewers and the television network bosses, are evil people, and we should not tolerate their presence in our society. We should rid ourselves of them by whatever means is necessary.

We should understand that those who want to rob us of our values are as dangerous to us as those who want to steal our possessions or our liberty. Those who try to make us believe that anything goes and that it’s wrong of us to discriminate are as much our enemies as any gang of terrorists bent on destroying our society. The Weinsteins and the Weinraubs and their ilk are trying to destroy us morally.

And they’re succeeding. Just look at the filth we elect to public office in this country. Look at what we tolerate in the White House and in the Congress.

You know, a single film and a few deceitful reviews seem like an inconsequential thing. It is, after all, just entertainment, and we might think that we can take it or leave it.

No, no, really—it’s more than that. It’s part of a vast, concerted, ongoing effort, and it does have consequences. We can see those consequences all around us, from the Clintonistas in Washington to the breakdown of order in our cities and the loss of discipline in our kids’ schools.

We don’t have to put up with that any longer. We don’t have to pretend that we don’t notice what’s been happening. We can stand up and speak out. We can make others wake up. We can begin taking this country back. It’s time to start doing it.

New Aryan code

Yesterday at Counter Currents a Jarl commented in an article about miscegenation, a practice that incidentally I call the sin against the Holy Ghost:

My wife’s sister is married to a Ugandan and they have two children. She met him doing overseas charity work as a graduate nurse. She’s from a fairly conservative Christian family and no one had a problem with it, not even the grandparents who were born circa 1930. The eldest child of the marriage is going on three and speaking with his father’s accent. Needless to add, he looks more negro than white.

My wife knows my racial convictions and the result is profound cognitive dissonance that sometimes spills over into painful conflict between us. Obviously, the proper way to deal with a situation like this is to lie to some extent. Adopt a relatively respectable paleo-con type position a la John Derbyshire and say “I don’t have a problem with miscegenation, I just want a curtailment of mass immigration, a nation with a strong ethnic core, etc.” But I’ve been foolish enough to tell her my real views. So now we just agree not to talk out it. Fortunately we don’t see a lot of her family due to geography.

The political question that I think comes out of nasty situations like mine is, firstly, what should be our fully articulated, esoteric policy towards mixed race people, and secondly, does there need to be an exoteric doctrine for mass consumption?

What I find bothersome of this comment is Jarl’s feminized reaction. Not long ago, in a family meeting I told my sister that for a white to have children with a Negro is unforgivable as such behavior destroys Nature’s labor of millennia: it destroys it forever the bloodline of that particular family. She resented my comment but I am a real man: I care not for women’s sensibilities and used to believe that when they say anti-white things they should be talked back brutally.

However, it is useless to discuss with my sister. Recently I elaborated a code of speech that avoids any feminization like the one endured by Jarl, so concerned about political correctness that is even afraid of being frank with his wife. This is my new code. In your private life:

Thou shalt only speak to Aryan males.

You won’t believe it but this code avoids lots of trouble. I still can speak of inane subjects with women or coloreds, and believe me: there are millions of the later in the silly town where I’m living.

But about the real stuff I shall only speak with white males. If the Aryan guy happens to be brainwashed my code still makes conversation, or even discussion, much easier. At any event, what’s the point in trying to discuss with white women or non-whites? Women think with their emotions, and in these times of treason most of them have become the most notorious race traitors of history. A noble Aryan man, on the other hand, can understand that the sin against the Holy Ghost, especially the sin involving black blood, destroys his gene pool forever.

As to “an exoteric doctrine for mass consumption” that certainly must involve telling the masses that miscegenation is the ultimate sin. Don’t mind about their feelings. If the Jews are allowed to consider sinful marrying outside their group, why the hell can’t Aryans be allowed to do the same? If non-whites or women happen to listen that universal message it would be accidental. The sole purpose is that Aryan males get it.

Grant_Wood-American_GothicWives also should be treated according to my new commandment. There’s no point in trying to discuss with them when, by Nature, they side the current zeitgeist. And unlike the times of the painter Grant Wood, today the zeitgeist of the strong, the zeitgeist of the Judeo-liberals is certainly more powerful than the views of an alienated husband. We must fight for a society that puts women in their place, especially opinionated wives: Austen-like ethno-states where they will be prevented to sacrifice motherhood for careers. If a wife listens our hate speech that’s only because we invited our rude comrades to our homes and the submissive housekeeper happened to be serving them coffee.

“Everything about woman is a riddle, and everything about woman has a single solution: that is pregnancy” said Nietzsche. A good, marital rape like the one endured by Vivien Leigh when a drunk Clarke Gable carried her up the large stairs in his arms telling her, “This is one night you’re not turning me out” during that famous scene of Gone with the Wind will do the trick.

Words of hope

by Trainspotter

When I was a child in the 70’s and 80’s, “normal” people were far more willing to express racial sentiment in ordinary conversation than they are today. But inevitably, they would preface their comments with something along the lines of “It may be wrong to say this, but…” or “I may be bad for saying this, but…”

It should go without saying that they would fold like a cheap suit if their opponent ever broke out the much feared Hitler Talisman, shrinking as a vampire before the one and true Holy Cross. Gee, I wonder why we lost? A real brain teaser, it is.

Needless to say, I look back upon that period with considerable embarrassment, including for myself, though I at least have the excuse of having been very young. How utterly inept, how unbelievably weak was the opposition to anti-white liberalism’s triumphal march. Lots of grumbling, but nary a single effective shot was fired. Conservatism, failure is thy name.

And today, as we look around, we see the price. The rapes and murders, sure, but perhaps even more painful is the general ugliness, the lack of manners and common decency. The collapse of trust, the absence of beauty, the sacred ruined by the profane. Will we ever be able to accurately calculate the billions of relationships that were destroyed, or never came into existence in the first place, because of anti-white liberalism and the Jewish attack? Not to mention the physical racial damage that has already taken place, and we’re in early days still.

The Brave New World: dishonest and dumb with bulbous lips. Or switching to Orwell, forget a human boot on a human neck, forever. Instead, think of a grotesque mulatto/mestizo face, scowling and leering, but with lifeless eyes devoid of intelligence. Always, until the end of days, having to look at that grotesque thing. I ask, which fate is worse? Perhaps they are the same?

And then there is the matter of genocide. Our enemies literally presume to be able to alter the very DNA of our people by mixing us with other races until we no longer exist as a coherent, identifiable people, thus deconstructing whiteness forever. And what did those that “resisted” this insane and evil agenda do? Stammer about, cringing and apologetic. Truly, more surreal than a David Lynch film.

But as the psychological transition proceeds, we are seeing something different emerge. In the depths of our despair, grumbling while deep in our cups, a new confidence begins to stir. What is this?

Maybe it can be called the mentality of the Happy Warrior. We’ve lost our country, but that just gives us the opportunity to create a far, far better one. Since I seem to be quoting songs a lot today, “School’s out… forever!” Feel the liberating summer breeze. No going back to that hellhole, not ever. We’ll build a new school instead, a grand school. A school of our own.

Have fun with it, laugh at the enemy, mock him, despise him. Most importantly by far, look down on him! Always. Folks, he’s no better than the gum on your shoe.

Love your own, work toward the survival of our people. The dream of the White Republic already lives in the minds of many, and that is the dream that our movement must revolve around. I love the concept of “nostalgia for the future.”

What must emerge, and as bad as things look, I think is emerging, is a movement brimming with intellectual confidence and moral superiority, the exact opposite of the conservative failures. Cocky, smart, virile. In love, and deeply so, but furious. That’s the spirit, right there. Our enemies are right to be be nervous. If you were seeking to destroy us, do you want that to come together? Do you really want to go against people who are truly in love, but with a white hot fury against outsiders?

It’s happening, in ways great and small. Golden Dawn, whether it ultimately succeeds or fails, has already shown that holding one’s head high accomplishes far more than conservative cringing. And closer to home, the new video put out by White Rabbit Radio is brilliant, and loaded with the self-confidence and overall spirit that is required. Sure, it’s just a cartoon, but it has the right stuff—and you can’t buy that stuff. Conservatives have tons of money, but yet they fail all the time. A ridiculous conservative couldn’t have come up with that video in a million years, despite having a million times our resources. Imagine what we could do with one percent of the money that conservatives routinely squander?

That’s the way forward, not casting pearls before swine, or groveling before cultist lunatics, or catering to the paycheck conservatives, or appealing to self-interested dregs who have no interests beyond their retirement accounts. Instead, feel the liberating summer breeze. It’s there.

The Day!


 
Feminized western males in the pro-white movement freak out when confronted with what William Pierce called “The Day of the Rope.” But the absolute need for retribution is understood when pondering upon the history of the Iberian Peninsula: what happened when Gothic values were replaced by Christian values. It is impossible to understand the brutalities of this quotation from Pierce’s most famous book without knowing what happens to Aryan nations after allowing mestization or mongrelization.

In honor to what my Visigothic ancestors did with the miscegenators when they ruled Spain, after the anti-white System collapses I look forward for justice for sins against the Holy Ghost. But I insist that without knowledge of the history of the peninsula the linked quotation of my favorite novel won’t be appreciated, and both Pierce and I could be seen as monsters.

Uncle Adolf’s table talk, 184

the-real-hitler

 

6th September 1942, midday

Racial mixtures—Sailors on leave.
 
 

What a fine race the Dutch are! The girls are splendid and very much to my taste. The blemishes in the Dutch are due to interbreeding with the Malays, and that, in its turn, is the result of sexual urge and the lack of a sufficiency of white women in their colonies. We had much the same thing in our own colonies; a German had the right to marry a negress, provided she was a Catholic, but not a German girl, if she happened to be a Protestant.

Even today, the Catholic priest chatters for months if one of his flock wishes to marry a Protestant. It is not very long ago that, in the country, a marriage between Catholic and Protestant was stigmatised as an insult to the Holy Altar; but no body bothered their heads about the colour of bastards! In the British Empire, things are very different; but the Church of England is a political, rather than an ecclesiastical, organisation.

Again and again I am asked to sanction marriage between one of our soldiers and a foreign girl; and as often as not the soldier is a splendid young lad and the girl a little trollop.

Nothing but catastrophe could come of such unions. The branches of the services most exposed to this danger are the Navy and the antiaircraft units, because they stay in one place longer than anyone else. It was the same in the first war. The Flemish girls were most attractive, and, had the war had a normal ending, many of them would undoubtedly have married German soldiers.

The Fuehrer turns jestingly to Admiral Krancke: Your sailors have only three hours’ liberty ashore each day; can’t you give them a bit more? If they must hang about in port, they will be best employed chasing the girls!

_____________________________

Consider obtaining a copy of the complete notes
published by Ostara Publications.

Extermination • III

Libro
CHAPTER 1:

THE STAR CHILD
 
 
 
 

A dream in Madrid

The day after my birthday in 2011 I received a wonderful gift, a long letter in Spanish, from which I translate here only one of the opening paragraphs:

You see, like you I was raised and educated in Mexico, where I was taught from school and the official media to despise my people and consider myself a mestizo. Had it not been for the rectifier comments of my parents probably I would be one of those many Criollos waving an enemy flag as if it was my own. The point is that it gradually dawned on me that the Mexican society was multiracial garbage where the Mongoloid-American element has replaced the European element, so causing the current state of anarchy and endemic violence.

“Criollos” or “Creoles” were the children of Spaniards born in the New World who had no drop of Amerind blood. It’s true what the Criollo said, whom I shall refer to as “Ibero,” that in Mexican public education Indian blood far outweighs the Spanish. So true that even some phenotypically Creole people are more identified with the American-Mongoloid element than with their European roots. No wonder the popular Mexican genius says, “Mexico is a surreal country.”

Such surrealism is a direct result of the continental experiment of the Counter-Reformation to genetically mix the European-Iberian with the American-Mongoloid. Never before it had been attempted a project of biological and social engineering on a continental scale in previous centuries and millennia! While the Spaniards used to talk of limpieza de sangre (purity of blood) and a caste system prevailed in the Americas, with the peninsular Spaniards and the Criollos at the top of the pyramid, the desire to exploit economically the New World alongside the universalism of the papacy broke natural barriers between what, following William Pierce, were two different species of humans. The mix of European and Indian worsened considerably with the massive importation of blacks to the mainland. Few know that more blacks arrived in the Spanish and Portuguese colonies of America than to the colonies of their Anglo northern neighbors. The difference is that here they amalgamated earlier, resulting in the formation of a crossbreed stock of the three races that explains the falling behind of the nations south of the Río Bravo.

In the mid 1970s I studied two years at the Madrid School of Mexico City. Back then most of my peers were Caucasian, some even blond: children of refugees of the Franco regime. (The school I knew no longer exist. On February 16, 2014 I received a visual shock when seeing more than a dozen classmates of one of my nephews from the Madrid. There was only one that might be considered white.) The Viceroyalty of New Spain lasted exactly three hundred years, from 1521 to 1821. In one of the history lessons I received in the Madrid School, the teacher revealed that the New Spaniards amused themselves by classifying the mixtures between the three races. Note that in the list below, a transcript of the footnotes of the sixteen illustrations of various Mexican parents with their children, the “Morisco” should not be confused with the peninsular Moor, or “Chino” with the inhabitant of China, or “Gíbaro” with the Amazonian Jívaro tribe:

1.- Spanish with Indian, mestizo
2.- Mestizo with Spanish, castizo
3.- Castizo with Spanish, Spanish
4.- Spanish with mora [negress], mulatto
5.- Mulatto with Spanish, morisco
6.- Morisco with Spanish, chino
7.- Chino with Indian, salta atrás
8.- Salta atrás with mulatto, lobo [literally, wolf]
9.- Lobo with china, gíbaro
10.- Gíbaro with mulatta, albarazado

Castas

11.- Albarazado with negro, cambujo
12.- Cambujo with Indian, sambaigo
13.- Sambaigo with loba, calpamulato
14.- Calpamulato with cambuja, tente en el aire [literally, stay in the air]
15.- Tente en el aire con mulatta, noteentiendo [literally, I don’t get you]
16.- Noteentiendo with Indian, tornatrás [literally, jump back]

(The Jews were not included in this melting-pot list of the three races as the Inquisition always kept them at bay; although some say that every Spanish has at least a drop of Jewish blood.) In today’s Mexico these New Spaniard terms are no longer used but the naco, analogous to the North American nigger, is used to refer disparagingly the mestizo with pronounced Amerind features.

In a coffeehouse in the center of Tlalpan in Mexico City, on January 26, 2012 to be exact (as good autobiographer, I keep a diary), I personally met Ibero, the author of the above-cited epistle, when he returned from his stay in Spain. After a long conversation we agreed that we would start a radio program for Latin American Creoles, and that we would meet on Saturday to plan the details. Ibero spoke to cancel the appointment the same week we met and mysteriously did not answer my numerous e-mails. I let time pass and decided to phone him more than a year later, on 31 March 2013. His answer was laconic, and the tone of his voice was not benign. I forgot the matter but later that year, on December 14, Ibero called back. He was very apologetic; insisted on an appointment that afternoon, and we met at another coffeehouse in Tlalpan, near where I live, El caldero chorreado (a translation of The leaky cauldron), in honor of the Harry Potter movie that Alfonso Cuarón filmed.

After coffee I invited Ibero to see my bookshelves, which are under my sister’s house. All the talk had been, from the coffeehouse, friendly until for some reason the subject of Mediterraneans and Nordics was brought up. I was surprised that, with bilious zeal, Ibero said something like: “We [the Mediterraneans] have saved them [the Europeans] more than once!” Ibero ignores that the ruling castes of the ancient Greeks and Romans were Nordic, as shown in FR. Even in the early Middle Ages, Charles Martel, as a Frank, came from a Germanic tribe. But I was surprised when I told him that, to save myself from the currency crisis that is coming, it would be ideal to move to Iceland. I did not record the conversation, I just wrote down what he said: “They kill you!,” “They’d kill us!” or “They’ll kill us!” (when writing the diary I was not sure which of those phrases had been the most accurate and wrote down all three). He meant that the Icelanders would kill us if we dared to emigrate there. I was shocked because I thought it was obvious that the nacos would terminate us—not the Aryans—after the collapse of the dollar leads to social chaos in the largest metropolis in Latin America. I was stunned at Ibero’s vehemence and did not say anything. But when I showed him in a bookshelf the 2011 edition of Arthur Kemp’s March of the Titans, he got very upset. Although I do not remember the specific reason of the anger, the image of Ibero greatly exalted when showing him the book is very much present.

I feel bound to say that on my recent trip to the United Kingdom I visited Kemp in an ideal village to live: far from traitorous London and where I saw no people of color. Years ago Kemp’s car was vandalized by the antifa while working in the British National Party, so I’ll omit mention where he now lives. Suffice it to say that he was very kind to me, a real tourist guide. He took me in his car to Chester and several places of interest: beautiful English countryside far from the Babel of the large British cities. My talks with Arthur in one of the very small towns we visited revealed something I suspected but was not sure.

The anger not only of Ibero, but of a good portion of the white nationalist community about March of the Titans is due to such an elemental truth that it requires complete brainwashing by racial egalitarianism not to see it: The concept “Nordic” refers to those whites who are less mixed. It’s that simple. No one who reads Pierce or Kemp fails to see so elementary fact.

History is the tallest tower of experience, wrote Van Loon, the queen of the humanities; and he who fails to base his understanding of race on it—classics like Gobineau, Chamberlain and Günther—won’t learn the Letter A of racial studies. Most white nationalists persist in not seeing what they have in front of their noses and claim that those who have lived for millennia in the Mediterranean, so close to the Levant and Africa, have virtually the same percentage of non-whites genes that Scandinavians. Not only many so-called white nationalists cling to the absurd premise that the mixture was negligible. Those Mediterraneans with inferiority complex so take this revelation like a bomb that Arthur’s family suffered harassment by e-mail from a Greek man of very dark skin, the stalker came to be called, who felt insulted for the book.

Before I met Arthur I supposed the critique of Christianity by Kemp in a book that took years to investigate was a factor of the visceral rejection of March of the Titans coming from many white nationalists and Mediterraneanists. In the “very small town” I won’t name I became disabused. Questioning Arthur I realized that the cause was simply the most abject state of denial before the elemental on the part of those who had browsed the online version of the book. (Ignorant racists because, as I told Kemp, he had not done anything but “reinventing the wheel” already devised by Gobineau.) And this, even though Kemp was always very polite in his texts by adding, immediately afterwards, that not all Spanish, Greek, Slav or Balkan inhabitants had suffered considerable miscegenation. Qualifying his findings in each chapter was not enough. The mere fact of making discriminative distinctions drives crazy the “racists” who are currently “fighting” the dogma of equality, Ibero included.

Following my meeting with Ibero in El caldero chorreado he invited me to what, as I understood, would be a meeting of Creole nationalists to be held on 21 December. I hesitated but decided to go at the last minute. Besides Ibero I had not met anyone knowledgeable of “white nationalist” literature over the internet, and despite our differences I could not resist the temptation of meeting more people that, like Ibero, were familiar with the subject.

When I parked my car on the street Mecanógrafos in the Sifón neighborhood, where the meeting was held, I was struck by the rock music played in one of the houses. I thought some naco neighbors were having a party and wondered if the noise would mar our meeting. Imagine my surprise to learn that the “music” came exactly from Ibero’s friend’s home! In announcing my arrival to the woman who opened a window, she summoned the one who had invited me. Another surprise: with Ibero a guy on costume with a swastika on his arm opened the door! What left an impression on me was that Ibero’s companion was not Criollo. He was clearly a hybrid whose Mongoloid-American element stand out. As a courtesy, I won’t mention his name but in this book we shall call him “Mestizo.”

Upon entering the party—not a meeting of intellectuals as I had imagined—I was surprised again to see it be held in winter outdoors. At the back of the yard I saw a fabric with the sign of the German SS and another with the Blade of Burgundy: Nazism and Creole nationalism. In my idealized vision I had imagined people like, say, the racially conscious gentlemen of the London Forum I would meet the month before last. But the anti-music and outdoor December party were the opposite: they would perform a crude pagan celebration at midnight, a popular holiday condemned by the pope. More surprising still was that among a few whites were more people of swarthy skin. I could not believe it and the situation turned openly surreal—the surrealism that Mexicans are fond to self-parody—when the friendly Mestizo with his swastika on the arm said “I’m white” to a group of guests, standing and drinking alcoholic beverages. I remembered an adolescent story of Arturo’s follies, one of my classmates of the Madrid School. Arturo once got into his car some transvestites and the police stopped him. One of them made a scene by yelling at the police: “I have vagina! I have vagina!…” Arturo commented that, if he said that, it was obvious that he did not have one. The same is true of those airing from the rooftops that they are “white.” Although I spoke some time in the yard’s party with Ibero, Mestizo and a Punk who showed me the wounds of his fights against the antifas, I could not long stand the music and the cold and left. And yes: the trio was very kind to me and accompanied me off the street.

The following month, the first Sunday of 2014, I saw again Ibero and Mestizo but this time in the Casa del Té—a place chosen by me—in the Condesa neighborhood where, without quarreling, I informed them that I was the staunchest nordicist in the Anglophone blogosphere. I explained that it was all a platonic love for the nymph Catalina when I was in my early twenties. It was then that Ibero confessed that he did not read my blog, and I assumed that the cause was precisely the nordicist articles I was reproducing and my open contempt for Spain. Let’s recall that in FR I pick texts by William Pierce and Kenneth Clark where it is alleged that the Iberian Visigoths allowed to be duped by Christianity, thus breaking their ancient taboo of never mixing with non-Goths, and henceforward Spain had not contributed substantially to the development of the ideas that create Civilization. But what Ibero and Mestizo ignored is that my nordicism obeyed a tragedy that prevented me to relate, among other realities of life, with Catalina (tragedy that I’ll tell in the long chapter “In Search for the Soulmate,” although I mention some of it in the first book of HS).

Although our differences were irreconcilable, I felt very curious to know a little more about the group. In a couple of weekends after a flu that hit me, Mestizo and I met in other places: the first one, a solitary coffee shop on a side of the central church in Coyoacán; the second, at a restaurant in Paseo de la Reforma with distant group members (Ibero missed those meetings while Punk had problems with the law). At the last meeting I witnessed another incredibly surreal scene. Fabián, who barely knew the group had invited one Gabriel at the meeting: a subject with light skin but whose brachycephalic head denoted rude Indian ancestry. Mestizo degraded Gabriel in front of me, Fabián and Pedro—a son of Spaniards—by telling the other mestizo that, due to his Indian-white mixed breed, he could not belong to the group. Gabriel, who had arrived wearing Nazi paraphernalia, was a young man with good feelings and the degradation ceremony distressed me so much that I left the table. Even for Pedro, an authentic Criollo, it seemed excessive what Mestizo did to the other mestizo for being mestizo, and tried to make modest amends.

If we keep in mind that the ethno-state that will emerge in North America will have to know the peculiar psychology of her southern neighbors, you will understand why I mention such colorful anecdotes. The racial complex of the Mexicans is not limited to Mestizo. There is much “coconut” in the country: people brown outside and white inside. Even so-called neo-Nazi groups in Mexico are composed mostly of this type of people. I have seen in the subway of the big city very dark-skinned brown women with bleaching creams on their arms, and have heard of a mother who disowned her daughter for not having being born white. (Mrs. Hypocrite!: she was the one who married a very dark-skinned man!)

Surrealism also occurs in reverse, and even among the Mexican intelligentsia. A family member told the bizarre story about a man who visited my parents’ house: the partner of the former director of the Madrid School, Cristina Barros, granddaughter of the famous Justo Sierra. (Cristina’s daughter, Isabel, was fair-headed, perfectly dolichocephalic and of sublime facial features. To me she always seemed a nymph of pure “nordish” stock but, in reality, her blood was of the most Aryan type existing among Spaniards. She and her family travel with Mexican passports.) Cristina’s partner, whose name escapes me, said with total vehemence that he was “a pure Indian”—something that contradicted all appearances! Although it may seem laughable, there are not only “coconuts” aspiring to white in Mexico, but whites who repudiate their Creole blood as well. We cannot understand the impossible chimera of different ethnic groups that is now called “Mexico”—Indians that not even speak Spanish, a few Criollos, the full range of mestizos and dark-skinned browns with negro blood—if one ignores the psychic toll that such concoction of races caused.

The last time I saw Ibero and Mestizo was on 19 April this year I write in a homely meeting at which only these two attended. The other group members are hobbyists, as they take “Criollo” preservation more like a hobby than a profession. In the meeting Ibero said such an aberration that I won’t sit and take it.

He said, as I annotated the following day, that he did not mind the blond hair or blue eye to become extinct “provided the generic white survive,” i.e., the non-Aryan, peninsular Spaniard like him. Taking into account that I am devoted body and soul to the archetype of the nymph Catalina we did not see or talked again after that meeting; but that night I discovered that Mestizo had better feelings, as he was concerned that the blue-eyed blonds became extinct.

If we translate to Oldspeak Ibero’s vocabulary his words mean something like: “I don’t care that the white race is extinguished always providing the Criollo-types survive,” that is, the mudbloods, as the vast majority of Creoles are not even remotely as pure whites as Catalina or Isabel.

Ibero turned out to be my ideological antipode insofar I am so devoted to the archetype of my hyper-Nordic Catalina as that feudal nobility of the 12th century who fabled with an inaccessible and deified woman. Since childhood, my mind and my most cherished taste for those I fancy have been clearly and inexorably medieval.

The semantic trap in Ibero’s ideology is to call generic white those who are not. “White” as I said in FR refers to the European mixture that occurred in the United States and Canada before the migration of Jews in the late 19th century. Ibero and Mestizo abuse the term by referring to those folk that are far from the Aryan paradigm—Aryans that still exist, though they are very few, in Latin America. (The statistics of the article with the title of “Blanco” in the Spanish-written Wikipedia are misleading: they are based on surveys of mestizo-Americans that, as Mestizo does, call themselves “white” or “of white ancestry”.) Ibero’s stance is aggravated by granting amnesty to people who, without a doubt, are as mestizos as his colleague: accused physiognomies that remind me of the Moorish actors I have seen in several Spanish TV series filmed in the peninsula. “Generic white” does not mean Indo-European. Ibero misuses language as mestizo-Americans abuse words like “Latino” or “Hispanic” in the United States to refer to immigrants of the color of poop.

Although Mestizo has good feelings, cognitively he is a goner because, unlike the Brazilian, he has no objection to breed, as Ibero.

The latter is what the Spanish-speaking Metapedia denominates “mediterraneanist”: people who believe that the “meds” are superior to the Nordic.

In my discussions with Ibero I noticed he has got a clear animosity toward the real Aryans. In the last meeting I saw them he told me that those who fought with most courage in World War II were the Spaniards; and when I mentioned the looming monetary and energy crises he said he was hopeful that Spain would be saved. That is what matters to him.

I mention these stories because, I believe, Sebastian Ernst Ronin’s critique of white nationalism, a late version of American universalism, is correct. Ronin claims that all nationalism is ultimately ethno-nationalism, and that it makes no sense to use the word “white” in Europe.

The case of Ibero illustrates it. Though born in Mexico, Ibero is an ethno-nationalist (a Creole nationalist) to use Ronin’s language, not a “white nationalist.” He apparently has no Indian blood: his heart is in Spain or, rather, in an Hispanic America. Extrapolating the concept of “white race” to Europe is launching into a fool’s errand. Doing it in Spain would literally charge at windmills for the simple fact that many of the “meds” are not even white. Most people of the Iberian Peninsula will identify with other “meds” and, what is infinitely worse, with clearly mesticized people like the Hispanic Americans. Ronin is right: you cannot create “white” awareness among WASPs and MEDs of Europe or Latin America, including authentic Criollos. Perhaps it is worth mentioning that, the day of the pagan party outdoors, Ibero drove back some of the guests: pure English girls living in Mexico. When Ibero’s ideology—whom I repeat: has no-Amerindian blood—came up, one of these English said: “But you’re not white.”

The key to the whole thing is to notice how the inferiority complex of the Mediterranean, so well exemplified in Ibero, sometimes almost comes to desire the extinction of the real whites. It’s not only bothering he does not care that blue-eyed blonds become extinct—presumably, only an eccentric and expendable subset of the “generic white” in his mind. When I was on speaking terms with him I always detected a kind of peevishness towards them. And what’s scary is inferred from this, taking into account the harsh criticism of Ronin to white nationalism.

Although he has no Jewish blood, Ibero is a kind of Jew as he uses his Iberian genotype and phenotype as platform and inferiority complex to degrade the competition. And the competition is no less than the true white. Ibero is, as his internet pennames denote, an “Iberolobo,” a “Peninsular.” He never emphasizes, as I do, the fact that the peninsular Portuguese irreparably tarnished their genes with sub-Saharan, African blood. Although he and Mestizo—especially Ibero—have a good grasp of the content of white nationalist blogs for English speakers, Ibero’s mind orbits around another gravitational field: Spain and its American transplant. He is a silent scholar of English blogs only as inspirational material on how to develop a “Criollo” equivalent in the Americas. By remembering his outburst against Icelanders when I told him if I had money I would move there—with true Vikings genetically speaking—, we will see something fundamental. I never heard from Ibero a similar rebuff against the Mediterraneans, Amerinds, mestizos or Jews. Only the nordish peoples seem to arouse his anger.

I will be told that the case of Ibero is eccentric, and that it is illogical to generalize from an isolated case. But it is not so isolated. Drawing on my recent trip to London I will tell something I saw at the Millennium Bridge.

I joined a walking tour on the bridge led by a young man who spoke, in Spanish, of the desire to divorce of Henry VIII as if it was “a tantrum of a brat” which the Pope did not grant. Although many Spaniards have lost their faith, you may still feel the cultural inertia of previous centuries. Ibero himself, who is not Catholic, has told me he does not like the English. Similarly to the tour for Spaniards, contemporary nationalism reinforces ancient grudges between the nations. Europeans are not united by a common lack of skin melanin! Unlike them I do not care if the divorce was legitimate; only that the establishment of an independent church by Henry VIII helped to break the monolithic power of the Catholic Church which had chained the thought of the white man throughout Europe. An old-styled nationalist in Spain would never reason that way!

To be fair to Ibero, I must make it clear that his anti-nordicism can go completely unnoticed unless someone presses him a little. That distinguishes him from the ancient hatred of Jews for Aryans, who so badly want to exterminate them that in their Talmud they proclaim that “the best of the gentiles must be exterminated.” In other words, the animosity of Ibero before the Aryans is only dormant, not omnipresent as in the case of our ethnic enemies. However, Ibero’s mind is perfectly understood when we note his words, that he has repeated more than once: “I’m not a second-class white!” Actually, as the English girl who he gave a raid said, he’s not even properly white.

Had Hitler’s dream been fulfilled—an Aryan empire from the Atlantic to the Urals—the most Aryanized Spaniards would be already thinking like me, not as Ibero. But I would like to put forward a direct response to his stance that it doesn’t matter that blue-eyed blonds become extinct, and that what only matters are the so-called generic whites, with the opposite fantasy: although it was a gift from the unconscious.

Some years before meeting Ibero, in November 12, 2008, I arrived at the Madrid airport after barely sleeping the previous night in mainland and across the ocean for nervousness to travel: something that usually happens to me the day before transatlantic voyages. Falling into deep sleep that night in a city I had never been, something happened. Unlike my dreams that opened the chapters of my HS, so riddled with symbols, this time the descent into the abyss of my being took me to something I had known for some time but was no longer in the front of my consciousness. But before quoting the content of the naked “dream” without symbols I must say I slept in a soulless building, which was surrounded by more of them: residential complexes like those that have become so fashionable in the West since the culture fell.

The dream had somehow present the rudimentary faces of the Spaniards who had been in the neighborhood without soul where I slept. The message from my unconscious that awoke me suddenly well after midnight let me know that we had to level all that vacuous culture, wiping out the ugly people living there. In other words, in no way my destiny in life ended with the Hojas I wanted to publish (that trip to Spain, I naively believed, would lead to find a publisher for my 700-page book). No: there was not nearly the last word in my Hojas. The wake up dream on another continent, after some thirty-odd hours of not sleeping and then falling into the depths of my being, was analogous to those dreams in which the person believes to have received a divine message: You still have to speak about the extermination of the Neanderthals, César: you still need to talk about it…

Six years have passed since that night of late 2008, but instead of delving further into my unconscious let us continue our story.

Quite independently of my dream in Madrid, it would hurt me horrors that whites with brown hair and/or brown eyes became extinct. There are precious Aryans with black hair—think of the Liza Taylor in 1952 who filmed Ivanhoe or the 1889 painting by Heinrich Hoffman, Christ and the Rich Young Ruler (though of course: the neighborhood Madrilenians where I slept seemed troglodytes compared to them). I’m perfectly capable of appreciating the dark hair to the degree of falling in love if you reach that level of beauty for my eyes. But people like Ibero give us a slight clue to the envy of those who, during the Jacobin terror, sent to the guillotine the blonds of Paris (as Kemp tells us in his magnum opus).

In Europe “white nationalism” not only does not exists: it cannot exist. Ibero is neither white nationalist nor a Nazi, although the website of him and Mestizo, Visión Blanca, sometimes exhibits a rare fetish for Third Reich paraphernalia, a subject that Mestizo is more knowledgeable than us. As already explained, Ibero is simply an Iberian-Latin-American nationalist: he defends the Caucasoids of this part of the continent despite their mudblood. What is striking of quite a few white nationalists who blog or comment in English is that, as Ibero, they are capable of the doublethink that someone with brown skin is “white” simply because he is native of towns along the Mediterranean coast. The truth is that some Europeans are as “white” as Ibero’s partner, Mestizo. If those internet anti-nordicists who have offended me were confronted with pictures of both, they could not decide who is the American mestizo and who, say, the contemporary Greek.

No wonder that, once broken the Visigoth taboo of not mixing with the Mediterranean, the resulting stock of ancient Hispania embraced Christianity with such superstitious vehemence. Pierce said it clearly: the physical beauty of the Aryans is the splendor of divinity, so that the Christians (as the perpetrators of the Jacobin terror with the guillotined blonds) smashed the statues of the Greco-Roman world. A glance at the chapter on Hispania by Pierce in Who We Are is enough to see how the original Iberians mixed with the Semitic Carthaginians from time immemorial—long before the Muslim conquest of eight centuries, of which only the very stubborn say it did not leave a significant genetic mark. (Also, many Russian and Europeans of the Balkans mixed with Asians and Turks respectively.) This passage from the only non-fiction book from the pen of Pierce should be kept in mind:

The hard lesson taught by the different results of the European colonization of North America, Latin America, Australia, New Zealand, India, and southern Africa is that the only type of colonization with lasting significance is racial colonization; and that racial colonization can succeed only when Whites are willing and able to clear the land of non-White inhabitants and keep it clear.

By white Pierce understood of Indo-European origin; not what the newspeak of our days calls “Mediterranean,” “Hispanic” or worse, “Latino.” Independently of the behavior of the Brazilian, who according to the humorous illustration above would be a noteentiendo or tornatrás, he is well above the Criollo nationalists, white nationalists and even neo-Nazis (whom I have referred to in FR as fake Nazis). As seen in FR the Brazilian strongly believes in the “one-drop rule.”

Once one starts tolerating the first drops of non-white blood in one’s own body—say: the ancestral taboo that the Visigoths violated—, those drops will mark the beginning of the end. If we look at the history of the Iberian Peninsula from the highest tower of History we see that it is marked by two major Christian betrayals: the conversion of the Goths that broke the color barrier in the 6th century and, a thousand years later, the green light of a Pope for peninsular males to marry the conquered Amerindian. (In Portugal the church even allowed women to marry a number of imported negroes.) Regarding this last betrayal that began in the 16th century it is worth mentioning that, despite the system of castas the mestizos, the castizos and the harnizos used to bribe the Spanish authorities to be registered as “Criollos” though genetically they were not. These historical realities help us to understand the mind of Ibero’s partner, Mestizo; and also remind me the general amnesty that white nationalists have granted to the populations bordering the Mediterranean Sea.

There is no way to avoid the downward spiral of miscegenation once the line becomes blurred. If white nationalists lack the courage to draw a line highly enough the same fate will fall upon them—what happened to the continent conquered by the Spaniards and Portuguese. So-called Latin America is actually mestizo-America: a gigantic racial rubbish-dump from Río Grande to Tierra del Fuego. And this is true in spite of the fact that a tiny fraction of the population of these countries* remains authentically Aryan.


______________

* Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil, Chile, Colombia, Costa Rica, Cuba, Ecuador, El Salvador, Guatemala, Haiti, Honduras, Mexico, Nicaragua, Panama, Paraguay, Peru, Dominican Republic, Uruguay and Venezuela.

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