Knut and The Free Kingdom

A fairy-tale for all Free Kingdomers.

With the Kingdom under the heel of the Four Lords of Nowhere, the Crooked Lady betraying the Kingdom at every turn, the Sea-devils at the gates, and the Silence enforced by the Guardians, what can save the Kingdomers but the return of their Viking Spirit?

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Time-sensitive Democracy

It’s been an action-packed week in Britain, and the foundations of our collective belief in our government and institutions have been rocked almost as much as they would be by the war with Russia which Theresa May – now positing herself as Boadicea, rather than the depressed heron she normally resembles – is willing to risk in order to convince us that the world outside of her beloved 4th Reich is too scary for little old Britain.

Oh – and the Mysterious Tale of the Salisbury Spy also might also have served to distract us from the news that she is proposing to finance the tottering Brussels Empire for another 46 years, despite being under no legal obligation to pay them a penny.

But right-thinking people have had other fish to fry, because, in the space of four days, we’ve learned of thousands of little English girls being raped by Muslims, seen leaders of a British political party jailed for insulting a Muslim rapist, seen a journalist from our sister nation Canada banned from Britain for life for suggesting an imaginary being isn’t homophobic, heard our Inglorious Leader declare that she is going to ‘crack down’ on any speech not respectful of Islam, seen three centuries of sacred free speech obliterated in deference to Muslims, discovered that instead of pursuing Muslim rapists, our police are now dedicated to criminalising those who insult said rapists, and learned that our mainstream media, politicians and police want to ignore the first horror, while rejoicing at the destruction, on behalf of an alien culture, of rights which millions of Britons died to win.

We have, in short, woken up to discover that we are living under Sharia, because, as Voltaire so rightly said, (shortly before himself being jailed for expressing opinions disliked by despots) “to learn who rules over you, simply find out who you are not allowed to criticise.”

When they vaguely realised that people were upset about the millions of rapes inflicted on Britain’s daughters by swarms of hideous males from a dark-age death cult, a handful of politicians murmured of “inquiries” – you know, the same time-wasting exercises carried out in every one of the many, many towns in which large numbers of Pakistani Muslim males are found to have defiled little English girls, protected and enabled by layer upon layer of people who view our children as worthless collateral damage in a fantasy of diversity.

But every moment spent in debating what we all already know, somewhere in Britain another child is destroyed. So – what do we do now, knowing, as we do, that the primary culprits are Muslims, and that what protects them from censure is their religion?

Well, we must stop sweating it, because the solutions to most problems are astoundingly simple.

In the first place, face facts: the good reasons for allowing large numbers of Muslims to continue to settle here are so few that if engraved, they wouldn’t cover one side of a lentil. So let’s stop doing it, because it’s been proven not to work. Islam simply can’t co-exist.

While freedom of religion is a marvellous thing – and is enshrined in Article Eighteen of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights – when the people enjoying Article Eighteen kill us unless we deprive ourselves of Article Nineteen (freedom of opinion and expression) then their presence among us is untenable.

But many are now legally British citizens, so, what can be done to ensure that the majority population and other, peaceful minorities, are not decimated by this troublesome minority?

Easy: enforce or reinforce existing laws.
Refuse to throttle free speech – it is our inalienable right and not to be sacrificed to bullies from a culture which has never bothered to fight for it.
End the exemption which allows the sickening barbarity of Halal slaughter which is an offence to all civilised people.
Demonstrate that if they mutilate their daughters, they will never see the light of day, or their children, again.
Outlaw face-coverings and insist that women in particular carry cast-iron photo-ID to prevent manipulation of elections and other criminal behaviour.
Treat attacks of any kind by Muslims upon the non-Muslim population, with the utmost severity.
Ignore the constant whine of victimhood which emanates from Muslims at all levels of society and which is an attempt to dominate and suppress us.
Deport any non-citizen Muslim who commits any crime, along with his or her family, and block re-entry to any who are suspected of involvement with terrorist groups, even if they are British citizens.
Refuse planning permission for buildings which do not blend with traditional local architecture.
Deny Muslim women benefits if they refuse to work – as the majority do, on grounds that they must not mix with men.
Record and monitor all activities in mosques and close them down if they teach anything which is incompatible with peaceful assimilation into western secular society.
Prosecute Muslim employers – such as the owners of clothing line BooHoo, who refuse to allow their staff to bring pork products to lunch-breaks – if they impose Islamic rules on British cultural practices.
Prosecute organisations such as the BBC and Creative Access and others who specify ‘no whites’ when offering funding, training and employment.
Forbid the import of the ‘cousin’ spouses who have created a crisis of congenital birth defects among the Muslim community.
And there’s a point – stop using the phrase ‘Muslim Community’, because there is only one community in Britain, and it is British, regardless of colour or creed.

These things would need to be enforced – but the man-power currently used to cripple our culture in the interests of Islam could be moved to this other, more worthwhile mission. After some brief hysteria – because they have become used to having their own way in all things – those who value cult over country would leave, and good riddance to them; the rest would stay, and assimilate.
Peace would reign.

So – why don’t our mainstream parties commit to carrying out this simple task which would restore peace and harmony to Britain, save lives, and end so much misery for the 96% who are not Muslim?
Well, all parties are pickled in the toxic fantasy of globalism, for one thing. But mainly, the reason our country is being destroyed from within, is because … wait for it… we allow it to be.

We are faced with an establishment which is clearly the enemy of what most of the majority population hold dear, and which refuses to act, because they are not afraid of us. No, I don’t mean they should be afraid of being dealt the “full Ceausescu”, although they might be wise to consider that people denied free expression become desperate. But governments need to be afraid of being removed, one way or the other, and we simply don’t do it.

Our First Past The Post system ensures a see-saw of two parties, both corrupt and self-serving, both of which fail to represent the people. Labour have lost the plot completely and posit themselves as caring even as they allow the destruction of communities and lives; Conservatives have lost the plot completely and posit themselves as patriotic even as they surrender us to both Islam and the EU.
Both depend on threats: ‘If you don’t vote for us, you’ll get them.’
Well, no, actually. That’s no longer true.

Because we could vote for someone else – and there is a new kid on the block who would ensure that all those simple things listed above, which would restore sanity at a stroke, are carried out. In fact, it is the only party which will restore sanity.
It’s called For Britain, it has a huge groundswell of support, and it does what it says on the tin. And by the time of the next election, it will have candidates standing against the old order, who will do a far better job (and let’s face it, they couldn’t do a worse one, could they, all things considered?)

All you have to do is vote. There’s no mystery to it – it’s how both our main parties came to be the monoliths of the past.

But if you always do what you’ve always done – fall for the ‘wasted vote’ scenario which enables the old order – then you’ll always get what you’ve always got. More rapes, more killings, more erosion of our lives and country, more fear, more suppression.

The choice is yours – all you have to do is follow your heart instead of our corrupt leaders, and put a big X in the box by your local For Britain candidate, and spread the word so others do likewise.

At least, for the time being, that’s all you have to do. But if you don’t do it, then don’t assume that will always be all you have to do, because things can change: after all, would you ever have thought, just a few short years ago, that our government would brazenly contravene the Human Rights Act signed by Churchill, so as to appease members of a dark-age minority cult? And yet, they have – and claimed the moral high-ground for doing so.

Make no mistake, our democracy teeters on the brink and we are fighting for our lives.

A generation is rising which was indoctrinated in globalism, which finds democracy burdensome and irrational. It may well be that the ability to change the country through the ballot box is a time-limited offer. Don’t waste it: both our main parties have shown, we have nothing to lose. They have already violated our freedom – and our children.

Thanks to the efforts of generations of Britons, Islam, in Britain, is being grafted onto a relatively efficient infrastructure. Therefore, the total destruction of our culture and people will be managed easily, if Sharia-compliance is not ended.

And if our tragic, mutilated, brainwashed descendants ever learn of a time of freedom and peace, and ask us why we surrendered them to horror, we’ll need to give them a better excuse for our betrayal of western civilisation than “An MP made me do it.”


As a mother, let me start with little Willemien.

Willemien Potgeiter was only two years old when, along with her mother, she was forced to watch her farmer father stabbed 151 times with a garden fork. Her little feet were dipped in her father’s blood, and she was then lifted up by her baby-soft red hair, and shot at point-blank range through her head. Then her mother was forced to her knees and shot through the back of her head.

At the trial of the family’s six killers, all local black men, a large crowd gathered outside the court in celebration of the slaughter, cheering the killers as heroes and saviours. Women (under the circumstances I use the word women very loosely) danced and sang in excited joy.

The young family are only three among thousands of their kind, butchered with sickening, animalistic savagery, in an orgy of killing which is ignored by a world which doesn’t recognise this particular kind of victim. The dead, you see, are white South Africans, and are considered fair game by those most likely to react with pearl-clutching horror at the use of a racial pejorative in response to a terrorist attack by brown North Africans.

In a civilised world colour should not be an issue. Alas, the realities of this world make such distinctions still relevant, even though liberals deny attacks on whites or see them, in their perverse way, as some kind of karma for imperialism.

The murders are almost daily occurrences, and the victims are Boers – the word simply means ‘farmer’. The dancing crowds of black Africans celebrating the deaths chant ‘Shoot the Boer’ – and it is an ongoing attempt to drive the Boers from the land they have farmed for 300 years.

Just a few examples:

A 64-year-old woman found, along with her three dead dogs, in a pool of blood, having been unspeakably tortured with a drill.
A 20-year-old girl found raped, her throat slit.
A 70-year-old small-holder murdered.
Two 42-year-old men forced to their knees and ‘executed’ with a shot to the back of the head.
A 71-year-old small-holder murdered.
A 63-year-old woman tied up and bludgeoned to death with a sledge hammer.
A 70-year-old bee-keeper found trussed and dead, with knife slash marks to his head.
A 40-year-old farmer tied-up, drenched in petrol and set light to as a ‘torch’.
These crimes alone were committed over the course of only 20 days.

If anyone prefers to believe that Mandela’s legacy is peace and love, and disputes the full horror, I will happily provide the full dossier of deaths, in alphabetical order.

The complete list of atrocities just up to 2011 is so long, (there are, as I have said, thousands of killings) that it would – I have tested it – take up five pages, so let’s cut to some local ‘colour’, shall we, to give an idea of the mentality involved here.

ANC has sanctioned a chant, which goes “one bullet, one white infant.” Ncobo Sodo and Mfundo Dlungwane, both ANC government officials, are still in their posts openly calling for a genocide of white babies. What follows is taken from their Facebook accounts:

“We kill the white babies, when the rite time comes we chop their heads off, so they become headless little racists.”

anc arse

And they put this intent to kill babies into action: one baby girl was so badly beaten that she was left blinded and in a coma, while two black women tried to snatch another baby from her grandmother and mother, and the white women had to tussle to get her away from her would-be abductors.

Police reaction is muted: there is a little condemnation from the very top, with the Police Minister, for example, condemning the call for white genocide, and the hero-worship of killers, but killers have been known to stand, faces showing traces of victim’s blood and defence wounds, next to police-officers, without being arrested, and police have visited crime scenes without even opening case dockets.

This is a small Holocaust on entirely racial grounds, and they don’t want to address it: in today’s corrupt, violent, Aids-ridden and rape-infested South Africa in which, just this week, a British couple were taken hostage, trussed, beaten, the woman repeatedly raped, and a driver who tried to rescue them shot dead, nobody wants to admit that white people carry a target on their heads. After all, South Africa has a tourist-industry to develop.

It is, in fact, a cover-up of monstrous proportions. And they are aided in this secrecy by white ‘liberals’ who would apparently prefer the genocide to continue unabated to it’s inevitable conclusion.

Yesterday news broke of two white farmers who caught a black burglar in the act. In a dangerous land, in a remote place, in which the police are reluctant to arrive or act even if they do, in which a white farmer or family is killed on an almost daily basis, in which the declared aim is to behead white babies, the farmers put the thief in an old broken coffin – there was only half a lid to it, and his face wasn’t covered – and threatened (but didn’t act on it) to set light to the coffin and put a snake in it. The thief was, obviously, terrified. Terrified, but alive, and was, remember, a burglar on a farm which is a target for murderous savages.

In court – yes, this one came to court – the ‘victim’ wiped his eyes and wept as the farmers were sentenced to 19 years in prison for this crime of frightening a burglar, in a land where burglars are likely to follow up theft with brutal slayings.

The unconfined joy at this outrageously long sentence – which leaves the imprisoned men’s families undefended known targets – among the white Twitteratti was nauseating to see, each Tweet more shrill than the next, calling for the farmers to be jailed until they died, etc.

For scaring a burglar.

I posted a picture of little Willemien, with the details of her death, online and response was almost cursory; yes, yes, it was terrible, but look, look – look at that poor black man who had been given the fright of his life. His life which he still has, unlike Willemien and her parents.

They didn’t give a toss about that grisly triple murder, which they classed as lesser than a thief being scared. In truth, I don’t believe they care about him, either. They are simply tail-wagging virtue signallers eager to prove, by their lack of regard for the lives of fellow white people – even a white baby – their non-racist credentials.

And then there was the swarm of black Africans who pounced, spewing hatred, confirming the desire for white genocide, demanding ‘Africa only for Africans’. Only one man – and he is the only one I will call a man, because the rest of them showed the thought-processes of barbarians – condemned the killings of farmers, saying that the murderers were filthy and unfit to walk free in the land.

The same white people who see justice in the murder of people who have lived in Africa long enough to develop their own language, loudly support the uninvited daily incursion of hundreds of black Africans who arrive on the shores of Europe with nothing to offer but dependency at best, bringing the violence of the continent they left, to the continent they find more attractive.

And yes, to those hyperventilating at the idea of defending whites in a land which once practised Apartheid, I know Apartheid was horrendous. Those who are killed today weren’t responsible for it, and the young killers have no memory of it. These perpetrators and their political supporters are simply blood-thirsty, racist savages. And the double hypocrisy is that the same people who take an Old Testament view of vengeance when those punished for the sins of the fathers are white, have stern ideas on the subject of backlash when the boot is on the other foot.

Imagine, for a moment, if the English in towns afflicted by rape-gangs rose up and slaughtered Muslims, or if murderous Jewish youths rampaged in Germany.

There were once 60,000 farms run by Boers. South Africa is many things, but not hungry, thanks in large part to their work. There are now only 30,000 such farms remaining, and 22,000 of them are up for sale. Anyone who believes that, after three centuries, South Africa is not equally the Boer’s homeland simply on grounds of race must have a poor opinion of the rights of far more recent non-white immigrants in Europe – unless, of course, they are total hypocrites. Given a place to go to, I doubt many Boers would stay, because the intention of the ANC is their genocide, the beheading of their children, their death by brutal means as elated crowds dance and sing.

Stop thinking that refugees are non-whites and ‘seeking a better life’. That isn’t a refugee – that is an economic migrant who tugs at the guilt-strings of a decreasing number of people. The Boers are the most valid refugees I can think of – with no financial incentive to find a safe country, simply the necessity to save their lives.

What price White Privilege now?

The Peasants Are Revolting

It was flaming June, and the ruling elite didn’t know what was about to hit them. Pockets of dissent had existed for many years, of course: flourishing in backwaters, hampered by difficulties in communication, disreputable sparks easily stamped out by guardians of public order, to maintain civic harmony.
The rule of law imposed by a foreign power had apparently been accepted, if sullenly, and the benefits of close ties to a vast network of European nations under ultimate control of an irremovable authority were appreciated by many. There remained nostalgia for lost rights and freedoms, but this sentiment was dismissed as folk-memory of dead greatness.
It had been a terrible century so far, everyone agreed. Conditions beyond local control had raised food and commodity prices beyond the means of many, the government imposed laws to hold down wages, key industries had fallen to foreign competition, and, most dreadful of all, the free movement of people had resulted in unprecedented numbers of deaths Europe-wide. It seemed the fabric of society was fraying.
These traumas had played out against the background of the longest war in living memory, which seemed to drag on without resolution or glory, sacrificing national prosperity, swallowing young people who returned – if they returned – to find that they were regarded as mere collateral damage.
With hind-sight it is clear that rulers should have seen the abyss but, secure in their immutable belief in a fixed hierarchy, distanced by social custom, they were confident that expressions of discontent could be contained.
Above all, they were upheld by the perceived inferiority of those who smouldered. Such people, despised, reviled, would undoubtedly rant, but would be ignored; potential followers probably wouldn’t bother staying sober long enough to take decisive action.
Even protests by some at the sexual assault of their daughters by men sent into towns and villages to demand the Poll Tax, would surely soon be forgotten. Those who spoke for the complainants had no lawful mandate to do so: they were just rabble-rousers, without office.
And then there was the man who seemed able to rally this disgruntled sub-class: a man of a type usually held in some contempt, who himself had open contempt for authority. How could anyone possibly take seriously his demands for removal of key political figures who, he said, betrayed monarch, nation and people? How ridiculous to insist that no laws be passed except by the will of the people of the country!
But the people championed this agenda. In a campaign full of passion and patriotism and desire for freedoms which have since formed the bedrock of democracy, they demolished each bastion of corrupt power.
Rulers who had demanded tax ‘per head’, suddenly found themselves in the position of counting human heads which, for once, they had no power to remove – and those ‘heads’ which opposed them outnumbered those which supported them. Having the ruling elite on the ropes, so to speak, the rebels were confident they would achieve their aims.
But betrayal was in the air from the very start of negotiations, and just as the ruling elite at the beginning should have recognised the need for compromise, so the rebels at the end should have recognised that the ruling elite had everything to lose and would fight like cornered rats.
Ultimately, what ended the opportunity to enshrine the rebel manifesto in a ground-breaking form of government which may have prevented untold misery Europe-wide, or even world-wide, for generations to come, was the trust which, at the eleventh hour, the rebels placed in those who had originally opposed them.
So much for the Peasant’s Revolt of June 1381. What of the Revolt of June 2016?
Well, of all the parallels between the two movements, one stands head and shoulders above the rest: the denigration by Remainers of Brexiteers mirrors the spin the disgruntled medieval elite put upon their defeat in 1381. It’s in the very name ‘Peasant’s Revolt’ – there were no English ‘peasants’.

There were many degrees of servitude in the feudal system which the Normans had imposed on England, but the name for the lowly was not ‘peasant’. It was ‘villein’. Use of the word paysan was the result of a largely French-speaking elite, signalling their own superiority to each other by denigrating the rebels.

And it was a lie: far from being a raging rabble of thugs, well-oiled from some mass, heatwave-induced pub-crawl, this was an established political movement of organised cells spread over several counties, with literate leaders who were well aware of national events and personages, and who communicated through letters, cleverly coded messages, and rhymes such as that taught by the radical preacher John Ball, which questioned the entire basis of the feudal system: ‘When Adam delved, and Eve span, who was then the Gentleman?’
Their movement through the south-east, Home Counties, East Anglia and London was well-orchestrated, travelling on horseback and on foot, with planned staging posts and river-crossings to meet up with local groups who were notified by runners of their impending arrival. Their numbers were swelled by disaffected returning soldiers, and by those who had refused to be shipped off to disappear into the melee of the Hundred Years War.
The rebel militias were trained, and armed – not only with the ubiquitous long-bow, but with a variety of home-made weapons which had been prepared in advance. Their taking of key strongholds to release political prisoners was planned with military precision and led by a designated commander, Abel Kerr, who later joined the designated leader, Wat Tyler, to take London.
This was a movement democratic enough to elect a working man as overall leader, but by no means confined to the lower orders: wealthy land-owners, minor gentry, clerics, tradesmen, businessmen, and even MPs all joined in this revolution which was about far more than the conservation of fabulous wealth and the defence of powerful privilege which motivated those the rebels opposed.
Admirably, there is no record of any of them having betrayed each other, or collaborated with the ‘enemy’. They had a clear plan of action, which had been decided by a summit meeting prior to marching on the capital. They risked everything to achieve it. And when they naively trusted that their rulers had accepted their terms, they went peacefully back home.
And yet, just as Brexiteers are dismissed as thick xenophobes for seeking the same things – our own laws, a restoration of traditional rights and freedoms – so these courageous people, with a manifesto centuries ahead of their time, were rewritten as a riotous mob.
While there is nothing completely new under the sun, we must try not to repeat history in its entirety. We must recognise that there are many with a vested interest in the eradication of the democratic nation-state. If they succeed in overturning Brexit, then democracy itself is in tatters. We should therefore be careful where we place our trust.
Above all, no matter how disparate we are, we must stand united against the overwhelming desire of the remaining Remainers, to belittle us and our decision. They parrot a litany of contempt: we are all semi-literate, geriatric, bigoted, untraveled, we only voted because the Russians told us to, or we saw a red bus, we have destroyed our children or the NHS or both – or we should simply hurry up and die.

In a defiance of democratic choice which does their cause no credit, die-hard Remainers assume the mantle of moral, intellectual, and social superiority, an expression of entitlement which the feudal overlords of 1381 would have recognised.
Remainers may declare us revolting, but the march on the polling-stations that day in June was not be brushed aside in deference to those who consider themselves our betters. More people voted to be free of the European Union, than ever voted for anything before, in the entire history of the United Kingdom – and all who put a cross on that paper knew the meaning of the words ‘leave’ and ‘remain’.

We are of every level of education, every profession, every shade of politics, every age, creed and race. We are British citizens who have the right to vote in Britain, and contrary to what the Remain camp appear to wish, here all people stand equal in the polling booth.
So let’s not allow the ongoing Tantrum of the Entitled to dismiss the Revolt of 2016 as anything less than a glorious revolution. And this time, let’s make it succeed.

In Praise of Men

I love men, and I’m so glad I’m not one at the moment because they are being fenced in with such a wall of hateful trivia, they must wonder if it’s safe for them to leave home without being accused of sexual harassment for smiling at a woman in the street.

Belittling the real, devastating crime of rape doesn’t do real, devastated victims of rape any good, either. In fact, as with all the shoots of the monstrous Triffid, New Puritanism, it is strangling compassion and blinding empathy.

Every time someone pops up like a Jack-in-the-box to bleat that 25 years ago, someone admired their hat or touched their knee, it makes a real victim less likely to be given the correct attention.

Careers are now ending with ‘offences’ even the alleged victims deny were important. So Michael Fallon is a Sex-Beast? Get away. Sorry, but I don’t believe all these tales of musk and mayhem in the halls of Westminster. I don’t believe male MPs are sweeping desks clear and bending female MPs across them like a scene from Rob Roy. Dear God, even John Major and Edwina Curry had the decency to go find a room.

I know there are a**hats amidst both genders (yes, Gentle Reader, there are only two genders, and the one you belong to can be ascertained by dint of a few minutes alone with a long-handled mirror.) But when a woman claims to be afraid of a male colleague because he compliments her shoes, you know you are witnessing a witch-hunt.

Many of the reports seem to be from women who simply hate males. And it’s happening all the time. Last month, a female student actually got a man – with whom she admitted she’d had voluntary sex – sent down for rape because he “grabbed her breasts” during proceedings. What the actual?

If you have sex with mere acquaintances, it may not be a lyrical experience, but just because the Earth didn’t move, doesn’t make your hapless partner a rapist.

There are also suspiciously high numbers of married, or partnered, rabid ‘feminists’ who claim to view all men as sex-offenders. And yet, these women have often never spent time as singletons. The late Susan Jeffers held a confidence-building class once, in which she asked participants to say something nice about their partner. A woman said – after twenty five years of marriage – she had nothing good to say about her husband, to which Susan replied “So why do you stay?”

Why indeed? Well, for one thing, such women tend to stand loyally by a bank account.

I remember a startling conversation with two women whose husbands had both recently been made redundant. Neither woman worked. One said “I won’t be having sex with him again until he’s found another job – I can’t respect a man who doesn’t pay my mortgage.” The other described coming home from her ‘spinning class’ to find her husband in tears because he’d been twenty years in the same job and didn’t know what to do. “I didn’t know men could cry,” she said. “so I called the doctor, and went out.”

In terms of character, I’d say clumsy compliments or even a hand on the knee are preferable to coldness and sex for money. But hey, what do I know? I’m single, penniless, and live in a tent. Maybe I should have tried prostitution, too.

Talking of sex, ladies, if you don’t like what’s being dished up, try varying the menu, instead of betraying private foibles to anyone who’ll listen. How would you like your bits being the subject of gossip? He’s not a rapist just because you’ve gone off him. If he makes your flesh crawl in a bad way, you don’t make a feminist statement by hanging around. Leave, make your own life, let him make his.

After all, one woman’s mouldy chipolata is another woman’s prime beef-steak, and chances are, he’s equally miserable: not everyone enjoys being shackled to someone who pulls a face like a bull-dog chewing a wasp at the merest hint of a Morning Glory.

Don’t think I’m condoning the horridness of men from cultures which take pride in misogyny. There is nothing masculine in being a spoilt bully. I’m talking about real men, here. Being male isn’t something to be eradicated. Little boys often have an endearing, puppyish charm, which they tend to carry into adulthood. At their best, men have a powerful urge to cherish, protect, and serve, and take real pride in those things. It’s horrible to see these attributes being targeted for hatred – men’s every word and move scrutinised with hostility.

What on earth would we do without them?

There is an honesty, compassion, courage and honour in people of either sex who know they stand or fall by their own efforts, because they know how hard it is to stand, and they live with the understanding that the fall is painful, undignified, and often unavoidable, and that asking for help is agony.

Sadly too many girls are still taught that the world owes them – not just equality, but constant affirmation, ridiculous levels of admiration for every achievement, as if they are cats who learned to play the harpsichord, a meal-ticket for life, and carte blanche to play the victim.

If you are in the work-place, out in the big wide world, then grow up. You’ll know if you are being genuinely assaulted, and you’ll recognise real stalkerish behaviour if it materialises. Don’t be the Boy Who Cried Wolf. Get on with your job, and if you are so lily-livered as to swoon because someone pays you the compliment of asking you out, then stay home and learn to crochet. But buy your own wool.

And next time there’s a spider in the bath, move it yourself.

The Elephant’s Child

The baby elephant rushes screaming after its terrified mother, its back legs being consumed by flames. Its mother, her own feet burning, rushes into the forest. Around them, humans laugh, shriek with savage delight, and throw more flaming tar balls which stick to the elephant’s skin.

The baby – product of a two-year pregnancy, child of a species which nurtures infants to adulthood – cannot survive such wounds and will surely die an agonised death watched by its helpless mother.

Biplab Hazra’s photograph, which won the Sanctuary Wildlife Photography Award, is simply entitled “Hell Is Here.” In his entry, Hazra wrote ‘In the Bankura district of West Bengal this sort of humiliation of pachyderms is routine, as it is in the other elephant-range states of Assam, Odisha, Chhattisgarh, Tamil Nadu and more.’

Elephants are being driven down the path to their extinction. What Hazra shows us is a barbaric triumph of humans.

The habitat of the mighty pachyderm grows ever smaller: in all Asia now there are fewer than 50,000 elephants left, half of them in India where the booming rural population sees them as competition for land, and drives them out with great savagery, as in Hazra’s photograph.

Historically, European settlers killed Elephant herds for sport, and were responsible for an initial decline, but it is since colonisation of Africa and Asia ended that the number of Elephants killed has been described as a Holocaust: the disaster began in the 1970s in the chaos of the independence movements, since the 1980s, numbers have declined by 60% – and the decline continues.

Over 20,000 Elephants are killed for their tusks annually in Africa alone, and this is far more than are being born. Despite a ban on the ivory trade, supervised by the UN, the illegal trade has exploded, fed by new Chinese wealth, and a huge smuggling industry has grown around it. In Asia, in addition, farmers poison Elephants and shoot them, as well as burning them.

It is likely that within the life time of an adult reading this, the Elephant may be-come extinct in the wild. The question is, do we want to live in a world without Elephants? And if we do not, what are we going to do about it?

Currently, the answer is ‘very little’. Of the European nations, only the UK has fully banned the trade in Ivory. The EU has even suggested that states with “stable” populations be allowed to “harvest” limited tonnage of ivory: critics of this claim that this merely contributes to the survival of the market, and given the vast sums to be made from the trade, and the notorious corruption of African administrations, the ‘stability’ of each herd would be unlikely to be accurately re-ported. The EU dither as if enforcing the ban will do nothing to close markets and save Elephant lives, and yet, a fully enforced ban worked in Japan, which had previously been one of the biggest markets.

But what must be accepted is that this gallop toward extinction is not the responsibility of the west. This is due entirely to the behaviours of African and Asian states, and to the wide-spread mentality of African and Asian individuals, who put short-term greed and self-indulgence before any notion of responsibility to wildlife, or the environment. Their guilt must be fully confronted and all self-effacing belief that the West is the big, bad wolf, while Asia and Africa should be given a free pass on destructiveness, must end.

It will be an uphill battle: these are continents which are not hot on taking responsibility for their own failures.

We are not, however, entirely powerless: when it comes to dealing with the source of the ivory trade, we have the cards of aid, trade, and immigration to play. If we are to be serious about preventing the Elephant becoming, like the White Rhino, a species of three members, under armed guard, then we must play them hard and make them hurt: no aid of any kind, stringent trade tariffs, and zero immigration from any nation which kills Elephants for ivory; given the UN resolution this could surely be legally policed, and offenders brought to book under international law.

As for aspirational India, with its booming population, while such horrific images exist to be captured, then we should consider whether they have any place as equals among western nations. If their government wish to take seats in the First World, then they must end the two-tier society which permits all manner of backwardness to flourish out in the sticks, and confront the problem of rural communities which overlap with the lands grazed by the Elephant herds. Police them systematically, provide reserves for the pachyderms – and destroy the culture of mindless cruelty which takes pleasure in watching flames consume an Elephant’s Child.

Red, White and Blue

In our common struggle against those waning Globalists who deny our unique identities, it’s vital that we remember genuine friendships between nations. We may have a network of relationships around the globe, but for Britain, our defining friendships are with France and the USA, representing Europe and the Anglosphere respectively.

Much of the American Constitution is rooted in Magna Carta, first declaration of limits to the power of monarchy – and Britain gave to the American people the plot of England where it was signed. We share attitudes passed down from the Anglo-Saxons, whose culture offered rights we wouldn’t see again until the 20th century. Even the right to bear arms has its origins in the English Militias of the middle ages.

More than any two nations, we have laughed, cried, loved and died together, singing each other’s songs, fighting each other’s corner, walking into desert hells and taking the flak for each other’s errors, upheld by values we ourselves can hardly enunciate, they are so deeply entrenched.

So, what of France?

Well, we both know we are infinitely superior – if only the other one would stop pretending they were. Britain and France are two grande dames who have spent a thousand years trying to up-stage each other. The French are pragmatists posing as romantics, Catholics posing as secular, traditionalists posing as avant garde. The British are romantics posing as phlegmatic, pagans posing as Protestant, eccentrics posing as traditionalists. We are basically a pair of old frauds.

The only reason the French helped America win the War of Independence was to spite us. If the Americans responded in true ‘Perfidious Albion’ style – not repaying the war-debt, plunging France into bankruptcy and revolution – then, c’est la vie.

And if we replaced the raw materials we could no longer get from America, by kicking the French out of India – well, what can I say? Voila!

But we have died together in our thousands in the mud, and France and Britain stood unaided together to fight in September 1939; for us a Pyrrhic victory, for France an unaccredited act of suicidal valour given she was still decimated following WW1, and shared a long defenceless border with our common foe.

I have seen Englishmen weep publicly only twice: as the towers fell on 911, and as French families were mown down by Islamists while celebrating Liberty, Equality and Fraternity.

This, mes amis, is love born of true friendship.

Our ancestral memories are our roots, and history shows that, no matter what orders we are given from on high, roots are impossible to eradicate. Those who seek to weaken our roots try to force-feed us our differences, in their efforts to create fake unity. But at heart, we know who we are – and we know who our friends are.

As we share a Christian festival whose celebrants must be guarded by armed men, let’s make a New Year Resolution that, this time next year, we will have strengthened the bonds which matter, and loosened those which don’t. Because this is a time of existential crisis, and such times are when we must be true to ourselves, and cherish the friendships which count, in honesty and honour, instead of forcing ourselves to tolerate the intolerable, and fooling no-one.

A Class Act

We thought it had been consigned to history, but the Class Divide is back with a vengeance in terms of political groupings. As before, it is all a matter of labels, but this time, the labels have been lost in the shuffle, which can be confusing for the uninitiated. As a general guide, just think of the labels being attached in the reverse of traditional order.

Those who secretly consider themselves to be what might be loosely termed ‘middle class’ lean to what they call the Left: however, what they actually lean toward is a positive loathing of the demographic which traditional left-wing policies were designed to serve and the beliefs which that demographic cherish.

Outwardly, of course – and this used to apply in particular to those who never actually had a job of any description – many left-wing people would loudly proclaim themselves ‘working class’ on principle, but this is a dying breed (most left-wingers these days would rather nail their ears to a wall rather than self-identify with people they despise so deeply), so we should really find a new name for them. Several spring immediately to my mind, but sadly, none would be passed by the Editor.

Given the levels of hypocrisy involved in positing themselves as guardians of the plebs while doing all possible to further their extinction, it’s no wonder Jeremy Corbyn has won what passes for their hearts and minds: who could speak more clearly for his followers, than a millionaire born in a manor house, who is married to another millionaire, and dresses as Lenin?

Moving slightly to the right, we find the centrists who genuinely are middle class and who are increasingly, and worryingly, detached from either the dynamism of the Thatcherite ‘80s or the earnestness of the Caring ‘90s. Their ideological home appears to be the Bland Noughties, a decade which some claim never actually happened at all.

Rather than offering vibrant solutions to the startling social problems of today, these rely on attempting to inspire fear of the Left to prevent defection to the Right, both of which repel them for differing reasons: the Left because the left-wing in this country has now become so devoid of sanity that a vote for Labour is akin to a collective leap off Beachy Head, the Right because, well, they are just way too visceral and appalling.

What this view stems from, in my opinion, is their belief that – being Centrists – they share a universal experience with those who lean right, when in fact, all they share is a loathing of the left. However, being centrists, while they will be inspired to passion by the thought of increased taxation, they take no decisive action against the ideologies of the Left which create such misery among what used to be the Left’s demographic.

Enter the Right.

To understand where the Right are coming from (which was often the Left) it’s important to take a brief glance back to precisely why so many millions of people once so passionately waved the Red Flag. Basically, such people had found by bitter experience that previously existing forms of government, and many individuals, and deeply entrenched attitudes, had metaphorically defecated on them, and their families, and their way of life, from a very great height.

Such is the experience of far too many now, who are accused of ‘hate’ when their passion actually stems from love: of country, home, family, tradition, territory, national culture, the monarchy, and all the other things which their betters call upon them to die for when it suits a purpose.

Meanwhile, they are expected to suffer being collateral damage in someone else’s fantasy without complaint: while Corbynite eyes glisten with joy as ‘natives’ become a minority in entire cities, and Centrists enjoy an open day at a mosque and think everything in the multicultural garden is lovely, the hapless ‘hater’ resents their English town becoming like a sunless version of Karachi in which their teenage daughters are spat on and called ‘white whores’, their sons are beaten up and robbed in repeated unaddressed racially motivated attacks, their little girls are called “dirty pig eaters”, their dogs have stones thrown at them when taken for a walk, and the Muslim mum made friends with at the school gate starts to cover her face because hubby broke her nose for sharing a cup of tea after the school-run (all personal experiences, by the way.)

‘Haters’ who aspire to move up the social ladder then suffer the shock of realising that assistance to get a toe on the next rung is now, legally, allocated by race: so, for example, large organisations and employers can specify any race but white British; a case in point being Creative Access, which offers funding, paid internships, and assistance to BAME applicants only, who want to work in the creative industries. In other words, the pampered offspring of a BAME millionaire is eligible for a life-changing hand-up, while a hardworking, skint white kid, regardless of talent, can take a flying jump.

And nobody on either Centre or Left give a toss about how grossly, hideously racist and cruel this is because essentially, the Left actively want such people to disappear, and work assiduously to make the situation worse, while Centrists think victims of such policies are making an unseemly fuss about nothing and propose remedies so fudge-like they are akin to treating a compound fracture with a lavender-and-chamomile compress.

Groups, and parties, blossom where there is a need for them, as many previous ‘establishments’ have found to their cost. Leaders who don’t deny the suffering or despise the sufferer will continue to rise and grow exponentially – currently at the rate of a thousand new members per week. And every time they are sneered at, jailed, or suppressed, they grow stronger, tinged with martyrdom. That fervour, that need, that hurt, those membership numbers, are going to translate into votes, especially in the face of the current Conservative government’s unpatriotic performance and the Centrist denial of genuine experiences. The Left are the source – but the Centre are doing nothing to help, so they are allying themselves, in effect, with the Left.

Real action has to be taken to deal with real concerns, rather than the ‘let them eat cake’ attitude currently so prevalent. That smell you notice is the foundations smouldering. Because for far too many, all is not Right with the world.

Victorian Values

For the love of God, what, if anything, goes on in Lily Allen’s head? In a long history of public idiocy, she has now said that the thousands and thousands of victims of Muslim grooming gangs – not Asian, Gentle Reader: let’s not racially insult men ranging from Native Americans to Gurkhas in our efforts to be Sharia-compliant – would have probably been raped anyway.

So that’s OK, then.

In response to the collective howl of outrage from the sane, Labour MP Jess Phillips called Allen an “inspiration”. Now if by ‘inspiration’ Phillips meant ‘to acid reflux’ or even ‘to public lynching’ then I’d stand in her corner, but no, she fully concurs with Silly Lily that these little girls are, essentially, worthless dross to be used by savages and thrown away like crusty paper handkerchiefs.

If ever anything calls out the sickening hypocrisy of the Left, and those who continue to support them, in the grisliest way, it is their willingness to sacrifice – literally, in a physical sense – little white girls to their nightmare vision of ‘diversity’ for which purpose Labour MP Naz Shah agreed they should “shut their mouths”.

Many years ago, I read a collection of letters sent within Victorian gentlemen’s clubs: you know, in the days when lounging wastrels could click their fingers and a serf would come scuttling to deliver a conversational exchange of notes slightly faster than I can now upload to Gab. One such chortling toff wrote to his friend of the previous evening’s fun: raping a ten-year-old East End child and then – he clearly thought, rather nobly – paying her.

“I thought it better that I should broach the little c*** for half-a-crown than it should be taken later by some coster-monger’s boy without payment,” he explained, and then went on to claim the moral high-ground further by describing his victim as being so evidently physically immature that at least he wouldn’t have left her with a child, as might have been the case had he raped, say, a thirteen-year-old.

Please point out any difference in basic attitude between this long-dead rapist, and the aforementioned Left Wing ‘feminists’, because for the life of me, I can’t find any.

Meanwhile Toby Young – who I previously thought just irritating but who I now consider to be an irritating moral coward – has resigned in the face of Left Wing outrage about previous ‘sexist’ comments (and there were 250,000 attempted hits on porn sites at the Houses of Parliament) which have brought the Lib Elite to frothing point.

During the era in which ‘gentlemen’ prided themselves on giving petty remuneration for rape of those they considered little more than dumb animals, respectable wives and mothers attempted to replace the word ‘legs’ with ‘limbs’ in the OED and covered tables with floor-length cloths to avoid arousing unseemly lust.

A ruling Victorian elite – while as corrupt and sexually voracious as any previous age – held its fellows, and certain other groups of its choosing, as being above basic morality, protected from censure no matter the cost to the helpless.

Again, I can find no difference between ‘then’ and ‘now’ except that the names of the elite and those it shelters have been changed – and most certainly not to protect the innocent.

There are many who voted for Margaret Thatcher because she promised a ‘return to Victorian Values’, and I don’t think this is what they had in mind.

The current sickly amalgam of immorality and puritanism must surely stand as the strongest possible warning to be careful what you wish for.

The Great Silencing

What is it with Twitter? As a forum for public speech – which it purports to be – it’s inadequate, when you think about it. Anyone worth their salt gets suspended eventually and staff have been covertly filmed gleefully discussing their tactics for crushing dissent, or wrongthink, which, along with Hate Speech, must stand as a concept scary enough to have the ghost of George Orwell saying “told you so.”

I have a personal axe to grind here, because I have now been ‘permanently suspended’ for the third time: most recently for publishing an article entitled A Class Act, which had Momentum fascists out in hysterical force.

Previous ‘offences’ included responding to an American who believed she was ‘resistance’ with pictures of French Maquis women being hanged by Gestapo, and Gulag prisoners being beaten. I make no apology for this: it’s time doughnut-munching fantasists learned the difference between ‘whining because they didn’t get their own way’ and ‘opposing the might of a monstrous tyranny’.

The banning before that occurred as a result of the humour bypass suffered by the Twitterati, when a group of fellow free-thinkers declared our sexual identities for that particular day, and I just happened to have chosen to identify as a pork chop between the hours of 7am and 2.30pm, which received much support from a group of sistahs who declared they would don ‘fanny hats’ as a gesture of solidarity. The hashtag ‘fannies out for the pork’ was rather popular with we naughty rebels, but caused wailing and gnashing of teeth among some who evidently hate pork or fannies or both.

It used to be that, when suspended, a profile showed as such, but now – like the widdly-knickered playground cry-baby trying to stir up trouble between the more popular kids before running away to hide in the toilets – the Twitter Shut-ins show individual followers as having been ‘blocked’ by the suspended account.

I believe there is a reason for the fear of dissent suffered by the IT Crowd, which goes beyond the desire for political supremacy and is both simple and tragic: too many of them have never actually had a social life in the true sense of either meeting people and engaging face-to-face, or being truly alone (in which case, they would come face to face with themselves.)

These are of a generation who, from the start, have communicated via apps, and for whom everyone – including themselves – is an avatar. They are not prepared for beings who don’t respond to the click of a key and they are outraged and terrified by any living creature which they can’t control.

They are, in short, social and emotional inadequates whose natural habitat is their Mum’s back bedroom, but who, like pallid pod-people in some fictional dystopia, have been given power far beyond their capabilities. For the time being, the freaks have inherited the Earth.

Thanks to those who have all the symptoms of what is recognised as personality disorder, people are actually being tried and imprisoned for speaking. Not rioting, or arson, just for saying things which a variety of saddos disagree with.

Just wrap your head around this, and – if you are over 45 and remember what it is we found most repulsive about the Communist regimes – reflect that in many respects that is what we are nearing now: too many fully accept that ‘someone’ should monitor the expression of ideas.

This fear of being punished for simply being who we are, has devastating results: after the collapse of Communism, the Czechs, for example, were widely found to register on psychological tests as being clinically paranoid.

Writers have always been the bête noir of oppressors. The first president of free Czechoslovakia, playwright Vaclav Havel, had been forbidden to write, and forced to work as a municipal gardener. Writers from Solzhenitsyn to Voltaire have suffered persecution for spreading ideas. Ideas, as Stalin admitted, are more dangerous than bullets. But we are all writers now: each time you post a Tweet which offends the Shut-ins, you join that proud company who have ensured what rights we have remaining. And we scare the hell out of those who prefer the Silence.

There is no debate over this: free is free, without qualification. Not ‘free as long as you approve.’ Too many quietly acquiesce with the Silence because of the pay-off when they happen to disagree with the ideas which are suppressed. You may not, for example, like Britain First, but that is irrelevant: on principle, you should defend their right to say what they like, where and when they like.

In Peter Pan, J. M. Barrie wrote that, each time a child denied belief in fairies, a fairy dies. Well, each time you collude in the Silence, you murder your own right to expression.

The crushing of free-speech is now so frenzied that it is destroying those who would previously have been Left Wing darlings. I just watched a documentary on the worst jobs in history, starring Tony Robinson, who is possibly the very definition of a ‘90s-style Left Wing Luvvie: he would now be pilloried for his open declaration of revulsion at the idea of dressing in drag.

All tyrannies manage to convince some that their tyranny is justified, and this particular bunch firmly believe they hold the moral high-ground. But the gold-standard of Human Rights is that there are as many opinions as there are people, and all must – not should, but must – be allowed to speak their truth.

The Shut-ins don’t study history in any meaningful sense – that would involve images which would make them swoon – but if they did, they might consider how closely they resemble the Puritans of the 17th century in their attempt at absolute social and spiritual control. These misery-merchants were swept away by the ‘pretty, witty King whose word no man relies on’ with his entourage of expensive mistresses and his dubious religious affiliations, in a glorious Restoration swiftly followed by an outbreak of licentiousness, exposed cleavages and outrageous wigs – anything, just anything, rather than the draconian joylessness of the previous regime.

Article Nineteen of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights reads:

Everyone has the right to freedom of opinion and expression; this right includes freedom to hold opinions without interference and to seek, receive and impart information and ideas through any media and regardless of frontiers.

As with every one of the Thirty Articles, those who offend against it are recognised as guilty of a Crime Against Humanity – no matter how many new ‘offences’ they concoct to legitimise their own criminality.

All offenders are caught and punished eventually, so my question is, how long do the Social Media Shut-ins think they can get away with their attempted Silence, bearing in mind that each suspended account will stand as an indictment at their inevitable prosecution?

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