Why I Write

1,639 words

I write because the future is not what it used to be.

I know, because I have lived in it. My parents had overseas jobs during the 1970s and early 80s, and, consequently, I spent part of my childhood and early teenage years in Latin America. Venezuelan schools — at least at the time — taught their students that the country’s population was racially diverse, going from White to Black, with eight shades in between. Schoolbooks stated that these ten shades of skin color — each with a designation and a definition — were the result of intermarriage between three original populations: the native Amerindians, the Spanish Conquistadors, and the Black slaves. The educational narrative was matter-of-fact, but prevailing attitudes on the ground suggested a tacit ordering of social status that loosely correlated to skin pigmentation: whites were at the top, blacks at the bottom. Not surprisingly, whites were wealthy and in positions of authority, while millions of their dark-skinned counterparts were poor and lived in slums. Skin pallor was a valued asset among women. There was no obvious racial hostility in the air, however, beyond the occasional playground taunt: outside the most rarefied of gated communities, racial diversity was ubiquitous in everyday life and accepted as a fact.

Some years ago it became fashionable within the Western media class to use Venezuela’s larger and better-known neighbor, Brazil, as a paradigm for the future. Anything Brazilian was, accordingly, promoted as fun, colorful, sensual, and exotic. The desire to one day “tour South America” became a fashionable memetic consequence among British women. This highly idealized image of multiracialism — the image of the tropical paradise, like Cuba but with more money — however, was wildly at variance with the reality that I had experienced decades before, when conditions there were much better than they are now. It is a clear case of bait and switch: the future that is being prepared for us by our government, academic, and media class is far from paradise.

Living in the future is extremely frustrating: you have to endure frequent power outages and brownouts; the bureaucracy is at a permanent standstill, unless you have friends, relations, or money to grease the necessary palms; your property is constantly at risk of being stolen by burglars, muggers, and pickpockets, unless you keep within gated communities and protect your car and real estate with alarms, bars, cages, armored doors, and combination keys; nothing works as it is supposed to: the infrastructure is grim, out of date, derelict, broken, vandalized, gone, not yet built, or altogether out of the question; your money evaporates in your hands, frequent prey to high inflation and hyperinflation; 90% of your fellow citizens are poor; governments are so inept and so corrupt that a revolution and a spell of military dictatorship — usually Communistic in ideology — is always just around the corner; if you live in a city and there are hills, these are covered by slums and shantytowns; low cunning, scams, shirking, and an ethos of short-term selfish advantage prevail over intelligence, honesty, hard work, and long term benefits; roads are poorly maintained, cracked, potholed, badly illuminated (if at all), and extremely dangerous, particularly at night: cars are often roaring rust-buckets and their drivers more unbelievably selfish, childish, and aggressive than you thought possible; motorists who drive with their windows open are likely to be mugged or to have a water bomb thrown at them while waiting at a traffic light; it is tradition for university students to be attacked on the first day by their older peers with eggs, paint, beatings, and haircuts; military service is always mandatory; industrial labor disputes in lead to intimidation and goons tailing managers on the motorway; and the prevailing attitude anywhere and everywhere is that you are guilty until proven innocent, a liar until proven honest, an idler until proven industrious, and a scam artist until proven a man with real talent and desire to work. The future, in short, is a highly dysfunctional place, where mediocrity has triumphed over excellence, and crushed and suffocated the latter, until its expression either becomes impossible or only lasts a few seconds before it is stolen or vandalized by a human marabunta of smirking idiots, ruthless desperados, and petty criminals. If a nation is as good as its human capital, upon which, ultimately, its institutions, governance, enterprise, morality, and efficiency depend, then, as our demographics converge with those of the Third World, the above is what we can expect to see with increasing frequency, until it becomes the norm.

I do not want that.

Yet, I am persuaded by the evidence — evidence of long-term demographic decline among European-descended peoples; evidence of intellectual fraud in modern academia on issues pertaining to European history and identity; evidence of dishonest reporting in the mass media on issues of race and immigration; evidence of a corrupt political establishment that actively works against the interests of the people whom they were elected to represent; evidence of increasing assertiveness among ethnically-defined groups with aggressive anti-White agendas — I am persuaded by the evidence that convergence with the Third World is what we have heading our way in Europe, North America, and elsewhere.

My observations suggest that the future is so grim that it seems rather silly to worry about being called names today, when the price of avoiding it is perpetual horror tomorrow. Any temporary social discomfort or inconvenience arising from voicing an unconventional opinion today will never be as bad as those that will accrue from keeping the peace — not only because they will be bad, but because they will also be permanent and irreversible.

It could well be the case that full convergence will not be arrived at until after I am gone. But even it takes that long, even if it affects me a lot less than those that will come after me, I would not want to be remembered as a spineless “respectable conservative,” who kept quiet and let it all happen, because he was too scared of being called this, that, or the other by the cowards, the criminals, the imbeciles, and the vicious haters of European man that made the world what it is. Even if we reach the Leftist dystopia — the world of Mister — within my lifetime, I want to be able to say to my children and my grandchildren, that I did everything I could to prevent it. Needless to say, however, that I would rather not have to give them any explanations — that I would rather tell them that we had terrible structural disruptions following World War II, but that we took care of them and everything turned out all right.

It is puzzling to me that so many of my fellow Europeans seem to care so little for their culture and the civilization that their ancestors built over the past few thousand years. Perhaps it is because they take it for granted, because they are ignorant, because they are miseducated, because they are misinformed, because they are so focused on their own petty pursuits to notice what is happening around them, or because European civilization has been powerful for so long that they cannot imagine it collapsing and disappearing. In some cases, it is certainly because they are afraid: afraid of being ostracized, of losing their jobs, or losing their livelihoods — it is easier to pretend that the unpleasant realities they notice or otherwise hear about, that the apocalyptic scenarios prophesied by the likes of us, are but paranoid delusions dreamed up by a fringe clique of freaks, weirdos, rejects, Hitler fetishists, and nasty psychopaths — and that we are all equal, and that humans of any description, given equal amounts of food and opportunity, can produce the philosophy, the music, the science, the literature, and all the rest, to the same degree and with the same frequency that we have.

It is puzzling to me, because it seems rather obvious to nearly everyone else on Earth that European man has created an enormously attractive civilization. They value what we have more than many Europeans do. That is why immigrants would rather die among us than return home, as has so eloquently been made clear by the millions who risk their lives, and put up with any humiliation, every year, in order to reach our shores and have a piece of the European El Dorado — here in Europe, in North America, in Australia, and in New Zealand. They probably cannot believe their ears when they hear our politicians, our academics, our media people, and our liberals, extol the virtues of multiculturalism. They probably cannot believe their luck, and at the same time they cannot believe how stupid we are, to give it all away so freely and so easily, even to the point of attacking, persecuting, prosecuting, fining, and imprisoning the very few who openly object.

Like many of my coevals, I have found myself living in a sick world. Yet it is easy to see that there is an etiology and a point of infection, and that, for the moment, although the infection is far advanced, it can still be successfully treated: the pathogens — liberal utopians, corrupt careerists, ethnic radicals — are known and localized, and, while finding the cure may require research and an investment of time, nerve, and effort, said cure is within reach of intelligent minds. I may not be able to restore health to the European organism on my own, but as nature has been generous with me, I feel it is my civic duty to actively contribute to this effort. It is my hope that through my creative energy I may be able to leave the world a little better than I found it.

This is why I write.