Mule Britannia

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Question: How does a card-carrying Marxist and strident anti-monarchist become an overnight enthusiast of the British royal family? The answer is embodied by washed-up British demagogue and closeted Muslim George Galloway, whose newfound interest ^[2] in the conjugal affairs of Buckingham Palace came about because of Meghan Markle’s racial makeup. Mixed-race romanticism has come a long way in the UK, and it’s now a phenomenon far deeper than just the contortionist genuflections of white knights before Nubian nuptials.

In theater and cinema – where all fairy-tales come to life – diversity is being peppered in at unprecedented levels, with peculiar focus on casting colored people in the roles of white historical figures. The concept of the “black Viking” once referred to in jest is now a casting-couch formality for major production houses. It’s certainly no coincidence that in the Thor blockbusters, none other than Idris Elba was thought optimal for the role of Heimdall (known in Norse mythology as the whitest of all the gods). Or take the BBC television series Merlin, for which no better candidate than Guyanese-English actress Angel Coulby could be found for the lead role of Guinevere (whose Welsh etymology, Gwenhwyfar, means fair or white enchantress). Dare we anticipate a body-positive Rastapunzel to grace the silver screen next?

Color-blind casting stopped being progressive somewhere around the turn of the century, and in its place “color-conscious” policies became the norm – prefaced of course by Marxian platitudes about the need to be inclusive and represent the changing face of Britain. In reality, color-conscious casting is a vindictive act of domination and humiliation. This is how the establishment trolls: in the real world and right in your face. Of course, execs would never dare engage in race-bending for any significant non-white historical figure, like Martin Luther King, Gandhi, or Confucius, and yet the BBC pretends ^[3] that “whitewashing” in Hollywood is the greater problem.

Luckily, the BBC has no connections to Hollywood at all, and so commission their social justice surgeons to perform a “race lift” on almost all of their productions of European epics and historical reenactments. This year’s blockbuster miniseries, Troy: Fall of a City ^[4], is set in the thirteenth century BC, but producers dunked Ghanaian-Briton David Gyasi into Troy’s melting pot as Achilles anyway, while Nigerian-born Hakeem Kae-Kazim was anointed for the role of King of the Gods, Zeus, in what is a long-running tradition of blacks portraying oracles of infinite wisdom (cf. Morgan Freeman, Lawrence Fishburne).

Nothing is sacred any more – and that includes the memory of fifteenth-century martyr and saint Joan of Arc, whose latest incarnation on Broadway features black American Condola Rashad ^[5] in the lead role. Over in France, protesters ^[6] are certainly aware of the lineage and legacy of Joan of Arc; her statue in Paris was recently used as a guilt-totem by the Black African Defense League (a group presumably controlled by the same people behind the Jewish Defense League and the English Defense League). The group blamed “the country of Joan of Arc” for the fact that widespread slavery has returned to Libya, though why these “Black African Defenders” are stationed in France to begin with remains a mystery.

Another of Heritage France’s archaic figures to have his image charred is pre-Christian gladiator Oenomaus, portrayed in the Spartacus franchise by Ghana-born actor Peter Mensah (no relation to the high-IQ society). The actor also starred as a Persian messenger in the 300 film series. Giving Roman Gaul or Zoroastrian Persia an interracial panache has never been so much fun, though it’s certainly no longer about “breaking barriers” as much as it is doubling down – no matter how many thumbs down are given.

The upcoming 2018 Robin Hood remake ^[7] will feature the sassy Jamie Foxx as Little John, apparently because scriptwriters have turned Robin’s right-hand man into a Moorish commander (not black, but at least from the same continent). This comes after a BBC version ^[8] of Robin Hood reinvented the pallid and rotund monk Friar Tuck into a black martial arts supremo. Because for liberals, robbing from the culturally rich and giving to the culturally poor in the name of inclusivity is a perfunctory gesture, and the comical character upgrades add some stimulating flair to their normievision experience.

For decades, blacks have demonstrated an indecorous readiness to take these handouts, being underprivileged in heritage and history as they are. Authentic black history from the homeland is confined to oral incantations of trivial tribal conflicts and animistic parables; their real history begins with the arrival of white and Semitic civilization, which understandably skews their storied inheritance toward one of inequity and tragedy. As a result, many turn to surrogate histories that are deeper and more affirmative, no matter how untrue. Take the Black Israelites, Black Athena movement, or Wakanda. But affirmation is increasingly turning into aggression, as blacks and their allies give white male statues ^[9] and paintings ^[10] their eviction notice, while LARPing power fantasies as Founding Fathers in the hip-hop musical Hamilton ^[11].

With the Kultursraum thoroughly permeated by diversity politics and miscegenation fetishism, more formal institutions for social engineering are pushing a rather subversive program of empirical distortion and slick propaganda. Universities are replete with activist scientists, because most dissident scientists standing on the wrong platform don’t get to board the tenure and grants gravy trains. Take this year’s “Cheddar Man” saga: politically motivated agitprop if ever there was. The transracial mugshot spread like wildfire in the mass media, while the scientific back-peddling ^[12] that followed rolled in like tumbleweed. The claims were total conjecture due to key genetic loci missing from the data, but the project’s carefully managed fermentation succeeded in its ulterior purpose of yet more undermining of British identity and furthering the idea that whites are not indigenous to anywhere. The caliber of scientists involved was telling from their incendiary rhetoric. Archaeologist Tom Booth spoke ^[13] of “a lot of disappointed white supremacists” and “imaginary racial categories.” Marxist biologist Yoan Diekmann denied ^[14] the connection between Britishness and whiteness as “not an immutable truth. It has always changed and will change.” Politically correct ^[15] Harvard geneticist David Reich was also involved (and is the third Reich in his family to infuse ^[16] strong Jewish consciousness into his vocation).

The broadcaster of the Cheddar Man special, Channel 4, also aired a documentary ^[17] in 2009 entitled Is it Better to be Mixed Race? in which it was argued that hybridized people were superior due to hybrid vigor. The presenter – who called monoracial people “inbred” – was a geneticist of Indian ancestry, though had a half-white child who, funnily enough, had reservations about the benefit of being mixed. The documentary was inspired by the world’s leading miscegenation advocate, Alon Ziv (another Jewish-American), author ^[18] of Breeding Between the Lines: Why Interracial People Are Healthier and More Attractive. Should public television in Britain ever wish to explore an alternative to the diversity-superiority proposition, they may wish to consult Dr. Andrew Joyce’s clinical overview ^[19] of the deleterious trade-offs and limitations, such as the obvious unsustainability of miscegenation.

Just how many people are falling for the junk science and historical revisionism cannot be known, but it’s only likely to grow in appeal for the rapidly increasing mixed-race population and migrant communities, some of whom have cognitive dissonance about their role in Britain’s changing face. Meanwhile, white children too are being fed blackwashed visions of Britain’s history, thanks once more to the BBC, as well as the overhauled ^[20] school syllabus. This isn’t just changing the fabric of society, it’s excavating the bedrock, and every tool of propaganda will be harnessed, be it Cheddar Man today or Parmesan Boy tomorrow.

The strong suit of the “diversity” lobby is still, without question, professional sports. This adrenaline siphon and tribal-instinct proxy for the masses manages to endear the most immodest of aliens – for no reason other than they wear the right colors (for the right price). Sport and politics should not be mixed – unless of course it is to promote diversity, immigration, and globalism – which is exactly what happened during the recent World Cup. It’s rather predictable from journalists with names such as Sunder Katwala ^[22] or Ed Aarons ^[23], but not so much from Gareth Southgate, the coach for England, who felt obliged to signal ^[24] his team’s diversity in representing modern England. It’s not clear how diversity affects Southgate’s on-field tactical management (does the 4-5-1 change to a 9-1-1?), but one thing that is known about the team’s cohesion is that the same players as juniors in 2015 failed the lunchroom test ^[25].

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The only other team to eclipse England’s silhouettes in the multicultural limelight was the team representing France, and with a record diversity quotient of 0.78 it’s no wonder Les Bleus were fêted on queue by Manhattan-based Vox ^[27], London’s New Statesman ^[28], and The Washington Post ^[29]. These days, France’s players no longer look like Gauls, as one former American president said to a chorus of laughter ^[30].

Every great sporting event needs a triumph-against-adversity fairy-tale, so with the global press determined to ignore the success of small and homogeneous Croatia, it was the same old yarn about the boys from the banlieues overcoming racism and poverty (in that order) for the glory of liberté, égalité, fraternité. Most people recognize this to be a total charade, since the country’s urban rioting, crime, and ethnic animus failed to go on strike (not even for the duration of the World Cup). In reality, most of the “boys from banlieues” sponsored through prestigious soccer academies actually elect to play for other countries, because their understanding of fraternité is somewhat different from liberal phantasma. As France-born Cameroonian star Benoit Assou-Ekotto confessed ^[31], “I have no feeling for the France national team; it just doesn’t exist.”

For loyalists, though, there isn’t really a resolution to their lachrymose backstories, either. They may have enriched themselves, but the banlieues live on. They’re not known for giving back to the community, but then again there may not be much they can do to change things, anyway. Resource management and moderation appears not to have adequately infused into all corners of the Francophone world. The Senegal-born former captain of the French squad, Patrice Evra, alleges ^[32] that he is forced to play well past the age of retirement in order to support his twenty-four siblings – though with the millions he is earning at Manchester United and Juventus, he should probably have been able to budget for the brood by now.

True devotees of the world game and anyone to the right of soulless globalism were only ever going to see virtue in one team’s triumph at the World Cup – Croatia – the sole nation-state that had a chance of winning and whose victory would have been a genuine triumph of the underdogs. To put things in perspective, there are twice as many people of African descent in France as there are Croats in Croatia. Resisting the “free trade” of human capital seems all the more honorable for a country whose population has shrunk every year since independence in 1991. It is unique teams like Croatia, Iceland, and Japan that provide contrast and meaningfulness to international manifestations. If teams are themselves inter-national, be it the Colonial All-Stars of Franzania or other Euro-hodgepodge, it can only encourage a futile race to the bottom.

Under the circumstances, there was no graceful way that France could win the World Cup. And yet the final managed to coat their immoral victory with just a little more tar. France’s first goal was practically stolen by greasy-feet Antoine Griezmann, who took a dive in a shameless act on par with the spitting ^[33] and sideline urination ^[34] of vibrant characters from tournaments passed. Either incompetence or corruption from the referee gifted France their second goal as well, bestowing the lead to the side that was inferior for the natural course of the game. Salty grapes, you might say, but pundits were in solid agreement about the travesty, Peter Schmeichel ^[35] to ESPN ^[36].

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In the 1990s, a somewhat terse Russian official was quoted ^[38] as saying that in twenty years’ time, France would become “a colony of its former colonies.” Ironically, that same official had to hand the World Cup trophy to the French team in Moscow – such are the duties when you become President of Russia. France may as well revel in undue euphoria and brandish their gold for now, because in another twenty years, the trophy could well be pawned in for riyals or smelted for grillz. The country cannot even celebrate in a civilized manner: 292 people were arrested, 2 were killed ^[39], and others simply engaged in some smash-and-grab retail therapy ^[40].

Imperial rump states like France and the UK have become such dire advertisements for colonial-blowback and simmering discord that defining moments on the world stage have come to be characterized ^[41] as bringing “relief” rather than ecstasy. Everyone from the police to the lunch-lady have to walk on eggshells lest prison riots or another round of London riots resume over some drug dealer-of-color ^[42] who is shot.

State propaganda will continue to stream diversity soapies and symphonies for all the open-minded naiveté that’s left to be harvested from whites – but for minorities, appeasement really isn’t necessary at this point. They are not here for a seat at the round table; nor to partake in the curation of English folklore, Norse mythology, or French cuisine; nor to rally around a communal soccer trophy (though they are ready to take a trophy wife or two). Mosques are springing up all over Western Europe, now even brazenly named ^[43] for the invaders who previously failed to conquer the continent.

Such is the gruesome Faustian fulfillment of Western multiculturalism and multitolerantism. There is no multi anything in the long run; just absorption or replacement. The enfeeblement of Europeans’ pedigree and their civilization follow like a horse and carriage, and once complete, all that will remain of European man is a mule-like economic unit. A hardy but docile beast-of-burden – sterile, if not denatured – and toiling for the excesses of hostile foreign masters.