I’ve lived in the same relatively unremarkable suburb my whole life. I’ll be referring to this town as “Smallville” in the discussion that follows as a mere placeholder to guard my immediate privacy to some extent.
Born in the hospital of a neighboring suburb to the north of my hometown, I was ushered home by my parents to Smallville, where I grew up. Located in the proverbial flyover country of the Midwest and nestled between more sprawling, affluent, and generally noteworthy neighbors, it is a town easily forgotten and ignored — passed over. Notwithstanding its humble standing in comparison to its more well-to-do neighbors, it has been my home for my entire short life.
I had my own fair share of friends in town throughout my childhood, and there have been plenty of friends and acquaintances of the family who were embedded in the community in their various ways as well: a landlord, a mayor, a public works employee, a carpenter, and a local bar owner, among others over the years. Some of these relationships soured while some continue on, strong and lean, to this day.
My own journey through the public school system started at the town’s local elementary school, and then continued up through the cutting-edge middle school building, which was newly constructed at the time. It finally ended at the area’s distinguished high school, which our town shares with one of the wealthier neighboring suburbs. As expected by my family, I was then sent off to one of the local in-state universities to receive my so-called education, along with the hoped-for improvement of my future economic prospects. The details of such an education and all the lovely peculiarities which were and still are taught at that place and many more in the West can be passed over, as that particular worldview and its various falsehoods have been pored over many times before in dissident circles.
After receiving my degree, I returned once again to humble little Smallville, where I currently reside with family that remains here. At the moment of composition, I have that common misfortune of becoming just another weekday commuter — another one of those replaceable desk-jockeys at your favorite multinational mega-corporation that you’ve probably never heard of. Thus, I grew up in Smallville and here I remain.
But some disturbances of late seem to have been rattling our lovely little enclave, and the creeping rot of the age has insinuated itself into the fabric even of our quaint little town. Indeed, along with the rest of that creeping sickness seeping throughout the West, that omnipresent “Great Replacement” has arrived even in little, unassuming Smallville. Across the white picket fence, your new favorite caramel-colored neighbor will be moving in soon!
As an initial caveat, I must admit that, due to my younger age, I may perhaps lack perspective on Smallville’s unremarkable, though fairly long, history, and thereby be misconstruing some of the changes working their way through town as I write. As to the magnitude of the local changes I’ve observed, I have only your generous confidence as a dissident-inclined reader to count on, as well as my grumpy old man’s agreement. Seeing as how my father has been living here for some decades now, his judgment that the changes are novel and pervasive (to say nothing of their undesirability) is some of the best confirmation I can provide that these insidious developments are in fact truly new and that they have come about only within the past decade.
Like many suburbs, our town has its fair share of local advertising and branding via the handful of public communications it regularly maintains (e.g. papers, press releases, logos, websites, etc.). One such branding effort pertains to those light-pole banners you so often see near sporting venues, college campuses, or on the main street of an American suburb. Last summer, our town decided to put up new banners which depicted a sea of cartoon faces against a cheery blue-and-green backdrop. Showcasing great variety, it was your stereotypical pluralistic depiction of a multiracial society where all manner of citizens of the world are living in harmony in our cozy suburb. Now, I can assure you that I’ve never seen a single turban in this town, or even half of the sorts of eccentrically-adorned people portrayed on that banner! But boy, if you had set eyes upon one of those banners, our town sure seemed diverse. I would have taken a picture of one of them but they were taken down with the onset of winter to be replaced by more seasonal decorations, and have not returned since. Perhaps with spring upon us, they will be trotted out yet again to remind the citizenry of the expected future to come.
Colorful depictions aside, I would like to at least ground us in reality before I discuss other factors associated with my town. I glanced over our US census data from 2000 to 2020 and crunched some numbers regarding race as it relates to the total population to give a general overview of the actual demographic changes ongoing. To establish a standard: It is a small town of less than 20,000 people, and the total population itself has remained largely stable over the past three decades. The changes in the population total have amounted to (at most) roughly a 10% fluctuation in the total population level, with no significant increase or decrease. If anything, the population’s racial ratios is what has changed significantly. What we find is not a replacement as severe and demoralizing as the casual observer would be led to believe by our town’s publicity messaging, yet it is undeniable that the white share of the population is rapidly decreasing. This is good news for the Hispanics, as their share is rising rapidly. I like tacos, burritos, carnitas, and so forth as much as the next “whitebread” American suburbanite, but the rapid shift within two decades gives cause for concern if you care about the continued existence of the European peoples in Smallville.
The glimmering mulatto images of our brave new caramel-colored future do not stop with a simple street banner or concerning data points, however. It is merely the beginning of a warm welcome for such a sweeping replacement. This phenomenon is visible throughout Smallville’s local publications, so all are made fully aware of the apparent inevitability of such a future.
You might think the local library — formerly a favorite place of mine — might be relaxing, but you can’t get too comfortable there nowadays. We can take a look at the quarterly leaflet that the local library sends out to publicize events they are hosting, and what do we find on the very first page? Why, a message in Spanish, along with advertisements for English as a second language classes on the second page. The local Hispanic population is rising, after all, and you have to know who to cater to.
In the spring quarterly which recently arrived in the mail, the Spanish offerings were listed front and center on the cover! As of 2020, with only a generous rounding up of 25% of the town’s total population, the Hispanics nevertheless seem to be receiving quite the VIP treatment lately. But if you’re feeling a little stressed as a result, don’t worry, as we the library is hosting spiritual programs to alleviate the pangs of replacement awareness. An outreach advertisement for the local churches? Some form of Christianity? A least a bit of paganism, perhaps? Some measure of the spiritual teachings of your European forebears? Nope, sorry, only a crash course on crystal and stone healing.
Jokes aside, unfortunately I did not save the earlier issues from our library, which included such wonderful programs focusing on subjects such as Hispanic Art, Black Literature, and other such offerings of nominally culturally-enriching experiences. Each installment is always sure to surprise with new plugs for diverse (non-white) writers and readers, to the implied embarrassment of white readers who, it can only be surmised, ought to feel humbled and chastised in the presence of such fabulous caramel-colored folk frequenting our humble town in ever greater numbers. It is also typical that such subversive material courtesy of the library is distributed using non-profit funds.
Given the state of our local library’s flyers, you would be correct in assuming that the institution itself is no longer going in the right direction — veering left, far off into an eager self-effacing haze of delusion. These days I can only stomach stopping in briefly to pick up books that I have sent there on occasion via a local book-sharing program. Quite similar to what others have described as the degeneration of their own local libraries, the situation is rapidly devolving: The psychotic pink-and-purple haired pixies who I had the misfortune to be acquainted with via the public university system have apparently followed me back to Smallville, and now it is these mediocre dregs who have the run of the roost at our local library. If the library’s flyer is to be believed, it would seem the only thing left to do is to wait for all of the old, outmoded white folk of the town to be replaced by their more diverse counterparts, and then the situation will soon travel down a well-known path. No longer will nice, elderly white people come in to read the newspaper, or respectful white children come in to work on school projects; rather a new, more diverse crowd will strut in to occupy the public library, bringing who knows what sorts of alternative behaviors to what ought to be a hallowed place of learning.
Seeing as how the library is likely not to your taste on account of all of the above, before you get any ideas about blowing off some steam at the local park district fitness facility, I’ll save you the trouble and share some of the advertising for our local community programs being hosted there. I imagine it will make you think twice:
This sort of image gracing one of the offered program’s fliers makes you wonder why the dopey white fellow is even there in the first place. The father? Good heavens! The stepfather? I’m not sure which is worse! Or perhaps the self-effacing family manservant? Perhaps in the latter case, we might see some guilt-ridden white folks offer themselves up for indentured servitude in the near future to make up for the supposedly ineradicable sin of American slavery.
But the pernicious messaging does not stop there. My beloved Smallville also sends a monthly newsletter around which contains local municipal announcements, news bites, and seasonal alerts, among other notices. The Mayor also has his own column in it. Coincidentally, this month he had the kind thought to share a Facebook post he encountered, which contained the following passage:
The single biggest thing I learned was from an indigenous elder of Cherokee descent, Stan Rushworth, who reminded me of the difference between a Western settler mindset of “I have rights” and an indigenous mindset of “I have obligations.” Instead of thinking I am born with rights, I choose to think that I am born with obligations to serve past, present, and future generations, and the planet herself.
In the banal discussion that follows, our Mayor at least has the common decency not to entirely condemn the Western notion of “rights” out of hand, but his waffling indecision can only be regarded as that of the morally bereft appeaser type who cannot be counted on to stem the tide of replacement moving in next door, nor to put a stop to the borderline enthusiastic propagandizing of such replacement in our local publications. And for all that, the messaging about who ought to take a seat and reevaluate their perspective is clear within the context of the quote: our caramel-colored friends will be seated on the bench for this trial.
Apart from the Mayor’s column, there is also the obligatory “Black History Month” piece for the month of February, and of course the town hall and local museum will be displaying exhibits dedicated to regional black history as it relates to Smallville. We also find yet another plug for the town’s newly-arrived: the Inclusion, Diversity, Equity, and Awareness Commission. (It was established relatively recently, in 2020.) They are still looking for volunteers at this time, although I’m sure that many will show up in the next decade or so to fill it out if the current demographic trends continue in my quaint little suburb, and if those wily border-crossers from the South keep receiving one-way tickets into the heartland, as has been occurring of late. And we all know who stands to gain by furthering inclusivity, diversity, and equity, and who is made to bear the consequences of such values.
But the publicizing of this replacement goes on and on in this town far beyond its official publications and the local administrators’ branding efforts. There are many other symptoms of the transformation in progress as the carpet is being rolled out for the new guests who will soon be taking up residence permanently. They can all be spotted if you only have the eye for it: When that career criminal-turned-saint overdosed in the summer of 2020, we had our own little merry band of protestors over by the town’s post office. A new overpriced and gaudy townhome development also finished going up last year; located near one of the major roads running through town, it is optimally positioned for any uprooted South Asian immigrants who want to make the commute to the nearby tech hub suburb, and also convenient for any migratory Hispanic laborers who feel inclined to work at the local Amazon warehousing complex that sprung up some years ago. More often of late, trashed furniture, household goods, and dead plants have been dumped on the sides of another main road through town. Like a bad skin condition, graffiti has been spreading over our bridges more often than before. I’ve even begun to spot the odd racially-mixed couple here and there. The groundwork has been laid most assiduously, and so the slow-burning revolution no one is allowed to mention continues to simmer beneath the surface.
I could go on detailing the various manifestations of these ongoing changes — or more accurately, the final preparations for the eventual replacement of the white working-class foundation which has traditionally composed the bulk of Smallville’s population throughout its long and uneventful history –, but it is not necessary. I might once again remind you, dear reader: As of the 2020 census, whites alone still consisted of more than 60% of the town’s population. Despite that unassailable reality, the messaging is clear, the table has been set, and all the preparations are complete for the welcoming party for the new master of the house. As far as the town’s broadcasted public image is concerned, it is as if the white population no longer exists.
Based both upon the conversations I’ve had with a handful of disgruntled longtime residents ,and on account of the ceaseless messaging of the sycophantic white masochists who hold a monopoly over the local public sector, for now I can only say that the town seems to be merely biding its time. Whether one is for or against this sinister affair, in eager anticipation or demoralized resignation, everyone is merely waiting for the swarthy guest of honor to swagger on in, kick his feet up, and settle down. That lovely old matron on your block — ailing old Mrs. Smith, who will be going to the retirement home! — will soon be replaced by a new caramel-colored neighbor and, if the messaging is to be believed, you’ll be expected to make sure he feels right at home.
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 To give you an approximate idea of the character of our town’s “leaders,” I’d like to make a couple of remarks regarding our current mayor. First, I recall a lovely anecdote from his columns about how he saw a colored gentleman with his son visiting Smallville, and how this spurred the thought that the town would be vastly improved if people of that sort felt encouraged to move to our little suburb — the implication being that there is something innately wrong with our town as it is. And second, for a little fun gossip: the word on the street from a former city employee is that even our esteemed Mayor’s own father dislikes him. Our Smallville Mayor is a real model citizen, if you couldn’t tell.
 If you punch this quote into an Internet search engine, the anecdote appears to have originally come from one Dahr Jamail, a Lebanese-American, although its origins do not seem certain. In any case, if true we have yet another typical instance of non-Europeans pronouncing judgement on those of European descent.
 I’d be remiss if I failed to mention that said esteemed post office is, as is appropriate for any government building, dedicated to a soldier of African-American descent who died fighting in one of the money changers’ many recent wars in the Middle East. There is even a little shrine of dedication located inside.
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