[Credit for this piece goes to Mojo, without whose astute observations I would not have been inspired to write these words.]
I don’t know about you, but for a number of years now, there has been an aching, inconsolable grief that has plagued me during my waking hours and no doubt as frequently, my unconscious ones as well. I am not talking about my faithful companion, the “Black dog”, with whom I am well acquainted, but something far more visceral, a permanent pain that seems to emanate from the deepest marrow of my bones. It is more than a weariness, colder than anger, heavier than guilt. It is an irreconcilable load, a mass that weighs me down almost to the point that I cannot breathe, yet one I cannot discard or dispense with. For my burden is a simple one. I love my country, but my country is teetering on the edge of the abyss, yet there is very little of consequence that I can do about it. For she broke my heart years ago, and the pain I currently feel is just the rubble of countless broken promises grating on an open wound with the hellish repetition of Sisyphus and his boulder.
Dramatic and emotive words, and in these dark days, probably sufficient evidence for me to be to be labelled as a domestic terrorist. Yes, a six foot, myopic, one hundred and twenty pound, disabled man can easily be placed in the taxonomic category of “A danger to society”, merely on the basis of his thoughts, writings and patriotism. For I have no criminal convictions, nor have I propensity to violence. If anything, I am probably guilty of forgiving far too quickly and easily, for I truly believe in the old maxim of treating others as you would wish to be treated. Old fashioned and rather quaint, but that is the way I am. However, being old fashioned, I also subscribe to another maxim that will indeed put the fear of God into my enemies, that the pen is mightier than the sword. For some unknown reason, I have been given the gift of being able to place words on paper in such a way that reaches people. Part of that gift, I believe, is having been round the block more than a few times, I see things in a way many are unable to. I have lived in luxury, I have lived in squalor. I have encountered some of the kindest, talented and most genuine people on my travels (a number of Jews and a couple of Labour politicians in that camp), and some of the most venal, cruel and wicked individuals (a number of top tier university graduates, great unwashed and “Respectable” people in that one). Black, white, yellow, gay, straight, rich, poor, atheist or believer, if you are willing to take me as you find me, I will bestow you the same honour. As far as I am concerned, it is all about character and ideals that makes the person, irrespective of cultural norms. But enough about me. I want to talk about us.
It is clear that many, many people are deeply troubled about where we stand as a nation, if indeed we can truthfully be called that any more. Countless years of division, subterfuge and Balkanisation have taken their astringent toll. Generations ago, the lines were drawn around class, with a smattering of “Have” and “Have nots” thrown in for good measure. It was taken for granted that if you worked hard, played a straight bat, paid your dues, you could look forward to a quiet but unassuming retirement. Those were the halcyon days when people could be themselves, and apart from some tutting, raised eyebrows, or possible social exclusion when the line was crossed, say things as they truly were. While it was considered inappropriate to discuss politics, religion or financial matters in polite company, amongst family, friends, colleagues and down the local pub, such topics were freely debated and discussed. Everybody knew their place, and there was an unwritten gentleman’s agreement that decency would not only be respected, but honoured. Short term gain was sacrificed for long term benefit, and with few exceptions, this social contract was more or less adhered to. There was a level of national pride, and while we no longer had an Empire, we at least still had the Commonwealth. Church and State functioned as they should in a free democratic society, conservative enough to reign in any exuberant excesses that liberalism and choice would ultimately bring. The see-saw of freedom and responsibility might swing back and forth, but ultimately we were free to roam unfettered in playground.
All of this is no more. I could write a book on the causes, the reasons, the techniques used to deliver us to this treacherous point, and indeed many have. To go back over old ground is both pointless and a seductive trap. I have already written over eight hundred words, and I still haven’t addressed the key point I wish to make and it is a simple one, albeit with profound and complex outcomes. What are we going to do about this mess? More profoundly, what hill are we personally willing to climb and potentially die on if we are to stop this deluge of insanity? Anarchists removing statues with the full permission of our establishment, our policeman and politicians effectively praying to a dead American whilst the Archbishop of Canterbury demands that we repent of our racism? With civic leaders like these, it is no wonder I suffer clinical depression, but I will firmly push such thoughts aside on the basis that such knowledge would probably just encourage the bastards more. As to the Archbishop, he might be a genuinely nice man, but he is spiritually totally out of his tree. The Anglican church can barely make sense of the bible, after all it seems not to understand half the instructions and commandments written in it, never mind the dire and complex threat posed by the political ideology of Islam. Lecturing the British public on racism just shows how completely and utterly out of touch he is with reality. The only part of high church I witness here is either Lysergic acid diethylamide, cocaine, or cannabis.
It is time for action, and that action cannot be merely as individuals. The first step in this process is identifying who we can trust, and who we cannot. I would suggest that we don’t immediately dismiss people because of our preconceived biases, sometimes the most powerful allies will come from the most surprising camps. Part of this process is being ourselves, breaking free of the shackles that generations of political correctness has forced us into. At the same time, we must be wise and not trigger the invisible trip wires of hate speech, especially until we know exactly where the other party is really coming from. People love talking about themselves, if you can get them to open up, you will often discover clues as to where their loyalties lie. What is essential is to restore community, communication, congregation, even if it is only with a handful of like-minded people. That way, people will not be as isolated and realise that others also share the same concerns and they are not insane. There is nothing as soul destroying thinking you are a madman in a sane universe, when in fact, the opposite is the truth. Beware though the agent provocateur and the fifth columnist. These traitorous individuals are frequently planted in any embryonic political or activist group.
The next step is the most difficult and painful one. It is deciding how far your conscience will allow you to go. We are at that critical stage that anyone demonstrating resistance to what is going on, will personally pay a high price for their “Rebellion”. While I am happy to pay this, it is crucial we pick the right hill upon which we wish to fight and potentially die. Timing, as always, will be crucial. It is important that you think long and hard about this, and make your decision long before you are confronted with the choice in real life. That way, you can face the opposition with a calm, clear head, without rancour or emotion, having rationally made your decision beforehand. Such factors as your family circumstances, you health, your financial position will all play a role in this. For instance, I have not attended any meetings supporting Tommy Robinson, for a number of reasons. Firstly, if it all kicked off with Antifa, I wouldn’t come out of it too well and I would not want to be a burden as a potential casualty on our side, and secondly, all of these meetings will be highly monitored by the intelligence services and I’d rather keep below their radar if at all possible. I have enough political enemies as it is. The same goes for not purchasing a TV licence. For some that is appropriate, but again my take is the fewer red flags you wave at the government the less chance they will see you coming. No point in giving the opposition ammunition. A friend of mine, who ironically holds government security clearance, has taken the opposite approach, and I’m waiting for the shoe to drop at his next positive vetting interview. For the time being, I’ve decided targeted, non-violent resistance (civil disobedience) is appropriate, insofar as I will refuse any mandatory vaccinations or identity chipping should this become law in the UK. I can’t see me escaping any penalty for this, and depending on how they frame the legislation, this could lead to fines, prison or possibly detention in a secure unit. My body doesn’t belong to the government, and I am quite happy to spend the rest of my days in isolation if need be, if they think I am such a risk to others. That is my red line, and if they don’t like it and want to spend £35K a year of taxpayers money housing me, keeping me warm and fed in a category C prison, I’ll be a lot better off than some pensioners. I still haven’t made my mind up if I would go on hunger strike or not, I believe they can still force feed prisoners, so I will need to think long and hard about this. All of this, naturally, has been discussed at length with my better half. No doubt, if and when the time comes, much persuasion will be rolled out to try and make me change my mind. That will be the most difficult part, resisting the pleas of my loved ones. I haven’t settled that one either.
Personally, I don’t advocate violence, although I can see why people are getting very close to the point that they would consider that. If the unthinkable happens and we descend into civil war, I’d have to cross that bridge when it comes to it. I wouldn’t be much good as a street fighter, lets put it that way. I do have other talents though. And that is what we all need to realise, everyone has got something to contribute in this war, and indeed it is a war, not just a battle. It is crucial that we learn from history, particularly that of the Left and such evil men as Saul Alinsky, who dedicated his book on political terrorism, Rules for Radicals, to Lucifer. This goes over the head of many, as they do not appreciate that primarily, this battle is not one against flesh and blood, but principalities and powers. It is ultimately, a spiritual one. As such, this automatically includes our demise in the equation, as the battlefield is not so much based on gaining physical territory, but destiny of individual human souls.
Paradoxically, certainly in the West, the boom years of technological progress, relative world peace and unquenchable consumer and corporate debt has left the majority cocooned in the warm duvet of self deception as to the workings of the real world. Our politicians and leaders, frequently blind to true reality, either wittingly or unwittingly, have orchestrated a global performance of the Marche funèbre. As a civilisation, we are close to extinction, as the classical pillars that support such a model – historical culture, education, industriousness, protection of the vulnerable, rule of law – are dragged, crumbling, to the rubbish pit of despair. All that is preventing the total collapse of the edifice is pride, which is why nationalism is so under attack. And really, the truth be told, the reason why we are in such a mess is not that we haven’t noticed or seen the barbarians attacking the walls and the gates. Far from it, we have stuck two fingers up at the enemy and in an overwhelming spirit of haughtiness and self-effacing pride, chanted in unison “It can’t happen here.” If anything requires a spirit of national repentance, it is this. In our typically understated, English way, we have ignored the destruction of the values previous generations fought and died for, primarily because we are too nice.
We are suffering from a paralysis of dignity.
© Rookwood 2020
The Goodnight Vienna Audio file