The Red Death of Liberalism

For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul? – Matthew 16: 26

And Jesus called a little child unto him, and set him in the midst of them,

And said, Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven. — Matthew 18: 2-3

In Edgar Allan Poe’s story “The Masque of the Red Death,” the revelers at the party thought they were safe from the Red Death that was ravaging the surrounding countryside, but in the end they too were devoured by the Red Death. It does not take a prophet to know that the European people are in the position of the revelers, because the Red Death of Liberalism is not in the future, it is in the present. The European people are partying while the Red Death kills them off.

Despite differences in politics, the various mainstream news outlets, such as CNN, NBC, and Fox, and the various alternative news sites such as Breitbart, the Council of Conservative Citizens, and the Drudge Report are all united in that which is essential to perpetuate the Red Death; they are united in their belief in the democratic process. You get the information out to the people, and then they act on that information by participating in the democratic process, which includes voting, writing letters to Congress, and participating in nonviolent protests.

The alternative news sites have sprung up because the moderate liberals think – and they are correct – that the mad-dog liberals are suppressing the truth, they are not reporting the story of white genocide. But despite the fact that the mad-dog liberals control the content of the mainstream news organizations and reserve the right to regulate the alternative news sites, the moderate liberals, who are called conservatives, still cling tenaciously to the  hope that somehow the democratic process, which is the tool of Satan, can be used to dethrone Satan. This can never be. Isabel’s heartfelt plea to the Duke in Shakespeare’s Measure for Measure is just as true today as it was then: “You bid me seek redemption from the devil.” We must look to someone besides the devil for our redemption.

Many of the post-World War II conservatives expressed a sympathy for and/or a belief in Christianity, but they prefaced their stated belief in Christianity as a religion with the rejection of the antique European people’s faith in Christ. They did not go into the future holding on to the strings of the past, because they rejected their racial hearth fire where the Christ of old Europe dwelt and replaced it with a universalist religion without a place for the Christ of old Europe. The ‘conservatives’ did not believe, in contrast to Burke, that democracy and its accompanying universalist platitudes was incompatible with the Word made flesh. They blended Christianity with democracy and came up with Christo-liberalism, which is liberalism salted with some Christian phrases, but is still, at its core, liberalism. The shipwreck of the European people took place when the conservative leadership in church and state steered the good Ship Europe onto the rocks of philosophical speculation and racial amalgamation.

I don’t want to leave the ‘progress’ heresy that I touched on last week, because that heresy is the link between the mad-dog liberals and the conservatives who claim to be in opposition to the mad-dog liberals. When you accept the premise that democracy and its universalist assumptions of racial and cultural diversity is progress, how can you oppose the progressive reforms of democracy? You can’t. The conservatives never tell us we must kill abortion doctors because a Christian people do not permit the slaughter of infants. Nor do they tell us that we must imprison the liberals and drive the colored heathens from our nations. Instead they tell us that we must work through the democratic process to limit abortions, and we must work through the democratic process to restrict immigration. Can you be moderate when dealing with the devil?

Why, now that the liberals have thrown off their false humanistic masks and revealed themselves in all their satanic inhumanity, are the churchmen and the ‘conservatives’ more willing than ever to compromise with them? Part of the reason is the obvious one. The liberals are in power, and it is dangerous to oppose the powers that be. But that is only part of the reason. The modern conservatives would not continue to adhere to the democratic process out of sheer cowardice, because there are many conservatives who are not cowards. The mad-dog liberals could not rule without the consent of the non-cowardly conservatives. Why then do they consent to the rule of the mad-dog liberals?

The conservatives consent to the liberals’ rule because the conservatives believe in the democratic heresy. They believe that democracy and its attendant customs and traditions is superior to the governments of old Europe with their attendant customs and traditions. But is the democratic culture, which has given us race-mixing, legalized abortion, legalized sodomy, and transgenderism, really superior to the customs and traditions of old Europe? By some magical hocus pocus, the modern conservative thinks we can have democracy without the above-mentioned evils. Is that possible? I recently saw a travelogue by James A. Fitzpatrick, the man who traveled the globe for MGM Studios. He was visiting Denmark, which at that time (1950) seemed like the ideal democratic state. But was that wonderful 1950s nation wonderful because it was a democracy or because the evils that come with democracy had not surfaced yet? Denmark at that time was still white, and her people were still living according to the Christian ethos of their forefathers. Now that democracy, with its racial diversity and sexual perversity, has taken root in Denmark, is it still the ideal state that Fitzpatrick lauds? No, it is not. Denmark, like all of the European nations, has succumbed to the Red Death of Liberalism, because Denmark followed the path of democratic diversity.

Like a mad scientist who seeks to put together a human being by collecting body parts and fusing them together, the 20th century conservatives sought to reconstruct the Christian faith by fusing all the theories of God together – Greek, Roman, Hebrew, and Moslem – in order to make a universalist Christian façade that was acceptable to the scientized brains of modern Europeans. But like the mad scientist, the conservative intellectuals forgot the animating spirit. They forgot pietas. The love that once was there, at the Europeans’ racial hearth fire, the love for their people and for Christ, was missing. You can’t kill pietas and still expect a man to love a generic God and a generic people. In Great Expectations, Miss Havisham, who has raised Estella to shun mankind so that she will not be deceived by an excess of sentiment for individual members of mankind, is horrified when Estella grows up and has no heart to love “even her,” Miss Havisham. The atrocity stories reported by the alternative news sites fall on deaf ears because the European people have no heart left for their people or their God – the scientized intellects in church and state have killed white pietas.

What is missing in the scientized Christian façade of the modern churches is the incarnate Lord. Why do the church men make common cause with Jews, Moslems, and academics while denouncing the white European Christians who have not cut their ties to the ‘racist’ and ‘sexist’ antique Europeans? It is because the scientized mind always has a problem with the Word made flesh. It goes against the tenets of Gnosticism. And when our incarnate Lord’s incarnation is gnosticized, so is His resurrection from the dead. Do we believe as little children, do we believe that we will see our Lord in the flesh along with all our loved ones in the place which He has prepared for us? Organized Christian Jewry now serves as a halfway house for Europeans who can’t quite quit the Christian habit. In the halfway house churches, the recovering Christians are shown how they can have a little bit of faith in Christianity while giving their heart and soul to the colored gods of liberalism. Those gods are scientific because they are natural. And what is natural is sacred, is it not?

I had a philosophy teacher in college who was a devotee of Nietzsche and his doctrine of eternal recurrence. Nietzsche was not a great favorite with the liberals. On the one hand they liked his anti-Christian polemic, his devotion to the “eternal cosmos” instead of the ‘unnatural’ Christian God. But they did not like his doctrine of eternal recurrence, because that doctrine was in conflict with the liberals’ doctrine of progress. Liberalism combines paganism with a secularized Christian theory of history. The Christian Europeans believed history would end with the return of Christ, while the liberals believe that history will end when they have set up the kingdom of God on earth. And that God must be a natural God, because nature is all. Enter the sacred negro. Nietzsche would have deplored the worship of the negro, just like our modern neo-pagans deplore the worship of the negro, but Nietzsche is at one with the liberals in his rejection of the unnatural God-Man who died on the cross and rose from the dead on the third day.

The Christian Everyman has not fared well in the age of science. Under the auspices of scientific truth, the neo-pagan and the mad-dog liberal have launched an unrelenting attack on Christ and His people. And the Christian Everyman has surrendered to the enemy because the leaders in church and state who were supposed to conserve that which was essential, the love which sees beauty on the cross, have compromised with the devil who bids mankind look at God through the eyes of a scientist examining a bug under a microscope.

The Christ-haunted playwright Eugene O’Neill once wrote a play called Lazarus Laughed. At first those who saw Christ raise Lazarus from the dead rejoiced and laughed at death. But over time, the eyewitnesses began to doubt what they had seen. “Maybe it was a trick, maybe Lazarus didn’t really return from the dead.” What happens to Lazarus’ friends over the short space of O’Neill’s play has happened over a longer period of time to the European people. Doubt set in. The European people could look at nature unflinchingly because He had conquered nature, but as their knowledge of nature increased, their faith declined. Did Christ really conquer nature, or was He still subordinate to nature? Was He and is He the precursor of the sacred gods of color, the cosmic God of Teilhard de Chardin, or is He Jesus Christ, our sovereign Lord and Savior?

From whence comes the spiritual virility to resist the scientific onslaught on our sacred faith? Is there anything that can stop the Red Death of Liberalism? The answer to those questions lies in our past. They, the European people when they were a people, believed in Christ more than in science. They trusted the Word made flesh more than the research of the scientists. If it be neo-paganism, it shall fail, if it be liberalism, it shall fail, if it be Christo-liberalism, it shall fail, but His charity shall not fail. He has left us a Comforter until He returns, and I have never known one single man or woman with a heart of flesh who failed to find comfort in the Man of Sorrows. If we return to pietas, the love of our own, we will find Him, the God above nature, the God with a human heart. +

Posted in antique Christianity, Christian Europe, democracy | Tagged ,

The Mystic Toyland

Childhood’s joy-land,
Mystic, merry Toyland,
Once you cross its borders
You can ne’er return again.

-Mother Goose in The March of the Wooden Soldiers

Beware lest any man spoil you through philosophy and vain deceit, after the tradition of men, after the rudiments of the world, and not after Christ. – Colossians 2: 8

In the wonderful fairy tale movie The March of the Wooden Soldiers, Laurel and Hardy, who are both Third Dumb Brothers, do battle with Barnaby and the boogeymen to save the inhabitants of Toyland from destruction. At the beginning of the movie, long before the final battle in which the wooden soldiers drive the boogeymen out of Toyland, Mother Goose sings the Toyland song. In the song she tells us that once we cross the borders of that mystical world of Toyland we can “never return again.” Never? With all due respect to Mother Goose, I would assert that it is possible to return. She is right to tell us that we shouldn’t seek to leave Toyland, but she is too ‘this world only’ practical to see why it is not written that no one ever returns to Toyland after leaving Toyland. With men it is impossible, but with Christ it is possible.

The Garden of Eden was like unto Toyland. It was a wonderful mystic world which God made to sustain Adam and Eve. But it could only sustain them so long as they were like unto little children. Satan was the Barnaby of the Garden of Eden: he placed a wedge between Adam and Eve’s childlike faith in God, leading them down the path of philosophical speculation: “Dying from a bite of an apple? Don’t be absurd! Just think about it – how can knowledge be bad?” So Adam and Eve were banished from the mystical Garden, and so were we, their descendants, banished from that mystical storybook land.

The reason our European ancestors used to celebrate Christmas was because the birth of our Lord and His subsequent crucifixion and resurrection from the dead allowed us to return to the storybook land of Eden, but of course that return can only be through His cross. And that has been the main reason why the liberals have built Liberaldom over the ruins of Christendom. They have rejected the cross of Christ. The traditions and customs of the Christian Europeans were outward symbols of a deeply held interior faith. Our people believed He had gone to prepare a place for us in His Kingdom, a Kingdom that was the visionary home of the European people. The theologians’ attack on the Word Made Flesh opened the door for liberalism:

As a history of the world, the empirical history after Christ is qualitatively not different from the history before Christ if judged from either a strictly empirical history or a strictly Christian viewpoint. -Karl Löwith

The devil never attacks God directly, he always attacks God through His people. The theologians who tell us there never was a Christian Europe, that there is no empirical or qualitative difference between pagan Europe and Christian Europe, leave us with a God who did not take flesh and dwell among us; they leave us with a Gnostic God without a local habitation or a name. He is the unknown God whom the Athenians worshipped: “There is no sign of Christ in Europe from a strictly Christian viewpoint.” That is the eternal refrain of the men of philosophy and theology. But the history of our people, which we can see clearly if we see through, not with, the eye, gives the lie to the sneering cynicism of the men of the scientized intellects.

It would be more accurate to say there is no sign of Christ from a Christian utopian viewpoint. All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God, but can we honestly look at European history and say we see only sin? That would be like visiting the Louvre and condemning the whole museum because you saw trash bins in the basement. Christian utopianism always places the followers of that type of intellectual Christianity with the secular liberals against their own people. Hilaire Belloc thought Robespierre’s bloodletting was necessary to purge the Republic of Catholics who were insufficiently Catholic. So we should thank Robespierre and his cohorts for giving us the pure, unadulterated, Catholic France that we see before us today?

Satan wants the churchmen to speculate about God. He loves theological disputes because he knows that philosophical speculation leads men away from the love of God, away from their mystical core, and into the realm of eternal night. When the European people followed the way of the cross, which was the way of St. Paul, when their intellects were purified by loving hearts, they lived, interiorly, in a mystic Toyland. Their young men saw visions, and their old men dreamed dreams of His Kingdom Come. What do the European people see now and what do they dream about? They see the sacred negro and they dream of the kingdom of God on earth, which can only be achieved when the white race is eliminated from the earth.

The idea that mankind progresses morally is neither Christian nor pagan. It is post-Christian. The Christian Europeans believed that history was moving toward the return of Christ, they did not believe they were moving onward and upward to moral perfection, a moral perfection that would bring about the Kingdom of God on earth. The difference between the Christian view of history and the post-Christian view of history accounts for the great divide today between the reigning liberal culture and the culture of the antique Europeans. Old Europe was indeed a mystical Toyland, a Toyland that we can return to if we reject intellectual Christianity and return to the heartfelt faith of St. Paul, the apostle who enjoined us to circumcise our hearts and let the dear Christ enter in. But if we reject the antique Europeans as impure and degenerate because they were insufficiently Christian, which always translates into, ‘they were racist and sexist,’ then we must join with the liberals and look to another Christ, a purified Christ, who will rule over the Kingdom of God on earth, which is, in reality, the kingdom of hell on earth.

The vilification of the European people in the ‘Christian’ churches, which has been going on for over a century, has resulted in the secularization of Christ the Lord. If the antique Europeans were wrong, if Rembrandt’s Christ was not the true Christ, then who or what is Christ? Christ has become a nebulous figure in modern Christian Jewry. He is something more than man, but less than God. Pope Francis paved the way for the eventual elimination of Christ altogether when he deified the savages of the Amazon Rain forest. Therein lies the hope of men who live in this world only — the future belongs to the noble savages of color – they are the salvation of mankind, minus the non-illuminated members of the white race, who cannot be saved because their non-illuminated whiteness damns them to hell.

There used to be — let us go back 125 years ago — two reasons why a man could not celebrate Christmas. The first reason was bereavement. When a man lost a loved one during the Christmas season, it was not possible to celebrate Christmas as he was wont; a man must have time to grieve. But when Christmas comes the next year, the Christian European places his honored dead at the Christmas feast, and he is able, once again, to celebrate Christmas. Dickens’ marvelous essay called “What Christmas Is As We Grow Older,” which Christopher Grey referenced in The Shepherds of Europe, beautifully describes how our grief over the death of our loved ones is transformed into joy because of our faith in the Babe in the Manger.

The second reason a man could not celebrate Christmas some 125 years ago was the Ebenezer Scrooge reason: Scrooge didn’t believe in the Christ of Europe. The Jews and the Ebenezer Scrooges of old Europe could not celebrate Christmas because they worshipped another god, a golden idol, instead of Christ the Lord.

Now we come to our present century, the first non-Christian century in Europe since the European people first bent their knees to Christ. In modern Satandom a third obstacle has emerged which makes the celebration of Christmas very difficult. When Scrooge repented, when he saw the light, he ventured out into a Christian community to share his new-found faith with his fellow Christians. Now, the man who has kept Christmas in his heart for 364 days of the year and wants to celebrate what he believes in his heart with the type of outward ceremonies described in Washington Irving’s Old Christmas must withdraw from the community around him, because the community around him consists of liberals who despise Christ and intellectual Christians who have blended Christ with liberalism. Christmas, when celebrated with family and friends who believe in Christ as St. Paul believed and as our European ancestors believed, should afford us a “foretaste of heaven.” (I must credit the daughter of a close friend with that wonderful description of a truly European Christmas.) Despite the liberals’ and the theologians’ condemnation of the antique Europeans, we are one with them in faith and blood.

The estrangement I feel during the entire calendar year from the surrounding community intensifies during the Christmas season because I see, as I celebrate Christmas as the old Europeans celebrated it, the divide between the spiritual beauty of our ancestors’ faith and the satanic ugliness of modern liberalism clearly delineated. A man has to be either morally anesthetized or completely immersed in the satanic culture of liberalism in order to celebrate Christmas with liberals or intellectual Christians. When Christmas is celebrated as the antique Europeans celebrated it, we feel renewed for the battle. We know our enemy and we know that we must hold Christmas in our hearts, as the ghost of Christmas present enjoins us, 365 days of the year lest we be defeated by the enemy of mankind who prowls about the world seeking the ruin of souls.

In the name of a purified God and a purified people, religious experts such as the previously quoted Karl Löwith bid us leave the mystical European Toyland and seek Christ in another land, a multi-cultural hell, with another people. But who is the purified Christ and who are the purified people? Behold, it is a second fall of man. We have left Christ and His people in order to dwell in Satan’s kingdom of hell on earth. The liberals and the intellectual Christians tell us we must not worship the past, in fact we must hate our past in order to progress. What must we progress toward? The liberals say it is the kingdom of God on earth. And the intellectual Christians tell us that we must progress toward a clearer understanding, with their help, of the nature of God. But while we are coming to that clearer understanding of God we are enjoined to worship the next best thing, the sacred negro and the other colored gods of nature.

We do not worship the past as the liberals and the intellectual Christians worship the future. We revere the past because He dwells in the past with our people, who, despite their imperfections, had hearts of flesh. And with those hearts of flesh they saw and knew the living God, the God the liberals hate and the theologians and philosophers have syllogized out of existence. That despised and rejected God has a name and a place: His name is Jesus and His place is with the European people who have not crossed the borders of that mystical storybook land of Christian Europe.

Modern Europe is not our world. We do not seek electoral victories that promise us a piece of the liberal pie. We seek to drive the liberals and their colored allies out of storybook land just as the wooden soldiers drove Barnaby and the boogeymen out of Toyland. Why speak of fairy tales as Satan tightens his grip on the European people? Why not suggest something practical, like a new political party? It is because Satan has the people who embraced democracy and science in his grip that I want the European people to place themselves back in that glorious European fairy tale in which the Babe in the Manger grows up and becomes the Savior of the world, who “hath borne our griefs and carried our sorrows.” Is He really so obscure and remote from us? Only if we have no heart for our people and the sacred heritage they bequeathed to us. Do we stand with St. Paul and the antique Europeans, or do we stand with the liberals and the Athenian intellectuals who worship an unknown God that exists only in the future? The Israelites who had to decide whether they stood with Moses or with Korah, Dathan, and Abiram had a similar choice. Satan will not prevail if we stay with the people who revered the Babe in the Manger. We, the European people, ask Him to stay. +

Posted in antique Christianity, Christmas, fairy tale of European civilization, Young Drummer | Tagged

Remembrances VIII: The Shepherds of Europe

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.
And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.
And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.
And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.
And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us.
And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger.
And when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child.
And all they that heard it wondered at those things which were told them by the shepherds.

Luke 2: 8-18


I won’t go over old ground in this remembrance. It’s been two years since Father Bontini updated the remembrances for me. Since that time we, the Christian Britons, have lost our territories in Northern Scotland, but we have retained the land mass that used to constitute Wales and we have taken control of all the major isles – the Western Isles, the Orkney Islands, the Shetland Islands, the Isle of Skye, and the Isle of Man. Ireland, North and South, as well as England and Scotland, with the exception of Skye, belong to the Moslems. But the moral essence of Britain still lives in Arthur II’s Britain. It wouldn’t be accurate to say we are in a constant state of siege, but we are in a constant state of readiness for a siege. There have, for instance, been six major Moslem assaults on Britain – we are Britain – in the past year. But in between the assaults, life in Britain goes on in defiance of the Moslem and the liberal world around us.

Shakespeare graces our stage, true British shops and true British craftsmen are in abundance, and the old Book of Common Prayer, which is simply a liturgical version of the Bible, has been brought back. Much has been lost, but what we have now is sacred to us because we realize just how precious our heritage was, and still can be if we do not falter in our resolve to maintain white, Christian Britain.

What has taken place in Britain for the last half-century is part of a worldwide campaign to destroy the white race. The liberals hate Christ, but they cannot strike out at Him directly, so they attack the Europeans, who were and are the Christ-bearing race. By a strange metamorphosis, the liberals have renounced their white souls and made the destruction of the white race their ‘holy’ mission in life. And of course the colored heathen are quite willing to aid the liberals in their mission. In the end, if the plans of the liberals are not altered, they too will be eliminated by their colored minions, just as a pet snake will turn and strike his keeper, but that is not my concern. I am concerned about the whites who have remained faithful. They are my people and I must support them until the Lord sees fit to take me home.

In Britain and the rest of the European countries, the colored assault has come under the banner of Islam. In the United States, Banyon, Canada, and the other European satellite countries, the colored assault has been waged in the name of the sacred negro. The situation in all the European countries and those countries settled by Europeans is very fluid. Sometimes I hear of white setbacks and then I hear of white counter-attacks. Just last month, for instance, I heard that all of Bavaria was in the hands of the white Christians, but only two months prior to that I had heard that all of Germany belonged to the Moslems. Reports from the various European countries are sketchy and indeterminate. And in these remembrances I want to stick to events that I either witnessed myself or were witnessed and reported to me by close friends. What follows is an account from my friend, Arthur Walker, who used to run a private detective agency in Georgia. He is now a leader of the white underground in what used to be called the United States of America.

Rev. Christopher Grey


The territory that we formerly held consisted roughly of the land masses of what used to be the states of Georgia and South Carolina. But we were forced to abandon those land masses because we simply lacked the men to defend them. Some whites, as you know, made their way across the ocean to Christian Britain. The rest of us have become part of the underground. We keep contact with each other through the use of (I know you hate the devices but they are necessary) digital cell phones and other such communication devices. We have some members working as moles in the liberal population. They provide us with valuable information about the liberals’ army and police force.

We exist as a loose collection of clans, only we rove around more than the Scottish clans of old. I am, for want of a better word, the clan leader. Of course the leadership was thrust upon me because of my connection to you, Reverend. You have no idea what you mean to the white Christians of this nation. The old United States no longer exists as an independent nation. Personally I don’t think it ever did exist, but perhaps I am letting my Southern heritage influence me. Even if the Southland was the only true nation in the Northern Hemisphere, as I maintain, it no longer exists at present. What we have now is the United Republic of the Americas, which consists of what formerly constituted Canada, the United States, and Mexico. Now they are one united country with one government and one state-sponsored religion. Yes, the nation which once prided itself on the separation of church and state has now become part of a theocracy.

I’ve mentioned some of the uglier aspects of the new state religion before, but let me go through a few more of the details. The ‘worship’ services are conducted by a mixed group of clergymen, mostly Catholic priests with some Protestant ministers. The litany is a bizarre mixture of the Catholic Mass, the new Anglican Book of Prayer, and the Quran. But all the readings are geared toward negro worship. Just one example will suffice – when they say the Apostle’s Creed, they proclaim, “I believe in the sacred negro, the natural ruler of this heaven on earth, and I believe that the negro is the savior of all those who call on him by name. I believe in the holy Catholic Church of the negro, I believe in one God, who is the negro, and I believe that the negro will come to rule over all the earth when whiteness has left the earth. Amen.”

That creed is recited in every church throughout the United Republic of the Americas, by every white person left alive and by all the colored citizens of the United Republic. What can we say of such a creed? Do all whites believe it? It’s difficult to know how many whites have given their internal assent. Every once in a while we get a breakaway, a man or woman who has had enough and seeks to join the underground. What follows is a story of one breakaway. I suppose, lest I forget, I should tell you that every member of the white clan takes an oath of allegiance to King Arthur II. You see, we need, like all men, a particular land and one particular king to whom we pledge our allegiance. The wheel has come full circle. We have come home to Christian Britain. And when we conquer the Americas, we will not, this time, throw the tea into the ocean. We will welcome a visit from our King, who serves the King of Kings. Now, on to the story of one man’s journey from darkness to light. Such stories never get old.


Act I, Scene 1. The Story of John Taylor, a Priest in the Church of the United Republic of the Americas.

I was six years old when my parents were forced to give me up to the state. As you know, the new Constitution of the United Republic requires that a white man who wants to marry a white woman must get a special dispensation from the state. Having obtained that dispensation to marry he must then agree to have no more than one child. If the white female gives birth to a second child, one of the children must be turned over to the state to be executed or to be trained as a priest in the One Holy Catholic Church of the Negro. The life or death of the white child is up to the discretion of the state. My parents decided to keep my baby brother and offer me up to the state. I don’t think they did this because they hated me; my memories of them are of two kind, fond parents. But my baby brother was more vulnerable and more likely be to executed to spare the expense that goes with the care of infants. So I was given to the state in the hope – I know my parents had that hope – that I would be made a priest and not a corpse. And such was the case. I became a priest. I’ve learned since then that over three-fourths of the second white children are executed. But I still have no idea why I was not one of the children executed by the state.

I won’t bore you with the details about the course of study I went through in order to become a priest of the United Republic of the Americas. Suffice it to say it was long and thorough. Every aspect of liberal culture was shoved into my heart, mind, and soul. By the time I was ordained at age 22, I was eminently qualified to go forth as an apostle for the Lords of Liberaldom – the sacred negroes.

For my first two years I was a parish priest. I said the sacred negro mass and I attended to the needs of my parishioners, which meant I brought them Holy Communion when they were sick, the wafer representing the blood of the negroes who had been slain by white racists, and I did the usual visitations and such.

Then, two years into my parish work, I was given a new assignment. I was sent to work as a special counselor in the rehabilitation unit of the United Republic of the Americas. It was my job to visit whites who had been imprisoned for racism. I had to decide whether they could be rehabilitated or whether rehabilitation was impossible. If I recommended rehabilitation, they were sent to rehabilitation camps, but if I thought they could not be rehabilitated they were executed. Did I feel any remorse when I labeled a white man or white woman “unfit for rehabilitation”? No, I did not. You must remember that I had been trained from birth to believe that white racists were evil. So I felt no guilt or remorse when I sent white racists to their doom.

You might wonder how many white racists I recommended for execution. I can’t give the exact number, but I would estimate that I sent at least 200 out of the 300 I interviewed to be executed. Of course, now their faces haunt my dreams, but they didn’t haunt me back then.

I think I began to question the religion of the sacred negro – but I can’t be sure that my doubt didn’t start before that – when I was sent to interview Paul Davis. I was thirty years old at the time and Paul Davis was twenty-eight. He had been accused of marrying a white woman without special dispensation, and he was also accused of fathering four children by that same woman without reporting any of the births to the state. His case was an extreme one – he seemed like a recalcitrant racist. I had little doubt of what my recommendation to the Council would be. But still, I was a professional, and I was determined to conduct my interview with an open, liberal mind. I have since learned that there is no mind more closed than a liberal one, but that is not part of this story.


Act I, Scene 2. John Taylor’s Interview of Paul Davis, Conducted in Davis’s Prison Cell.

Taylor: I see by the records that you were imprisoned two weeks ago. I would like to help transfer you from this prison to a rehabilitation center. Would you like that?

Davis: No, I would not like that.

Taylor: Then you prefer to stay in prison?

Davis: No, I would prefer to get out of prison to be with my wife and family.

Taylor: But you have no legitimate wife, you were married without permission from the state. And you did not turn your children over to the state after their births.

Davis: Why should I turn my children over to the executioners?

Taylor: Come now, you know the answer as well as I do. Let me read to you from the Liberal Code of Law, which is sacred to all true citizens of the Republic. I quote, “When any white male who has married with the proper state approval fathers a second white child, he must turn one of the white children over to the state. And when a white male marries a white female without permission from the state, his life, his wife’s life, and all his children will be subject to execution by the state.” Did you know that was the law?

Davis: Yes, I did.

Taylor: Then why didn’t you comply with the law?

Davis: Because I don’t recognize the validity of the law. I hold to another law, it begins with…

Taylor: I must stop you right there before you incriminate yourself any further. You were going to refer to a certain book and a certain God depicted in that book. Don’t utter His name or mention that book in my presence, or I shall be forced to terminate this interview right now and recommend that you be executed as soon as is humanly possible.

Davis: I knew I was a dead man as soon as I was arrested. But I saved my family – I made sure that they found refuge in the white underground before the Liberal Police came for me.

Taylor: (closing the book in which he has been taking notes). Then there is nothing left to be said. I’ll mark you down as an irredeemable white racist and recommend that you be put to death.

Davis: Without a trial?

Taylor: Of course without a trial. You know that white racists are not entitled to the protection of the law. They are outside the law.

Davis: In most cases. But the sons and daughters of the white Illuminati who have transcended whiteness and become spiritually black, and any offspring they might have, are entitled to due process. Isn’t that so?

Taylor: Yes, it is so. But how does that apply to you? Surely you’re not claiming to be related to one of the Illuminati?

Davis: But I am related to one of the Illuminati. Governor Grover is my father. As you know, all white children are required to take their mother’s name, in keeping with the principles of feminism. But if you check the records, you will see that I am the biological son of Governor Grover. I never k new  him – he was separated from my mother when I was one year old, but I am his son, his one and only child, a fully authorized and certified child.

Taylor: If what you say is true, then you will be entitled to a trial. I’ll check on your story and get back to you.

Davis: Yes, you do that.


Act I, Scene 3, John Taylor’s Aside.

I did check on Davis’s story and discovered he was not lying. His father was the Governor of the district. He told me that he wanted nothing to do with his son, that he had had nothing to do with his upbringing, but he did acknowledge that Paul Davis was his only child. So I turned in the necessary paperwork and Davis’s trial was set for two weeks hence.

It might seem curious that such a government as ours should give anyone a trial. Why go through the motions of a trial when the verdict has been predetermined? But that is the point. Liberals need trials to justify themselves. They believe in liberalism, to a certain extent. The trials are their version of ‘Lord, I believe, help my unbelief.’ The more illegitimate the regime, the more legalese and paperwork is needed to convince the rulers of the revolutionary regime that they really do constitute a legitimate government. The French Jacobins, the Russian communists, the American 1776ers all cloaked their revolutionary movements in reams of legalese and paperwork. They labeled falsehood self-evident, and truth subversive. Thus reenacting, as all revolutionary tribunals do, the trial and crucifixion of our Lord. So, observing all the rules of criminal procedure and with all the proper liberal legalese, Davis was tried for high treason against the United Republic of the Americas.

Once I presented the paperwork, I thought my work was done. But I was in for a shock. When I came into work two days after my meeting with Governor Grover, I had a short cryptic note on my desk: “You are to defend Paul Davis. Signed, Governor Grover.” The note sent chills down my spine. If I truly tried to defend Paul Davis, wouldn’t I, after the trial was over, be accused of an excessive sympathy with an irredeemable white racist? And wouldn’t that make me a white racist, subject to the same penalty as all white racists? I asked for clarification in a return memo, but I got no response. In desperation I went to Father Todd, an older priest who lived in the rectory with me albeit he was the parish priest who generally said mass while I was the special priest in charge of the rehabilitation process. I occasionally assisted at mass, but in the main I stuck to the rehabilitation work. But I needed advice, and Father Todd was at hand.


Act I, Scene 4.

Taylor: They’ve asked me to defend Paul Davis.

Todd: I thought that was an open and shut case, that he was already sentenced to death for white racism, which is treason.

Taylor: There was a complication. It turned out that his father is Governor Grover.

Todd: That’s some twist of fate. Did the governor ask you to defend Davis?

Taylor: Yes, and I’m rather worried about it.

Todd: Why?

Taylor: I’m afraid I might be accused of racism after the trial is over, or maybe even during the trial. After all, it’s only natural for people to think you share the views of someone you defend.

Todd: I think your worries are unfounded. Just let him speak for himself and then back away.

Taylor: You mean I should just put him on the stand and let him denounce himself.

Todd: yes.

Taylor: But that wouldn’t be a very good defense.

Todd: You’re not obligated to make a good defense, you are simply obligated to put up some defense. I highly recommend that you let the racist damn himself, and then walk away. I think that is what Governor Grover wants as well.

Taylor: That sounds like the best plan. Thank you, Father.

Todd: It was my pleasure.


Act II, Scene 1. The Trial of Paul Davis for High Treason.

[Twelve jurors, four black men, four black women, and four white women are seated. No white males are permitted on juries, not even white males who are members of the Illuminati. The white Illuminati are, however, permitted to be judges. And in this case the judge is a member of the Illuminati; his name is Judge Parker. The prosecuting attorney is also a member of the white Illuminati.]

Bailiff: Here ye, hear ye, the most illustrious high court of the United Republic of the Americas is in session, the honorable Judge Parker presiding. All rise.

[All rise and then are seated.]

Parker: Paul Davis, you are accused of high treason by marrying a white female without the permission of the state, and subsequently fathering four children by the same female without offering up three of those  children to the state for execution or for training in the priesthood. How do you plead?

Davis: Not guilty.

Parker: Do you deny the truth of the charges then?

Davis: No, but I do not acknowledge that marrying a woman of my own race and fathering children by that woman is a crime of any kind. Therefore, my plea is not guilty.

Prosecutor: I rest my case. The defendant Paul Davis is guilty as charged.

Taylor: The defense also rests.

Parker: But you haven’t presented a defense of your client.

Taylor: It was my client’s wish that he be allowed to defend himself. And I complied with his request. Therefore the defense rests.

Parker: All right then, I’ll pronounce sentence. Paul Davis, you have been found guilty of the most serious and heinous crime known to man. You are a white racist. I sentence you to be handed over to the torturers and then executed. There can be no mercy for white racists, because a white racist is outside of the orbit of grace that has been established by our religious tenets. Grace comes from the negro, who is the god of nature. Outside of the natural world there is no salvation. Take the racist wretch away.


Act II, Scene 2. John Taylor’s Aside.

I was not a lawyer, I didn’t spend a lot of time in the courts, so I can’t say for sure that Davis’s trial for treason was the shortest on record, but I think it must have been, because the defendants, I was told, usually tried to deny their racism. Davis came right out with it. He even seemed to think his racism was a virtue. I was very far from approving of his views, but I was struck by the boldness of his racism. Truly he was a brave man, albeit a brave man with a perverted, distorted view of existence.

Something else struck me about the trial. I knew Davis was to be sentenced to death. My own recommendations had sent many men and some women to their deaths, but the words, “handed over to the torturers,” struck a discordant chord in my soul. “Why was it necessary to torture the white racists?” I asked myself. And my answer? “It was necessary to torture the white racists to impress upon other whites the seriousness of white racism.” Did I accept that answer? Not entirely. I was uneasy. And Father Todd sensed my uneasiness. The Sunday after Davis’s sentencing, two weeks before his scheduled torture and execution, I concelebrated a mass with Father Todd. After the mass we sat down to breakfast together in the rectory.


Act II, Scene 3.

Todd: This jelly is delicious, it’s homemade, you must try some.

Taylor: No thank you, father.

Todd: Come on, you can’t be watching your weight, you don’t have any weight on your frame to watch.

Taylor: (placing a small blob of jelly on his toast). Thank you, I will have a taste.

Todd: (studying Taylor’s face). What’s the matter, Jonathan? You don’t seem yourself.

Taylor: I’m sorry if I’m not much company.

Todd: Oh, don’t worry about that. Nobody can be cheery all the time. You’re not obligated to put on a cheery face just for me, but if there is something troubling you that I can help you with, I’d be only too willing…

Taylor: It’s really nothing.

Todd: Well, now I know there is something troubling you. Every time, in my years in the priesthood, that someone told me that their troubles were ‘really nothing’ their troubles turned out to be really something.

Taylor: Really, Father, it’s really…

Todd: Yes, I know, it’s really nothing. Now that we’ve established that it’s really nothing, why don’t you tell me what the ‘really nothing is’ that is bothering you?

Taylor: Well, it’s not exactly something I can put a name to. I suppose it comes to this: I feel degraded. I feel that I’ve been part of a shameful affair.

Todd: Are you referring to the trial and conviction of Paul Davis?

Taylor: Yes.

Todd: Listen, Jonathan, it’s not always easy to accept the existence of pure evil. But we know from the tenets of our faith that pure evil exists in the white race. We must oppose that evil with our whole heart, mind, and soul. And evil is not some disembodied spirit, it is located in the hearts of white people, particularly white men. But I’m not telling you something you don’t know. You’ve been raised on the Baltimore Catechism of Vatican IV.

Taylor: Yes, I have.

Todd: Then you know that we are created to love the sacred negro with all our heart, mind, and soul, and to hate all white men who have not gone through the process of metamorphosis.

Taylor: But are white people, and most especially the white males, really so evil? Don’t they have some common humanity with the rest of mankind?

Todd: No, they don’t. I think in your heart you know they don’t. You know your catechism.

Taylor: But then, by what right do we exist? Aren’t we white?

Todd: Now you really surprise me. We are not white. We have gone through that great spiritual cleansing that has made us whole again, we have attained oneness with the colored races.

Taylor: But we don’t even torture animals, yet Davis was sentenced to be tortured.

Todd: it is a necessary deterrent. After all, animals are not racist.

Taylor: Well, it still troubles me.

Todd: Look, Jonathan, take a week off, go to the mountains or some place. Go on a retreat to Mt. Nelson Mandela, but go somewhere to clear your mind and your soul of the rot that is clouding your vision. You are needed here, don’t lose everything you’ve built up.

Taylor: Well, the trial ended early, so maybe I can afford to take a week’s vacation.

Todd: By all means, you can’t afford not to.


Act II, Scene 4. The Retreat House on Mt. Le Conte, Now Named Mt. Nelson Mandela, in the Tennessee Great Smoky Mountains.

[It is the fourth day of Taylor’s retreat. He has seen no one until today, when he encounters an old man who seems, like Ahab in Melville’s Moby Dick, to be a man who has just stepped away from a stake where he was being burned alive.]

Old Man: Greetings, I hope I am not disturbing you.

Taylor: (sitting on the porch with a book). No, I’m just a little surprised to see someone in this area; it’s pretty isolated.

Old Man: Yes, it is isolated.

Taylor: May I ask you what you are doing up here?

Old Man: Why, are you some sort of a policeman?

Taylor: Of course not, I’m a priest and this is the retreat house of my order. I didn’t mean to pry into your business.

Old Man: Didn’t you?

Taylor: Well, I guess I did. You don’t usually see white men roaming around the countryside without a permit.

Old Man: How do you know that I don’t have a permit?

Taylor: It must be prominently displayed on your outermost garment, and I don’t see it on your person.

Old Man: That’s very perceptive of you. And in point of fact, you are right, I don’t have a permit to roam through these mountains or any other place in the United Republic of the Americas. I am what you would call a recalcitrant white racist. The type of man you would recommend for execution.

Taylor: How do you know that about me?

Old Man: It could be because I saw your picture in the paper during the trial of Paul Davis. Or it could be that you once recommended me for execution.

Taylor: (looks closely at the old man). Have I ever seen you before?

Old Man: I was clean shaven then, without the beard and the long hair, but you still should have recognized me. A man ought to remember the occasion when he sends another man to his death.

Taylor: If what you tell me is true, I can only say I did what my conscience and my duty dictated.

Old Man: I’m sure you did. But that doesn’t excuse you. What you did was evil and what you are still doing is evil.

Taylor: (standing up and assuming a defensive posture). What is your purpose here?

Old Man: Calm down, I’m not here to hurt you. Nor am I here to chastise you for sending me to be tortured and executed.

Taylor: Then why are you here?

Old Man: I’m here to play Ananias to your Saul of Tarsus.

Taylor: I don’t understand you.

Old Man: When St. Paul was called Saul, he persecuted Christians, but then he encountered the living God on the road to Damascus. After that encounter the Lord sent Ananias to him because our Lord needed Paul, “to bear my name before the Gentiles, and Kings, and the children of Israel.”

Taylor: But I’m not this Saul you speak of.

Old Man: Of course you’re not Saul, but you are like until him in that you are persecuting Christians.

Taylor: Even if what you say is true, you are not Ananias or whatever his name was.

Old Man: I’m taking upon me the role of Ananias, and you, even if you are not St. Paul, are going to bear our Lord’s name to the Gentiles and Kings and the children of Israel.

Taylor: I have a cell phone with me.

Old Man: Yes?

Taylor: One call and the police will come and get you, you are an escaped white racist.

Old Man: That’s true, but what makes you think the police can find me? They couldn’t hold me in prison after you marked me for execution, and they’ll never be able to get me out of these mountains.

Taylor: What is to stop me from laying hold of you and making you wait for the police?

Old Man: You’re welcome to try, but I wouldn’t advise it.

Taylor: You must be at least forty years older than I am, surely you couldn’t resist me?

Old Man: (he advances on Taylor and throws him to the ground with ease). Let’s have no more talk of restraining me against my will.

[The old man helps Taylor up.]

Taylor: All right, I can’t restrain you, and you claim you can elude the police. What is it you want, and please don’t tell me you want to play Ananias to my Saul.

Old Man: But that is what I’m going to do. Let’s go inside the cabin.


Act II, Scene 5. John Taylor’s Aside.

 The old man spent three days with me. I was the wedding guest, and he was the Ancient Mariner who held me with his glittering eye. I kept telling myself that I should call the police or I should run from his presence. But I was fascinated by him. He told me at the onset that he was going to tell me the actual history of my people and once I had heard their story, the Old Man, henceforth called the Ancient Mariner, said that I would want to resume my place in the European story. What was the European story and what was my place in it? The Ancient Mariner started with God’s plan to create mankind: Satan rebelled against Him because he hated the little, sniveling creatures called men. And he showed his contempt and hatred for mankind with the first man in the Garden of Eden. From that time on, according to the Ancient Mariner, Satan has been in a constant state of war with mankind. The European people became his main focus because they loved the Son of God who died on the cross for their sins.

It was all quite new to me. I had heard that Christ had once been important to white racists, and I knew that my church had once (before His name was banned) included His name in the litany along with the other lesser prophets, but I did not know that Christ had once been considered a god nor that He was still revered by some Europeans who were still living.

The Ancient Mariner wove Bible history and European history together in one integral story. Shakespeare, Scott, Dickens, and a whole canon of European poets and sages became, in the tale of the Ancient Mariner, one with Isaiah, Jeremiah, St. Paul, and the Apostles. And they all pointed to one magnificent beginning, the incarnation of Jesus Christ, and one magnificent denouement, the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Maybe if I had grown up in the old liberal days, when the Christ story as told by the European people was still permitted to be told, albeit told only to be ridiculed, I would not have been so impressed with the Ancient Mariner’s tale. But it came to me fresh and new, like a bolt of lightning from another world. And there was something else. The Ancient Mariner possessed a passion and fire that I had never known. My whole life had been guided by one principle: to subdue all the passions of my heart, because they might be racist, and racism was evil. But right in front of me was an impassioned man with a heart on fire and he was an unapologetic white racist! It was something to behold, but still I was not quite convinced. I was intrigued and fascinated by the Ancient Mariner, but I needed to know more.

In the evening of the third day, sitting by the fire in the living room of the retreat house, I asked the Ancient Mariner to tell me his story. He looked at me with his glittering eye, which was pure fire, and said, “I suppose it is time for my story. You’ve been an attentive listener and you do in part believe. Perhaps my story will be the final push.”


Act III, Scene 1. The Ancient Mariner’s Aside.

I grew up in what was then called New York City (it is now called New Africa). I was raised in the Roman Catholic faith at a time when Christ was still nominally seen as the Savior of mankind, in that we said our prayers to Him and not to the sacred negro as you do now. But although Christ was still theoretically the reason we went to mass, in those days the social gospel, the gospel of diversity, was the driving force behind the mass. And when Pope Francis I came out with the encyclical on the black race, in which he developed the point that collectively they were co-equals with Christ and just as necessary for our salvation, the stage was set for the eventual elimination of Christ from the mass. But I don’t want to get too far ahead of myself. The point is that I was raised with some contact with the actual Christ story. It was not completely suppressed in those days. Nor were the works of literature, music, and art from Christian Europe suppressed in those days as they are now. Still, despite some exposure to the Christ story, it didn’t take. I wasn’t moved by it. That could have been because of the dry, lifeless way it was presented to me, or possibly it was just my own perversity, but whatever the reason I became completely enthralled with liberalism. I fancied myself a great artist, because I wrote songs and played an electric guitar. If records from that time period had not been expunged, you could look up my name and see that I had a few best-selling albums.

My most popular song was a protest song I wrote at the time when the African nation of Banyon was being run by a white minority, about 10% of the population. There was a black terrorist in that country who was jailed for rape and murder. He was guilty of those crimes and many more, but I, like the entire Western intelligentsia at the time, thought all the blacks in Banyon were saints and all the whites in Banyon were devils. So I wrote a song about the great African Saventi. I still remember, God forgive me, the refrain:

A man without taint
Fights the forces of hell
Saventi the saint
Will fight till he hears the whites’ death knell.

I went across America and most of Europe singing that song and others like it. Besides getting rich from my albums, I also earned a letter from President Saventi and an invitation to visit him in Banyon after the fall of the white government and the election of Saventi as the first Banyonese president of the new republic. This was two years after my tour. I eagerly assented. I went to Banyon as a Catholic would go to Rome for an audience with the Pope. Banyon was my Rome and Saventi my Pope.

Before I tell you of my meeting with Saventi I must tell you that I was in a love with a white woman from Banyon. She was my age, which was twenty-six. She wrote to me during my anti-apartheid tour and subsequently came to visit me. She was beautiful and she was a fervent anti-apartheid white. “I am ashamed of my people, in fact, I don’t regard them as my people,” she said on many occasions. “I will fight apartheid with all my heart and soul, and if it takes bloody revolution, I’ll take my part in that.” I assured her that I didn’t think it would take a bloody revolution.

“The world is against the white supremacists in Banyon. Soon there will be elections and Banyon will be a free black sate.” I was right about the elections. Apartheid ended two years after Jennifer’s visit to the States. But was it bloodless? Only while the election was taking place. Afterwards there was a bloody massacre of whites. But of course I was blind to that massacre as were the rest of the liberal whites throughout the world. I probably would have remained blind had it not been for Jennifer. But let me tell you of my dinner with the great Saventi. I’ll pick up the conversational thread as the dinner was winding down.”


Act III, Scene 2.

Saventi: You know it was great artists like yourself who helped pave the way to the Free Republic of Banyon?

AM: I’m glad I played some small part in the establishment of your Republic, but really there were so many people of the West who supported your cause.

Saventi: Yes, but most did not have a public voice. You had a public voice, and you had the courage to use that voice. You are a true citizen of Banyon.

AM: I am honored.

Saventi: But all is not perfect here in Banyon. There are still some in the West, the white fascists, who claim we are allied with the communists and we are massacring the whites. These are base lies.

AM: What can I do to help you?

Saventi: You can now sing the praises of the free black, integrated Banyon just as you used to sing about the evils of white, apartheid Banyon.

AM: I will, I’ve already started writing a song about the new Banyon.

Saventi: Excellent, and now I know you must be tired. I’ll have one of my wives show you to your quarters.

AM: Thank you, I am rather tired. But I must ask you one more question.

Saventi: Just one?

AM: (smiling). Just one for now. I made the acquaintance of one of your citizens, an anti-apartheid activist, during my concert tours. I heard from her regularly up until the election. But since that time, I have not heard from her. I wonder if you could help me get in touch with her.

Saventi: She is a sweetheart of yours?

AM: (blushing). Yes, I suppose she is.

Saventi: Say no more. I will help you find her.

AM: Ah, there is just one difficulty. She may have stopped writing because she has found someone else. I don’t want to embarrass her if she really doesn’t want to see me.

Saventi: I understand. I will make discreet inquiries and then let you know. What is her name?

AM: Her name is Jennifer Dawson.

Saventi: Don’t worry, you shall hear from her, I’ll see to that. And in the morning I’ll have one of my men show you around the black Free Republic of Banyon so that you can refute the white fascists of your nation.

AM: I don’t need to see it in order to believe in the free state of Banyon. I’ve seen you and I believe in you.

Saventi: As always, you are too kind.

[Exit the AM, with an escort, to his bedchamber]


Act III, Scene 3. Ancient Mariner’s Aside.

The next day I was given a sumptuous breakfast, but my host was not present. I was told he had some important business to attend to, by the man who was to be my guide through the capital city of Banyon. I was disappointed that President Saventi could not be my guide, but I certainly understood. He was an important man.

I was taken through sections of the capital city by my black guide along with two armed black bodyguards. “White fascists make it necessary,” my guide explained. But I didn’t see whites anywhere. What I saw was absolute squalor and hostile looking black men and women. I tried to beat down my former image of the capital when it had been ruled by whites. The liberals showed those pictures, prior to the revolution, in order to show how disgustingly white the city was. But in doing so they gave people like me a glimpse of a clean, well-run city which was a shocking contrast to the new capital city. But in the end I put it down to “the growing pains of a country that has thrown off colonialism,” and tried to think good thoughts about the new Free Black Republic of Banyon.

Although what I saw of Banyon was not very uplifting, there were whole areas that I was not allowed to see at all. “Too dangerous, there might be white fascists there,” was all I was told. So my tour was not very enlightening or uplifting. When I returned to the Presidential Palace, I was given another wonderful supper, but my host was not in attendance. His first deputy did attend, but when I asked him about Jennifer Dawson, he told me he knew nothing of such a woman nor had “his excellency” told him anything about the matter. I was taken completely by surprise when at the end of the dinner, I was told that I would be taken to the airport at 10 am in the morning.

“I hope you had a pleasant visit with us,” was the final words of the first deputy.

Back in my room I was frantic. I had come to see the new Banyon, but that was really secondary. My main reason for coming had been to see the woman I loved. Now I was told that I had to leave Banyon without seeing her. It was unbelievable to me. How could Saventi send me away without seeing Jennifer? Could it be that he had discovered she had found someone else? That had to be it. That would also explain why I was being sent away so suddenly. The great, kind, and good Saventi wanted to spare me the pain and embarrassment of finding out that the woman I loved was not in love with me. But still, I wanted to see her, because love always hopes against all odds. I didn’t doubt Saventi’s kindness, but I still wanted to see Jennifer. How could I convince Saventi to let me see Jennifer?

What followed was providential, although I wouldn’t have named it so at the time, because I didn’t believe in Providence, I believed in liberalism, and the liberal’s God is the black man.

There was a knock at the window, and through the window came a black Rumpelstiltskin.

“Do you wish to find the young lady called Jennifer Dawson?”

“Yes, do you know of her?”


“Could you tell me where she is?”

“No, I cannot tell you, but I can show you where she is, but we must leave here immediately.”

So I left immediately with a pint-sized negro who insisted on being paid $10,000 American dollars for taking me to Jennifer Dawson. What the greedy little opportunist didn’t know was that I would have paid him ten times that amount. I was rich, I had made a fortune with my anti-apartheid protest songs. But I did have enough sense to withhold $5,000 of the money.

“You’ll get the rest when I see Jennifer.”

“Certainly, I understand,” the little dwarf intoned in a nauseatingly smooth voice.

The black Rumpelstiltskin did not possess a car, but he knew where I could rent one without any questions asked. So I went with him and paid an exorbitant price for one night’s use of a broken down black Cadillac. The enormously fat negro who rented the car to me seemed to be, facially, a dead ringer for the greasy Rumpelstiltskin. I assumed they were related, which made me feel a little better about the secrecy of my trip. Maybe the fat negro would not squeal on his cousin or brother, whatever the dwarf’s relation to him was.

I did the driving; the dwarfish negro’s legs were too short to reach the gas pedal, while the dwarf gave me directions. After about a 90 minute drive, we came to a vast plain with only a few trees. My companion told me to stop the car at the bottom of the embankment. We both got out of the car.

“This is as far as I go.”

“What do you mean?”

“My cousin will send a car for me, with my two brothers in it. The one will drive me back, and the other will wait for you to drive you back.”

“But I’m not paying you the rest of the money until I see Jennifer.”

“You will see her. If you go to the top of that hill, you can look down and see a prison camp for white fascists. Jennifer Dawson is in that camp.”

“But she was not a white fascist, she was an anti-apartheid activist. This is a horrendous mistake. I will see Saventi about this.”

“It was Saventi who ordered her imprisoned.”

“I don’t believe that!”

“Saventi ordered the imprisonment of all white fascists on the day of his inauguration.”

“That can’t be true, the press would have reported it.”

“Well, they didn’t. And what I tell you is true. Jennifer Dawson is in that prison camp. But if you don’t believe me, that is your privilege, I’ll go now.”

I saw another car pulling up with only one person in it. One of the midget’s cousins must have been following us. I didn’t have a gun, but I had youth and considerable strength on my side. I took my five thousand from the dwarf and beat his cousin to a pulp.

“You won’t get any money at all until you take me to Jennifer Dawson. And if what you say is true, you won’t be paid in full until you help me get her out of that prison.”

The saving grace for me or for any man, and by grace I mean Him from whom all grace flows, was that I had one spark of humanity left in me: I genuinely loved that woman. My love for her made me man enough to treat those two blacks like the savages they were instead of like the deities that I and my fellow liberals said they were.

Through a series of bribes I was able to get Jennifer past the camp guards and out to the bottom of the hill from which we started. What I saw en route to Jennifer’s cell was something I’ll never forget. It was something out of Dante, where poor, tortured men and women, all white men and white women, were suffering through every indignity and every torture ever conceived. If I could have done it, I would have freed them all and killed all their black tormentors. But I couldn’t, so I tried to free Jennifer. When I saw her, I did not at first recognize her. Her naked body was emaciated, and she was a mass of bruises from head to foot. Only her eyes, which burned with a special light, told me that she was Jennifer Dawson. I wrapped Jennifer in my shirt and carried her from the prison. I placed her in the back seat of the car. When I heard cries of, “A prisoner has escaped!” I started up the car. Neither the midget nor his cousin tried to stop me, but they kept yelling to the guards to hurry up before I got away. We did get away from the immediate vicinity of the prison camp, but when the car ran out of gas, I was forced to walk on, carrying Jennifer in my arms, until we left the desert behind and came to one of Banyon’s many jungles.

I spent three days trying to get deeper into the jungle without taxing Jennifer’s strength too much. I didn’t know if we were being followed or not. But I didn’t want to make us easy to find if we were being followed. I carried Jennifer a good deal of the time, which made for slow going, but Jennifer simply couldn’t walk very far. On the third day I found a rather hospitable looking cave that I thought would serve as a place where Jennifer and I could stay while she regained her strength. As it turned out Jennifer and I were not the only whites who had decided to seek refuge in the cave. We had stumbled on the beginnings of a white colony in the midst of the jungles of Banyon.


Act IV. The Colony

[Wooded area outside the cave. The Ancient Mariner’s name was and is David Morgan.]

DM: I can’t tell from the outside just how far that cave extends.

Reverend Hill: No, you can’t. That is why we decided it made a good refuge for us.

DM: How many are you?

RH: There are exactly 441 white refugees who are making their home here. There will be 443 if you and your lady stay here.

DM: How did you all get here? Did you come here together?

RH: No, we didn’t come here together. When the terrible bloodletting started, the whites who could fled to wherever they found a road not blocked with black savages. Most of them were cut down, but some made it to the jungle. At first we were a small band of twenty, but gradually, over the last six months, we have increased our number to the 441 you see here.

DM: Jennifer has been telling me a little of what happened after the end of apartheid, but I didn’t press her for too many details, because it seems to exhaust her to talk about it too much.

RH: That is understandable.

DM: She was raped and tortured.

RH: Yes, I assumed as much. I’m afraid that is the norm, not an aberration in the new black Free Republic of Banyon. On the night of the election I saw white women being dragged through the streets, tortured, raped, and made, while being tortured and raped, to suffer every other indignity that could be heaped on human beings. They were violated, not only in their bodies, but in their souls. Some white men fought for their wives and children, but they were unarmed and unprepared for the savagery of the attack. Most of the men were butchered.

DM: May I ask how you managed to escape?

RH: Let me first say that I didn’t deserve to escape. I was one of the clergymen, we were legion, who clamored for the end of apartheid. It was the Christian thing to do, I said, because we were all God’s children and so on and so on. Reality and I were not friends. But I was forced to look at the reality of the black man on that night of sorrows, the night that Banyon became a free black republic.

I had called for a special election evening service to give praise to God for setting the blacks of Banyon free from their oppressors. I was confident that they would be freed, because the polls said that the anti-apartheid forces would win. The relentless pressure from the West and from whites like me from inside Banyon had finally turned the whites in Banyon against themselves. They wanted the world to love them, they no longer wanted to be called racists.

DM: Did everyone here vote for an end to apartheid?

RH: No, there are many here that voted against ending apartheid, but they still had to suffer from the sinful, willful ignorance of people like me. But I must say there has been no rancor from those people. We are all in the same boat now, and they have chosen not to shun us.

DM: I’m not a native of Banyon, but I was an anti-apartheid activist in my country.

RH: I know that, I recognized you when you came in. I used to have some of your albums.

DM: It seems like years ago, but it was only one week ago that I was being wined and dined by Saventi. Now, I plan to kill him.

RH: I don’t think you will be allowed anywhere near him.

DM: We’ll see. Right now, I want to help Jennifer recover. Is there much danger of discovery here?

RH: There is a slight danger, but the natural savages of color do not like to venture out of the friendly confines of the city. Strange, isn’t it? You would think, based on the rhetoric of men like me, that the noble savages would be more comfortable in the jungle than the unnatural white men. But that is not the case. The negroes have been too busy, for the last six months, looting and destroying the formerly white cities of Banyon, to venture out into the jungles of Banyon. So we are safe for a time. But eventually, when they have made the cities unlivable, they will come looking for white settlements to loot. That is when they will get a surprise.

DM: How so?

RH: They will find formerly passive whites who will fight to the last man. Everyone here now knows about the black race.

DM: Will you have a chance?

RH: Not much of a chance, but we will have no chance at all if we don’t fight.

DM: You say you were an Anglican cleric, but the people here consult you about their physical ailments.

RH: I was a late vocation. After I graduated from medical school, I decided I was not cut out for medicine. I shifted to divinity school and took orders in the Anglican Church. From that time on, I plagued the world and the whites of Banyon with my self-righteous pap about freedom and equality.

DW: As a medical man, what do you think of Jennifer’s chances?

RH: As a medical man, I can’t say what her chances are. She was raped by Saventi and then he turned her over to his special troops to be raped and tortured by them. Then she was taken to that prison camp where you found her. It’s a wonder she has lived this long. I think her desire to see you again kept her alive.

DM: When you spoke with her what did she say?

RH: She felt guilty for her part in the bloodbath, that much I know. But I assured her that she was not alone, that I was a greater offender than she was. Still, she had to tell me of that night.

“The bloodletting was beyond horror, Reverend, it was something unearthly, it was as if the devil had come up from hell to urge his black minions on and on to greater and greater atrocities. I saw true evil that night. All my life I had spoken out against evil white men. I realized on that terrible night that it is only white men, white men who love the devil’s antagonist, who can help against the evil of black barbarism. I spit on the U.N. and all those phony freedom loving organizations that bid us love the noble black savages while hating our own people.”

DM: I did the same thing.

RH: So did I and so did all the clear-thinking, kind, compassionate liberals of the West. In the name of love, we demeaned the God of love in order to go whoring after the devil’s own, the black barbarians.

DM: Is there really a devil, Reverend?

RH: Yes, there is. What has happened in Banyon is the proof. Mere psychology cannot explain Banyon. We need recourse to the Gospels in order to understand what is happening here. Our Lord believed in the devil, and He told us to shun the devil and all his works. What have I, and my fellow liberal clerics done? We have embraced the devil and all his works by our support of the colored heathens against the Christ-bearing race.

DM: That is a strong condemnation of everything I once believed in.

RH: Is it true? That’s all that you need to ask yourself. Is it true that there is a devil and there is a loving God who is the antagonist of the devil?

DM: But it goes against everything modern, everything…

RH: Everything scientific and reasonable?

DM: Yes.

RH: Is what happened in Banyon reasonable and scientific? It is demonic. Science and reason are man-made abstractions. Reality is of the spirit. There is a devil and there is a God, our Lord Jesus Christ. That is the reality we must come to terms with.

DM: I’ve never really considered Christ as an actual reality. He was always, in the church I was brought up in, a kind of social worker, a man ahead of his time who paved the way for civil rights.

RH: That is what I was brought up to believe as well, although in my time there were still a few clergymen who actually believed that Christ was the Son of the living God. Actually, there was only one that I can think of. He was later barred from preaching and removed from his parish for preaching racism. His name was…

DM: It was Christopher Grey, wasn’t it?

RH: Yes, it was. I take it you’ve heard of him.

DM: Yes, all liberals, and I was certainly a liberal, knew of Christopher Grey. He was racist and he was…

RH: Christian?

DM: Yes, and we all hated him with a passion.

RH: So did I. I once met him when he came to Banyon – this was after he was barred from the Anglican Church. He came here to visit a friend who had fled Kenya when Kenya become an independent black state. His friend kept telling us what would happen if we copied Kenya, but of course we didn’t listen to him. Grey gave some public lectures supporting his friend’s views of African affairs. I attended one of those lectures and confronted him afterwards.

“By what right do you come here and preach hate?” was my first question to him when he stepped away from the podium.

Christopher Grey replied, “I preach the hatred of the devil and all his works, if that is what you mean by hate. But there is a difference between your hate and my hate. Your hate is grounded in the hatred of the living God, who, since you can’t strike back at him directly, you attack by attempting to destroy the Christ-bearing race. I hate the devil, because I love Christ and His people. Surely you can see the difference?”

Of course I couldn’t see the difference at all. I was too filled with hatred for that man and what he stood for to see any truth in anything he said.

DM: Was that the last time you saw him?

RH: No, it wasn’t. That was three years ago. I saw him just six months ago on the eve of the anti-apartheid election. He saved my life.

DM: Was he living in Banyon?

RH: No, he came, once again, at the request of his friend, to help his friend and his family escape from Banyon. He got his friend and his friend’s family out of Banyon and then came for me. I was locked up in the white compound, scheduled to be executed the next morning. That night he came to the prison, strangled the two guards and set me and forty other white captives free. The others he took back to Britain with him, but I decided to remain here.

DM: Why?

RH: To try to atone for my sins against Christ and His people. Gradually, over the last six months, I managed to give aid and comfort to a large number of the despised and rejected whites of Banyon. I should have been attending to their needs during the twenty years that I was a cleric here, but I was too busy doing the devil’s work, attending to the needs of Satan’s black minions.

DM: They certainly were my gods and I suppose they were and still are the gods of the white European people.

RH: Yes, they are. I don’t know the outcome of all this. All we can do is try to serve the living God in and through our people. Which is the way of the cross, the way of all our people until the advent of reason, science, and negro worship destroyed the European peoples’ belief in the living God and in themselves as the Christ-bearing race. Every white man and every white woman must ask themselves where they belong, if not with their own people. Where will they learn to love if it is not by their own racial hearth fire? I, who preached love for all mankind, hated my own people. I was a pariah, fit for nothing but treachery against my own people. Neither you nor Jennifer need to beat yourselves to death over your own guilt; it was my responsibility, the responsibility of my entire generation, to preach the love of Christ through the love of one’s own, one’s kith and kin.

DM: Still, there is this matter of a white man’s honor. I’ve only had a week to ponder my mistakes, or should I say sins. But all those romances of Walter Scott, which will be banned in the future no doubt, which I dismissed as part of my unenlightened past, have come rushing to the forefront of my memory. A Walter Scott hero would not allow his intended to be raped without avenging that outrage. I am going to kill Saventi. I know his death will not restore white Banyon, some other black thug will take Saventi’s place, but I must kill him. It is part of the code, a code I’ve disgraced by prancing around the world singing folk songs about the noble black savage. That code, dormant for most of my life, has taken hold of me. I’m new to this Christian European thing, Reverend. Am I wrong?

RH: In wanting to kill Saventi?

DM: Yes.

RH: No, I don’t think it would be wrong to kill Saventi. It would be a great good, but there are prudential concerns. You don’t want to just throw your life away in a futile attempt. And what about Jennifer? She needs you.

DM: I don’t think Jennifer would want me to kill Saventi to avenge her honor, but I do think she wants me to fight for the white people of Banyon. And the one, Jennifer’s honor, is connected to the honor of every white in Banyon, the murdered, raped, and tortured whites of Banyon. And I am the only white man that might be able to get near Saventi. I don’t think he knows precisely what happened to me. The black midget and his cousin certainly won’t be talking; they acted without his orders. So I think if I suddenly show up with some plausible story about where I was, Saventi might be fooled and give me another audience. Then I’ll kill him.

RH: Speak to Jennifer before you go, that is all I ask. Then go with my blessing.


Act V, Scene 1. Two Weeks Later.

[David Morgan (the Ancient Mariner) is walking with Jennifer in the white encampment.]

Jennifer: This is the first time I’ve walked outside of the cave.

DM: How does it feel?

Jennifer: Wonderful, but I don’t think I can manage much of a walk.

DM: That’s all right. We’ll go back whenever you say. I’m just glad to see you up. Rev. Hill says you’ve made outstanding progress.

Jennifer: I guess Heidi’s grandfather was right?

DM: What do you mean?

Jennifer: In that story – I read it when I was a little girl – goat milk and faith is what helps Heidi’s friend Klara to walk.

DM: Is it possible for either of us to have faith, the kind of faith that Rev. Hill has?

Jennifer: Rev. Hill’s faith is of recent vintage, too. Yes, I think it is possible. I’m only an infant, as regards my faith, but I can feel it inside of me, it is real.

DM: I’ve only mentioned it once, but now that you’re on the mend I must…

Jennifer: You must kill Saventi, is that what you want to tell me?

DM: Yes.

Jennifer: I love you, David, and I’m afraid for you, but I won’t ask you not to go. I used to consider myself a feminist. In fact I was such a feminist that I felt guilty when I began to fall in love with you. Real feminists do not love men. But my faith has changed that. I see that there are things a man, a man of honor, must do or else he is not a man. A woman must respect that.

DM: Will you marry me before I go?

Jennifer: Yes.


Act V, Scene 2. Morgan Has Obtained a Private Audience with Saventi.

Saventi: We were very worried about you. Where have you been all this time?

DM: In the desert. Strange as it sounds, I was abducted from my room and taken to some place in the deserts of Banyon.

Saventi: How far did your abductors take you?

DM: I don’t know, I was unconscious.

Saventi: Then how did you know you were in the desert?

DM: When I regained consciousness, that’s where I was.

Saventi: Who were your abductors?

DM: I don’t know.

Saventi: Why, because all black men look alike to you?

DM: Aren’t you assuming they were black? How do you know they weren’t white fascists?

Saventi: Were they white?

DM: No, they were black.

Saventi: Then why play games with me?

DM: I’m not playing games with you.

Saventi: Yes, you are, Mr. Folk Singer, the great champion of black Banyon. You lying, white fascist. I know where you were. You were with that whore, Jennifer…

[Morgan moves towards Saventi, but Saventi draws a revolver and points it at his head.]

One more step and I’ll blow your brains out. Guards! [The guards enter.] Take this man away.


Act V, Scene 3. Saventi’s office.

[Saventi is talking to Kantini, the head of his secret police, the man in charge of hunting down white fascists.]

Kantini: I don’t see why we must treat him differently than the rest of the white prisoners. I’ve refrained, at your orders, from torturing him, and he has been fed like a king, but I still must say I don’t understand.

Saventi: Kantini, you are a good and loyal pit bull, but I’m afraid you do not understand the politics of our particular situation. We control Banyon because the liberal whites love us; they have created a fantasy of the poor but noble black savage who needs their aid and their pity. I know this to be true because I have studied at their universities.

Kantini: I spit on their pity.

Saventi: So do I, and I’ll go further than that — I hate the liberals of the West more than I hate the white reactionaries.

Kantini: I hate all whites.

Saventi: As I do, Kantini. I assure you, we will kill them all. But we must be wise. We must not give our enemies, and we have a few in the West, the opportunity to say we are behaving just like the white fascists who used to rule Banyon. This David Morgan fellow is very famous in the United States and Europe. If we torture and kill him, the West will take note.

Kantini: But surely you aren’t going to let him live?

Saventi: Of course I’m not going to let him live. But it must seem right to the liberal West. They must be shown by a reliable witness that David Morgan has become a white racist.

Kantini: And who will be that reliable witness?

Saventi: Pope Francis.

Kantini: That pig?

Saventi: Yes, that pig will be my reliable witness. His papal visit is next week. He wants to give the black Republic of Banyon his blessing. I intend to make sure that Pope Francis is my witness to the world. He will see that David Morgan is a white racist that I must execute for the good of the state. Never fear, my good and faithful pit bull, David Morgan shall die.

Kantini: Will your Excellency allow me the privilege?

Saventi: Yes.

Kantini: Then he shall die slowly and painfully.


Act V, Scene 4. Pope Francis’s “Interview” with David Morgan, in His Jail Cell.

Pope Francis: I’ve heard terrible things about you, my son.

DM: What did the great Saventi tell you?

PF: That you joined in a plot, a plot of the white fascists hiding in the jungle, to kill President Saventi.

DM: I did try to kill Saventi, but there was no plot. It was my own idea, no one else was responsible.

PF: But what could possibly have possessed you? You were such a good friend of the black people of Banyon. Was it because of that woman?

DM: What woman?

PF: Jennifer Dawson.

DM: What did he tell you about her?

PF: He told me that you were in love with her, but when you discovered that Saventi had made her his fourth wife you went berserk. You stormed out of the Presidential Palace and eventually ended up with the white fascists, plotting your revenge on President Saventi. My son, we all must suffer disappointments in life, and disappointments in love are some of the worst of them, but we must persevere, we must be true to our ideals despite disappointments. President Saventi is a saint. He forgives you for your attempt on his life, and he will permit you to leave the country on the condition that you renounce all attempts on his life and never write or speak a word against President Saventi or the Free Black Republic of Banyon. I think those are more than generous terms. If you accept them, I am to be your safe convoy back to Europe and from there, you can return to your homeland.

DM: I can’t accept those terms, because they are a lie. Saventi is a monster. He raped Jennifer Dawson and then turned her over to his black henchmen to be raped and tortured in a white prison camp. I saw one of those prison camps, your Holiness, and they were something from hell. I won’t renounce Jennifer or my people. I intend, if I live, to tell the world what I saw here and to kill Saventi.

PF: President Saventi told me you would fabricate lies to justify your hatred of him. Please relent, it’s not too late to stop your execution.

DM: It’s not too late for you to become a white Christian. Why won’t you believe me?

PF: Because I believe Saventi. I looked into his face and I saw holiness.

DM: I have nothing more to say to you then.

PF: I’m still willing to be your safe convoy if you’ll only repent. Otherwise you will be executed. I can’t blame Saventi, he can’t permit such plots against the state.

DM: I thought you were against capital punishment.

PF: Not in this case, this is a legitimate execution. White racism must be purged from the face of the earth.

DM: You go to hell.

[Later that night, Morgan is asleep in his cell when he is awakened by a strong hand on his shoulder. When he looks up he sees a very large white man. He also sees that his cell door has been torn from its hinges.]

Christopher Grey: It’s time to leave this place. Your people are waiting for you in the jungle.

DM: Who are you?

CG: My name is Christopher Grey, and we must move quickly.

DM: I can’t leave until I kill Saventi.

CG: He is dead and so is Kantini.

DM: How?

CG: Never mind how. Come with me.


Act V, Scene 5.

[The Ancient Mariner, David Morgan, concludes his story as told to John Taylor.]

Ancient Mariner: That was some 40 years ago, I suppose Christopher Grey was in his early sixties back then. He is still alive today. He is over one-hundred years old.

Taylor: I’ve heard some terrible things about him.

AM: Of course you have, you’ve heard those things from liberals.

Taylor: Who is he then?

AM: He is flesh and blood; that is certain. But he is a kind of Melchizedek, the mysterious high king of Salem, who came seemingly out of nowhere to aid Abraham. Now mind you, I’m not saying Christopher Grey is Melchizedek, but I am saying he has done what Melchizedek did. On many, many occasions he has come to the aid of Christians who seemed destined to perish at the hands of colored barbarians or liberals. I can’t recount all the missions of mercy he has successfully carried off. My case was just one of his many miraculous missions of mercy. When he took me out of that cell, we traveled through the Banyon desert for many miles. As we approached the jungle where Jennifer and the rest of the white Banyonites were, I looked up at the sky and couldn’t help but feel that I was back with the shepherds who were vouchsafed a vision of the Star of Bethlehem. I knew nothing about stars, so I didn’t know what the modern name for the star was that shone so brightly that night. But for me it was the Star of Bethlehem. Its light gave my new-found faith a special intensity and fervor. Christopher Grey didn’t try to discourage me when I got on my knees before the star. He got down on his knees with me and recited Scripture:

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.

And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.

And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.

For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.

And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,

Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.

And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us.

Taylor: Once you got back to Rev. Hill and the other whites, did you take up residence there?

DM: No, we didn’t. Jennifer wanted to stay with the white remnant of Banyon, to try and be of some use. You see, she wanted to make up for her treason. But Rev. Hill thought that she could get better medical care in the States. At that time the States still gave medical care to whites.

Taylor: I’ve heard of those times.

DM: The USA eventually went the way of Banyon and outlawed whiteness, but for about 12 years Jennifer was able to receive medical treatment in the United States. We were told by all the doctors that Jennifer, because of all the injuries she had endured at the hands of the black barbarians, could not bear children. But ten years after our return to the States she gave birth to a baby boy. He is alive and well today with a family of his own.

Taylor: Does he live here with your wife and you?

AM: He lives near me. He has lived in the white underground since he was five years old.

Taylor: And your wife?

AM: We had 38 good years together. She died two years ago. We both tried, during that time, to support the whites in Banyon and the United States. I continued my song writing, but of course my pro-white folk songs were banned. Still, we did what we could. I think I would have given up if it hadn’t been for Jennifer. She looked on me as a rock, so I had to be one.

Taylor: And now?

AM: The dead are not dead; she still needs me to be a rock, and I need her to be my inspiration. Of course, we are both sustained by Him and through Him.

Taylor: What became of Christopher Grey?

AM: He returned to Britain in order to be a thorn in the side of the Moslems and the liberals, but he has visited these shores on other mercy missions. He has friends throughout Europe, the United States, and Banyon.

Taylor: This all seems so fantastical. Your world is so different from the world I have known.

AM: It rests with you to decide which world you belong to. I have told you of your people and their God.


Act V, Scene 6. Two Weeks Later.

[John Taylor is in the rectory with Father Todd.]

Father Todd: Do you feel well enough to assist at mass this afternoon?

Taylor: No, I don’t, can we wait a little while longer?

Father Todd: You’ll forgive me if I seem unsympathetic, but you don’t seem disabled. Why can’t you assist at mass? It’s been two weeks since your alleged beating at the hands of Paul Davis.

Taylor: What do you mean by my ‘alleged’ beating?

Father Todd: I don’t think you were really beaten at all. I think you played Sidney Carton to his Charles Darnay.

Taylor: I don’t know what you are talking about…

Father Todd: Sidney Carton, in Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities, changed places with Charles Darnay and went to the guillotine in Jacobin France instead of Darnay.

Taylor: I’ve never read Dickens; his books are on the Index. What were you doing reading a condemned book?

Father Todd: Don’t try to put the blame on me. Dickens’ works were not on the Index when I was a young man.

Taylor: You mean in those terrible days when everything white and Christian was not proscribed by our wonderful government?

Father Todd: There it is.

Taylor: What?

Father Todd: Outright blasphemy. I haven’t forgotten why you went on vacation. You had doubts about your vocation as a priest consecrated to the sacred negro.

Taylor: Okay, Father, I will tell you the truth. I no longer believe in the sacred negro. I believe in the God of my people. I believe in the Lord Jesus Christ. I believe that He died to save me from sin and death, and I love Him in and through the people of my own race. I freed Paul Davis because I was in a position to free Paul Davis. I had him change clothes with me, and then he tied me up and left the prison pretending to be me. The authorities believed that he had beaten me and changed places with me. Now, you know the truth. But I must tell you that I only wish that I could free all the white captives of this hideous monstrosity of a church that you serve, and I, God have mercy on me, used to serve.

Father Todd: (screaming). You filthy, degenerate, treacherous snake! I’ll tell them everything and you’ll die slowly, painfully, and justly.

Taylor: All in the name of liberty, equality, fraternity, and the sacred negro, isn’t that about the size of it?

Father Todd: I won’t listen to this blasphemy any longer.

[Father Todd reaches for the cell phone on the table.]

Taylor: I’m afraid I anticipated you, Father Todd. Your cellphone is permanently out of order.

Father Todd: That won’t stop me. I’ll drive to the government offices to report you.

[The Ancient Mariner, aka David Morgan, enters the room with four male companions.]

DM: I’m afraid you will not be able to visit with the government officials, Father Todd.

FT: Who are you?

DM: We are members of the European resistance movement, the people you call white fascists. You are going to be tried for your crimes against your people. You had better pray to the God that you have forsaken that we are more merciful than the god and the people that you serve.

[Exit Father Todd with two of the white males.]

Taylor: What will happen to him?

DM: He won’t be tortured, I’ll promise you that much.

Taylor: Will he be executed?

DM: It’s possible, if he seems irredeemable. But first he’ll be imprisoned. He’ll be fed well and treated humanely. Then comes the big ‘if’ – If we see that he truly and sincerely has left the Church of the sacred negro in order to return to Christ’s church, we will find a place for him in the white underground. But that will be up to him. Right now, he is headed for prison.

Taylor: How is Davis doing?

DM: He’s doing fine. He never thought he would see his wife and children again. Now it looks like he’ll be around to see them grow up white and Christian.

Taylor: That’s good.

DM: He is very grateful to you. His wife says they will name their next child after you. John, if he is a boy and Joan if she is a girl.

Taylor: That is very kind of them, but it was you…

DM: Nonsense. You were a hero, a real life Sidney Carton.

Taylor: I’ll have to read that book someday.

DM: You’ll get a chance to read all of Dickens’ works where you are going. Arthur’s Britain does not ban Christian works.

Taylor: Are you sure that I belong in Britain?

DM: Yes, I’ll miss you, but right now the government officials are too focused on you. You need time to live and grow as a Christian. Arthur’s Britain is the place for you. If you leave tonight, William and James will put you on the ship with some other future Britons; you will arrive in time for Christmas.

Taylor: All right, it’s settled. But I won’t say goodbye – we shall meet again.

DM: Most certainly. [They embrace.]


POSTSCRIPT: Three weeks later, Christmas Eve Day.

[Taylor is with Christopher Grey in his cottage at Tintagel.]

Taylor: Is it true that on the first two Christmas Eves here, you performed the entire Christmas Carol from memory:

Grey: Yes, like my hero, Sir Walter Scott, I have a photographic memory. The works I want to remember stay with me. But last year, our third Christmas in the new-old Britain, I decided to dole out the parts. I was the Ghost of Christmas Past and the narrative voice. This year, our fourth Christmas, I’ll just be the narrative voice.

Taylor: I’m a little nervous about my part. I only read the Christmas Carol for the first time on the boat coming over here.

Grey: You’ll be fine.

Taylor: Is this typecasting?

Grey: (laughing). No, you are playing Scrooge as a young man because you are younger. After all, you are a repentant Scrooge – if you played him that would be typecasting.

Taylor: (laughing). Well, I only hope I don’t ruin it.

Grey: You won’t.

Taylor: I certainly can identify with Scrooge after his conversion. He is so happy that he is a light as a feather. Do I have a right to such happiness?

Grey: Don’t put the grace of God in that category. None of us have any rights – we have His love and that is everything.

Taylor: Whomever I talk to here, they seem to be of one accord – “Christopher Grey is a man who walks with God.” How does a man like myself learn to walk with God?

Grey: Just love Him in and through your people.

Taylor: That’s all?

Grey: That is everything.

Taylor: Rev. Grey, I don’t mean to burden you, particularly on Christmas Eve day, but I would like to know more of your story. You understand that I do not ask for your story in a spirit of mere intellectual curiosity.

Grey: Yes, I understand that. There is something from my past that might help you. It’s not my whole story, but it certainly has determined what the content of my life’s story has become.

Neither of my parents were Church of England, they were what was called ‘non-conformist,’ in that they attended a Protestant Gospel-based church, but they were not narrow sectarians. If you believed that Christ was the Son of God who died for our sins, my parents looked on you as their fellow Christian. Both my parents were large in stature, my mother was very tall for a woman, and my father was a raw-boned, muscular man well over 6’6” tall. I only bring that into the story because, as you’ll see, it is going to have something to do with my path in life. It’s a wondrous thing, how seemingly irrelevant things can shape our destinies.

With such parents, and with the fruits of the earth to nourish me, I grew up to be quite a strong, muscular young man. I don’t think my spirit was as strong as my body was though. I accepted my parents’ faith, but I didn’t pay as much attention to my spiritual life as I did to my physical life. I lifted weights, which I forged at the farm in our blacksmith shop, and the weightlifting added to my natural strength inherited from my parents. Don’t worry, this is all leading somewhere.

Taylor: (laughing). I’m not going to sleep, I assure you.

Grey: Okay. I never had any desire, in my young manhood, to do anything but farming as my life’s work. I pictured myself marrying some pretty farm girl and settling down on a farm near my parents’ farm. And while I was preparing for that life I indulged my two passions – wrestling and weightlifting.

It was the wrestling that changed my destiny. In order to be successful as a wrestler, and I was quite successful as a country wrestler – you needed more than strength, you also needed endurance.  So almost every night, after my farm chores were done, I did three to five miles of roadwork. I didn’t do my running in the morning because I started the farm work so early that I really wasn’t able to fit the running in then. I knew all the roads in the area and there were virtually no cars in those days, the country folk were still using horse coaches and carts, so there was very little danger of running into a vehicle in the dark. Looking back on it now, I realize I was in more danger than I thought. The British people in those days were allowed to bear arms. I never considered the fact that with my size and in the dark, a farmer could easily have mistaken me for a large animal of some kind and blasted me with his shotgun. But I ran in the darkness, completely oblivious to any danger. That is not a deliberate metaphor for my spiritual state at the time, but you can take it for one.

Now I come to the night when God called on me by name. I suppose I’m open to the usual charges of seeing divine intervention in an accidental circumstance, but it is my conviction that what happened on that night, so many years ago, when I was 20, was no accidental circumstance.

I was about two miles into my run when a horse-driven carriage, going extremely fast, too fast for safety, passed me on the road. In fact I had to dive into a ditch to avoid being hit by the carriage. As I got up I noticed that whoever was driving the carriage had stopped about 100 yards up the road. A young woman got out and ran back toward me. She was visibly upset, almost in a state of hysteria. At this point, let me shift to the dramatic mode, which is the way I see the events of that night.


Young Woman: Are you hurt?

Young Grey: No ma’am, I’m not hurt, but I must tell you that you were going too fast for these roads and…

Young Woman: Yes, I know, but I have to prevent something terrible from happening. Now, if you’re not hurt, I must be going.

Young Grey: Wait, if you must get somewhere in a hurry, I can take you there. I know these roads.

Young Woman: (looking me straight in the eye) Will you take me where I want to go without asking questions?

Young Grey: (looking her in the eyes) Yes.

Young Woman: Then let’s go.


Taylor: You really went with her without asking questions?

Grey: You must understand that I was young and a romantic at heart. I know such things are not even spoken of today, especially in the world you’ve come from. But for me it was the fulfillment of the deepest yearning of my heart – to do battle against the forces of evil, and I believed anyone opposed to that fair lady had to be evil, for the sake of a damsel in distress, was all that a romantic could ask for.

Taylor: Was it all you had hoped for?

Grey: Yes. We went about two miles farther down the road and then she asked me to stop. She had reason to believe that her younger sister, blinded by a fatal infatuation, had run off with an older man. My lady knew, by instinct, that the man was evil. And by evil she meant diabolical.

“We might encounter anything in that grove where she was told to meet him. Are you willing to face anything for a woman you don’t even know?” she asked me.

I told her I was. Then we proceeded to the grove in the woods. What I saw sent chills down my spine. The sister was bound and gagged, stretched out on some kind of altar. There were present one white man, dressed in Satanic robes, and he was assisted by four loin-cloth attired black men. The white Satanist was going through a satanic ritual with the obvious intent of sacrificing my lady’s sister to the devil. My blood was up with that charity of honor and I rushed upon the demonic white man. But before I could reach him I had to deal with his black henchmen. That didn’t take long. Once I had disposed of them, I turned to deal with the diabolist. First, he pointed the sacrificial knife at me, but then, surveying my size and the look in my eye, he pulled a revolver from out of his robes and pointed it at my heart, saying, “One step further, and you die. I command you to go back, in the name of Satan, I command you!”

“In the name of Christ, I defy you.”

Taylor: I presume he missed?

Grey: He fired at point-blank range and missed.

Taylor: What happened to him?

Grey: I killed him.

Taylor: And his henchmen?

Grey: I thought I made that clear, I killed them when they tried to stop me from preventing the sacrifice.

Taylor: That must have been rather traumatic, to kill five men like that at such a young age?

Grey: I wouldn’t use the term ‘traumatic’ – I don’t like the terminology of psychology.

Taylor: I’m sorry, it will take some time to divest myself of the trappings of my old life.

Grey: I’m not reproaching you. I just want to keep things clear. The incident stirred up something deep inside of me, but it was not bloodlust, nor was it remorse for what I had done. What it stirred up in me was something that Edmund Burke said was missing in the French people during the bloody French Revolution. He called it, “that charity of honor.” It is the white Christian’s response to the murder of other white Christians and to the destruction of God’s image in man. That is what stirred within me that night, and that is what I, and every white man who is still Christian, lives by. There was an instinct inside of me, deeper than reason, telling me that I had to kill in defense of innocence. The Christian heart will see us through where reason fails.

Taylor: Why did he miss?

Grey: I can’t prove this, but I think the words ‘Jesus Christ’ made him flinch just enough to shoot wide. There is great power in the Word made flesh, and His word was made flesh in my heart on that night.

Taylor: There are similarities between your story and David Morgan’s story.

Grey: Every white Christian is called to fight the devil and his works. It might not always be a physical fight, although in our current post-Christian era, it is often likely to be, but the spiritual battle is always with us. What I encountered on that night was unusual in that the white diabolist, a professor, actually believed in Satan. Most liberals then and now do Satan’s will, but they do not actually believe in Satan. But what that liberal was doing, sacrificing a white Christian on the altars of Satan, with the aid of colored heathens, was to become the liberals’ religion in the 20th and the 21st centuries. I have lived a long life, I’ve seen the liberals destroy all of Christian Europe, and now, thank God, I’ve lived to see the beginnings of the European people’s return to Christian Europe. You shall be part of that movement – the great homecoming of the European people.

Taylor: What happened to the two women?

Grey: The fair damsel became my wife, and her sister lived many happy years with a Christian husband. They had a large family. My wife died young, but she has never left my side. It won’t be long now till I see her again face to face.

Taylor: Is that incident what made you become a clergyman?

Grey: Yes, I never wanted, before that evening, to be anything but a farmer.

Taylor: Any regrets?

Grey: No, even though I was finally dismissed from my parish for ‘racism’ I got to meet many Christians and do some good in my work as a clergyman.

Taylor: Is there a true church?

Grey: Yes, but it is not the Anglican Church or the Roman Catholic Church or any of the other organized churches. Christ cannot be put in a closed box. He is not, as my friend C. S. Lewis said in his Narnia series, a tame lion. Christ’s church consists of those who believe in the Lord Jesus Christ as true God and true man. And when I refer to belief, I’m not referring to an intellectual assertion of the truths of Christianity. I’m talking about an interior conviction that Christ is our Savior.

Taylor: How does one come to that faith?

Grey: Through your people. Stay by your racial hearth fire, stay with Christ, and all will be well. Now that I’ve told you a little bit about my beginnings, let us come to the present. Don’t worry about your part in the play, you’ll be fine. I’m sure your performance will be worthy of Dickens. He and all of Europe’s honored dead will be with us today. Did you ever read what Dickens said about Christmas and our honored dead?

Taylor: No, I haven’t. I’m afraid I have a lot to catch up on.

Grey: This is what he wrote [Grey recites from memory]

On this day we shut out Nothing!

“Pause,” says a low voice. “Nothing? Think!”

“On Christmas Day, we will shut out from our fireside, Nothing.”

“Not the shadow of a vast City where the withered leaves are lying deep?” the voice replies. “Not the shadow that darkens the whole globe? Not the shadow of the City of the Dead?”

Not even that. Of all days in the year, we will turn our faces towards that City upon Christmas Day, and from its silent hosts bring those we loved, among us. City of the Dead, in the blessed name wherein we are gathered together at this time, and in the Presence that is here among us according to the promise, we will receive, and not dismiss, thy people who are dear to us!

Taylor: That is beautiful.

Grey: Yes, it is. After tonight’s service and play, we’ll have all sorts of games and parties on Christmas Day. It’s for the children. We have a lot of children in Christian Britain. You are welcome to come to any of the festivities that strike your fancy.

Taylor: Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.


Finis. Christmas Eve in Christian Britain.

[The play ends with Grey as the narrative voice]:

Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more; and to Tiny Tim, who did NOT die, he was a second father. He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old world. Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them laugh, and little heeded them; for he was wise enough to know that nothing ever happened on this globe, for good, at which some people did not have their fill of laughter in the outset, and knowing that such as these would be blind anyway, he thought it quite as well that they should wrinkle up their eyes in grins, as have the malady in less attractive forms. His own heart laughed: and that was quite enough for him.

He had no further intercourse with Spirits, but lived upon the Total Abstinence Principle, ever afterwards; and it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God Bless Us, Every One!

Grey: And now, please sing with me: [All the white Britons join in song]


Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;
The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide!
When other helpers fail and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me.

Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day;
Earth’s joys grow dim, its glories pass away;
Change and decay in all around I see—
O Thou who changest not, abide with me.

I need Thy presence every passing hour;
What but Thy grace can foil the tempter’s power?
Who, like Thyself, my guide and stay can be?
Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me.

I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless;
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness;
Where is death’s sting? Where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if Thou abide with me.

Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes;
Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies;
Heav’n’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee;
In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.

Grey: Merry Christmas! +


Posted in fairy tale of European civilization, Remembrances | Tagged

The Light of the World

Away in a manger, no crib for a bed,
The little Lord Jesus laid down his sweet head.
The stars in the sky looked down where he lay,
The little Lord Jesus asleep in the hay.

The cattle are lowing, the baby awakes,
But little Lord Jesus no crying he makes.
I love Thee, Lord Jesus, look down from the sky
And stay by my cradle ‘til morning is nigh.

Be near me, Lord Jesus, I ask Thee to stay
Close by me forever, and love me, I pray.
Bless all the dear children in thy tender care,
And take us to heaven, to live with Thee there.

I grew up at a time when the European people were leaving Christmas as a celebration of the birth of our Lord and Savior behind and replacing that celebration with post-Christian, paganized celebrations of rock music and the sacred negro. But there were still remnant bands of Christians in the late 1950s and the 1960s who kept Christmas in their hearts, because the culture of the heart, which was old Europe, had not completely disappeared.

It doesn’t matter if intellectual Christianity survives, because that religion does not reach the heart. Satan has successfully cut off the European people’s access to the living God by separating the European people from their racial hearth fire, where hearts of flesh commune with other hearts of flesh, and through that communion touch the heart of God. I look at our modern world with horror, because even the very secular world in which I grew up seems infinitely superior to the present. It seems there are shades of darkness – we have “progressed” from grey darkness to pitch-black night.

Because I do not think darkness is right, I intend to celebrate the Light of the World this Christmas. So I’m pulling up the drawbridge and shutting out the liberal world that I hate. There must be some antique Europeans out there – God always has His remnant. I love that remnant band. May you have a very Merry Christmas! +


Addendum: The usual story will appear on Dec. 22 and Dec. 29. The regular blog posts will resume on Jan. 5.

Most of the dystopian novels and short stories of the 20th century focused on right-wing dystopias. Only Orwell and Kipling prophesied that it would be the leftists who would give us a dystopian hell on earth. Orwell and Kipling were right. But even Orwell and Kipling failed to see that the leftist dystopias would not include white Europeans. But that is the case. Lord, abide with us!

Posted in antique Christianity, Christmas | Tagged ,

The Sign of Our Redemption

For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. – Luke 2: 11-12

We are advised in Psalm 1 not to “walketh in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful.” With that injunction before us, let me ask a question – has there ever been a ruling elite more ungodly, more sinful, and more scornful of everything good and decent than the liberals? Of course the answer to that question is obvious – there has never been a ruling elite as evil as the modern liberals. They fit the psalmist’s description like a custom-made suit. But if it is clear that the liberals are the people the psalmist warns us about, why do the modern Europeans ignore the psalmist’s advice and submit to the rule of the liberals?

It could be that the European people submit to the liberals’ rule because the liberals have the power of life and death. They can take a man’s means of making a living from him, they can imprison him, and/or they can kill him when he opposes liberalism. Isn’t that the answer to the question, why do the modern Europeans not oppose their liberal rulers? No, it is not the answer. We cannot, considering how powerful the liberals have become, expect one individual or a few individuals to launch a military counterattack on the liberals, but we should expect, if the European people were still Christian, to see signs of internal dissent. We should see signs that the European people do not accept liberalism. The liberals could not have established complete ascendancy in the European nations if the European people had not given their internal assent to liberalism. And that is the tragedy of modern Europe – the European people have not, in their hearts, turned against liberalism.

Let me put the tragedy before the reader’s eyes by relating an incident from my childhood. I and a half dozen friends in our preteen years, 11 or 12 years of age, were playing basketball at a public court when a group of high school kids came and told us to leave the court. This had happened before – might makes right on the playground – but since my team was winning and the game was almost over, I asked the high school kids to wait until we finished. They refused to wait, but I stubbornly refused to leave the court, which was very foolish. The leader of the high schoolers proceeded – for want of a better description – to beat the hell out of me. Fortunately, this was a dispute between white kids, so I was not beaten to death, but I was forced, literally and figuratively, to eat dirt and concede defeat. But I never gave internal assent to the high schoolers; I didn’t believe they had the right to force us from the court.

The liberals have the European people on the ground eating dirt just as the high school bully had me on the ground eating dirt. There is no shame involved if you are beaten by overwhelming force, but there is shame involved, and something worse – dishonor and disgrace – if you give internal assent to your enemies and lay in the dirt, saying and believing that your punishment is well-deserved and if you are ever allowed up and out of the dirt you will promise to never do anything that forces the liberals to place their collective foot on your neck and grind your face into the dirt.

Now, my playground example is not an exact copy of the European tragedy. The liberals do have their collective foot on the culture of the antique Europeans and on all the white people who defend that culture. But not every white grazer is made, at least not directly, to eat dirt. Most of the white grazers stand by and watch while other whites, whites who try to oppose liberalism, eat dirt. The white grazers are in the position of my school chums, who stood by while I was beaten. But my school chums were better than the modern white grazers. They thought I was stupid to oppose the high schoolers, but they didn’t think I was in the wrong. They had not given internal assent to the bullies. The white grazers have given internal assent to the liberals. They believe that white South Africans and all other ‘racist’ whites deserve what they get and that the black savage is indeed noble. And that is a tragedy. We must recover our honor by refusing to give internal assent to liberalism or we shall stand disgraced before our ancestors and our God. We all die, we can’t control that. But we can control whether we die at one with God or at odds with God, at odds with God because we have walked in the counsel of the ungodly, stood in the way of sinners, and sat in the seats of the scornful.

The internal assent to liberalism, which is from the devil, was given by the European people at the time of the French Revolution. Burke, with unparalleled passion, a passion stemming from white pietas, and with great eloquence, an eloquence only exceeded by Shakespeare, turned all but the most ardent European liberals against Robespierre and his butchers. But he was unable to turn the European intelligentsia against democracy as a new system of manners and customs designed to replace, in the European people’s hearts, the customs and manners of Christian Europe. The story of the European people ever since the French Revolution has been the story of a terrible, horrifying descent into hell. Under the mantle of democracy, the devil became the ruler of the European nations. And once he conquered Europe, he conquered the world, because he has always held the colored nations in the palm of his hand.

There was always a Greek contingent that thought the Christ story was foolishness and a Hebrew contingent that considered the Christ story a stumbling block, lurking on the fringes of Christian Europe. Those two forces ultimately had more in common with the colored heathens than they had with the Christian Europeans. And it was through the democratic process that the pagan Greek intellectuals and the recalcitrant Jewish Pharisees and Sadducees managed to join with the colored heathens and place the Christian Europeans on the fringes of Europe while the liberals took over the vital center of Europe.

The Old Testament, the Gospels, the letters of St. Paul and the other apostles present us with a fairy tale vision of the living God. The European people, the ‘barbarians’ who conquered Rome, accepted the fairy tale vision of Christianity. But the men of intellect, the European intelligentsia, which in the beginning consisted almost entirely of clergymen and then later extended to a whole class of secular academics, were always ashamed of fairy tale Christianity. They were tainted with the dwarfs’ fear of being fooled:

Aslan raised his head and shook his mane. Instantly a glorious feast appeared on the Dwarfs’ knees: pies and tongues and pigeons and trifles and ices, and each Dwarf had a goblet of good wine in his right hand. But it wasn’t much use. They began eating and drinking greedily enough, but it was clear that they couldn’t taste it properly. They thought they were eating and drinking only the sort of things you might find in a stable. One said he was trying to eat hay and another said he had got a bit of an old turnip and a third said he’d found a raw cabbage leaf. And they raised golden goblets of rich red wine to their lips and said “Ugh! Fancy drinking dirty water out of a trough that a donkey’s been at! Never thought we’d come to this.” But very soon every Dwarf began suspecting that every other Dwarf had found something nicer than he had, and they started grabbing and snatching, and went on to quarreling, till in a few minutes there was a free fight and all the good food was smeared on their faces and clothes or trodden under foot. But when at last they sat down to nurse their black eyes and their bleeding noses, they all said:

“Well, at any rate there’s no Humbug here. We haven’t let anyone take us in. The Dwarfs are for the Dwarfs.”

“You see,” said Aslan. “They will not let us help them. They have chosen cunning instead of belief. Their prison is only in their own minds, yet they are in that prison, and so afraid of being taken in that they cannot be taken out.”

-C. S. Lewis, The Last Battle

And they were also tainted with the Parisians’ fear of being considered stupid: “In Paris, when they want to disparage a man, they say: ‘He has a good heart.’ The phrase means: ‘The poor fellow is as stupid as a rhinoceros.’.” (Balzac, Eugenie Grandet) The democratic wars of the late 1700s up to World War I were wars to establish the new-old coalition of pagan intellectuals, unrepentant Jews, and colored heathens over the Europeans who believed in His kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven.

World War I marked the end of Christian Europe. Throughout the 20th century you could still see the beautiful remnants of the European fairy tale. And you could still see the beautiful remnants for the same reason that a profligate son who has spent over half of his billion dollar inheritance still appears to be rich. But the Christian capital has now been spent. World War II was a war between three unchristian –isms – democratism, communism, and Nazism. Which was worse? All three were and are united in their hostility to the Christian fairy tale.

The lie that liberals and conservatives have been putting out for centuries is that the dawning of the democratic era of European history was the dawning of a new age of light. That democracy equals light and old non-democratic Europe represents darkness is a given in the modern world. Liberals, who hate everything white and Christian, should view the democratic era of European history from that perspective. But why do professed Christians still cling to a messianic faith in the democratic process? Why do they continue to equate all things democratic with goodness and light when it is obvious that democracy has produced the ungodly, sinful liberals who mock and scorn the cross of Christ?

The modern Christians accept democracy and all its attendant evils because they have only an intellectual faith. They have not given Him their hearts. They will complain about certain aspects of liberalism, but they will never oppose liberalism itself, because they think liberalism is light and European Christianity is darkness. But what our people, the antique Europeans, bore witness to is true. We can walk on water if we believe in Him alone, or we can try to blend His word with the principles of democratic liberalism and drown in the sea. There is no third way. The European people are drowning because they have not repudiated liberalism in their hearts.

The angel of the Lord told the shepherds that He, the Christ child, would be “a sign unto you: Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.” When conservatives stop pointing to other democracies where the democratic cancer is not as severe as in the Western nations, as our exemplars, but point instead to the dear, dear land of storybooks, to nondemocratic Europe, when Christian women stop calling themselves Christian Feminists, and when white pietas is not condemned as ‘racist,’ then and only then will the European people become what they were meant to be – the advocates for and the protectors of His Kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven.

Christmas still has an impact on the European people, but it cannot be just one moment of nostalgia or one tiny acknowledgement of a cute little story. The Christ story was at the center of our non-democratic ancestors’ culture; it was not subordinate to the democratic process of the liberals. The liberals’ brave New World has had its day. Do we really want to “walketh with the ungodly, standeth in the way of sinners, and sitteth in the seat of the scornful”? That is not the way, or at least it should not be the way of the Europeans. We do not belong to the city of democracy and liberalism. We belong to His city: “For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.”+

Posted in Charity, Christmas, democracy, fairy tale mode of perception, Grazers, Uncategorized | Tagged ,

Lo! He Abhors Not the Virgin’s Womb

Yea, Lord, we greet thee, born this happy morning,
Jesus, to thee be all glory giv’n;
Word of the Father now in flesh appearing;

After a verbal exchange with Feste, who is Lady Oliva’s fool, Viola, the heroine of Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, realizes that Feste is anything but a fool.

This fellow is wise enough to play the fool,
And to do that well craves a kind of wit.
He must observe their mood on whom he jests,
The quality of persons, and the time,
And, like the haggard, check at every feather
That comes before his eye. This is a practice
As full of labour as a wise man’s art;
For folly that he wisely shows is fit,
But wise men, folly-fall’n, quite taint their wit.

In modern Liberaldom, any man who wants to make a living must not offend the principalities and powers of Liberaldom. He must be wise enough to play the fool. He must pretend, even if he is not a liberal, to be in complete accord with all the basic tenets of liberalism, particularly the main tenet: ‘Thou shalt love the negro with thy whole heart, mind, and soul, and thou shalt hate the white man with all they heart, mind, and soul.’ If the white grazer is found deficient, if he violates the great commandment, he will be cast into outer darkness where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth.

Independent of the immorality of supporting liberalism, and we really can’t separate ourselves from that issue, is the problem of the ever-changing nature of liberalism. Liberalism is an express train. The first station stop is called ‘equality for all.’ That is where the colored heathens are invited on the train with the whites. The second station is the ‘some are more equal than others’ stop. At that station the whites are piled into box cars, they are no longer allowed in the passenger section of the train. At the next station stop, the ‘white genocide station,’ the whites are taken out of the box cars and herded into the stockyards where they will be slaughtered. And then the train moves on to its final destination – which is hell.

The difficulty in coming to some kind of terms with the engineers of the liberal train is that they move past the different stations so fast. A case in point – about 24 years ago I was asked, by a conservative magazine editor, to write a series of articles for his magazine. I jumped at the opportunity because at that particular time I was struggling to support a wife and children. I sent off the first article, full of hope and expectation. I honestly thought the article would be well-received. There was nothing, from my point of view, controversial about what I had written. The article was not about race. So I was very surprised when the editor asked me to take out a reference I had made to “Christian Europe.” I refused to remove the reference, and as a consequence my career as a conservative pundit was over before it began. I had failed to see just how far to the left the political spectrum had shifted. Even the ‘conservatives’ were too liberal to permit a good word to be said about the antique Europeans. And it has gotten much worse in the last 24 years. Men are fired for using words such as ‘niggardly’ and terms such as ‘cotton picking.’ Nor is it enough to remain silent about issues pertaining to the sacred negro. Anything less than enthusiastic support is seen as hostility to the liberals’ regime, and that hostility is punished. How did we come to this pass? Why is white pietas, which is our only connection to the living God, proscribed in church and state? And why do white people submit to the proscription?

I must come back to the same theme again. White people are the only people who have made the hatred of their own people into a religion. All our major institutions – our churches, our schools, our universities, and the various media outlets – preach hatred of the white race. Why do the whites stand alone, hating their own people and worshipping the people of other races? The whites stand alone in their hatred of whites because they stood alone in their acceptance of Christ as Lord and Savior. Christianity is a dangerous religion; it must be taken to heart, it must be lived, in order to be the life-sustaining force that once inspired our people. We must believe His cross, the cross that “leadeth us,” is our salvation. If we refuse to take up the cross we will become post-Christian intellectuals, we will become liberals who hate their own people, or we will become white grazers who tolerate the hatred of their own people. There is an overwhelming beauty at the heart of the Christ story. But it is a moral beauty that can only be seen by a human heart, a heart enflamed by His love in and through the channels of grace He has provided for us. Without white pietas we cannot know the Savior. We will be left with our intellects alone, and our intellects alone always produce men and women who see with, not through the eye. They see nature and nature’s god, the noble savage: they do not see the beauty of the Man of Sorrows who has redeemed the world.

All heresies emanate from the clergy, and then spread outward to the laity. The reason all heresies start with the clergy is because the clergy are the men of intellect. They think about God until they think Him into a closed box of their own devising. It is always the humanity of God that gives the churchmen problems. They can’t really accept the incarnate God, the God who took flesh and dwelt among us. So they take refuge in either a non-incarnate Pharisaical-Sadducean God who would not deem to soil Himself by taking human flesh, or else they take refuge in the Socratic Christ, who hands down his philosophical precepts to the thinking men.

The liberals’ religious hatred of the white race stems from the churchmen’s qualms about the incarnation of our Lord and Savior. St. Augustine, who never quite left his Manichaeism behind him, asserted that there was the City of God, which was the organized Catholic Church, and the City of Man, which consisted of the human flotsam that had to be avoided at all costs. If we excuse St. Augustine (which I do not) because he lived in a time when the European barbarians were at the gates of Rome, we still must ask why the churchmen who followed St. Augustine, the churchmen who could see the Word made flesh in the European nations, still maintained that there was no such thing as Christian Europe. We are told that the people from whom Rembrandt, Handel, and millions of other witnesses to the Word made flesh came, were an illusion. They didn’t exist. But if they didn’t exist, to whom should we look in order to see the Word made flesh? Should we look to the men of intellect? “Yes,” say the churchmen. “You must look to us!” But if we must look to the men of intellect, why then should we not look to the men of intellect outside the church? If intellect is all, let us look to the men who were too smart to be fooled by the Christ story. The churchmen acquiesce to the demonization of the white race in the hopes that their modified philosophical Christianity, a Christianity that demythologizes the incarnate Lord, will prove acceptable to the liberals, who will then leave the organized churches intact and allow them to be part of the brave new world of science, reason, and the noble savages of color. But that world is not a world that men and women with hearts of flesh can live in.

The mantra of the heretic in every age is that he equates the hatred of humanity with the love of God. The heretic thinks he must hate all things human in order to champion God. But doesn’t that leave the God-Man out of the picture? Our Lord took flesh and dwelt among us so that He could join the human with the divine. If we renounce our humanity, we renounce our connection to the living God. This is where the connection between the liberals and the Christian heretics comes into play. The heretic denounces the Word that was made flesh in the European people, because he refuses to accept the fact that humanity can be sanctified by the grace of God. The liberals agree. They refuse to see the moral beauty of the antique Europeans because they hate, like the fallen angel, the Word made flesh. The maniacal hatred of the liberals for white people is an ancient hatred that is fueled by the devil. He cannot strike God directly, but he can attack God by attacking the people who formed an incorporate union with Christ. Wherever the image of God in man appears, Satan strikes. Has he totally effaced that image? No, he hasn’t, but we are in dire straits. The image of God in man has been banished to the catacombs of Europe, where men and women who “receive Him still” hold a place at their racial hearth fire for the Son of God.

We cannot continue to deceive ourselves about the nature of liberalism. Donne said that, “No man is an Island,” least of all John Donne, “because I am involved in Mankinde.” But John Donne was speaking as a European who had discovered, through the grace of God, that his humanity was part of Christ’s divine humanity; he knew the worth of his soul and the souls of his fellow men. However, if we take that faith in the Word made flesh away from the Europeans, what is left of our humanity? We see the birth of the non-humans, the liberals. They have built an island unto themselves: it is an island inhabited by creatures devoid of all humanity. And is not such an island the devil’s isle? For him, paradise is an island of dead souls, an island inhabited by creatures who have renounced their God-given humanity and hate the God-Man as Satan hates the God-Man.

The modern European grazers are trying desperately to carve out a niche for themselves in Liberaldom. That can never be, because the liberals must destroy the people who once championed the Word made flesh. Nor should we want to be part of Liberaldom. Do not look to Christian democracies – they are snares of the devil. Christ always loses when the veracity of His word is put to a vote. We do not want Barabbas, we want our Lord and Savior, we want our Jesus. +

Posted in Europe as the Christ-bearer, Europeans and Christ, pietas, Uncategorized | Tagged ,

Still Our Ancient Foe

And Jesus being full of the Holy Ghost returned from Jordan, and was led by the Spirit into the wilderness, Being forty days tempted of the devil. And in those days he did eat nothing: and when they were ended, he afterward hungered. And the devil said unto him, If thou be the Son of God, command this stone that it be made bread. And Jesus answered him, saying, It is written, That man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word of God. And the devil, taking him up into an high mountain, shewed unto him all the kingdoms of the world in a moment of time. And the devil said unto him, All this power will I give thee, and the glory of them: for that is delivered unto me; and to whomsoever I will I give it. If thou therefore wilt worship me, all shall be thine. And Jesus answered and said unto him, Get thee behind me, Satan: for it is written, Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou serve.

Luke 4: 1-8

Now that there is no longer any opposition to liberalism, the liberals have made explicit that which was always implicit in liberalism. They believe that every kind of violence – rape, assault, torture, and murder is licit so long as it is done to cleanse the republic of the impure. “We are against violence,” the liberals tell us, “unless it is violence against fascist racists.” But aren’t all white people fascist racists? Yes, they are, except the special Illuminati, who have transcended whiteness. So then we must conclude that the liberals mean to exterminate all the non-illuminated whites. And they are doing just that. This purge is a repeat performance. Robespierre was against capital punishment, except (there is always that exception) when capital punishment was used to cleanse the republic. The liberal Jacobins will never be satisfied until there are no white people left. They keep the grazers in line by letting them think that they can be part of the Illuminati. “Let the white South Africans perish, and let the white racists in every European nation be exterminated, what is that to me. I am not racist, I will be spared.” Such is the fantasy of the white grazer. The angelic liberals will put a mark on his door and he will be saved from death. But will he? No, he will not, nor in the end will the Illuminati themselves be saved from the black plague that they created to destroy the non-illuminated whites.

The liberals always sing hymns of joy every time a new wave of colored heathens enter a European nation, but does it ever occur to the liberals that their world, which is sustained by whites, will perish when the colored heathens replace the whites? No, that never does occur to the white liberals. Our reason is illuminated by what is in our hearts. The liberals’ hearts belong to Satan. There are no rational arguments that can make them denounce Satan. They support the colored heathens because the colored heathens are the human conduits to Satan. And conversely they hate the white race because whites once were, and could be again, the human conduits to Christ the Lord. It is the eternal battle of good vs. evil. The liberals have made their choice while the European grazers remain in limbo. In that comatose state they are easily manipulated by the devil.

The conservatives’ failure to understand the religious dynamic of liberalism has led us to a dismal swamp of futility. The conservatives continue to point out the irrationality of liberalism while the liberals continue to intensify their devotion to all things Satanic. The liberals do not see that their cushy government jobs will cease when there is a colored majority. The neo-con liberals do not see that an egalitarian army consisting of feminists and colored heathens cannot fight. Soon, and quite possibly now, we will no longer have an army that can defeat either Russia or China. (It wouldn’t be so bad if Russia took Alaska and the rest of the United States, but China is a different matter.) And then the neo-cons won’t be able to play with their paper soldier army anymore. And the feminists? There is no feminism in the cultures of the colored heathens. Since liberalism will be no more when Heathendom replaces Liberaldom, why not welcome the colored heathens into the white nations? We should not do that because we, the white remnant, are not heathens. White Christians should not desire to live in a black South Africa, an Islamic Britain, or the Aztec state of California. It is not an either/or proposition: reptilian liberalism or colored barbarism. The white European should reject both, but as long as the European people believe that liberalism and Christianity are compatible, they will continue to support white genocide in the hope that the liberal angel of death will pass them by.

The oft-quoted witticism, attributed to a whole host of wits, which suggests that a man who is not a liberal when he is young has no heart, but if he is still a liberal when he is old then he has no head, is, like all attempts to be clever rather than truthful, a very great lie. The lie contained in the immoral witticism is that liberals, even when they are in error, as they are in their youthful, halcyon days, are still not in sin because their hearts are in the right place. And the conservatives, even when in later years their practical, cynical wisdom turns out to be closer to reality than the ‘wisdom’ of the ‘idealistic’ liberals, are still considered evil because they have no humanity, they lack hearts. The deadly assumption underlying that ‘clever’ witticism is that liberals have good hearts. That is contrary to reality. Was the devil well-intended when he told Adam and Eve to defy God? Byron thought so and so did Gide and a whole host of European intellectuals, but the antique Europeans, as a whole, did not view the devil as the hero in the story of the Garden of Eden. And then we come to the French Revolution. Were the liberals, the Jacobins, really men and women who had their hearts in the right place? I would say that the Jacobins had hearts that belonged to the father of liberalism, Byron’s hero, and that those hearts were evil. But then I am a reactionary beyond the ken of liberal humanity. And that is my point. Shouldn’t we all, we Europeans, if we have any real humanity, be beyond the ken of liberal humanity?

The 20th century did produce men with no hearts. The theoretical conservatives in church and state were men who saw reason divorced from the human heart as the truth and the way. They fit neatly into the parameters of the previously mentioned witticism. But the real conservatives, men such as Edmund Burke and Anthony Jacob, did not divorce reason from their passions. They loved their people and used their reason to champion their people’s cause. Faith springs from a heart imbued with that charity of honor, it does not stem from the brains of the philosophers and theologians. “There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophies.” The liberals have hearts consecrated to the devil. He gives them the passion to strike out at God through their attack on the white race. How can we counter the liberals’ attack? We can eschew the conservatism of systems and embrace the conservatism of the heart, which is the conservatism of Ratty in The Wind in the Willows:

‘By it and with it and on it and in it,’ said the Rat. ‘It’s brother and sister to me, and aunts, and company, and food and drink, and (naturally) washing. It’s my world, and I don’t want any other. What it hasn’t got is not worth having, and what it doesn’t know is not worth knowing. Lord! the times we’ve had together!

“Still our ancient foe, does seek to work us woe.” When we forget that, we lose the war against Satan and his minions. Our “ancient foe” cannot be defeated by reason divorced from the heart. Chateaubriand’s observations on the fall of man should be heeded:

Observe, too, what is very important: man had it in his power to destroy the harmony of his being in two ways, either by wanting to love too much, or to know too much. He transgressed in the second way; for we are, in fact, far more deeply tinctured with the pride of science than with the pride of love; the latter would have deserved pity rather than punishment, and if Adam had been guilty of desiring to feel rather than to know too much, man himself might, perhaps, have been able to expiate his transgression, and the Son of God would not have been obliged to undertake so painful a sacrifice. But the case was different. Adam sought to embrace the universe, not with the sentiments of his heart, but with the power of thought, and, advancing to the tree of knowledge, he admitted into his mind a ray of light that overpowered it. The equilibrium was instantaneously destroyed, and confusion took possession of man. Instead of that illumination which he had promised himself, a thick darkness overcast his sight, and his guilt, like a veil, spread out between him and the universe. His whole soul was agitated and in commotion; the passions rose up against the judgment, the judgment strove to annihilate the passions, and in this terrible storm the rock of death witnessed with joy the first of shipwrecks.

-The Genius of Christianity

The European intellectuals were so impressed with their God-given reason that they decided to go it alone. They gave an intellectual assent to God, but they no longer were attached to God, they no longer had a heart to heart connection to the living God, because they thought that their reason had made such a connection unnecessary. And that pride of reason leads to liberalism, because it creates a void in the human heart that must be filled. Just as communism is a derivative of capitalism, so is liberalism a derivative of intellectual Christianity. We must have a faith that touches our hearts. If we give only an intellectual assent to God and the things of God, without giving Him our hearts, we will either become liberals, who have given themselves over to Satan, or we will be defeated by the liberals because we haven’t the heart to fight them.

If we can believe the Gospel accounts, and why should we question them, we see that Christ wanted something more from his followers than mere intellectual acceptance of His divine status. He wanted their love: “Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me?” Christina Rossetti speaks for our people when she asks: “What can I give him?” And then she answers her own question: “Give my heart.” It is striking how often St. Paul stresses that one great theme – we must give Him our hearts. If we don’t love much, if our reason is not illuminated by Him, then we will fall prey to the devil who prowls about the world seeking the ruin of souls. Liberalism is an all devouring hellhound who does the work of his master. With an unerring instinct that hellhound attacks whatever connects mankind to the living God. And it is the purveyors of ‘go it alone’ intellectual Christianity that have left us defenseless against the hound of hell, which is liberalism.

The question that Thomas Hughes poses in Tom Brown at Oxford when his hero is confronted with a choice between Socrates or St. Paul is, “Shall we be heathens or Christians?” St. Paul’s way is the way of our people, the way of hearts that loved much. There is a great dichotomy between St. Paul’s faith and the faith of the theologians that followed him. There is no dichotomy between St. Paul’s faith and the antique Europeans’ storybook faith in the Man of Sorrows who redeems us from sin and death.  Why did we reject the romance of the Christ story and replace it with a philosophy called Christianity? It is always that “pride of science” that keeps us from the living God. Intellectual Christianity is Socratic Christianity; its adherents gather around the first circle of hell, clinging to that first rung while trying to convince themselves that reason alone will keep them from falling deeper into the pit.

The liberals use the barrier of race to keep the intellectual Christians from approaching the living God. If white pietas is evil, if it is the unpardonable sin, then the Pauline Europeans who loved much were wrong. Then St. Paul was wrong about the wisdom of the circumcised heart, and Christ was wrong when He asked Peter, “Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me?” He should have told Peter to “Go and think about God, get your act together intellectually, and come back to me then.” The devils that went over the cliff with the swine knew who Christ was, and they feared and loathed Him. Likewise the liberals: they know in their satanic hearts that they must destroy the white race in order to attack Him whom they hate. White pietas, which leads the European to Christ, must die so that Satan can reign on earth as he reigns in hell. Standing against that hellish, reptilian vision of utopia is the European remnant, the people who believe as the antique Europeans believed, that His kingdom come lives in hearts that love much, and His will shall be done by those same loving hearts. +

Posted in Grazers, post-Christian rationalism, Quality of mercy | Tagged , ,