FICTION (more or less)

  

 

    Steve unfolded one of the leaflets and began skimming over the words: 

   "There are vipers in your nest striking out at ordinary, innocent girls simply because they are Australian and not Muslim. You may already know this. The Muslim community is after all very tight-knit. If you have any knowledge at all of who is responsible for the series of gang-rapes on white women over a period of months and in all probability being committed by the same pack of vile criminals and have not come forward with this information, you are almost as morally deficient as the perpetrators themselves. If you in any way shield or protect these cowards, then you are not only in the wrong morally, but also guilty in the eyes of the law of being accomplices after the fact.

    We realise that the great majority of Muslims living in Australia are men and women of good faith who would not condone the horrendous crimes committed against these women – rapes of the most vile, brutal and savage kind intended to humiliate and degrade. We know that most in the Muslim community are grateful for the opportunity of a new life Australia has provided and would be aghast at the way some amongst you are repaying this kindness. We know how you would feel if those being attacked were your own sisters, daughters, wives and mothers. We know that you are capable of feeling some of that pain even though experienced by women not of your own and not of your faith.

     However, we are unfortunately  forced to surmise that those responsible for these crimes would have great difficulty in keeping such a terrible secret and that there must be those amongst you with whom it has been shared. For how long this knowledge can be hidden is difficult to know, but what is known is that the longer it is contained, the more it will fester, poison and sicken, and even more terrible is that as long as this information is withheld, more women will suffer these life-shattering outrages.

     We of course now all live in a multicultural society and Australian multiculturalism is a great success story admired and envied throughout the world. Therefore, there is hardly a single soul who would like to see it damaged in any way. This is the reason the police and the media have stepped very lightly in the investigation of these crimes. To not do so risks tearing the fabric of multiculturalism, besmirching the honour of an entire ethnic group and providing ammunition to those few amongst us who do not want to see Australian multiculturalism continue to succeed.

 The authorities are only too keenly aware of the delicacy of this situation. The police especially are in an almost impossible position. On one hand they are being told to solve these crimes as swiftly as possible. On the other hand, they know how easily they can bring down upon themselves accusations of ethnic profiling. Given past experiences, they are understandably scared of being labelled racists. They are under the strain of being pulled in diametrically opposite directions.

     Make no mistake, however, the monsters responsible for these crimes will eventually be caught, tried and imprisoned for many years. This is inevitable.

     Serious questions will though asked. People will want to know why the perpetrators were not apprehended sooner. Were they protected and if so, by whom? Why were the police so reluctant to act? Why was such critical information withheld from the public? Was the shielding of an entire ethnic group more important than protecting women from heinous attacks? Is one ethnic group considered more important and worthy of protection than others? Why did the members of the ethic group from which the criminals haled refuse to help?

     It is not difficult to see how the delicate balance of multiculturalism could be affected and harmony destroyed. Neither is it difficult to predict the anger that may build and eventually explode in a backlash that could end who knows where.

     If you are one of the decent, peaceful Muslims of which we know number in the hundreds of thousands now living in Australia and are grateful to be living in such a prosperous and wonderful land, and wish to continue to be accepted as valued citizens with valuable contributions to make to the greater good, we beseech you, if you have even a fragment of knowledge regarding who is responsible for these crimes, to please come forward.

"You want me to deliver these where?"

"Just around a few suburbs in the Bankstown area," Byron said. Being the self-appointed president and treasurer of the Eureka Rebels Nationalist Movement, it was only fitting that he would merely direct the troops while then remaining at HQ to answer phone calls and co-ordinate.

"So it'll be like a kind of a suicide mission?"

"Come on, there's no need to be so dramatic. The pamphlets you will be delivering have been toned down. The pamphlets going out in the other areas are much more hard hitting."

"Glad I won't be delivering those."

"You worry too much, when there's nothing to worry about. Kiwi and Boxhead will be going with you. You'll be going in Kiwi's car. He told me he's just got a new one. In the remote possibility of any trouble, they both know how to handle themselves. You should've seen Boxhead go before he went half blind."

"Well what good is he now?"

"Look, if you're going to be so negative about it ..."

"Forget it. Just give me the rest of the bloody leaflets."

The moon, an illuminated glob of blue-vein cheese, shone happily on the three men as they emerged from a side door of the of the hulking old house and walked the length of the lane beside it to where it met a narrow street at the back of the house. A lingering smell of  barbecue reached out from the the backyard on the other side of the fence. Kiwi led the other two to a jet-black Series 5 BMW wedged between a Volkswagen beetle and a grimy Holden ute.     

 

     Boxhead and Kiwi sat in the front seats that seemed to have been moulded to their bodies while Steve slid across the leather of the back seat. He wasn’t sure it had been such a good idea to put the two in the front into the same team. Not too much love seemed to be lost between the two big alpha males.

     "Nice set of wheels,’ Steve said. ‘Looks brand new."

     "Yeah, I think it is," Kiwi replied, turning the ignition key. The car made a sound like and English gentleman’s muffled cough and then settled down to silky smooth purring. "I only knocked it off the day before yesterday."

     "Jesus!"   

     "Don’t worry. I won’t have it long. I’ll probably be trading it in next week. Look how these pricks have boxed me in will you? Oh well, no worries." With that, he leaned around over the seat and reversed the BMW into the car behind with a crunching sound. He then put it into drive and nudged the car in front. He repeated this manouvre until he had created enough space to easily exit the parking spot.

     "Did you have to?" Boxhead asked.

     "It was their own fault, whoever was stupid enough to park that close."

 

     With the city’s peak hour long since expanded several hours on both sides, it took them almost forty five minutes to be inside of what they’d come to consider enemy territory. The first square Byron had marked on their map took in a large chunk of the suburb of Campsie which Steve knew had once been just another friendly patch of Australian suburbia almost indistinguishable from any other across a homogeneous nation. It saddened him now as he watched the complete alienness of it sliding by. They found a parking space in Beamish Street, the main drag, divied  up the leaflets and headed up the street to the northern most side street on the western side in the texta-marked box.

 

     Steve was beginning to get some idea of what a postman’s life was like. It wasn’t the enjoyable stroll he thought it would be, but then again the posties didn’t deliver letters in the dark. It was a struggle to find some letter boxes with the lack of light and overgrown foliage conspiring against him. A lot were so ridiculously low he already had premonitions of a crook back. On some of the fancy-arse letterboxes, just finding the slot was like solving a puzzle. However, houses greatly predominated so that they weren’t held up too much by the huge banks of letterboxes standing outside the fortress-like apartment blocks of some of the other areas. But even so, more of these blocks appeared on his and Boxhead's side of the street, resulting in their losing sight of Kiwi who was able to work more swiftly on the other side of the street.

 

One and a half hours had elapsed before Steve and Boxhead were back in sight of the car.

What kept yous?’ Kiwi was leaning on the BMW as rakishly as a gangster trying to get himself noticed.

     ‘OK, let’s get in the car,’ was Boxhead’s curt reply.

      With the engine running almost inaudibly, Kiwi continued in what he thought was a humourous vein. ‘You know, I’ve been watching some of these muzzy shielas walking by in their black curtains with the slots in them and every time I see one I start wondering if I’ve forgotten to post a letter.’ His laughter at his own lame joke grated on both his passengers.

 

The trio, now held together by the uniformity of housing on both sides of the streets, were completing the last box marked on the pages of the Gregory’s and the three of them were willing to admit they were pretty well knackered. ‘Takes it out of you more than you’d think,’ Kiwi observed as they were heading back toward the where the car was parked.

They were now in, Lakemba, the epicentre of the of the Muslim displacement of Australians and  resembled a neighbourhood somewhere in the Middle East. As they turned into the main street where the car was parked, they began slipping the last of the pamphlets under the doors of businesses. The light flooding the street was a welcome relief from the gloom they’d been working in. Many people were still out and about; it was late Thursday night shopping. The car was only about the length of a cricket pitch up ahead when Kiwi thrust the last pamphlet toward a Muslim woman walking by who reflexively accepted it. Her surprise, like any other emotion she may have felt, was concealed by her burka.

 

     Suddenly, loud yelling came from somewhere behind them accompanied by footfalls thumping as fast as a drum roll. Steve turned to see a group of men running toward them. A gold chain around the neck and nestled in the exposed black chest hair of the leader glinted in the streetlight. He was waving one of the pamphlets above him and gripped a baseball bat half way along the shaft in his other hand. It was difficult to see exactly how many were running behind him but one thing was obvious: the infidels were outnumbered. People were scattering. Steve wanted to run, but he couldn’t. Both Boxhead and Kiwi had turned to face them, Boxhead even taking a pace toward them. Adrenalin was coursing through Steve’s body but the switch had to be thrown from flight to fight.

 

The leader of the group flung the pamphlet in the air and it fluttered behind him as he took the bat in both hands at the skinny end and drew it into a back-swing, still running fast and about two metres from Boxhead. As he slowed and aimed the bat at Boxhead’s bald, shining head, Boxhead calmly thrust his left leg out in a straight front kick to the man’s testicles and tipped his full weight behind it, adroitly stepping to his right to avoid the bat that was  arcing toward him. The man groaned and doubled up. Skinhead then grabbed him by the hair and shirt and, aided by the man’s own momentum, flung him into the rear of a parked car. His head put a slight dent in the car beside a rear lamp and the bat rolled and clattered along the pavement. Another man who’d been close behind the one just fallen and incensed at the treatment of his comrade began waving a knife toward Boxhead’s guts. So intent was he on evening the score he’d lost awareness of Kiwi who crashed a right hand into the side of the man’s head.

 

 The stricken man looked comical as he staggered and held out both arms as if about to take a dance partner. Boxhead brought him down with a roundhouse kick to the side of his knee. He buckled and landed on his behind on the pavement. He was still insensible as Boxhead kicked the knife from his hand, sending it skidding under a parked car while Kiwi shielded him from two other attackers racing toward them. Steve joined the fray by running at one of them and driving a shoulder into his solar plexus. Kiwi wrestled with the other while Steve prepared to take on the man recovering from the shoulder charge. And then a blow came seemingly from nowhere pounding into the side of his head. It wasn’t exactly pain he felt; it was more a jarring shock that robbed him of his senses and had him seeing the stars he’d always thought were either mythical or the stuff of cartoons. It was like waking from a dream. He was half dreaming; half knowing urgently he had to wake up. He shook his head to try to urge the return to full consciousness. He was almost there when another blow smashed into the corner of his mouth sending him staggering backward. A knife was pointed toward him, coming at him with the certainty of a train on a track. It mesmerised him. And then a dull thud and a crack sounded, the man screamed and the knife rattled onto the concrete. Boxhead had retrieved the baseball bat and brought it down full force on the man’s knife arm. Nursing the arm and grimacing in pain, he retreated as Boxhead continued to threatened him.

 

Yelling ‘fucking Australian shit,’ was the best rearguard action he could produce. But he grinned on seeing a mate had gotten behind Boxead and now had him in a choke-hold causing him to writhe violently, desperately trying to break loose. Emboldened, Broken-arm now rushed forward, kicking at Boxhead who was using the bat toward him off as well as beating over his shoulders with it at his other tormentor. Steve in the meantime, with most of the cotton wool now out of his head, used his old rugby skills to tackle another knife wielder and knock the wind out of him. He pinned the hand holding the knife to the pavement and with a knee on his chest to restrict his movement he used his other hand to rain hammer-blows on his arm until he released his grip on the knife. But not finished yet, he managed to bring a knee up under Steve’s ribcage. He was smaller than Steve and scrawny but seemed to have the strength of a madman. He rolled Steve just enough to get him off him and with a death grip on each other they got to their feet and began trading blows. Steve was punching hard enough to drop most men but his adversary was absorbing the punishment, more intent on punching back than defending himself. A looping right hand caught Steve in the lower lip and blood began to gush.

  

On the other side of the pavement, Kiwi was withstanding an attack by an experienced knife fighter, exhibiting the skills he'd acquired before deserting from the NZ army. He had his forearms crossed in front of his face and was lashing out with his feet. The man though was deftly avoiding the kicks and was interspersing wild slashing with deadly thrusts. With each thrust, Kiwi either pulled his midsection back or moved sideways, allowing an escape from the needle-sharp tip. The slashing though was taking its toll. Blood was beginning to run down his arms from several gashes. He knew he was losing but the sight and smell of the blood maddened him. Even before the momentum of a thrust had been expended, he stepped to his left, placing himself almost side on at an angle to his attacker, drew his right leg back and exploded a smashing round-house kick into his abdomen. The man’s eye bulged and he doubled over. With both his hands gripping the back of the man’s neck he brought his knee up into his face.  With blood pouring from a broken nose, the stricken man reeled backwards and fell on his back, striking his head on the concrete. 

 

     Now with the knife in his own hand, Kiwi straddled the prone figure with his knees and with both hands lifted the knife high above his head to plunge it into the man’s heart. ‘No,’ Steve roared and sprung just in time to grab the knife hand just before it descended. Steve’s own opponent was rolling on the ground groaning. Still in fear of a murder being committed, Steve continued holding Kiwi’s wrist and twisting it until he let go of the knife. Undeterred, Kiwi began pounding the man’s face with his fists, the two men’s blood becoming mixed as the claret running from Kiwi’s arms sprayed onto the man’s bloodied face.

     ‘Stop it! You’ll fucking kill him,’ Steve shouted. It was only then that a measure of sanity began displacing Kiwi’s bloodlust. He got up off the man who rolled and began crawling on his hands and knees in a slow motion escape. The target he now presented was just too tempting for Kiwi who drove several full-force kicks into his ribcage before he made a strange sighing sound, rolled and fell on his side where he stayed still.

 

 Boxhead, with his wild swings behind him with the bat had backed a winner with a strike to the head of the man who was trying to choke him. Stunned, he released his grip, allowing Boxhead to concentrate on the man who was kicking him. The first unhindered swing broke the man’s other arm, but the satisfaction of this caused him to lose awareness of the man still behind him. Rubbing his head where the bat had caught him, this man stepped forward and drove the sole of his boot into the back of Boxhead’s knee, dropping him to the same knee. Then he drove the same boot-sole into the back of his neck. Boxhead’s coke-bottle-bottom glasses shot from his head. But before the man could deliver another kick, both Steve and Kiwi were on him. Steve had him in a full nelson while Kiwi drove a left into his stomach, a right uppercut to his chin that caused his eyes to roll back and then a vicious left hook to the side of his head. Steve flung him to the ground. Then Kiwi began putting his RM Williams boots to what he thought was good use by stomping on the man’s head.

‘No that’s enough,’ Steve said. ‘Christ, you’ve really got the killer instinct haven’t you?’ Kiwi took that as a compliment. Then, apart from some groaning and the sound of heavy breathing, all was quiet. The leader of the attackers, now with an egg-sized bump on his forehead was still snoozing between two parked cars. The man with the two broken arms had disappeared, the man who should have been dead was supporting himself by leaning his back against a shop window smearing blood against it, both his and Kiwi’s, and the fifth lay comatose on the footpath, blood running ominously from both ears.

  

The comparative silence was only a brief interlude though. From somewhere not far away came a strange, urgent female warbling, alternating rapidly between frequencies – high, low, high, low. ‘What in Christ’s name is that?’ Boxhead asked. Steve had heard the sound in India: ululating. He’d only heard it in a celebratory context but in this instance it was a  battle cry. Some sort of disturbance was happening on the other side of the street, further down. Men were running – many men. Tyres screeched as cars braked to avoid hitting some of them blindly attempting to cross the road in heavy traffic.

     ‘Let’s go,’ Steve cried. ‘Come on; we’ve got to get out of here.’ Kiwi was already running, digging in his pocket for the car keys. Steve wasn’t far behind him.

 

‘Steve, wait!’ It was Boxhead’s voice with a touch of desperation in it. ‘I can’t find my glasses. Help me.’ Steve understood instantly; he would be as blind as an eyeless spud. He turned to see him in a stance of abject helplessness, arms outstretched at his sides, palms turned upwards. Steve rushed back to look for the glasses. There they were in the gutter. One lens was cracked and an arm was missing but they would restore his sight. He picked them up and thrust put them into the hand of the blind man. Almost imperceptibly but becoming more perceptive by the second was the hee haw hee haw of sirens. 

 

‘Here!’ he said, handing them to Boxhead who held them on his head and both started running. The blood-lusting mob was now only metres behind them. Kiwi was already in the car with the engine running. Then the car rocked as the two desperadoes jumped in with him. ‘Lock the doors. Lock the fucking doors,’ Steve cried. Only a sliver of time passed between the clicking of the doors and the pounding on all side windows. A bearded crazed brute of a man lying across the bonnet, fierce eyes locked with Kiwi's, was trying to smash the windscreen with the side of his fist. The the car was being rocked violently by men on both sides. 

 

     ‘For fuck’s sake, go, get us out of here!’ Boxhead cried. Kiwi stamped on the accelerator and pulled the wheel wildly to the right at the same time. The man trying to smash the windscreen was thrown to the roadway. The bonnet of a taxi travelling in the same direction suddenly dropped like a giant had pressed down on it and its tyres shrieked and smoked with the acrid smell of burning rubber. The car’s momentum was almost spent but not enough. It crashed loudly, metallically into the rear door of the Beamer, pushing its opposite rear fender into the car that had been parked in front of it. The noise of plastic parts shattering into shrapnel added to the cacophony. The car containing the three fugitives lurched wildly into a lucky gap in oncoming traffic before Kiwi could wrestle it back onto the correct side of the road, still fish-tailing.

 

 Steve looked through the rear window to see the fast receding figure of the man who’d been flung onto the roadway getting to his feet just inches in front of the stalled taxi. I'll bet his his pants are full of shit, Steve thought. The Beamer leapt at the chance to do what it was made for. Before many seconds had ticked by it was doing ninety along a suburban main street. Luckily, several millimetres of space still existed between the belted in fenders and the rear tires.  A half  K ahead red and blue flashing lights were rushing toward them.

 

"Slow down for Christ’s sake," Boxhead yelled. "You don’t think they might get suspicious seeing a car heading away from a crime scene at this speed?" Kiwi glared at him but braked sharply down to legal speed just before a police car, an ambulance and another police car hurtled past them, with enough combined hee hawing to hurt eardrums. Kiwi then right-turned the car sedately into a side street, then after five minutes made another right, so that they were travelling in the opposite direction as they’d been on the main street but a good distance away from it. The tension, the adrenaline, the blood-lust was draining.

 

"Pull over," Boxhead commanded, his glasses at a comical angle across his face.

"Why?" Kiwi asked, immediate umbrage in his voice.

"Why? Take a look at yourself. You're bleeding like a stuck pig. If we don't stop it somehow, you're going to pass out and put us into a telegraph pole." Kiwi pulled pulled the car over on the wrong side of the road where cars were less densely parked and did as he'd been advised. For the first time he noticed the patterns formed by the scarlet riverlets running down his forearms from ugly, glistening gashes, soaking his shirt and pants and pooling on the seat between his legs.

 "Yeah, now that you mention it, I do feel a bit crook."

 

 Steve leaned over into the space between the front seats and said, "do you think it was our newsletters they took exception to?" 

 

A man walking his Jack Russel under a street light beside a high end sedan with both rear fenders stove in was baffled when, unable to resist looking in through the open front window, saw three men, one of them covered in blood, roaring with laughter. Kiwi, becoming aware of the man's eyes on him, stopped laughing for long enough to wipe a tear from his eye with a bloody finger and look at the man and then down at the dog.

"Them Jack Russell's are crazy," he said to the man.

 

"You're still bleeding," the man heard someone else in the car say, and as the raucous and seemingly uncontrollable laughter re-erupted inside the car, he resumed his walk. Slowly shaking his head, he thought, Jack Russel's are crazy? 

 

 

 

 

 

DADDY, WHERE DID MULTICULTURALISM COME FROM?

'Where did it come from, Daddy?'
'Well, from the Jews Honey.'
'Why?'
'Well you see, right from the very olden days, everywhere the Jews went people were bad to them.'
'Why?'
'Because the Jews always did things that other people didn't like.'
'What did they do?'
'They changed things to suit themselves but which didn't suit the people whose countries they changed.'
'Is that all?'
'No. You see Honey, the Jews are very smart. They've always known how to separate other people from their money.'
'But Daddy, you still haven't answered my question.'
'Which question was that Sweety?'
'Why did multiculturalism come from the Jews?
'Why don't you ask your mother?'
'She said to ask you.'

 

Daddy doesn't really have much of a clue but at least he's essentially on the right track which is more than can be said for around 98 per cent of the population. In Australia, the ideology that led to multiculturalism was largely an imported disease but fingerprints of the usual suspects can be found on the local version. Walter Lippman, a Jew, is credited with being the leading activist in firing up Australian multiculturalism. Lippman succeeded in becoming a borer from within of the Australian Council of Social Services (ACOSS) which was an umbrella organisation under which grouped around 500 different  organisations of social advocacy. At a biannual ACCOSS conference held in 1968, Lippman's concern for migrant welfare led to his having it included on the agenda. With this one foot in the door, the creation of Lippman's and his fellow proto-multiculturalists' own Joint Committee on Migrant Welfare, an ACCOSS standing committee, followed. This was base-camp 1 from which Lippman could sustain a lobbying campaign on government. "Lippman exploited these strategic and logistical advantages and made his ACCOSS committee the hub and command centre of proto-multiculturalist activism." (1)

Although arse-clown, crook and sartorial fuck-up, Al Grassby, Minister for Immigration in the ill fated Whitlam Labor government of '72 to '75 would puff up like a pigeon with a hard-on at the sound of the words, "Father of Australian Multiculturalism, the man who had considerably more claim to the title was Jerzy Zubrzycki. It was Lippman though who was the first multiculturalist to pursuade Grassby that multiculturalism was the way of the future. Grassby, in fact not having much of a clue himself about which way to go, was putty in the hands of zealots like Lippman.

However, being hailed as the true king of Australian multiculturalism, it was only fitting that Zubrzycki was the first to spew the pernicious lie that "all Australians except the original ones are ethnics". Born in Poland, Zubrzycki wasn't a Jew but the sociologist Emile Durkheim who he claimed as one of the greatest influences on his life was.

In 1963 Zubrzycki travelled to the US to associate with and become heavily influenced by leftist sociologists who were now carrying the baton handed on to them by the Frankfurt School pioneers of cultural criticism. The central pillar of Frankfurt School thinking was that the cultural hegemony established by the capitalist ruling class produced "false consciousness" in the body politic. This hegemony needed to be dismantled by way of relentless critique, hence the 'critical theory' of the Frankfurters who had fled the German National Socialists. Being both neo-Marxists and Jews, this was an eminently sensible career move. Germain to the present argument, the need for a nation's racial homogeneity was seen by these ideologues as a spin-off of false consciousness. Pluralism was the antidote. While in the States Zubryzcki befriended Milton Gordon who was writing Assimilation in American Life. They spent hours together discussing the need for, and ways and means of disposing of the melting pot model into which American immigration was processed.

After returning to Australia, Zubryzcki, a demographer by trade decided to switch to Sociology. He became a founding member of the Sociology Department at the Australian National University. In 1964 he produced a field study of migrants living and working in the coal producing area of the Latrobe Valley entitled Settlers in the Latrobe Valley. Being an immigrant himself, it was exceedingly easy for him to empathise with the subjects of his study and sympathise with their problems. He also extolled Anglo Saxons who also sympathised with their problems. This perhaps was a subtle way of putting into a negative light the majority of the host population who didn't sympathise.  Also subtly presented were a few anti-assimilation sentiments. He wasn't about to begin rattling the cage too loudly just yet. Within a few short years though the tentative whispering here, aided significantly by expressions of discontent about the white Australia policy coming from countries to our north - a case of the pot calling the kettle black considering their own racialist policies -  would become a confident and unmistakable call for action. 

 

As cultural pluralist ideas as promoted by the likes of Lippman and Zubryzcki began to ebb and flow about academe and government circles the intelligentsia began taking a liking to them. Through the ages people who have thought of themselves as superior types have always looked for ways to distance themselves from the hoi polloi. Signing up to these new ideas becoming fashionable was just such an opportunity. "Anti-racism, anti-parochialism and cosmopolitan values, often expressed in terms of appreciation of migrants and migrants' cultures, became a means by which tertiary educated professionals as a status group set themselves apart from those who did not appreciate the 'finer' and 'more colourful aspects of life. This adherence to certain values helped define a person's status and claim and claim to social respectability."(2) It could be said moreover that even people lacking in education could make up for this deficiency, or at least appear to, by subscribing to these same ideas.

Parallel to this welcome chance to signal one's superiority for those who wanted to, was a dawning realisation that Australia and Australians were in serious need of a complete make-over. "In addition to being racist, the 'typical Australian' was negatively stereotyped as parochial, narrow-minded, materialistic, suburban, culturally inferior and in need of improvement."(3) With a rap-sheet like that, we were fortunate indeed to be allowed to continue living.

It is in no way possible or legitimate to view the early stirrings of Australian multiculturalism in isolation. If rebellious rumblings hadn't been heard years earlier and leading to American pluralism, it would be reasonable to assume that we would never have been afflicted with the condition. But of course they were. And America, being a country containing a large black population, was eminently vulnerable, particularly after fighting a war against a country whose preeminent evil amongst a basket of alleged evils was institutionalised racism. Returning to their own country of  racial segregation about to also become known as institutionalised racism, Americans were led to confront an apparent monumental hypocrisy with which it was almost  impossible to continue living. Doing the leading were of course Jewish dominated liberals who were quick to widen a societal crack into a chasm that would split the nation. However, racial segregation when seen from the perspective of today's black/white relations and the epidemic of black on white violence may not have been such a bad thing. As proof that Jews are world champions at the divide and conquer game thus furthering their own interests it's worth noting that the NAACP, the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People was founded and staffed by Jews.

And guess who had been agitating for liberalised immigration policy, that is, from non-traditional sources, since the latter part of the nineteenth  century. Unlike Australia with an almost negligible pre-WW11 Jewish population, the US had been the destination of Jews, predominantly since a particularly nasty pogrom in Russia in 1881. This though of course wasn't something Jews hadn't experienced before. Pogroms went with the territory, it being difficult to be the enemy of the rest of humanity without expecting some blow-back now and again. Because of a peculiar blindness though, Jews prefer to view this reaction as irrational hostility - psychopathology no less. It has absolutely nothing to do with what's written in their holy books about Gentiles being simply cattle - their own words - or more aptly, sheep to be shorn. How else could they think? If a monotheistic people claim the one god as exclusively their own, then logically no gods are left for anyone else. So godless, with no means of obtaining a soul, what else can these unfortunates be but non-humans - animals? A corollory of their self-appropriated status as the only true humans is their system of dual morality. Essentially this meant an in-house moral code loosely in line with the Christian code: don't steal, don't kill blah, blah, blah, and a second code to be applied to all non-Jews which is, as known in Australia as 'Rafferty's rules' or 'open slather', roughly translated meaning no rules at all. Against the Goy, it is perfectly legitimate to steal, kill and the complete reverse of all the blah, blah, blah. This of course is tempered by the pesky civil laws that apply in the countries called home by Jews, even in Israel where world opinion sometimes means just a little bit more than nothing at all. However there was that case a few years ago when an Israeli soldier let loose his Uzi at some innocuous Israeli Arabs for no apparent reason. Not only escaping any real punishment, he became an instant equivalent of a rock star.

This dual morality also operates on a global level. For example, for western countries, Jews promote multiculturalism, mass immigration and anti-nationalism with opposition to this rainbow pot of enrichment being evil and beyond the pale, but for Israel, it is perfectly fine to oppose these weapons of mass destruction which they know perfectly well themselves to be their true nature.

The US was the perfect home away from home after that home had burnt down. It seemed the perfect shelter from the mysterious hatred and violence they had feared for thousands of years. No national religion, but indeed freedom of religion - perfect! A constitution that guaranteed freedom to pursue happiness and a freedom to make money with which to make that happiness complete. Best of all, America was a nation of individuals - defenceless against the most collectivist tribe that had ever existed. This was the same formula exploited so mercilessly that had caused them to be kicked out of enough countries to form an alternate UN. But of course when making more enemies than a crooked tax collector - which incidentally was a role often filled by Jews - it was just good sense to have a well thought out survival plan. This, Kevin Macdonald, in his seminal work A Culture of Critique, called a "group evolutionary strategy". This was what was employed to consolidate an impregnable position in the US. This essentially comprised using team work par excellence to accrue phenomenal wealth with which to take over the power points of American society - the instruments of persuasion such as media and Hollywood - to turn them around like captured cannon and begin using them on the enemy

However, even then, with the fear of what they called anti-Semitism in the very marrow of their bones, they still didn't feel safe. In their paranoia they still felt as exposed as a pair of dog's testicles. Monolithic homogeneity of the host populations they'd burrowed into was what had always brought them undone. But there was an obvious solution to this. If the homogeneity of the US population could be busted up by the introduction of many different ethnic groups which would serve the purpose of camouflage, the dog's testicles would become just another pair in a greyhound race. So began the relentless crusade for so called cultural plurality.

Things were going swimmingly for our Hebrew friends with a virtual immigration free-for-all until hitting the first major road block in the form of the 1924 US Immigration Act which they fought against with the fury of a whore stiffed for her fee.. Briefly, the act stipulated that the racial components of the US should be frozen in line with the results of an 1890 census, ergo a quota system. A later census of 1920 was disregarded because in the years immediately preceding it, immigration had been skewed heavily in favour of those from eastern and southern Europe. It was considered fairer to all concerned to extrapolate from the earlier census and keep the percentages of immigrants coming from a particular country in line with the percentage of their countrymen already resident in the US and thereby maintain a racial status quo.

It was a setback but in their millennia of existence Jews had learnt how to deal with adversity. They simply regrouped, and with infinite patience resumed the struggle. The breakthrough came in 1965 when the quotas were thrown out, the walls came down and the Jews'  Shabbos Goy, Ted Kennedy famously stated that the new immigration act would in no way alter the racial make-up of the country. It's well known that politicians lie for a living but this was a lie that would tower as an Everest of bullshit among mere foot-hills of bullshit. It's now calculated that within little more than twenty years whites will no longer be a majority in America. The same goes for Australia which caught the fever when the mighty US breathed on them as it does for the rest of the West where national suicide is considered the most moral and honourable course of action.

 

Unless a cure is found quickly for the disease of multiculturalism and, more importantly, the mass third world immigration that feeds it, Daddy's little sweetheart will be reaching maturity in an Australia that for an Australian, won't be worth living in.

But you don't have to take my word for Jews being the engine behind mass immigration and multiculturalism in the West, or for that matter that of any other 'anti-Semite' . They're more than happy to  take full credit for it themselves. Indeed they brag about it. See below.

(1) Lopez, Mark The Origins of Multiculturalism in Australian Politics 1945 - 1975 Melbourne University Press P109
(2) ibid P 84
(3) ibid P 83
I'm also indebted to Kevin Macdonald's, The Culture of Critique

For an insight into the development of multiculturalism in Sweden which parallel that in Australia, this is well worth reading:
http://www.theoccidentalobserver.net/2017/09/23/the-origins-of-swedish-multiculturalism/#more-154699

FIJI: IF BICULTURALISM IS THIS EXPLOSIVE, HOW BIG A BOMB WOULD MULTICULTURALISM BE?

Racism has become so identified with whites that the term has become a synonym for white racism. In order for the racism practised by non-whites to be indicated, it is usually denoted as "reverse racism". The idea of racism expressed by other races has become so difficult to process that it's easier to simply abandon it. It just doesn't fit the narrative we've all had drummed into us. This perhaps is the  reason why non-white racism seems to have become as rare as rocking-horse turds.

Besides, the universality of the distrust of the Other really doesn't bear thinking about. If we were to dwell too long on the possibility that what has been labeled as "racism" - a scourge to be rooted out like a troublesome weed wherever it is found - is in fact an inherent part of human nature that always was and always will be, we may be drawn more to a world of reality and away from the world of fantasy in which our overlords struggled so mightily  to corral us.

This is perhaps the reason we don't hear a lot about Fiji, apart from its role as a tourist destination. Unfortunately for Fiji however, its tourist industry has been in decline for several decades due to political unrest in the islands. This is something we do hear about from time to time as roving TV reporters much prefer real action as opposed to, say, looking silly as they so often do in lonely postings outside of where something barely newsworthy might have happened hours before. But the newshounds are fickle lovers and as soon as the dust has settled in Fiji it is again quietly forgotten about. However trouble in Fiji doesn't evaporate simply because the news cycle has rolled on to perceived greener pastures. On the contrary, trouble brought to the islands more than 100 years ago by the British in the form of indentured labourers essentially press-ganged from the lethal poverty of India is a permanent component of Fijian society.

Between 1879 and 1916 when the system was abolished, more than 61,000 Indians were brought to Fiji. Why did they agree to be wrenched from their ancient homelands and become only slightly better off than slaves labouring in fields halfway around the world? The alternative - starving to death - provided not much competition. The indentured Indians, or Girmitias from Girmit from Fiji Indian dialect meaning indenture agreement, were victims of cascading misfortune that began with the British changing the Indian constitution to effectively cut many millions out of land ownership. Members of the resulting armies of vagabonds were subject to imprisonment. For this to be punitive it therefore obviously needed to be a worse fate than simply starving. The mind baulks at just how bad this would have had to have been to deter the malnourished from wanting to get into jail. Sealing the indenture deal for those who might have been wavering, although this would have to have been a very small minority given the other options,. was an upfront payment. After debts were settled, family and friends were helped out, it's not difficult to imagine these unfortunate souls fairly leaping onto the the ships that would take them to Fiji with whatever money was left. Don't worry, they were probably told, there's plenty more where that came from.

Why did the British need to go so far afield to conscript labour for work in Fiji? Wouldn't it have been easier to offer the the native Fijians the same deal? The Indians were brought in for the same reason that labourers had to be brought from as far away as Japan to work in American owned sugar-cane and pineapple fields in Hawaii: the islanders would no doubt have thought back-breaking work for foreign bosses, paid with money they didn't need was the definition of insanity. A hunter and gatherer life, topped up with a little subsistence farming and cannibalism in a bountiful environment, which had served their people well for the best part of 1,000 years, would continue to do so, thank you very much.

After abolition of the system in 1916, the Indians were offered paid fares back to India. Many accepted, but many opted to stay. After all, by now many had been born in Fiji and it was now India which was the foreign country. The ones who stayed quickly began to make their mark. Being a race which had created one of the earliest civilizations as opposed to the Melanesian natives who had, although performed remarkable feats of sea-voyaging, not bothered too much with civilization building, the Fijian Indians were far better positioned and mentally equipped for profiting from a Fiji now opened up to a much wider world than the natives had ever known. They also knew the value of money, and more importantly, how to accumulate it. This, the supposed  root of all evil, and the one-sided possession of it, became the root of Fiji's mutual animosity.





The situation that eventually arose in Fiji was as inevitable as an egg following a chicken, or was it a chicken following an egg? By the modern era, Indians comprised 46% of the Fijian population but dominated the economy. This unsurprisingly was a thorn in the side of the native, Melanesian population that would lead to a festering infection. Countering the Indians economic power was the type of power so endearing to Chairman Mao - the type that comes from the barrel of a gun. The army was 100% Melanesian.

The first real surprise to the outside world that everything in Fiji wasn't just pork-roasts, nubile, swaying dancers and lazing beside impossibly blue lagoons was the military coup that occurred in May 1987. The coup was led by Lieutenant Colonel Sitiveni Rabuka. The overthrown government led by Prime Minister Bavadra was a left of centre, multi-ethnic affair supported mostly by Fijian Indians. This to the indigenous Fijians, seeming like their Indian cohabitants had effectively wrapped up both economic and political power, was a bridge too far and racial discrimination was claimed as the justification for the coup.

In November, a second coup, or round two of the first coup, ended Fijian monarchy and in October a republic was proclaimed. The neighbours weren't impressed and both Australia and New Zealand introduced economic sanctions against the unrecognized regime. This however did little to hose down a racial fire.

The die was cast. Fiji staggered on into a future of economic and political turmoil and animosity which caused many Fiji Indians with business acumen to flee.

In 2000 the first Fijian Indian Prime Minister was held hostage in parliament by nationalists for 56 days and riots tore through the streets of Suva.

Currently rankling the indigenous Fijians is the fact that Ambassador Nazhat Shameem Khan, the permanent representative to the UN and other offices in Geneva is an ethnic Indian. There appears to be no end to the conflict.



One feels compelled to sympathise with both the Indians and Melanesians of Fiji, because neither were responsible for the racial divide destroying their country. The had it done to them by the British. They cannot be said to be as foolish as those who have done it to themselves, although the inevitable tragic results will be the same or worse.

Here in Australia, for example, Lib/Lab politicians and their lap-dog media and educational apparatchiks never tire of telling us we are the most successful multicultural society in the world. So what? Who cares? We didn't know it was a competition and, moreover, we didn't ask to be entered into it, or in fact for multiculturalism in the first place. It came from the top down - shoved down our throats. Not even immigrants were asking for it, that is, apart from immigrants of one particular race.

But it is hoped their smirking self-congratulations and warm moral glow can be enjoyed while they can because these are early days and the end result is sure to disappoint. Every multicultural experiment carries within itself the seeds of its own disaster. Unfortunately it is axiomatic that those who don't learn from history are doomed to repeat it. The disaster isn't a matter of if but simply when.

Yes, the current situation appears to be bubbling away quite nicely, but that's because the economy is still as strong as can be expected, the white majority hasn't yet been knocked off its perch or even been seriously threatened and the Chinese haven't yet commandeered the economy like they did in Indonesia, Malaysia and South Vietnam and the Indians did in Fiji. But of course all this will change.

The difference between our fragmentation painted over with an illusory harmony and Fiji's political, social and economic dysfunction is simply time. In Fiji, much more time has elapsed since different races were forced to share the same territory. Trouble has been allowed sufficient time in which to brew and become lethal.

All that is need for the same inevitable result in Australia is simply more time.

NOT JUST 007 WHO'S LICENSED TO KILL

This week in mid-September Sydney saw yet another small but significant victory for the sisterhood. Ms Quian Liu, 35, was found not guilty of the murder of her husband Han Lim Chin, 39, as well as his manslaughter, by a jury evidently composed of morons who believed her barrister's claim that the entire event had been "a terrible, tragic accident". The distraught woman had simply "reacted to a nasty situation". The nasty situation had culminated in the victim acting aggressively after repeated accusations of his wife's infidelity with a personal trainer at her gym.

Compounding her fear and anxiety, it was alleged, was her knowledge that Han Lim Chin carried knives in a bum bag he was wearing, while she herself held a knife behind her back.  Claiming she wasn't aware that a protective sheath had fallen from the knife she was holding, she simply meant to press the knife up against his chest to prevent him from advancing closer. It seems that the unfortunate Chin had never himself visited a gym because his flesh was so soft the knife that was simply “pressed against” it penetrated as though it was melted butter all the way into his heart. Lifting the unfortunate event into the realms of Shakespearean tragedy were Chin's last words: "Wife do believe me, I do love you very much."

No evidence of remorse on the wife's part has been reported. On the contrary, according to evidence given by an attending police officer, Ms Liu had said simply "I stabbed him, we argued and I was mad." She later denied having said this.

When the verdict was delivered, Justice Clifton Hoeben revealed that in his thirteen years of presiding over trials this was the first time a jury had delivered a not guilty verdict. On hearing this out of context, one might conclude that the judge was expressing a degree of dissatisfaction with this egregious travesty of justice but the report in the Sydney Morning Telegraph of September 15, 2017 assures us he was smiling as he spoke those words as though he also thought the verdict was a brilliant balancing of the scales of justice. Evidently it was smiles all around, that is, except for relatives of the deceased who later expressed to TV journalists in sad, difficult English their inability to accept that what had happened was "an accident".

Indeed, how could one be stabbed through the heart by accident? Perhaps if a person was holding a knife in a Psycho-like grip, tripped on a fold in a rug and fell toward the person with whom a nasty situation was being shared, and against odds at which most gamblers would despair, drove the knife into the other person's body where the small space housing the heart is located. However, nowhere at no time did Liu claim that anything like this happened. If it had been, perhaps it would be understandable that a jury reached the decision it did. In comparison, Liu's claim of what happened requires an inordinate amount of suspension of disbelief. It was just an accident, so there! "A word means just what I choose it to mean - neither more nor less." The spirit of Humpty Dumpty was apparently informing her defence.

Just for argument's sake, let's accept for a moment the man's death was simply an accident. The man is still dead; his wife was the cause.  Why was the charge of manslaughter ever introduced into every modern legal system? The reason was to calibrate blame and punishment in cases such as this (providing it was an accident) where no intent to kill has been found. The factor of, or absence of, negligence is usually the deciding factor. In cases of car accidents, for example, in which passengers, or the occupants of a car collided with are killed, the factor of proven or unproven negligence decides whether the driver at fault goes to jail, and jail is usually the fate if found guilty in such cases. People hereby found guilty sit in jail while Liu, who had a knife secreted behind her back during a domestic altercation and just happened to accidently stab her husband through the hearts skips out of court smiling like a split watermelon.

Whoever said the law is an ass knew what he was talking about. Let's call a spade a spade. It's Feminism that has brought us to this ugly pass. It's now open season on the despised male. After years of poisoning women's minds against men and converting domestic violence into a cause celebre it's gotten to the point where a judge can smile while allowing a female killer to go Scot free. He obviously wasn't up to navigating through a mine-filled sea. Liu, after all had a second string to her bow. Not only was she female, she was also a member of an ethnic minority - a deadly double whammy.

Domestic violence, admittedly serious as it is, has been promoted into a category of evil topping the charts almost as much as racism and is a one-way blame game. A knee jerk response is that it is always immediately thought of in line with the simple feminist decree: man bad, woman good. Instinctively, domestic violence is construed as men's violence against women. However, the reality is different. According to Jim Ogloff who heads research at the Victorian Institute of Forensic Violence and is a world renowned authority of violence has stated that at least one third of domestic violence is perpetrated by the not so fairer sex. That is of course what is actually reported. While no shortage exists of women who will report even the most negligible degree of domestic violence, often with ulterior motives, how many men would risk being laughed out of a police station by going to report his significant female other assaulting him?

Get used to it. It's a rigged game, a stacked deck. A woman has a breast squeezed and it's a fire-storm of outrage and demands that the perpetrator be punished to the very limit allowable by law. However when a man has his penis sliced off by his wife while he sleeps, it’s good for countless laughs by late-night comedians to the delight of female audiences.

The moral of the story? Be wary of the woman in your life. She may kill you just because she can - and get away with it.

CULTURAL MARXISM FOR DUMMIES

 "Situation hopeless but not serious," may have been the view taken of the Soviet economic system by the Politburo. Among the proletariat, an old joke raised the odd smile when nothing much else would: "we pretend to work and they pretended to pay us." These were two takes from different perspectives on an economy that worked about as well as solar panels during a Scandinavian winter .

Just as within the think-tanks of Western capitalism, constant growth was all that mattered. Without it .. well no-one really wanted to think about that. A major difference however between a capitalist and a communist economy was that with the former the concrete and steel wall that growth must inevitably hit was somewhere off in the future, while with the latter, the system was pushing up against the wall right from the beginning.

But as with so many other things, a prime example being the situation during the initial phase of the German-Soviet war when to tell the truth about another crushing defeat was a fast-track to getting a bullet in the back of the head, a certain amount of reticence existed when it came to reporting growth rates possibly less spectacular then expected. Cunning methods were devised to avoid any nastiness such as, for example, boosting production figures by way of having gleaming finished products passing out through a factory's front door only to be re-routed back through the back door so they could be counted again ... and again.

Naturally enough an economy that belonged in Fantasy Land could only be maintained for so long until the whole house of cards came crashing down, which it did. The Soviet Union ceased to exist and its chained up European satellites, generously handed to them by their World War 2 allies, threw off their shackles and celebrated like it was 1999.

Similarly, the Chinese saw the graffiti on the Great Wall and switched to a hybrid of economic capitalism and political communism, not caring too much about the tension set up between economic freedom and the continuing oppression of a communist society. Its neighbour, Vietnam, attempted to follow suit but with limited success, widespread poverty still being the general rule. Cubans stuck to their guns and drove the same model cars for sixty years. But at least that attracted vintage car enthusiasts with money in their pockets. That only leaves North Korea which if not careful may still be radioactive in 1,000 years.

Communism had three major problems. (Estimating the exact numbers of all the others could provide an excellent competition for morning radio.) They were 1. Marx seriously misunderstood human nature. Christians and Freudians had a far firmer grasp of the nettle. Man is essentially flawed, they said. Christians blamed 'the Fall', while Freudians blamed the irrationality swirling around in the dark depths of the Unconscious. This condition, it was thought, is fixed for all time. Man has about as much chance of being perfected as a square wheel. He is selfish, tribal and as territorial as a hippopotamus.  He is the most dangerous creature to ever walk the earth.  And sadly, he is not as smart as he thinks. If he were, the average IQ for white people, although higher than that of other races, wouldn't be flat-lining at around 100, meaning of course that exactly half the population comes in with an IQ of less than 100. However, one Herr Marx believed that this unpromising material could not only be converted into the totally unselfish 'brotherhood of man' but could also be moulded into a state of perfection. Human nature to Marx was Play-Doh. This was taking naivety to a whole new level. And Jews are supposed to be smart!

2. Class consciousness trumps nationalism. Once the workers of the world were properly "educated" they would realise that they had more in common with workers of other nations than they had with their own nation-states ruled over as they were by the evil bourgeoisie. The First World War put the kibosh on that idea when the workers of different nationalities slaughtered each other on an unprecedented scale. Nationalism, as it turned out, trumped class.

3. (essentially an elaboration on 1.) Throughout every incarnation of Communism, some animals were always more equal than others. While some holidayed in seaside dachas, were driven around in sleek limousines, and dined on caviar and imported cognac, the rest of the farm animals scratched the barren earth in search of scraps. But this is just temporary, they were told. Sacrifices are needed. But take heart, a glimmering socialist paradise lies just over the next hill. Yet as the years rolled by and the proles trudged ever onward, the paradise, being the mirage it was, remained forever out of reach.

Nothing really panned out the way Marx said it would, which is surprising given that Marxism was billed as being as scientific as a test-tube. For instance, according to the theory, (theory as in theory of evolution - already beyond doubt) the lift-off of Communism could only be achieved in industrially developed countries already softened up by "bourgeois revolutions" such as the upheaval in France in 1789. The great impediment to "progress", the aristocracy, would be thereby bulldozed out of the way. The arrival of Communism, that is to say, the dictatorship of the proletariat, was predicted to be an historical inevitability but a little help from the vanguard of that benighted social class wouldn't go astray.

But here was a surprise: the two main events of Communist revolution in the twentieth century occurred in industrially backward nations where the peasantry and not the proletariat formed the backbone of the body politic.

Antonio Gramsci

But, hey, any port in a storm. That could be worked with. Just a little tweaking and a shift in strategy was all that was called for. And this slight departure from the gospel of Marx might even have worked out better in the long term. After all, once the workers in industrially advanced countries witnessed the miracles taking place in nations which had jumped the gun, who could stop them wanting the paradises possible in their own countries. Admittedly, they had not been softened up by the predicted bourgeois revolutions, but rather by peaceful evolution. Same result wasn't it?

But once again, the cold, wet blanket of disappointment descended. The official script was again being ignored. Workers of the First World, when advised that all they had to lose were their chains, replied, "what chains?" Notwithstanding wars and economic depressions (and if the Great Depression couldn't tempt its victims into communism, what could?) they were living la dolce vita. With a little prompting from unions and social democratic political parties they were now being smiled upon by Capitalism with a human face. In fact, the embryo of a welfare state had been conceived by the shrewd Bismark in Germany precisely to cut the legs out from under troublesome socialists. These reforms began making their way around the world. Incidentally, the only advanced country where a communist revolution came close was Germany after years of unimaginable suffering. But of course we all know what happened there.

The appearance of thinkers becoming known as neo-Marxists was a sure indication that something had gone badly wrong with the old Marxism. The seeds of what would become known as the New Left - a term interchangeable with Cultural Marxism - but a cleaner ring to it, such as New Rinso with the implication being that it was both new and improved, were beginning to sprout. Proponents of the New Left preferred this term because of the impression it gave of not having anything more to do with Marx. It would only be the Right who would use the alternative term to remind people it had everything to do with Marx. It even came with the thought crime invented by Marxists: political correctness

These seeds were planted independently in countries going in the opposite political direction - in Mussolini's Italy by the brilliant Antonio Gramsci, and in a Germany about to undergo the National Socialist revolution by the Institute of Social Research at the University of Frankfurt. Becoming known as the Frankfurt School, its members surrounding the institute's director, Max Horkheimer who founded it in 1930, were Herbert Marcuse, Theodor Adorner, Walter Benjamin and Eric Fromm. The intellectual centre piece of the Institute was Critical Theory. This essentially was holding up every pillar of western civilization to scathing critique in the hope that, like a pier pounded relentlessly by wild seas, it would eventually surrender to a collapse.

Gramsci's  genius lay firstly in his perceiving that Marxist economics were unworkable and so began distancing himself from it and, secondly in understanding that something almost intangible was maintaining the ruling class invulnerable in its position of dominance over western societies and it had nothing to do with raw brute power. It worked far more effectively. In order to isolate this mysterious force, he formulated his theory of "cultural hegemony". In terms of being able to see something no-one else could, Gramsci was right up there with Newton musing on gravity.

Briefly, Cultural Hegemony is something achieved by those crafty capitalists who had succeeded in converting their ideology into the very culture of a society so that its inhabitants would be like fish not noticing what they were swimming in was water. Moreover, the ideology now seen (but not seen) as the permanent furnishing of a society would be accepted as being beneficial to all and not just the ruling class or bourgeoisie (take your pick) to whom of course it was exceedingly beneficial. This cultural status quo would so permeate the hearts and minds of those living within it that it would be accepted simply as reality with no other reality being possible. To think otherwise, one might as well be longing for a parallel universe. This master-stroke of pure genius hinged upon a form of mass-hypnosis, if you will. So logically, all that needed to be done to usher in the new age - shorn of all the economic mumbo jumbo - was to flip the cultural hegemony. How this was to be done, Gramsci never got around to telling us. Never having enjoyed good health he died relatively young after years of imprisonment in Mussolini's jails.

In Germany, the Frankfurt School was just getting into its stride only a few years before Gramsci shuffled off.  Like Gramsci, the Frankfurters were concerned with the way in which ideology was used as a tool of oppression, and also like Gramsci they arrived at the conclusion that an ideology was able to function so smoothly in this way was because the assumptions underpinning it were so rarely challenged. This is what they set out to do by way of criticism or critique similar to the critique of capitalist economics engaged in by Marx in Das Kapital. But instead of writing their own Capital, broadsiding every other facet of capitalist society, they hit on the idea of using the means already in existence - the humanities or social sciences: Geography, Sociology, History, Political Science and Anthropology, the latter providing a classic example of how to criticise (and therefore change society, the whole point of the exercise) to do the job. The job was to criticise society to within an inch of its life at which point it would give up and became more conducive to an alternate ideology.

With the advent of National Socialist rule the Frankfurt boys got the hell out of Dodge and lit out for the US with their peculiar brand of poison.

As foreshadowed, the discipline of Anthropology and the way it was turned inside out to further the agenda of the few determined to remodel western society in line with their own interests provides a crystal clear illustration of what the Frankfurt School was up to.

Franz Boas, although not associated with the Frankfurt School (except by shared religion) indeed preceding it by a number of years, his most important work being done not long after the turn of the twentieth century, and winning for himself the mantel of Father of American Anthropology proved to be a genius at taking an established discipline and reshaping it into a tool for furthering his own agenda. Before Boas, anthropologists took race as much for granted as the seasons of the year. Boas decided to change that. Under his reign, race would become a "social construct", human nature therefore being what Marxists preferred: malleable. At last the perennial argument was over: nurture trumped nature. To seal the deal, Boas coined the term "cultural relativism", meaning all cultures, once their peculiar strengths and weaknesses had been weighed, would come out of the wash exactly equal. Extending the logic a little, the same could be applied to individual human beings. In this way, Marx's holy grail of egalitarianism was sneaked in through the back door. But even a showman like Boas knew he needed more than smoke and mirrors.

To this end he sent his young protege, Margaret Mead all the way to Samoa tasked with bringing back proof from the primitive society living there that, being out of reach of capitalist machinations, these people were as carefree, joyful and free-loving as nature meant them to be. This mission she performed with admirable energy and dedication, having no idea that the prank-loving Samoans were showing her exactly what she wanted to see. Eventually the Australian anthropologist, Derrick Freeman lifted the lid on the whole sorry episode. Samoans were in fact just as inclined toward the darker side of life as every other Homo Sapien. But the damage had been done. Boas had single-handedly flipped a significant plank of the cultural hegemony. There was now no such thing as race, that is, unless you wanted to blame the white race for every misfortune suffered by every other race. And of course, what did an immigrant's race (non-race) matter if, being exactly equal to everybody else, he could be simply dipped in the culture of his adopted (or invaded land) and presto! he was every bit as American, British or Australian as the natives. Just in case he didn't, and of course turning science, common sense and thousands of years of history's lessons on its head was bound to produce a few contradictions, this simply being one more, multiculturalism would be constructed to allow the immigrant to remain in a non-assimilating bubble.

All that was now needed was someone to come along, gather all these loose strands together and have enough rope with which to hang western society. That person was Rudi Dutschke, an activist who had grown up in East Germany and had been greatly influenced by the jail notes of Gramsci. Borrowing from Chairman Mao, it was Dutschke who coined the term "the long march through the institutions". However, like a surfer lifted by a wave he was greatly assisted by the social revolution of the sixties that hit the US and Western Europe and in a way compensated for the bourgeois revolutions that had failed to eventuate. Herbert Marcuse, still around in '72 when his book Counterrevolution and Revolt was released, positively swooned over Dutschke's blueprint for pulling off the trick of the century - working against the established institutions while working within them.



The new improved Marxism had not only dropped the dubious economics: it had also quietly dispensed with the proletariat. Not even the lumpenproletariat need apply for shelter under its umbrella. It was as though, after their past rude ingratitude, they didn't deserve the extreme left. Besides, there were now so many other rich pickings to choose from. The new oppressed class would be a composite of all the groups who would be quick to recognise the advantages in claiming victim status under a stubbornly remaining racist, patriarchal, imperialist ruling class. They, blacks, indigenous people, minorities, women, refugees, homosexuals, would be conscripted on a quid pro quo basis. Ever more indignities, humiliations and injustices would be uncovered in return for undying allegiance to the new hegemony.

Dutschke's advice, plus hardened activists riding on the back of the civil rights movement and opposition to the Vietnam war that had provided the impetus for the revolution, as well as stoned and sex-soaked hippies so engrossed in their own infantile romanticism they would have believed anything, comprised the perfect storm. The success of the revolution was breathtaking, the revolutionaries did indeed march through the institutions - most critically, the media, education and entertainment - and made them their own. Traditional cultural hegemony was flipped on its back. There it will stay until once again flipped right side up. In order for that to be achieved, much could be gained from studying the methods of those who perverted everything they touched.

TIME TO BOYCOTT THIS RACE TRAITOR

AND WHY WOULDN'T HE BE LAUGHING? HE'S JUST POSTED A $449 MILLION YEARLY PROFIT - 29%  UP ON LAST YEAR

He's at it again, the man who asks 'who is Australian anyway? We're all from somewhere else.' The man who would prefer to import not only his products directly from Asia, but his employees as well. 

After all, it's mighty impressive how hard people will work for dirt-poor wages and with conditions only third worlders will tolerate and with a Damocles sword hanging above them in the form of a return to where they've come from if not entirely satisfactory. The man who will so generously employ as many of the 12,000 Syria refugees he can get a hold of who have been given big-hearted invitation to our shores. Among the 12,000, it's reasonable to assume only a small percentage will want to kill us.

Yes, Gerry Harvey, he of the Harvey Norman department store empire, is at it again. This time he's giving us what he no doubt gleefully hopes will be a self-fulfilling prophecy in the statement to news.com.au of September 1, 2017 in which he shares his vision of Australia becoming an Asian country with a population of between 50 to 100 million: “If I was God and I looked down on the Earth, I would see 1.3 billion Indians, 1.4 billion Chinese, 240 million Indonesians, these great big continents, America, Europe, and one funny little country, Australia. “It’s not possible you can maintain a population of 25 to 30 million people. [The 50 - 100 million is] going to  happen ... it's just inevitable. The  people that exist today, me and you, we all have our view, but we’ll be long gone. Immigration and population growth were impossible to control. The problem is you can’t control it. The rest of the world at some stage is not going to let you control it. Sometimes when you smell the inevitable you’ve got to go along with it."

That the teeming millions of Asians turning Australian cities into bulging Calcuttas and smog-shrouded Bejings will be happening much sooner than the predicted next century if Harvey and his ilk can have any thing to do with it is not mentioned. Well, so what? If it's inevitable, it really doesn't matter whether it's sooner or later. If the country becomes uninhabitable for white people much sooner than Harvey expects it's hardly likely that he'll lose any sleep over it. He can simply pack up his billions and move to wherever the global elite are holed up in their exquisitely luxurious and expansive fortress-compounds.

But why is it inevitable? And if it is inevitable, why were we not told that over forty years ago when the first beach-heads of the invasion were being established? Instead we were told that we were racists and idiots for having even the slightest concern about the small numbers of Asians arriving in our midst - so small that it was inconceivable that so much as a ripple could occur in the racial make-up of the country. But of course this is how soft tyranny works - through cunning, deceit and duplicity and,to use a word much loved by Australians, bullshit. But just imagine if we were told back in about '75, "OK, we'll be starting with small numbers initially just to get you used to it. These small numbers, don't forget, are desperate refugees fleeing a country that, helped by us, the American military-industrial-complex had fucked up completely - something the it does spectacularly well - and then leaving our new best friends holding the burnt spring rolls. The less fortunate of their countrymen are dead - probably somewhere between one and two million, and many of them fried with Napalm".

It would of course be difficult to maintain this scam indefinitely before the natives began to get restless. But a contingency plan was already in place: "Now because we Whites have a fatal flaw, put there largely by Christianity which posited a universal god who frowned upon the merely selfish application of altruism, that is, among  our own kind, instead of toward all comers, we have absolutely no qualms in using this weakness against you. Refusing to obey this holy dictate appropriated by leftists and Humanists produces guilt found to be exquisitely painful. If you object to relinquishing the country your forebears created, you will be made to feel more guilty than you can possibly stand. 

"This Asian trickle will of course be only the thin edge of the wedge.  We know of course that chain reaction of escalating Asian immigration and the cutting back of European immigration will, in the lifetimes of most of you, lead to our major cities being unrecognisable as Australian and our universities and selective schools being monopolised by Chinese rapidly on route to dominating Australian business and commerce."

Why weren't we informed of all this way back when we were  jujitsued with our own famous ideal of a 'fair go' of what was in store for us? Simple really. Assuming that our traitors had any knowledge of history at all, they would have known that, by and large, whites although slow-burners, once the spark hits the powder they can be as ferocious  as Mongol warriors. So the tried and trusted tool of gradualism was employed. Don't scare the horses. Easy does it; because if the sleep-walkers suddenly woke up to the fact that they are being guided toward the cliff edge, the conspirators would be hauled from their ivory towers and carted off to meet deeaths that would by comparison cause Muammar Gaddafi's grisly ending to look like an exercise in tough love.

But someone was bound to let the cat out of the bag at some time and  Bill Hayden, the ex-copper, was just the man to do it.   As Australia's foreign 1983, he blabbed to Asia Week magazine - a source of information in which he knew most Australians had little interest, but obviously wanting to curry favour to those who did, he said: "There's already a large and growing Asian population in Australia and it is inevitable in my view that Australia will become an Eurasion country over the next century or two. Australian Asians and Europeans will marry and a new race will emerge. I happen to think that's desirable. We should welcome the process gradually becoming a Eurasian-type society ... we will not just become a multicultural society - which seems to me as soft sort of terminology anyway - we will become a Eurasian society and we will be the better for it."

A year later, Bob Hawke, the man who knocked Hayden of his perch as the next prime minister, said: 'We will not allow to become a political issue in this country the question of Asianisation." So there you have it, the last word in describing our pretend democracy. All that has to be done to shut the mug voters out of the political process - as though they had more than a precarious hand-hold anyway -  was for the major parties to close rank and enjoy a cosy bipartisanship. This will work with any issue our fearless leaders decide must be kept out of the grubby hands of the proles - that is, the important issues.

Hayden was said to recant his view of Australia's Asian future. So the small number of those noticing his mangy cat fleeing the bag could now relax. If Hayden now claimed he wasn't so enamoured of the idea, then we could all see it as a misunderstanding and go back to the Sunday papers. But anyone wanting to step into a cold shower of reality, with eyes to see and a brain capable of even a modicum of abstract thinking would have been acutely aware that Hayden's change of heart wasn't going to blow away a future to which, if the current trends continued, and no evidence existed to show otherwise, we were inexorably headed. 

How far we have come. How smoothly the perfectly reliable method of gradualism has worked. Now when a big-mouth like Harvey insists that an Asian future is one hundred per cent guaranteed, the prediction meets with not only a complete absence of outrage but hardly a murmur. Most apparently nod their heads in resigned agreement. It won't be for another century or so why should we worry - we won't be around to see it. Hats off again to the mind-benders! A magnificent job in deracination. Our descendants? Either half-breeds or fully bred out? What does it matter? Race is  merely a social construct. What does it matter if the country built by our descendants is taken over by those of a radically different race? They'll still all by just as Aussie as we are won't they?

But if this is to be our fate, if it is to be as inevitable as a sunset, why don't we just get it over and done with. Why bother defending ourselves if in the long term we'll be surrendering anyway? Why are truck-loads of money being wasted on defence? We could save a motza here. First up, we could sell our navy to China. Knowing how well our geniuses deal with the inscrutable Oriental who learns to haggle before he can walk, we could make a killing here -  probably walk away with enough capital to set up a hobby farm breeding alpacas, more than likely, with a little spare change to boot. Our air-force? Perhaps we could approach those nice Americans to ask if they have a buy-back scheme. We need to keep our army though. As it's headed toward being an all-female, self-empowering exercise, we dare not rob our young ladies of the opportunity to continue pretending to be men. This is perfectly harmless. At the first sign of trouble we'll be showing the white flag anyway. It is to be hoped though that when our ladies are asked to surrender, its not done in a patronising, bullying way. The surrender in that case may take slightly longer.

But what if we decided to take a different course? What if we collectively grew a pair? How would it be achieved? Believe it or not, signs of hope are on the horizon. As it has been for more than a century, a lot depends on what happens in the US. Most critically, as Gramski and the marchers through the institutions so assiduously recognised, an assault on the cultural hegemony is the necessary and essential first task. Right now, the cultural hegemony of the left in the US is under attack like never before. The situation there could be fairly described as cold civil war. How this pans out is crucially important to Australia. As the recent statue fiasco here demonstrated we are immensely affected by what happens across the Pacific. The aging superpower is riven with fault lines carved so deep by multiculturalism and Lincoln's failure to follow through on his suggested repatriation of the black population to Africa, it is on the brink of disintegration. A white separatist homeland in the US is not entirely outside of the realms of possibility. If this were to happen, white nationalist here would be given an enormous boost.

However, sitting around waiting for this to happen is too passive to be contemplated. There's much that can be done. An effort here also can be made to shift the cultural hegemony. Australians have to be convinced that keeping their heads in the rabbit hole of consumerism and hedonism is not a smart option. White genocide is real, it's happening and race is as real as the iron laws of nature. If indeed the brotherhood of man is so important to so many, then the convincing of that so many is needed to show that without the white race, the entire brotherhood suffers. Much benefit, for example, could be attained from steering people's interest toward a certain mental exercise: try to imagine what Australia would be like now if multiracialism had been the the rage at the time of our founding. 

Our people need to be convinced that immigration is of absolutely no benefit to them. In cost/benefit analysis terms, it is all cost, no benefit. At best, our immigrants are of dubious loyalty, at worst they comprise a growing fifth column. The only beneficiaries of immigration are members of the global elite such as Harvey and those who escape to here from the failed societies their own people have created. Why would they be able to create anything better here?

Harvey tries to work on our weak spot comparing standing-room-only Asia with our wide open spaces. It's so unfair. Besides the fact that the preponderance of our wide open spaces are deserts, why should exploding populations to our north be any more of a problem to us than the exploding populations of Africa be a problem for Europe? (Although the evident survival of cannibalism in parts of Africa may be a partial solution.) Given that it's difficult to see so much as a trace of what other races have done for us, why should we care? If these countries are incapable of solving their own overpopulation problems, why does it become our problem. Is it because we all part of the human race? Is it because of the supposed brotherhood of man? That's enough comic relief. Perhaps we could begin considering those lofty ideals when nature ceases being red in tooth and claw and when the leitmotif of the story of man ceases being constant war.

Harvey posits a day will come when all we have, if we haven't already given it away, will simply be taken from us. That would be so if we decide to lie down like mongrel curs.  But if we can ignite once again in ourselves the will to survive it need not be so. tThis brings us to the matter of our own defence. First off the rank should be our summary cessation of military exercises with countries that cast envious eyes over our homeland. This is pure stupidity laced with appeasement. Secondly, we need an industrial base. We did it once; we can do it again. We need to recognise globalisation for the death trap that it is with fantastic wealth and power flowing to the global elite while the suckers become poorer and more enslaved. We need to become self-sufficient.

When white South Africa was under attack from all sides with sanctions, it was able to become remarkably self-sufficient. It wasn't sanctions that brought it down. It was world opinion. Being Whites with weak leaders, they worried exceedingly about not being liked. Losing the will to live is what killed them. Some predict our fate as being in parallel with South Africa's. However, important differences exist. For example, the cry 'Africa for Africans' apparently cut like a knife. But how could the same be applied here? If we were to hear the cry here 'Asians for Asians', it would be just a neighbour getting a little rowdy.  As much as our traitors have tried to instill in our minds for decades that we have suddenly became part of Asia, and no matter how much our Asian neighbours like hearing it, it is simply too ludicrous to be accepted by even the slowest among us. Asia has absolutely no claim on us.

Nukes provide the best bang for your defence bucks. Let's have them. We're right now seeing an emphatic demonstration of how it's much easier to mess with countries without nukes than those with them. If a shit-poor country like North Korea can develop them then why can't we? Why can't we say to those who say their need for more living space means they have to take ours: by all means, come and try. Come and remove our weapons from our cold, dead hands. We implied the same to the Japanese over seventy years ago. They got the message. An Australian invasion was taken off the table 

Our armed forces have to cease being laboratories for political correct loony tunes and affirmative action. Only true warriors need apply. The defence budget needs to be increased exponentially. We also need to begin providing first class science educations to our own rather than prostituting our universities for overseas money.  As has been said probably a few million times, where there is a will there is a way.

Believe it or not, the ballot box can be used to our advantage. We must begin by avoiding at all costs voting for the Lib/Lab twins joined at the head. Instead vote for any party who, as old fashioned and quaint as it may seem, puts the national interest above all else. If none of these are running, then boycott the box. Just get your name marked off to avoid a fine. Take heart and stay positive. The election of Trump marked the zenith of the leftward swing of the pendulum. There's only one way it can now swing. All over the world, nationalism, to the horror of the globalists, is stirring.

Contrary to the perverted thinking of this grinning clown Norman with much more money and greed than brains, our fate is not written in the stars high over Asia. Man determines his own destiny. A destiny informed by strength and the will to survive, the qualities that once equipped our race to overcome enormous odds and tower as giants is just as achievable as its diametrical opposite - a destiny surrendered to out of stupidity and gutlessness. To borrow from Dylan Thomas, "Do not go gentle into that good night ... Rage, rage against the dying of the light".

 

Thanks to Josef for the tip