Race-Tour 2016Â is winding down. I have a lot of material to process, which will likely serve as fodder for future articles and podcasts. My laptop has a Stasi-level archive, including pages of pseudo-intellectual musings, and hours of grainy recordings of me trolling Arabs and Lesbians. So goyim, buckle up.
But the fun isnâ€™t over yet. I have a few more objectives to hit: Munich (spiritual reasons), Berlin again, a certain hamlet in Denmark, Stockholm and Iceland. Before I launch on this final, exclusively Germanic leg of Race-Rour 2016 (RT16), I decided to do a little AAR. How did my original assumptions compare to the reality on the ground? What is to be done about our race’s predicament?
At the very onset, Vince and I concluded that the Nords were not the key to White salvationÂ (Link to Vince’s two-part series). All the memes were basically right. While Nords are most exposed to the problem, they are sadly the most inured to it. That brought about the question of southern, “frontier” whites. Could they be the source of a racial awakening?
I conceived RT16 back in February. At the time, the Hadji hoards were swelling up for another summer storm, with monthly numbers of immivaders, despite the cold, exceeding even the stats for last summer. There was a good chance of tens or hundreds of thousands by summer. “Born too late to explore the earth, born too early to explore the galaxy”… born just in time for the Great European Race War. I was positively giddy.
There was no way anyone was going to get a handle on the situation. The European governments drank their own Kool-Aid. They were petrified by their own myopic, neo-Puritan ideology. Supranational powers like the EU and NATO (â€œThe Empireâ€) would let the immivasion continue, whether by incompetence or malice. Shit was going down. So great an influx of zombie-Hadjis would certainly lead to a total collapse of the social order. Two outcomes seemed possible: Hungarian obstinacy would trigger a chain-reaction in the Balkans, with one government after another refusing to accept migrants, or a major political crisis would erupt in some core-European country.
I based my travel plan on this analysis. I would fly to Sweden, epicenter of POZ, then head south to Germany and Austria, where I figured most of the action would be. If, like 2015, the Balkans were crawling with sub-human streams, I would venture out into the old Hapsburg-Ottoman borderlands. I even went so far as to retool my Russian as Serbo-Croatian.
It did not quite work out that way. In March, the EU struck a deal with the Turks that cut the inflow to a trickle, thereby making all-out race-war unlikely this year. To use the now classic metaphor–the frog is being boiled slowly again. So instead, we have stalemate. If last year was 1914, this year is 1915. Positions have shifted, the losses have mounted–Cologne, Paris, Brussels, now Nice–but no decisive action has occurred. And worse, none seems possible.
I changed plans accordingly. After hitting Sweden with Vince, I figured the best place to see some action would be Italy and Greece, entrepÃ´ts of the Muzziepocalypse. It was not quite what I had hoped for, but Southern Europe provided a welcome contrast with the North. The race-problem was still stark, but in a different way. The aliens were there, and in big groups, but they (were) kept to themselves. I was relieved to see no cases of miscegenation.
The Southern Problem
But the locals let me down. I figured that Southerners would have a more realistic view of the Problem. They did. Indeed, southern dislike of the barbarian is instinctful. While many exhibit a veneer of liberal attitudes, few are impractical enough to really believe in them. Unfortunately, that visceral dislike rarely manifested itself in any sort of resolve. They know something is off, but they generally do not care enough to do anything about it. It probably will not affect them anyway. All they have to do is ship the next batch of dindus North and its la dolce vita again.
Two particular instances are illustrative. I had conversations with two middle-aged men on my last day in Thessalonica. Their opinions were far more realistic than the average Nordâ€™s, but their realism often crossed into outright cynicism. They had taken â€œthe Black Pill,â€ as we are calling it now.
I struck up a conversation with the first of them while sitting at a sidewalk cafe. He held an odd mix of totally based and utterly liberal opinions. He argued that the Greek economic crisis is fake, it is nothing more than a bankersâ€™ scam. Fair enough. On the other hand, he called the Syrian civil war â€œreal.â€ He argued that it was caused intentionally by the European powers, and therefore, â€œWe have to let them in.” But he conceded that Muslims cause problems, citing 9-11 as evidence that even a few could be very dangerous.
He also argued that Greece needed a totally crazy leader to clean up its economic problems. He cited Hitler as an example. When I pressed him about the refugee crisis, he recast his proposal. â€œThe whole world needs a leader like that.â€
He was vaguely Jew-aware. Not knowing my nationality, he stated that he liked the US, because there is a strong Greek lobby. I pointed out that, while true, the Greek-Americans have nothing on our main ethnic lobby. He nodded, and bragged that his people had gotten on with (((them))) well for centuries. I smirked. Supposedly the Arabs used to say that it takes two Jews to cheat a Greek.
He wondered about life in Washington, DC. I told him that the people in power are soulless, â€œThey look like this,” doing my best to emulate the shitlib 1000-cock stare. He recognized my meaning immediately and blurted out â€œcyber-metrics!” (I think he meant â€œcyborgsâ€). So, the Jews run the world through Washington cyborgs. At that point I excused myself. His world concept was ridiculously simplistic. Had this guy even read Culture of Critique?
The second man started talking to me in the nearly empty central train station (railroad strike). He spoke English very well, and claimed to have been around since the Korean War. Refusing to reveal his nationality, he mentioned Greek, Turkish and Israeli friends. He started talking to me to offer a warning: in this deserted station, a Bangladeshi was pimping a tall Serbian girl in a scheme to steal valuables from men. I was skeptical but went along. He complained that he told the security guard, but that they did nothing. He went on to bemoan our general situation, predicting that the Bangladeshis and Chinese would take over the world. â€œBut they did not build any of this (gesturing to the marble floors and walls), our fathers paid for it,â€ he said, pointing at himself and me.
I agreed, citing my experiences this summer, and asked â€œWhat can we do?.â€
He shot back, â€œNo, you canâ€™t get worked up! Thereâ€™s no point in getting worked up!â€
So to sum up, Europeans come in two basic types: frontier whites and interior whites. Interior whites (Germanics and the French) suffer all the worst delusions that the alt-right has so exhaustively critiqued. Frontier whites (eg. Italians, Greeks, Serbs) on the other hand are instinctively realistic. They make no pretense of liking the invader. Their shortcoming is not seeing the big picture. So long as their lives are not directly affected, they are content to let the Afro-Muzzies pass through. Several times I had the occasion, often standing next to a concentration of refugees, to ask a local if the migrants were a problem. Sometimes the problem was acknowledged. But too often they would shrug. â€œNot a problem. Everything is fine.â€
Of course this distinction ignores a number of others. It is not just interior vs frontier. It is city vs countryside, female vs male, young vs old. Youth, femininity and urbanity make people more likely to back their own peopleâ€™s dispossession. Itâ€™s the old yin and yang.
As I am finishing up this essay, my impeccably quiet train-car is gliding through the Austrian Alps. over a mountain town that looks exactly like the one from The Sound of Music. And, what do you know, a whole family of hadjis just entered my train car. They Syrio-Iraqis always come in big packs– an old man, two old women, two boys, two girls and two young bucks, one of whom is of course wearing a pink polo. In light of recent happenings, I am way too triggered to write anymore. I wish it would just start already.