An alien race has overrun Europe, bringing crime, terrorism, rape and murder. Do the natives even realize what is going on?
On the way from Petersburg back to the USA, Vince harrows Austria and Bavaria. He tries to shake the locals out of lethargy, but to no avail. It seems that the only people who get it are Poles.
AND: The alt-right: rich boy of fascism? The antifa think so. As if that were a bad thing. Greg and Vince discuss the mindset of the politically active. Perhaps alt-righters and antifa have more in common than either would like to admit.
Natt joins the AI bros to discuss the coming Purge. The alt-right is not big-tent. We are little-bunker. We have to kick out the degenerates and the intellectuals. Stop thinking and start acting.
Vince and Greg defend European super-nationalism, and Singh stands up for Thought, but Natt’s having none of it.
On this historic day, as Shillary, the puppet of Globalist tyranny, denounces the Altright, AI brings you this glimpse of the coming battles. We are the Resistance, we are right, we will triumph!
Featuring Mr. Bond’s latest single “Blood & Soil,” a parody of Mase’s 1997 “Lookin’ at Me” at 49.50.
Greg mentions the book “Three Faces of Fascism” by Ernst Nolte, which defines fascism negatively. “Fascism is anti-marxism which seeks to destroy the enemy by the evolvement of a radically opposed and yet related ideology…within the unyielding framework of national self-assertion and autonomy.”
Are the Muslims just dull, or does random terrorism help their demographic jihad? The Alt-Right notices who the perps are, but what about the victims? Why are bobo, liberal Westerners the target of most attacks, and not patriots? Join the discussion with Vince the Slav, Sven the Swede and Greg the orientalizing Italo-German.
The bros also tackle the American political scene. The press is trying to derail the Trump Train with pessimistic and mendacious headlines. Does the Right have the wherewithal to wait them out?
Pat Buchanan says The God-Emperor is still in the game! Unz commentariat has defeatist melt-down.
I love Munich. This is my third time here. Munich is a cozy metropolis, full of cafes, traditional restaurants, old book-stores, gardens–all preserved more or less in their pre-war state. In the cathedrals, one can feel a definite connection with his Faustian soul, his past, his people. And in these streets, our heroic SA forebearers went toe-to-toe with international Bolshevism. Hitler, Rohm, Goering, Himmler–The Dream began here, in Munich. Her beer-halls were the stage for countless sessions of fashy broing (a tradition which AI has continued).
There is only one problem.
In a way, I owe this city my awakening. The first time I came here, as a college student, I noticed the Arabs. Having studied Arabic and German, I was at first excited at the chance to practice both. But something felt off. In this idyllic Bavarian city, there were packs of fat Arab women black niqabs carrying on in their filthy Gulf dialect. I was all for experiencing foreign cultures… but Munich was for Germans, wasnâ€™t it? If I wanted to see the traditional Arab womanâ€™s costume, complete with BDSM-style nose-piece, I could go to Dubai. You certainly would not seeÂ Bavarians or lederhosen there. Even then, before my racial awakening, I sensed the significance of this disparity.
The second time I came was three years ago–the eve of the Storm. Not much had changed. The barbarians still blotted the aesthetic, but Munich remained essentially German. The old-timers wore elements of the traditional costume (â€œTrachtenâ€) the same way Texans wear cowboy stuff–with a tint of archaism, but still naturally. Munich seemed ready to putter on as a quaint, second-tier city for a few centuries, before it sank back into its landscape.
Now itâ€™s over. Munich reeks of cosmopolitan death. Perhaps her buildings will endure, but only as fossils to befuddle her inheritors. The Arabs have won. They are everywhere and they are rich. The blocks directly south of the Hauptbahnhoff are infested, but you see them in droves in the nice parts of town too. Especially in the nice parts. They seem to have nothing to do but shop and be seen. It is ironic. For a people so concerned with modesty, they certainly go all out on the clothes, the jewlery and the make-up. Form over content. No wonder the Quran is so beautiful.
You do not need to be reminded that you are paying for this, in one way or another. The safe, trusting societies that your ancestors built through centuries of struggle and hardship for youÂ cannot survive what these people bring. Inter-ethnic economic competition is the least of it. There will be blood. There already is.
I have only spent 10 days of my life in Munich. But it really does feel like my European home-city. Every time I have come, I visit my old haunts, buy a couple books, get a new shirt. I have a ritual. My three visits, being spaced out over the years, have had an outsized effect. Itâ€™s like the PUA â€œvenue change” move, go to a couple bars with a girl and sheâ€™s more likely to sleep with you. And each visit has marked a different stage in my personal development–first as an innocent boy, then as a purposeless youth, now as a man–all too filled with purpose.
Miscegenation is the worst. These days in Munich have made me understand the Swedesâ€™ predicament better. They are suffering from abject demoralization. I did not really understand that when I visited Sweden. Yes, it was deeply unsettling to see your race being cucked, but I have no particular attachment to Sweden.
In Munich, I started to get it. Seeing it in your home is a thousand times worse than seeing it in a strange environment. It ruins all the good memories you have of the place. You feel you are losing a piece of your own past. It is like watching a friend let himself go–one more obnoxious tattoo, a few more ripples of Pillsbury spilling over the belt, a newfound penchant for Scientology–in the end, the good memories are pushed out by the ballooning disgust.
There are three possible reactions: fight, give in, or go Chateau Heartiste. Now, go ahead. I hear the unwashed voices of a thousand manosphere spergs advising the CH option. Get degenerate, approach, be an insouciant douche, save the white girl from his barbarism and subject her to yours. I admit I used to be of this mind.
The option is tactically sound, but strategically counter-productive. If you suppress your disgust and wreck miscegenation by legally acceptable means, you have to poison your own mind. You have to convince yourself that sexual promiscuity is all in good fun. You have to not care. But, this is one thing we should care about profoundly–racial hygiene. There is a huge difference between reveling in butt-hurt when another guy gets the girl, and getting righteously pissed to see a kebab polluting your gene-pool. That is not an emotion you should try to suppress, even tactically. It is the healthiest, sanest and purest emotion you can ever have.
And even if you out-alpha the brownie, your are only subjecting a female of your race to a different (albeit lesser) form of social pollution. Hooking up is masturbation with a partner. It will not propagate our race. It may make you more confident with the next woman, but it will certainly make her less fit to be a wife and a mother. If we want to WIN, we need to annihilate this cancer. It seems that the alt-right, including many of the most fervent PUAs, is starting to see that.
But fighting is not yet an option. The legal and social repercussions for the individual are utterly debilitating. So, in the meantime, each of us is forced to give in. Even the deftest player cannot CH-the-fuck-out every mudsharking or kebab-basting pair he sees. Even he must, more often than not,Â endure the humiliation. And, in an environment like Munich or Stockholm, you are forced to see it again and again and again. Most will faze it out, but the healthier your mind is, the more it screams for a shot at revenge that never seems to come. Enduring this mental cycle over and over, it is no wonder so many have given up.
The only healthy option is to fight, together. And we will, very soon. We will fight the way white men always have, as a group, totally committed to, and willing to die, for each other. That is the one force that no one can defeat.
I just fucking missed it. I was in Munich this morning. This afternoon, it happened–somebody started shooting up a shopping mall in the Bavarian capital.
This is literally the shittiest race-war ever. I came to Europe fantasizing that this summer, it would be all in the open. I could hook up with some Serbian death squads and go full-Srebrenica on some kebabs. But instead we have this.
There’s simmering racial tension, frequent attacks in random locations, and consummately triggering race-cucking–about which we can do nothing but meme and dream.
As I wandered through Munich’s Hadji-infested boulevardsÂ over the last three days, I kept expecting a bomb to go off 100 meters in front of me. The city is so idyllic, so clean, so German–yet so diverse, it was only a matter of time.
But then I thought, “No way. No hadji would be retarded enough to set off a bomb here. He’d kill too many of his coreligionaries. If I were a Muzzie, I’d attack with rifles. I’d pull a Bataclan.”
Today it fucking happened. Someone(s) went in and shot up a shopping mall. No word yet on the shooter’s race, but longer we go without a pronouncement, the more likely it is that the shooter was a non-White, as vdare.com has so helpfully pointed out.
And I just missed it. What does it take to be a hero or a martyr? Timing apparently.
The press is reporting multiple shooters. I find that unlikely. The fog of war obscured the singular nature of the Dallas shooting too. But if it is multiple shooters, ala Bataclan, you can be sure it was Muzzies.
I agree with the NSA-section known asÂ Andrew Anglin. I feel no sympathy for the victims of this (unless they were righteous racists). It is past time to stop mourning and start fighting. These attacks are not acts of God. They are assaults by an Enemy.
The BBC is reporting, that among other forces responding to the attack, there was,Â “an elite border security unit, GSG9, is heading for Munich with several helicopters.”
“Elite border security unit.” heh.Â I’m sure the Roman state was still passing out medals to Limitanei formations in the fifth century for “outstanding service in maintaining border security.” God, when will they wake up?
So instead of an honest-to-god fight, we have this. Some weird form of quasi-warfare. I’m sure some Johns Hopkins Global Security Studies faggot has already written a dissertation on it: “5th Gen Warfare: Mastering the psycho-cyber battlezone.”
It looks like we have to double down. Keep posting those memes. But even more importantly, keep hammering your normie friends.Â Every serious, face-to-face conversation is worth a hundred shit-posts. You may be surprised at how receptive people are to our message–when it is presented with a clear conscience, and a sincere heart.
We are right. The Truth will win. We will win.
(Editor’s note: Further Essays in Greg’s ongoing series “Race-Tour 2016” will come out in the next couple days. Tomorrow–a report on Munich; and the next day, a recap of the summer, focusing on intra-White differences. Tomorrow we will also release our podcast Red Dawn 22, featuring Vince’s Siberian adventures.)
Itâ€™s fucking happening Goyim, another jihad in France, a Coup dâ€™etat in Istanbul, and congress dumps the 9-11 reportâ€™s redacted 22 pages.Â Itâ€™s all going out with the trash, because itâ€™s Friday, and the Jews think they can get away with it. But AI is on point and on air with this special episode, featuring George Singh in Washington, DC, and Greg Ritter in some Eastern European shit-hole.
Elin Krantz was a young Swedish woman who was raped and murdered by an Ethiopian named Ephrem Tadele Yohannes. A photo of her contorted body was leaked (probably from the police investigation) and has been floating around on the internet (Editor’s note: No link posted. The reader is invited to do a google image search. The picture is extremely disturbing).
A different woman is featured in a music videoÂ having sex with a black while singing the Swedish national anthem. The clip “blanda upp” is from a ‘comedy’ show named Grotesco. The video promotes race mixing and is intended to mockÂ the Sweden Democrats.
There are so many things to love about this story: the upholding of Rule of Law, the Amnesty butthurt, the refugee’s hilarious initials…Â What I love is thatÂ he managed to do it. As a Syrian refugee, he has all kinds of priority.
Those whose asylum applications are judged… unfounded (ie, your country isÂ not undergoing an actual war)
Those whose asylum applications are found… inadmissible (ie you are already recognized as a refugee by Turkey).
So which one do you think Mssr. M.F. violated? Probably not No. 2… he is, after all, Syrian, or at least claims to be. He may have violated No. 3, or No. 1; skipping filling out his Greek paperwork in hopes of taking the happy trail to Deutschland and succor at the burstingÂ teats of Mutti Merkel.
But there are two other possibilities. Either the Greek Police are being arbitrary assholes (WINNERS!), or M.F. committed a crime.
Greece has a big drug-smuggling problem. As soon as I landed on Lesbos, I was profiled by Greek cops (maybe they knew about my Calabrian connections. ‘Ndrangheta is big in the drug trade). After a quick doggie-sniff and a passport check, I was cleared. But some browner dudes got a more through treatment. I asked one officer if they had a big drug problem, he replied tersely but affirmatively.
But that is all circumstantial. M.F. might have done something worse. It is unlikely that he is being docked for any of the three technical reasons given above, as there are plenty of other people on this island who certainly should be.
This island is bursting with all kinds of Swarthies. From my amateur, stricly pseudo-scientific observations, they fall into four categories:
Pakis (confirmed sightings) / indistinct South Asian Brownies.
very occasional Africans
The Pakis are violating No. 2 of the EU-Turkey agreement. Their country is not at war. The only they haven’t been deported is, likely, that the Greek bureaucracy is overloaded. And no, while US drones strikes suck, they don’t count as war. Your chances of getting Anwar al-Awlakied in PakistanÂ are, assuming the very high-ball estimate ofÂ 965 killed since 2004, 1 in 2.45 million (965 / 13 years = 74.23 per annum. Pakistan’s population is 182.1 million). AfricansÂ have a far better chance of suffering death-by-hippo (1 Billion / 3,000 = 1 in 333,333).
But let’s focus on the Arabs. These people aren’t poor. They are fat and, if not affluent, at least modish. My observations are in line with what The International Business Times reported last year, “Syrian refugees are largely drawn from the countryâ€™s wealthy, professional classes, and they have the clothes and disposable incomes to match. Designer labels, expensive shoes and wads of cash characterize this crowd.” Basically the faggots that benefited most from Asad’s regime and got cold feet as soon as the ISIS badassery started. See for yourselves:
Arabs seem to come in family-groups. But, as we have noted repeatedly, most of the migrants are men. This is true especially of Blacks and Subcontinentals. When HuffPo/Amnesty/Internat’l Rescue Committee says “refugees are half women and children” or “asylum-seekers are mostly Syrian,” what they mean is “people whom the government recognizes as refugees” or “people who actually apply for asylum.” Again, pics:
Yesterday I saw a disgusting scene. An Arab family idling in the shopping district of Mytilene, and a blubbery white woman was cooing over their outsized brood in English. There were 3 or 4 young children (ie, born since the outbreak of the war), a man and two adult women. I’ll let you goys speculate about the relations of all to the others. (Sorry, no pic of this particular outrage, I was cameraless).
The most infuriating part to me was that the husband was not dead in a ditch in Syria. The badass Syrian Arab Army is battling ISIS shabos-goys tooth-and-nail, and this deserterÂ is on holiday. And now I have to pay to support him and his fecundity (indirectly, but you know).
I considered offeringÂ my translation services to glean a little information, but thought better of it. I don’t want the libtards to know there’s a Fascist mole in their Lesbian paradise, at least not yet.
So I don’t know what Mssr. M.F. did or dindu. But I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough. And I am sure Amnesty will either ignore the revelation of his mischief, or will excuse it. God, they are so predictable.
One parting shot:
According to Amnesty’s own dildo report:Â “Greece must not return anyone who is at risk of serious human rights violations in Turkey, or of being sent onwards to a place where they face a risk of serious human rights violations”
Doesn’t that mean we have to prevent refugees from being sent toÂ Germany?
“The [German] authoritiesâ€™ failure to effectively investigate alleged human rights violations by police persisted. Hate crimes against refugees, asylum-seekers and migrants increased sharply.”
HAHA YES! I mean… oh that’s terrible. We had better protect the refugees from those meanie Krauts.Â I can see the NYT Â headline already: “White Racism Threatens Refugees. Borders Closed to Protect Minority Rights.”
Hey, if that Talmudic logic shuts down the immivasion , I’ll roll with it. Whatever it takes to throw out the invader and make The West free again.
The aspiring sophists over at Huffington Post regurgitated a QuartzÂ article about how much refugees are doing to revitalize the economyÂ in here in Sicily, specifically in the western city of Palermo.
Since I am at Catania on the island’s East coast, I decided to hop on a train and see this miracle myself. I am sorry to say, that Palermo’s Wirtschaftswunder isn’t quite what the reporter,Â Annalisa Merelli,Â says it is.
But before I get into dissectingÂ the whole page-worth of talmudic libtard namastes, I’d like to point out one BIG thing.
The migrants/refugees/afro-zombies are PREDOMINANTLY Â SWOLL DUDES. How this escapes everyone’s notice is beyond me. Even theÂ statisticians at the UN admit so much. Check out these photos from my two hours of walking around Palermo:
I don’t want to give you the wrong impression though. I don’t know that any of these people were migrant-refugees. Perhaps they were tourists. And to be fair, I saw a few women here and there. I even saw a kid.
But the majority of the presumed refugees were healthy, fit men. If the West had any compassion, we would put them in camps, train them into an army, and send them back to their homelands to stop all the “war and oppression” and set up democracies. heh. I’m sure that would work out.
With that caveat, let’s get to the heart of the matter.
Sweden has an otherworldly quality. It is especially evident in the old imperial architecture. The state buildings’ proportions never quite feel right. You notice first the elements of majesty–soaring towers, sturdy walls, almost dorically rooted to the earth. Once your eye moves past the obvious, it gets lost in a sea of plain brick or brightly painted stucco. In Washington DC, that would be the end of it, but the builders of Stockholm and Uppsala understood: contrast is king. So they ornamented their creations with tiny windows and other diminutive flourishes. The Stadshus in Stockholm is quintessential. A mini-Venetian colonnade buckles under four or five stories of sheer brick. The courtyard alcoves reveal statues of rusted bronze, and the roof is dotted with miniature golden figures. Being here in June, I viewed all this through a daze of endless daylight and a haze of uncannilyÂ fresh air. If there is a civilization on Saturn, I’m sure it looks like Sweden.
Tremors of Resistance
The alien buildings play their part. They put you on watch. In Uppsala I began to understand what to look for.Â Late on a dry afternoonÂ I disembarked the train and headed toward the cathedral, a fantastic landmark and an empty colossus. I did not get 200 meters before spotting the enemy: a pack of four milkskinned Swedes, sharing bikesÂ andÂ toting red flags. They were not so much riding at me as swerving in my direction, propping the bloody rag of international Bolshevism on their shoulders like a fishing pole. I slowed my steps to pull my camera out and size them up. They wobbled by, taking no notice of my espionage. I’m slick. At this range, their ivory cheeks were smeared with a red and yellow streak. Hmm. Maybe they weren’t crack troops of Trotskyism–just fans of a local team. Whatever–they triggered my anti-antifa alert systems. I’ve seen their kind before.
The fake commies portended the real ones. As I rucked deeper into the city, I read the signs. Little card-sized stickers hugged metal poles and pipes. Most were harmless advertisements, but some were political. The most common one depicted twin red and black banners: “antifascist action.” There was also an office of Amnesty International. But the farther I descended from the city center, the more encouraging the omens became. I started to sense the stirrings of a real resistance. Continue reading Tremors of Resistance→