While shopping in downtown Montreal, I stumbled upon a crowded St. Catherine Street. Thousands of West Indians were marching to the sound of drums and no-border music. Women in traditional costumes and tall, bare-chested, men contorted themselves on the pavement, spellbound by the frenzied rhythms. White smoke spurted over the dancers as they followed the floats, swaying. Police officers formed a protective cordon around this wild crowd that penetrated the heart of the city like a giant phallus.
I thought to myself as I walked downtown that I had nothing on the surface against Blacks and Third World immigrants in general. But I wondered if it was right for us to open wide to them the doors of our home. That’s a lot of people, 50,000+ immigrants a year for a province of 8 million people. Congolese, North Africans, Jamaicans, Haitians, Chinese, Latinos, and others. To this number must be added Syrian and Libyan refugees, not to mention Sudanese, Somalis, Palestinians, Iraqis, Ukrainians and other unfortunate people who are fleeing the wars we are waging on their countries for supposedly humanitarian reasons. And that’s not counting the illegals who have been coming in freely since Trudeau opened the borders and Montreal declared itself a sanctuary city. We don’t realize it right away, the invasion is insidious, until one day we wake up as a minority in our own country.
Arriving in front of the Ogilvy store, in the middle of this ebony-Black crowd, I felt like an intruder who surprises a couple making love. Feeling completely out of place, I was shaving the walls, my head down and in a hurry to leave this place invaded by people who don’t have the same smell as my own kind, and who, to tell the truth, make me uncomfortable.
I thought of the hundreds of Black people who invade the pool on hot days. I once had the misfortune to ask a White lifeguard why the silhouette on the safety sign at the entrance to the pool was brown. She curtly replied that if I had looked harder, I would have seen the sign with a White silhouette on the other side of the lifeguard booth; lucky she told me, because placed where it was, no one could see it. “Quebec last time I checked being a White country though,” I replied, “the posters should normally reflect that reality, don’t you think?” She turned her back on me visibly offended, and I left to change without saying a word. I could see that it was useless to insist; that this girl of my race had willingly accepted that foreign populations were taking over our country. Five minutes later, as I was getting dressed in the locker room, a tall, White 6-footer came up to me and told me that I would be banned for life from the pool if I ever made another comment like that. I didn’t answer him, and left with a heavy heart knowing that I would never set foot in that sport’s center again. As a White man, I didn’t feel like I belonged there anymore.
It’s not the first time this has happened to me. Last year, I was kicked out of a coffee shop I had been frequenting for a long time for alleged racism. I had dared to put a new waiter of Arab-Berber origin in his place because he had been insolent with me when I placed my order and during his service. The person in charge, a small, slightly effeminate White man, never even asked me why I had reacted that way, he immediately assumed that I was racist, and that was the only possible explanation.
And then, as I continued to walk downtown, I remembered that internal revenue official who gave me a hard time when I had to get my tax return corrected. It’s no fun being served by these people. You are dealing with strangers who are not of your race or ethnic group and therefore have no affinity with you. Being from a different culture, they are not always easy to understand because they do not speak and reason like we do. In the interest of egalitarianism, many of these people are hired not for their skills, but for the color of their skin. The department has quotas to meet in order to ensure that diversity is respected. What does not help is that these employees, parachuted into our midst without our consent, by hostile elites, have it in their heads, because of liberal propaganda, that Whites are responsible for all their problems. As soon as they are in a position of power, they don’t hesitate to treat us like shit, forgive my language, but there is no other way to describe what I felt when I came into contact with this civil servant who treated me with the arrogance and condescension of those who despise you and who feel stronger than you.
I thought of my old mother. When I visited her in the CHSLD where she had to stay at the end of her life, she sometimes complained of the Black people who were taking care of her. She didn’t feel at ease with them. At the end of her life, she would have preferred to be nursed by her own kind. Who could blame her, I thought? In the midst of this West Indian parade, I could understand exactly what she meant. Likes assemble, it’s a law of nature, true for all races.
I told myself when I arrived at the corner of McGill and Sainte-Catherine that, in the interest of diversity, the systematic employment of people from the Third World in positions of greater or lesser importance was a serious mistake. This policy will lower the general level of competitiveness of Quebec. The countries of the majority of the populations with which the authorities intend to replace us are indeed failed countries that are not going anywhere. The average intelligence quotient (IQ) of sub-Saharan populations, for example, is about 70, and that of North Africans, 85. With an average IQ below 100, it is impossible to run a modern country like ours. In fact, a drop of only a few points in the average IQ lowers the gross national income by several points.
The influx of foreign workers also lowers wages; it is a simple matter of supply and demand; under these conditions, the labor market becomes an employers’ market. Furthermore, these economic migrants all vote for those who bring them in on full planes. But at the rate they are arriving, the natives will soon be in the minority and will never be able to elect a government that represents them. In addition, the social charges increase considerably, as many of these unskilled workers, unable or unwilling to find a job, end up on welfare, which represents a significant improvement in their living conditions, but an equally significant deterioration in ours. These combined factors result in an increase in the cost of living, poverty, debt, social tensions and crime, and a consequent decrease in the level of health, life expectancy and the sense of ethnic belonging, that anthropological need that makes people of the same ethnicity feel confident and happy to live together.
The “sociostat” is out of whack, nothing is going right.
As I arrived at The Bay store where a crowd of West Indian onlookers was waiting for the parade, I thought this was predictable. In the market of natural selection, peoples, races, groups, individuals compete with each other. The strongest prevail and dominate the weakest. It is a law of nature written in our genes that the culture of diversity will never change.
Then, in the midst of this rant on replacement immigration, I bumped into a tall Black man with his back to me. He turned around and looked at me awkwardly, giving me a few friendly pats on the shoulder to let me know in his own way that everything was fine, that I had nothing to fear from him and his people, and that I was still at home. I had the unfortunate impression that this gentleman, knowing full well what was going on, was uncomfortable for me. But unluckily, this little pat on the back that was meant to be reassuring made me even more anxious. I actually had everything to fear from this home invasion that came upon us without warning. If I hadn’t decided to go shopping downtown that day, I would never have realized that there were so many West Indians in Montreal.
Finally, alone, far from the tom-toms and the crowd, sitting on a bench in front of the Mary Queen of the World Cathedral, I asked myself if I was not a racist, if I was not a bad Christian, if I should not voluntarily give up my place to these good people, out of charity, as Jesuit Pope Francis Bergoglio invites us to do. Jesus said, “Love your neighbor as yourself.” Now, my neighbor of the Third World would also like to live in a modern country like mine, free from need and misery. Why not give him a turnkey solution? To each his turn. And then, when all the races will be one, when there will be no more rich people, no more religions, no more nations, and no more borders, “men will finally live of love and there will be no more wars or injustices… my brother,” sang Raymond Lévesque… that happy fool.
I left on these dark thoughts. I hesitated to continue my reflection. People say so many bad things about people like me who don’t think the right way. Then I told myself that I had no reason to give them my country out of love; that I was neither a racist nor a bad Christian, but a guy who was rooted in reality and who cared about loving his ancestors and defending his race, his culture, his territory, and his country. A people or a person who respects himself does not voluntarily commit suicide out of charity or fear of being called a racist. A people or a person who respects himself takes his rightful place and defends it against those who seek to destroy it in order to achieve their globalist goals.
Grade 7, June 1958 – Cartierville School, Montreal
I was pretty pumped. Diversity is not an enrichment, Mr. Trudeau, but rather an impoverishment. Before we were enriched, we could walk around the city without fear of being robbed, raped, or killed; there were no garbage cans and filth here and there and our walls were free of graffiti; men didn’t marry men; girls didn’t practice cunnilingus on a large scale; they made children instead of having a dog, they didn’t think they were men, they didn’t assert themselves by voluntarily making themselves obese; we didn’t mutilate our bodies with tattoos and piercings in order to look like a Christmas tree; we said “sorry,” “please,” “after you,” “thank you,” “hello,” and “goodbye” to each other; our public schools were much better than they are now, efficient, clean, orderly, and above all racially and ethnically uniform; we didn’t teach students, almost before they learned to read and write, the art of sodomy and masturbation, and we didn’t make them believe that they could choose their sex! We used to look down on delinquents, fat people, and sexual deviants. We didn’t hurt them, but we made sure they didn’t encourage younger kids to do the same. It was common sense. Now we do the exact opposite: we encourage the majority to imitate these stupid tiny minorities that are used as wedges to divide and break up White societies. What was considered a sin becomes a virtue, the normal becomes abnormal, the good becomes evil. It’s really the world upside down. We’ve come a long way, Mr. Trudeau, since you enriched us with diversity.
Since our ruling elites will persist in the same suicidal policy, without our consent, I decided as I walked to take matters into my own hands in my own living space. I am at war, you understand, a low-key war for now, an information war that does not include any verbal or physical violence, but a war nonetheless. And if the current socio-political situation worries you, dear brothers and sisters, I advise you to follow my example in whichever way you see fit. It is no longer the time to stay in your little corner, waiting for a miracle. Our only chance to win this war is to unite. Left to our own devices without the support of our elites trapped in their psychopathic ambitions, if we want to survive in the countries of our ancestors that we love above all else, this is our only way out.
When I finally arrived home, I was totally liberated, detoxified, red-pilled. I had sorted out my sometimes confused ideas about the current demographic and social situation. From now on, I will do everything in my power to make sure my people win this fight. And nobody will stop me. They can ruin me, destroy my reputation, throw me in jail, torture me or kill me, I will fight to the end.
In this defensive war – and I stress the word “defensive” because we didn’t seek it – that we must wage to keep our hard-won place, those who love each other the most will triumph. It’s a simple matter of common sense.
