
I have been forbidden to visit England since my participation in the Hitler camp at Costwolds in August 1962. The situation created nine years ago or more by the presence on British soil of almost two million Africans, Jamaicans and Pakistanis, not to mention the Jews who had arrived as early as 1933, was already alarming if not tragic. And according to the echoes that I have been able to hear, it has only worsened since then as no measures have been taken to expel all these non-native elements. […].
Eventually, they will be a hundred thousand, fifty thousand, twenty thousand [whites] scattered over the whole surface of the British Isles, then overpopulated with half-breeds of different shades. The English will be drowned among some hundred or two hundred million robots, generally dark-skinned, with the most varied features. They will be the only creatures in this termite mound worthy of the name ‘man’ in the sense we would use it. But the world of that time will have no use for such creatures.
Perhaps they will cultivate in themselves a belatedly awakened Aryan consciousness. Perhaps they will manage, despite the distances, to meet from time to time in small groups, and talk nostalgically about ‘old England,’ now deader than the Athens of Pericles. Perhaps, at some pitiful meeting on some historic anniversary, some man of knowledge and insight will arise and tell his brethren of the race the remote and deep causes of their downfall.
Behold, he will tell them, we are paying the price of the folly of our ancestors. They are the ones who, in what was once our Empire, encouraged the propaganda of the Christian missionaries, compulsory vaccination and the adherence of the ‘literates’ to democratic principles. They stubbornly refused the hand sincerely extended to them by the greatest of all Europeans: Adolf Hitler. In response to his repeated offer of alliance and his promise to leave us the domination of the seas, they unleashed the Second World War against him, drowned his country in a deluge of phosphorus and fire, and burned alive nearly five million of his compatriots, women and children, under the burning rubble or in the shelters where the liquefied asphalt of the streets penetrated in fiery streams.[1]
We are paying the price for the crimes of Mr Churchill and all those who believed in them and fought against National Socialist Germany, our sister, the defender of our common race. These men, you may say, were bona fide but short-sighted. That may be so. But that doesn’t excuse them before History. Stupidity is itself a crime when the interest of the nation, and especially of the Race, is at stake. We cannot do what our fathers did and escape punishment!
The punishment will be to have some woolly-haired, simian-faced Christian as Prime Minister of Great Britain: a descendant of equatorial African immigrants and perhaps named Winston after the gravedigger of the former British Empire. The punishment will be to live amid a brownish, camel-headed England—also, at least in large part, woolly-haired—whose former inhabitants, the legitimate inhabitants, the Aryans, whether Normans, Saxons or Celts, will number as few as the native Americans on the reservations do today in the US.
Then, perhaps, groups of true Englishmen, more obstinate than the others in their resentment, more combative if not less desperate, will burn, every 8th of May, some effigy of Churchill purposely grotesque: his big puffy, plump face, furnished with the legendary cigar and smeared like that of a clown; his big belly stuffed with gunpowder. May 8 will, indeed, at last be recognised as the anniversary of the shame of England as much as of the misfortune of the sister nation; once hated, now adored with all the passion that accompanies remorse that we know is useless.
Perhaps these same Englishmen, and others, will publicly worship Adolf Hitler, the Saviour whom their ancestors of yesterday rejected and whom their ancestors of today—our contemporaries—still insult. Perhaps there will be, among the dwindling number of Aryans throughout the world, a militant minority, serene, almost happy in its unshakeable loyalty, who will worship him while waiting to become (they or their descendants) the bodyguard of the Avenger he hinted at but wasn’t: Kalki. But all late repentance and retrospective devotions will remain ineffective, both in Europe and among the Aryan minorities in other countries, especially in an increasingly Jewified and negrified America. Nothing can save the youngest of humanity’s noble races from the fate that must befall as a consequence of the crimes committed or tolerated by too many of its representatives under the influence of anthropocentrism of the wrong sort.
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[1] Editor’s note: read Tom Goodrich’s 2010 book Hellstorm: The Death of Nazi Germany.