Benjamin Power – Page 2 – THE WEST'S DARKEST HOUR

I read your Salvador Borrego excepts shared yesterday on Allied criminality and thought sadly of Hitler’s magnanimous optimism and grace towards his reluctantly engaged enemies, more a beautiful, radiant Sun personality than quite enough of a Lightening one, as Savitri describes it. Certainly there should be no tolerance of historical national pride for modern Anglo European countries. By coincidence this week I had been reading a copy of F.J.P. Veale’s Advance to Barbarism in the background having just finished Ulrich Merten’s The Gulag in East Germany: Soviet Special Camps 1945-1950. I have a copy of Savitri’s Hitler-dedicated devotional poems and laments arriving shortly.

As I am accustomed to a few times a week, I checked in at the Unz Review. I rarely find anything of interest that I want to read there, always put off by the Christianity and the standard conservatism, and with little to no interest in internal American politics and current affairs.

Andrew Anglin’s titles and crass, irreverent writing style jar with me, as does any support of Third Worldism or complimentary affection for non-Aryans. I saw there was a fairly recent article discussing ‘Anglophobia’ with a photo reference to the BLM vandalism and removal of British statues, such as a figure of Winston Churchill, and the American confederacy and founding fathers monuments. I had no interest in reading that as I imagined it would be full of self-pitying excuse-making and a defensiveness regarding neochristian miscegenators and classical liberal friends of Judaism, small-town rural Trump supporters and Bible belt conservatives nostalgic for the 1950s, and all our unpunished war criminals.

I hate their ignorance and their smugness, yet more confident boors convinced that they are good people, acting steadfast as their own defence lawyers, just like all the terrible, cruel, lazy acquaintances and cowardly, dispassionate friends across my own life who have always been convinced instinctively that they are good people, and will not hear otherwise or accept fault for anything.

All these ideologues of the right-wing have beyond anyone else is a superficial awareness of race at all. [Editor’s emphasis] If appalling action can’t be denied altogether then we are told only that it doesn’t matter, and that whites—always in a big equivocated line—have nothing to be ashamed of. So very much of society is lost to me, so dispassionate and feral and moronic; all these proud good people and their pathological face-saving.

It’s the same with Patriotic Alternative, who occasionally send a newsletter to my email box. They have a recent campaign browbeating their audience with moralist propaganda.

Today’s letter informed me that a 98-year-old Second World War veteran has been forced out of his home into a temporary shelter at the same time as the debilitating long-term government immigration policy increases exponentially, all hostile aliens granted preferential accommodation and fast-tracking into the benefits system. Much is made of his war veteran status. I don’t deny that the government’s cruelty towards any very elderly man would be completely unacceptable, just as everything else they do to us is completely unacceptable, but I wish there was no patriotism and respect for these veterans among nationalists, and indeed no support of the modern British Army either, given its sole operation in unnecessary anti-white puppet wars, and its subversive presentation, and the readiness with which it could be turned on the citizens.

I found myself wondering what this old veteran had done in the war, what crimes he may have committed or covered for, and what he may have turned a blind eye to, or just gone along with and never reflected on at all, and been praised for then, and been praised for now, and at all times in between, having served a murderous traitor alliance above the wellbeing of his own European folk, utterly devastating a far superior society with infinite cruelty, and damning the future, razing European hope. What he did do (or didn’t do), for Jews, capitalist Christians and the competitive warmongers of greedy Anglo-Saxon empires.

I don’t see any hope for these people. Their hideous pride cannot be knocked from them. [Editor’s emphasis] When the global economic system does fall apart, in the true onset of an openly collapsing environment, I dread what they will do, as inimical to the health of their own people as any immature leftist movement, or any activism on any matter, another subset of normal people filled with that vast unemotional ignorance and all the brute carelessness of the orthodoxy. I forever hope that they remain disorganised, and most certainly never bring themselves to a position of power. I know they will make it dangerously worse as everything becomes unmanageable.

Having bought some 2×4 gravel-board planks, I’m dedicating the next few days to designing and building a couple of garden chairs from scratch. Something long-lasting as plastic chairs are flimsy and unattractive. I went for a long walk into the Mistley woods today with Abby. A large, beautiful, hilly woodland.

The centuries-old trees were awe-inspiring, stretching numerous and tall into a thick leafy canopy, natural collonades of elms and hazels and ash trees and the giant desiccated trunks of ancient English oaks, and I appreciated that opaque softness to the misty air, and the brilliant white sun in a pale off—white sky falling into the pastel clearings in straw—hued beams, from between dark rainclouds in pleasing chiaroscuro, an abundance of subtle green shades to the deeper foliage and a coldness and freshness to the forest air, up and down hills and beside little freshwater trickles, away from people and everything urban and modern, the only sound being the creaking of branches, the chirps and calls of birds high above, and occasional rustling in the leaves; and that intangible natural sound beyond placement that one only experiences in the very depths of woods when anything of human imposition is no longer present.

Perhaps the private sound of the woods themselves, essentialized. There were black and white cows sheltering in the gloom among the chestnut trees at the edge of the lower meadow. Some young rabbits grazed near the blackberry brambles. A cricket hopped across our path and into the ferns. I relish time in the woods as a somehow sacred feeling. Relaxing as much as the only experience that brings me genuine psychological healing, rarely present in my life…

I’ve gone on for far too long. I’m not sure if you’ll ever have the time to read this. I’m very bad at laconic thought, getting worse the more isolated I feel—and I acknowledge that I am in true physical actuality in total alienated isolation and under thick environmental pressure—knowing that I am always on my own with my thoughts and yearning to get them all out of the way in one go each time. Aside from Abby, who doesn’t really get me, much as she’s also increasingly hostile and frustrated, you’re the only person I’m in conversation with at all, and I’m sure I offload far too much. The silence seems to kill me, and then I just type too much. I’ll leave this here.

I despise the society, and the huge, sprawling mobs of cold, desensitized, destructive people, the multitudinous rabble of subhuman slave beasts with European skins, none of whom give a shit about each other. I wish I was strong enough even to hate them more effectively.

In all my life in this country I have met no more than two single solitary people genuinely worthy of brotherly love, honour, and respect, both unconnected men, both long dead at their own hands, and with long tearing grief on my part, realising over cruel spans of pain that I can no longer find human racial compassion here, in a nation of some money and no love.

I have never met a family in this country worth saving, though so much I had used to wish I could, that wracked hope gone only these last five months. Maybe they still exist. If not by now, it seems I will never get to know if they are there. You are literally the only friend who does not wound me and turn me away. A distant warmth. The only friend at all, and I know no one else but family torturers, and my only circle of unrelated acquaintances a fierce string of condemnatory professional adults, paid well for their work. I am scared to push my luck with you.

Best regards,

Benjamin

Dear Cesar,

Recently you recommended that I could utilize The Unz Review to offload some of my written thoughts. I’m afraid I still haven’t really engaged with that, although haven’t ruled it out. I browse it every few days, along with scanning Zero Hedge, the latter for occasional economics stubs. Counter-Currents is too much for me—lowbrow, ignorant and tacky.

I have to admit that I feel a bit overwhelmed by the commenters on The Unz Review. From the speech idioms and stylistics I gather they’re mainly Americans. I remember a recent irritation and mild sadness noticing a number of commenters across various articles consoling themselves and gloating over the ‘fact’ that at least we can be glad that their figures in question will, once dead (of natural causes presumably) be burning in hell.

That sentiment seems common, often applied to government agents and politicians. Much with the occasional gung-ho armchair warrior quips—for they are rarely serious or mature—I find myself scrolling through endless low-tier responses and rehashes. Hell exists for them as a passive convenience to punish others terribly without actually having to do anything, as much as that long-term imposition of fear and trauma, much as they all seem confident enough that they themselves are ‘right with Jesus’.

Naturally, bar a successful revolution, the officials in question will not be punished though, and will continue with their agenda until the terminal silencing of comfortable old age, toasted in political reverence by their groomed successors. However, at a gut level, I disliked the invocation of by proxy sadism more than the lackadaisical appeal to unlikely Judaic metaphysics. I wouldn’t really know what to add there—I’m not very adept at political discussions and don’t keep an updated in-depth knowledge of news and current affairs.

On a second point, I’m quite upset that they regularly allow Edward Dutton to post up his cruel religious authoritarianism. I don’t like his research at all, and find the science sloppy, filled with orthodox biases. Flawed premises at the fundamental level. He’d have to start again completely. I thought of your recent post on child abuse. I believe Dutton wrote a piece recently promoting school bullying as a natural evolutionary strategy. Something like that. There was a typically cack-handed piece on schizophrenia also. He seems to self-assign validity to his metrics based upon a cold British public school conservatism more than rigorous impartial science. You can feel the disgust oozing. I’ve read a few of his books also. That awful attachment to genetic reductionist dysgenics and psychiatry. He defines atheists as ‘spiteful mutants’ and maintains that faith in (Christian) religion is another evolutionary advantage.

There’s this rushed feel, as if he is frantic to solve his problem and has had to throw compassion out the window just to be pragmatic before it’s too late and the geniuses run out—a task perhaps not unbearably taxing given what seems to be an extremely low level of natural empathy. As is frustratingly common in these sorts, he vengefully lampoons Vegans in his unfunny, over-long BitChute videos. Thankfully, a few commenters seem to pick up on Professor Dutton’s contemptuous bullshit, although I notice he’s still extremely popular with much of the dissident right, particularly in the UK. In general, I take it the likes of Mark Collett define ‘child abuse’ exclusively as incest and sexual molestation, and even then only really focus on transexuals and Muslim rapists, ignoring the family unit altogether.

In my own life, I admit to you, I was forcefully raped once as a child by an older boy, a Pakistani bully, who made a habit of humiliating me publicly with mockery and physical violence as much as he pinned me down and performed a couple of disgusting acts on me in private. It haunted me for quite a while. Oddly perhaps, it didn’t scar me long-term as much as rendered me cynical and opened my eyes to other races. It remained, always at root, my parents and their emotional (and periodic) physical abuse that shattered me inside though.

My Dad telling derogatory jokes about me to that bully once as they both laughed at me hurt extremely. I was bullied quite a lot at school by a range of rich public school snobs. Almost every day, for ten years. Mum never intervening or particularly noticing hurt me—and continued to socialise with the mothers of those bullying me.

Beyond that, their general toxic pedagogy and petty, humiliating authoritarianism by nature, and their general lack of faith in me and lack of interest in me beyond their desired roles were more unbearable than anything. It lasted right up until adulthood as you know. A matter of recent months. Yes, repeated emotional damage is the most painful to me. I was angry at the Pakistani and his family, pissed off and impotent.

More of a roughing-up setback than a self-implosion though. A violent bar-room brawl measured against a systemic piecemeal suicide. I never expected the outside world to be as kind as I thought my parents would have to be. These damned white nationalist ‘campaigners for children’ never seem to consider this. I’m sorry to read that more regular commenters on The West’s Darkest Hour don’t respond to your materials on child abuse, especially given their aetiological overlaps. I was a little surprised. I won’t write for a while now, so as to let you work.

Best regards,

Benjamin