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Civil war Europe Mexico City Miscegenation New Spain Spain

My “pod” cousin

hispania-serie-de-tv

I am reposting the below entry, originally published on November 20, because for a mysterious reason comments were off below this article and I just discovered it a few minutes ago (maybe the reason why this entry had received zero comments). Did I inadvertently click on a wrong button last month?

At any event, now that I have seen more Spanish television series, I must say that what my “snatched” cousin did in Mexico the Spaniards are doing it too at the other side of the Atlantic. For example in the 2010 series Hispania (article of the Spanish wiki: here) the hero and liberator of some Hispanic towns from the Roman invaders, third guy in the above pic, is not an Aryan; and his daughter, not shown above, looked like an Amerindian child. Keep in mind that these series are supposed to depict the peoples of the Iberian Peninsula in the second century B.C., long before the huge mongrelization after the Moor invasion.

I also watched the 2012 prequel of it (article of the Spanish wiki: here) but I have no more liver left to continue to debunk all these silly series. Better repost about—:



My pod cousin


Gerardo-Tort

Recently I have been complaining about the fact that American films and British and Spanish TV series are mediums for either anti-white propaganda or at least not pro-white messages (with the sole exception of the first episode of The White Queen). A naïve person could think that if I approach, instead, a series directed by one of my cousins the message would be a little more positive.

Gritos de Muerte y Libertad (Screams of Death and Freedom) is a Mexican television series based on the period of the war of independence of Mexico, produced by Leopoldo Gómez and directed by my cousin Gerardo Tort (pic above) and the lesbian Mafer Suárez. Several writers wrote thirteen episodes of the first season of the series advised by a group of historians. The series premiered on August 30, 2010 to mark the bicentenary of the independence of Mexico from Spain and ended on September 16 of that year.

I have already quoted Mexican intellectual José Vasconcelos (1882-1959) in this blog stating that the war of independence was “supposed to destroy the Spaniards, who represented the force and culture of the country… all under the pretext of freeing the Indian.” And two months ago I revealed here some hidden facts about Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla, the father of the Mexican independence.

All 19th century paintings of Hidalgo, like the one you see in the Wikipedia article about him, are fake. All were based on an original portrait of an Aryan man of Austrian origin who posed as Hidalgo because nobody had painted a portrait of the real Hidalgo by the time he was elevated to the status of father of the independence, and the man was long dead and the new nation needed a noble face to honor (just as the Americans have their portraits of George Washington).

Well, original spoken reports describe Hidalgo not like an Aryan but with hooked nose. What does it mean?

That the overwhelming majority of Mexicans ignore that the Catholic priest Hidalgo was probably the son of Jewish conversos. Presently even the Mexican Jews, no longer in the need to hide the Jewishness of their people, have acknowledged it.

Of course: my cousin Gerardo Tort was only a hired hand to direct a script written by others. But since I know him I surmise that he did not object the anti-Spain bias of the script. It is worth mentioning that at the beginning of the century Gerardo Tort had made an “author film” about homeless kids in Mexico City, and later filmed a documentary of his own about a Mexican guerrilla fighter he admires and perfectly fits his lefty ideology. I had not watched the series Gritos de Muerte y Libertad until yesterday [November 19, 2013] but now that I am reviewing other television series I would like to say something about it.

In the first episode one of the pro-Spain characters says these words (in Spanish of course) about the pro-independence movement, “Imagine a government Criollos [ see Criollo people], Indians, Mestizos and Mulattos!”

Yes: thoroughgoing leftists like my cousin know that ultimately the struggle is racial. But race conveniently disappears when Whites claim majority rights—or even minority rights in the case of New Spain. In Gritos de Muerte y Libertad what I found most surreal is that the overwhelming majority of upper class New Spaniards are depicted as Mestizos or Castizos (slightly whiter Mestizos), not even as Harnizos (Iberian whites with a distant drop of Amerind blood) or true Iberian whites. The script that Gerardo Tort directed mentions “Criollos” many times in the textual dialogues, but during the casting he selected Mestizo actors. Phenotypical Criollos do appear in the next episode, but that episode was directed by the lesbian.

gritos-de-muerte-y-libertad

Most surreal of all is that the Aryan-looking actor who was chosen for Hidalgo by both directors, the actor at the far left in the pic, was—not in the series but in real history—a kike with even the prototypical hooked nose, according to the spoken testimony of those who had seen the historical Hidalgo in the flesh. Also, in Gritos de Muerte y Libertad my cousin depicts José de Iturrigaray, the Viceroy of New Spain from 1803 to 1808 (standing in the pic with a ridiculous wig), as an ignoble character; and for María Inés de Jáuregui y Aróstegui, his wife, he chose a Mestiza actress (wasn’t the historical Inés an Iberian White too?).

So you have Gerardo Tort, the phenotypical Criollo, filming the Spanish Viceroy as the bad guy and the kike Hidalgo as the good guy of his movie. This said, I doubt that Gerardo knows that the historical Hidalgo was genetically Jewish. Like all Mexican leftists he is sleeping in a profound Matrix.

In the other episodes of the series that my cousin also directed a dialogue caught my attention. A woman asks Hidalgo: “Removing the command from the Europeans and handing it over—to who?” at the time of delivering a hostile look to a Mexican Indian beside her. Of course: the woman is depicted almost as a bigot.

Gritos de Muerte y Libertad includes explanatory notes to clarify the supposed historical events for the Mexican audience. In one of these texts it is announced that, once in jail and excommunicated by the Catholic Church, Hidalgo actually repented that the mud mobs he had commanded massacred civilians in the Alhóndiga de Granaditas—a ridiculous claim since Hidalgo was very well known for his cri de guerre “¡Viva la Virgen de Guadalupe y mueran los gachupines!” (“Life to the Virgin of Guadalupe and death to the Spaniards!”).

So clearly racial is the script of Gritos de Muerte y Libertad that it includes these words by a fearing Viceroy when Hidalgo’s mud mobs reached the capital of New Spain, “This is the main square of the Spanish crown! And no horde of Zambos [half-breeds of Amerinds and imported Negroes] will claim it ever!” This was the Viceroy who succeeded José de Iturrigaray, but my cousin also puts him under bad light.

In subsequent episodes, Gerardo Tort has Hidalgo incarcerated prior to his shooting after having lost important battles with the troops loyal to Spain. Once again my cousin used a Mestizo actor for the jailer. Hidalgo recounts his adventures to the jailer and is depicted as noble and wise. The jailer even recognizes that Hidalgo “is a good man, a son of God.” At least in that monologue my cousin has Hidalgo recognizing that in Guanajuato his furious mobs killed women and children, but he didn’t dare to film the actual scenes showing the Mexican public that the victims were probably White, and the assassins Indians and Zambos.

Gerardo Tort filmed the platoon that shot Hidalgo, again, as a group of slightly mesticized Indians. I wonder if machines to see the past are ever invented and we could see the historic scene rather as whiter men shooting an obvious kike? But before the shooting Hidalgo delivers candies—yes: candies!—to his executioners and after the shooting one of them is on the verge of tears. How moving.

There are two DVDs in the product Gritos de Muerte y Libertad that I acquired yesterday, the next one dealing with Hidalgo’s successor, the mulatto José María Morelos, who continued the killing of Iberian whites after the death of his mentor. But I don’t have any humor left to watch this second DVD.

A few years ago, here in Mexico City some nacos (insulting pejorative for Indian-looking residents of Mexico City, analogous to what in the US is called “nigger”) assaulted Gerardo’s brother. Curiously, one of Gerardo’s two sisters once told me during a private conversation that the nacos must “have the same rights.”

Yes… all of my relatives are now Pod people. And a worse kind of Pods to boot than the American liberals since among older American folks there is at least the memory of their nation being mostly White. Those who have watched the 1956 film Invasion of the Body Snatchers for instance can see a nice California town populated exclusively by Whites. This was California before Aztlán took over.

Mexico, even since the three centuries when it was known as New Spain, has experienced no less than half a millennium of miscegenation. The remaining Criollo have been so thoroughly indoctrinated through centuries of Christian and liberal propaganda that the sole mention of avoiding intercourse with the mudbloods would be considered a kind of unheard of heresy. I would go as far as claim that after the dollar crashes dragging the Mexican peso with it and after my native town burns, the apocalyptic shock won’t be enough to awaken the remaining Criollos (like Gerardo) from their catatonic sleep.

Categories
Mexico City

Escape from mud city

Mexican UntermenschenI know that many visitors of this blog are rather skeptical that the dollar will crash and thus skeptical of my urge to escape a huge metropolis that (I believe) will become a trap right after the crash.

But even completely ignoring what Austrian economists are saying, yesterday, the front page of the newspaper Reforma, announced that crime across the broader metropolitan area has already surrounded all zones of Mexico City. Sooner or later violent crime will reach the very shores of the Elysian island among a sea of mud I live in.

Some concrete proposals for my moving overseas have been made through email exchanges and even phone calls, and I must be grateful to all those who have either contacted me or made a contribution, however small, for my fundraising plea to escape a place that will become a killing zone (donate button has been moved now to the very bottom of this page).

Categories
Mexico City

Don’t let this blog disappear!

Help us escape from Mexico City and the unending Mexican Drug War: an ongoing armed conflict among rival drug cartels fighting each other for regional control and against the government forces. I for one have already been kidnapped twice in my life!

If the dollar hyperinflates the situation in the Mexico City metropolitan area, with a population of 21.2 million people—the largest metropolitan area in the western hemisphere and the largest Spanish-speaking city in the world—will become even worse! For details see my entries on the coming currency crash. (Although an original draft of this entry was posted yesterday, my August 1 updated collection of WDH articles on the crash can be found here.)

I already have enough points for a ticket to cross the Atlantic; I only need a little travel money to arrive in one piece to a saner, whiter place and make my new home there…

Categories
Autobiography Mexico City

Preparing for the crash

For those who have already read this entry,
see below my July 31 crossed-out words.



The American dollar will crash soon. The consequences will be dire for other countries insofar as many of them have most of their reserves in dollars.

I have been trying to sell a plot in the state of Morelos in Mexico to be able to get some travel money and emigrate to any racially homogenous place in the First World where the effects of the crash won’t be so ominous. However, it may take some time to find the appropriate customer.

The crash can happen today or in the next month or in 2014 or even later. Whenever it happens, the collapse of the dollar will unfold very rapidly, probably in a week or two.

If the crash surprises me without funds I’ll likely die in this Third World trap. Therefore, I’ll leave to a family member the task of selling the plot at market price—not just a desperate bargain sell but a good sell that allows me to establish properly in a better country.

Therefore, for the moment I have no choice but to accept a job that will allow me to save about $500 dollars per month [Note of 31 July: This job in Latinos Post, online news for mestizos in the US, turned out to be almost a fraud] and thus escape a large metropolis which will become pretty hellish after the American dollar hyperinflates.

At this rate, and perhaps still waiting for the area of real estate to be sold in Mexico by the end of the year, I must arrive to Europe with at least $2000 dollars (the US government is not granting me a visa).

Last month The West’s Darkest Hour (WDH) got 36,413 page loads, of which 21,051 were unique visits. If I manage to survive the crash in one piece, I plan to continue working for WDH from overseas.

Nonetheless, the job that I am about to accept is a full-time job. Presently I am adding an average of more than one entry per day. Unless I get my travel money from other sources (a minimum of $2000 dollars, independently of the one-way ticket that I already got) I will be posting only during my free time. This means that after I accept the job in the next few days I won’t be able to be as active in WDH as I have been since I started blogging in 2009.





P.S. The first one to donate $100 or more to WDH will receive by regular mail a DVD of the entire documentary End of the Road: How Money Became Worthless, which explains beautifully why will the dollar hyperinflate soon:

Categories
Autobiography Demography Mainstream media Mexico City

Nacoland

Or:

For those who still don’t believe
that the dollar will crash

Rarely I read newspapers in Spanish. My contempt for those who mixed their blood, and even for those who have not do it but who see nothing wrong with such mixing, is infinite. So much so that I have not a single friend in the town where I share the air with twenty millions…

However, out of curiosity in the case of Zimmerman’s acquittal, today I read a note on page 16 of the paper edition of the Mexican newspaper Reforma, which reproduced today an article of El País Internacional, “21 Arrested in Protests Against Racism” (my translation) by Yolanda Monge.

george-zimmerman closeup

The nigger who assaulted the mestizo Zimmerman wanted to “be a gangster” in his own words. But Yolanda omitted to say that Zimmerman, whose beaten-up face appears in the photo, was in danger of being killed when the savage was beating his face and banging his skull on the street floor.

Yolanda does not say a word—nothing!— that Zimmerman was being crushed when in self-defense he pulled the trigger.

This voluntary surrender to evil of the Mexican Reforma, the Spanish El País Internacional and those morons who buy, read and swallow such a press is hardly conceivable. After all, lots of them are as mestizos as Zimmerman! But I’d like to limit myself in recounting an autobiographical vignette that could explain the hatred I feel for today’s Mexico City.

As a child I lived a few blocks from where the Reforma edifice would be built. It was a vacant lot and, to get there from my house, I had to walk alongside other huge vacant lots: so huge in fact that children used to fly their kites on those wide and flat spaces.

Now on that same street where my grandmother’s house still exists, the San Lorenzo Street in Colonia Del Valle, they have constructed large masses of soulless buildings, and the whole colony has been flooded with crowds of Neanderthals that sprout from an underground metro station that did not exist when I was a kid. Moreover, the brown scrum that took over my former neighborhood carries with them countless street stalls that bastardize the public view of what had been my peaceful Del Valle.

The destruction of my house’s surroundings explains part of my desire for payback against Naco City (“naco” is the equivalent of nigger in the United States, although it only refers to slightly intermixed Amerinds).

I have no wish to be cannibalized by the nacos in the near future, when the dollar crashes. But I must say that those who still believe that it won’t collapse have to spend some of their time listening how Schiff debates the non-Austrians (just click on the above link, on the word “gangster”).

Escaping Naco City is the highest priority in my life. If I could escape not only the city but the entire Nacoland I could even indulge myself to learn that those who destroyed my nostalgic referents are starting to starve, after the crash…

Categories
Autobiography Mexico City

p.s.


Slightly edited, the following is one of my comments from the previous thread:

About the 1920 photo I forgot to add that the clothing in the background was the factory’s product: they used to sell that stuff.

casa afrancesada

Above, a very Frenchified house in the early 1920s in Mexico City, certainly the blacksmithing is pre-art nouveau, where some of the family I mention in the previous post appear (plus my grandma from my mother’s side). The men on dark suits are not family members.


Below right, my grand-grandmother María (a friend says I look like her!), who I still met as a small child when she was much older. When she was a girl her hair, still kept by my mother, shows she was blond.

abue maria
mi tia mina

Left, my aunt Mina (María’s daughter), mentioned in the post, in her teens (her daughter Blanquita appears at the top of the previous entry).

boboyo conmigoRight, my cousin Rodolfo, also mentioned in the previous post (his father, the big fan of Hitler), with me lifting my arm as a child (I don’t want to use more recent pics of him or of my late uncle; people might recognize him in San Jose, Ca.).

tias abuelas con tio pepe piano

Above: The interior of the house: Roberto Martínez’s mansion (my grand-grandfather). The picture on the wall was the family’s priest, “Papito.” My Uncle Pepe plays the piano (the guy sitting next to him, Andrés, was not a family member; nor the guy who’s standing, presumably the butler). My grandmother is sitting next to Andrés (this guest also appears in the photo at the top).

The woman sitting between my grandma and my aunt Mina is another guest. My godmother Josefina is the child on the floor (Mina and Josefina were the sisters of my grandma). All people of the photo have passed away: my godmother, the youngest of them, passed in 2005; my grandma, in 2008.