Tag: Mexico

The New World Order:

Free trade, and the deindustrialization of America

by William Pierce

Every regular television news watcher has heard the expression “New World Order” often enough now to be familiar with it. George Bush really popularized the expression during the last two years of his administration. Prior to that one heard only occasional veiled references to it, but as Mr. Bush ordered wave after wave of bombers over Iraq to pound Baghdad into rubble and attempted to kill Iraq’s President with “smart” bombs, he spoke repeatedly of the need to punish those who tried to stand in the way of the New World Order.

Bill Clinton has used the expression even more freely: he has referred to the New World Order in connection with his futile efforts to assassinate Somalia’s uppity warlord Mohammed Aidid, with his support of Russia’s current clown prince Boris Yeltsin, and, most recently, with his campaign to push the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) through the Congress. Probably most of you remember Mr Clinton talking on television about NAFTA being essential for the New World Order and for equality in the world.

Most people who have become familiar with the term assume that it is merely an abstraction: a convenient label for referring, in a general, loose sort of way, to the reordering of international power relationships which has been going on ever since the Second World War—and especially since the collapse of the Soviet Empire at the beginning of this decade.

Actually, for the initiated, the New World Order has a much more specific and concrete meaning. In brief, it is a utopian system in which the U.S. economy (along with the economy of every other nation) will be “globalized”; in which the wage levels of U.S. and European workers will be brought down to those of workers in the Third World; in which national boundaries will for all practical purposes cease to exist; in which an increased flow of Third World immigrants into the United States and Europe will have produced a non-White majority everywhere in the formerly White areas of the world; in which an elite consisting of international financiers and the masters of the mass media will call the shots; and in which so-called “peace keeping” forces from the United Nations will be used to keep anyone from opting out of the system.

This particular scheme for world rule has very deep historical roots. Tracing those roots is fascinating, but I won’t have time for that on this program today. If you want to study the historical details, then you should read my article on the New World Order in the current issue of National Vanguard magazine, which is available from the producer of this program.

I’ll simply say today that the New World Order conspiracy had its origins in a series of international Zionist conferences held around the beginning of this century. It picked up steam during the First World War and really began acquiring concrete substance with the formation of a number of organizations in the period immediately after that war, the foremost of which was the Council on Foreign Relations. By the end of the Second World War the New World Order planners formed a virtual ruling class in America with total control of U.S. foreign policy and also a growing power to mold domestic policy to suit their internationalist aims. What these people understood, long before anyone else did, is the potential power of the mass media. They understood what enormous, hidden political power could be wielded in an age of mass democracy by a tiny group of well-organized people who could manipulate public opinion by controlling the mass media.

It should be noted that the New World Order booster club has developed a rather diverse membership as its schemes have matured. There are, of course, the original, power-hungry conspirators, who believe that their god intended for them to rule the world, and there are the cynical politicians of the Bush/Clinton stripe who go along with the conspirators, hoping to receive a few choice scraps from their table.

Then there are the crazies: the homosexuals and feminists, for example, who see in the New World Order the antithesis of the heterosexual, patriarchal world they hate with such insane fervor. Along with these are the lunatic egalitarians, who are hell-bent on “equalizing” everyone.

A substantial portion of the membership consists of a rabble of academics and literati who simply want to be fashionable; they would as enthusiastically support any other intellectual fashion possessing as large and skillful a press claque.

Besides all of these, however, there are many people on the New World Order bandwagon today for more or less benign reasons. The world population really is far too large. The ongoing destruction of the global ecosystem really is unacceptable. Something must be done—and soon. Many of those who recognize these facts are neither power-hungry cynics nor deranged haters nor even fashion-conscious eggheads, but instead are sane, principled men who simply do not have the moral courage to deal in a forthright way with the population explosion in the non-White world and with a number of other pressing demographic and ecological problems. They have opted for what seems to them the only solution for halting the self-destruction of the world which has a sufficiently powerful advocacy group behind it to be feasible. They really believe that under the New World Order Kenyans no longer will be permitted to machine-gun herds of elephants from helicopters in order to collect their tusks, Brazilians no longer will be permitted to destroy the rain forests with chainsaws and flamethrowers, and Haitians will be forced to use condoms. Even White Americans will be forced to curb their wasteful habits.

The New World Order schemers have played a very significant role in bringing about many social and economic changes in America, and I could spend a lot more time than we have today talking about these changes—and why the internationalists wanted them. If you want to understand that part of the scheme you’ll just have to read my article in the current issue of National Vanguard magazine. Today I must limit myself to just one New World Order policy, and that’s so-called “free” trade and what that policy means for America.

Our first really notable experience with “free” trade in the post-Second World War period was with Japan. A few years after the war Japanese cameras began displacing U.S.-made cameras from stores in the United States, until today they totally dominate the market: Nikon, Canon, Minolta, Pentax, Olympus, Fuji—they’re all Japanese. The only two American brands left are Polaroid and Kodak. If you’ll go into a camera store and look carefully at the Polaroid and Kodak cameras on display, howeever, you’ll discover that most of them were actually manufactured in Japan or elsewhere, not in the United States.

After succeeding in establishing a virtual camera monopoly the Japanese began moving into the consumer electronics business: portable radios, television receivers, VCRs, pocket calculators, microwave ovens, hi-fi tuners and amplifiers, etc. Within two decades they virtually wiped out domestic production. The few U.S. consumer electronics companies still surviving have their products made in Asia and then put their names on them and bring them into this country to sell them.

The average American saw nothing amiss with this; indeed, he regarded it as a boon. More products were available to him, at lower prices, than there would have been if Japanese products had been kept out by trade barriers. The unhappy voices of the few hundred thousand Americans who had been employed in the camera and consumer electronics industries were drowned out by those of millions of happy consumers. When Japanese automobiles began appearing on American streets in large numbers in the 1970s, there was more of a reaction. The unionized automobile and steel workers were able to make their voices heard. They smashed Japanese cars with sledgehammers in publicity stunts designed to win sympathy for their plight. Even the politicians who had been bought by the internationalists got into the act: worried by the threat of losing union votes, they put on serious faces and talked to the television cameras about limiting the number of Japanese cars which could be brought into the country. The percentage of Hondas, Toyotas, Subarus, Nissans, and other Japanese vehicles sold in America eventually stopped rising. General Motors, Ford, and Chrysler pulled in their belts, fired a few hundred thousand American workers, and announced that they would survive. Although the U.S. steel-making industry was hit hard and was forced to close dozens of plants, it also managed to hang onto life.

All was not quite as it seemed, however. Americans were reassured by the sight of new Fords, Chevrolets, and Dodges on their highways, but in many cases not much more than the name was actually American. The Chrysler corporation sold Dodge Colts which, in fact, were made in Japan by Mitsubishi. Under a Chevrolet label General Motors sold light pickup trucks which were produced entirely in Japan. Ford did the same thing, not only with some of its consumer vehicles, but also with its farm tractors.

Japan is not the only country which has claimed a part of what used to be the American automobile industry. U.S. auto companies have stayed in business only by having more and more of the work which goes into their cars performed outside of the United States, in order to take advantage of vastly cheaper labor. Wiring harnesses from Mexico, electronic ignition modules from Taiwan, seat covers and other upholstery from Korea, alternators from Brazil, speedometers and other dashboard instruments from Hong Kong: more and more of what is sold as “American” is made elsewhere and only assembled in the United States.

The Asian country which has benefited most in recent years from the U.S. policy of “free” trade is China. The Chinese assault on American industry was not widely noticed at first, because the Chinese did not begin with high-profile consumer items, such as cars or television receivers. They began at a more basic level, first with machine tools and then with hand tools. They have virtually destroyed the American machine-tool industry singlehandedly.

In the 1950s the United States was the world leader in the manufacture of machine tools, with more than 50 per cent of the total production. Machine tools—lathes, milling machines, grinders, stamping machines, and the other large, motorized tools used in factories—are the most essential component of a nation’s industrial base. Today we make only six per cent of the world’s machine tools. In the last decade alone our share of the world’s production has declined by a factor of three, down from 19 per cent in 1984. It’s still dropping. In another five years we’ll have only three or four makers of machine tools left, and they’ll be making only highly specialized, computer-controlled tools. All of the general-purpose machine tools used in the United States will come from China or Brazil.

The same thing is happening to the U.S. hand-tool industry. If one examines the plastic-packaged tools and accessories hanging on the display peg-boards in any of the larger automotive parts stores—the spark plug wrenches and screwdriver sets and compression testers—one will find that somewhere between two-thirds and three-quarters of them are imported from Asia, mostly from China. With the larger tools—hydraulic floor jacks, for example—the situation is worse: the chances are about nine out of ten that one will find a “Made in China” label. If there are any U.S.-made jacks still to be found, they will be priced at about three times the price of a Chinese jack of similar quality. American manufacturers, with their much higher labor costs, simply cannot compete with Chinese industry, and they are being driven out of business.

For the past few years the Chinese have been moving into the production of low-priced consumer goods as well: the sort of plastic household goods that housewives buy in K-Marts or Wal-Marts. Because these goods are priced substantially lower than similar American products, consumers welcome them. They do not consider the fact that the well-paid American workers who formerly made such goods in U.S. factories now are scrambling to find service-industry employment at substantially lower wages.

The Chinese (including those in Hong Kong and Taiwan) and the Japanese are not the only Asians who are destroying the U.S. industrial base. The Koreans, for example, have had the U.S. clothing industry under attack for years and have devastated large sections of it. Mr. Clinton has just invited the Vietnamese to join the feeding frenzy.

There is a double significance to this transfer of American industry out of the country. In the first place, it lowers the average wage level of American workers, as they are forced to move from manufacturing into a service industry or into less than full-time employment. And although factory workers are the first to be hit, eventually most other segments of the work force suffer as well, even the yuppies and others who would never think of working with their hands. When people who used to work in factories have less money to spend, there’s less money to earned by everyone.

In the second place, the transfer of industry out of the United States robs us of national self-sufficiency. It may not matter much whether we have factories for producing panytyhose and plastic hair curlers or we import these things from Korea, but it matters very much whether or not we produce our own machine tools. If the Koreans give us an ultimatum: do what we say or no more plastic hair curlers, we can laugh in their faces. If the Chinese decide not to sell us more machine tools, however, we’ll be in trouble.

This, of course, is exactly what the New World Order boys planned. “Interdependence,” they call it. They began selling us on the virtues of interdependence—and the evils of independence—as early as the 1950s. The New World Order is a system in which every country is dependent on many other countries for its necessities of life, and no country is independent enough to opt out of the system and go its own way.

“Free” trade is essential to the whole scheme. The controlled media deliberately have created the impression in the public mind that “protectionism”—the regulation of imports through the imposition of tariffs or quotas—is a corrupt policy which benefits greedy industrialists at the expense of everyone else. Actually, it is a necessity for national survival and progress. Consider just three facts:

Fact Number 1: Merchants always will buy their manufactured goods from the supplier who will give them the best price for goods of a specified quality. If the best price is from a foreign supplier, and if international trade is unregulated, then the merchants will import their goods from abroad. On an individual basis the merchants really have no choice in the matter: a widget merchant who pays two or three times as much for his American-made widgets as other widget merchants do for their Chinese-made widgets soon will be out of the widget business.

Fact Number 2: For most manufactured goods the cost of the labor which went into them is the largest single component of the total production cost. When one country has a much lower wage scale than another country, then it will be able to sell its manufactured goods at a lower price, other things being equal. The other things are labor discipline, organizational skill, and the possession of the necessary machinery and raw materials. Thus, Ghana or Zambia, for example, could not compete with the United States in the production of manufactured goods even if it paid nothing at all for labor, because it lacks labor discipline, organizational ability, and an industrial base. China, on the other hand, has very cheap labor which is better disciplined than that in America, as well as the needed organizational skills for utilizing that labor effectively in large-scale enterprises. Furthermore, China has painstakingly built up its industrial base—with our collaboration—during the past 40 years or so.

Fact Number 3: When industrial production moves from a country with high wages to a country with low wages, the immediate effect will be a reduction in the difference in wages between the two countries. Wages in the country which gains the industry will rise, and wages in the country which loses the industry will fall. This will be true whether the production is in the hands of nationally based companies or a multi-national corporation. Thus, if the North American Free Trade Agreement results in the Ford Motor Company closing a plant in Detroit and building a new one in Tijuana for the production of Fords, wages will rise in Mexico and fall in the United States just as surely as if the production had shifted from Ford to a company owned entirely by Mexicans.

What this means is that if an industrialized country which has built up a high standard of living for its citizens wants to maintain its industrial base and its living standard, it must regulate imports of goods from countries with lower wage scales. If it does not, its industrial base will be eroded, and its living standard will fall. This is a fairly simple economic fact, and most Americans could understand it if the proponents of the New World Order had not thrown up a smoke screen of obfuscation. They claim that there will be “readjustments” to be made when all trade barriers are down, but that in the long run everyone will benefit. We will import more goods, they say, but we also will export more, and everything will even out. That is not true, and they know it. What will “even out” will be wage scales around the world. The rich countries will become less rich, and the poor countries will become less poor, and if the process continues long enough wage scales—and standards of living—will approach equality, which is what the egalitarian ideologues among the globalists really are aiming at. To them the present state of affairs, with White Americans earning 20 times as much as Mexican peons or Chinese coolies, is “unjust.”

Other New World Order ideologues see in the interdependence which will result from wiping out a number of strategically vital industries in the United States (and other industrialized nations) a sure way to prevent international conflict in the future. They have taught two generations of Americans that “cooperation” is a virtue in itself, and we will be a more virtuous nation when we no longer are able to act unilaterally: that is, when we must secure the agreement of the countries which supply our ball bearings and our computer chips before we make a major move in international affairs.

All of this is not to say that international trade is a bad thing in itself. Trade, like many other things, should be an instrument of national policy. A nation’s international trade should be regulated with one aim in mind: to maximize the security and prosperity of the nation. Americans can hardly expect that of a government headed by a man who only two decades ago was demonstrating in the street with other draft-dodgers, gleefully chanting, “Ho, Ho, Ho Chi Minh, the Viet Cong’s gonna win!”

The only environment in which unregulated trade can be tolerated is within a natural community of interest: i.e., within a group of political entities which have a common sense of identity and a common set of interests, determined by Nature rather than by politics alone. In such an environment unrestricted trade usually is beneficial. For example, we do not want to protect Michigan’s automobile industry from competition by an automobile manufacturer in Indiana or Texas. If Texans can build a better car at a lower price, then we, as Americans, are better off for it. We don’t worry about people in Michigan becoming dependent on Texans, because we’re the same people.

But we damned well better worry about being dependent on Chinese and Mexicans, who are fundamentally different from us in many ways.

Most White Americans, I am sure, even if they have been taken in by the egalitarian propaganda that racial differences really don’t mean anything, are not willing to have their own living standards continue to go down, so that Chinese and Mexican living standards can rise. And very few real Americans are willing to sacrifice our national independence and security to a scheme which will make us dependent on countries like China and Mexico for a lot more than cheap consumer goods.

But that’s exactly what’s happening now. Mr. Clinton and the gang in the White House are pushing as hard as they can to destroy American sovereignty, to boost interdependence at the expense of national independence, and to make us equal to Mexicans and Chinese.

The only way we can stop this is to reach millions of people with our message, to make them understand the consequences of the ongoing destruction of America’s industrial base and the motives of those responsible for it. We must make every American understand what a dangerous and evil scheme the New World Order is and what disastrous consequences it will have for all of us if we fail to derail it while there is still time.

—March 19, 1994

Tags China, Economy, Japan, Materialism / capitalism, Mexico, United States

Autobiography Miscegenation Nordicism Psychology Racial studies

Latin American loyalties

Recently I was asked these questions:

Are there any prospects that White Hispanics in Mexico and other Latin American countries might be willing to participate in a general revival of White interests? Or are they too cramped by the label Latino to identify as White? Or are racial categories in Latin America so imperceptible—due to the subtle gradations of white, near-white, off-white, almost white, mestizo—that forging a White identity is impossible?

I responded thus:

“Latin” America is in a far worse shape than the North. With 500 years of miscegenating experience these guys [“whites”] have lost almost all pride of their white skin (what remains of it). I have some writings about the subject in Spanish.

However, there’s something important missing in my reply. The real trouble I see in this part of the continent lies in the fact that, once you tolerate a few Amerindian genes in your bloodline, the race barrier is gone. The reason of this is not complicated. Due to Mendel laws, if you have an Amerind ancestor, even if you are predominantly white some of your offspring will come up darker that the rest.
This for example is a 1960s photo of my cousins of two different families when they were children. (The blondest one passed away a couple of years ago as a mature adult.) You can see that my cousin at the bottom is darker than the one who had Scandinavian blond hair, his (now deceased) brother. This makes my point. Once you have darker brethren the ethnic barrier collapses within your psyche. You won’t be dismayed when, say, your whitest son starts dating a swarthy girl in Mexico because you already produced a child who, phenotypically, cannot be considered properly white.

This behavior produces a downward spiral of miscegenation due to the fact that most Mexicans are browns. The whitest genes dilute more and more in each generation, insofar as the browns are prolific and phenotypical whites not.

I have lived half a century in Mexico. I know the dynamics of mestization. Several people in white nationalism have criticized my one-drop-rule stance. For example, Andrew Anglin wrote about me: “He gets way into the Nordic stuff in a way that I find basically religious.” That’s only because Anglin et al completely ignore the psychological dynamics of mestization, especially the loyalties with swarthier offspring and cousins and uncles and aunts—and thus with who’s dating your daughter—once your bloodline is not pure.

Earlier this month I said, “Race-wise Americans should consider the sociology down the south of Río Grande.” However, I acknowledge it must be difficult for an American or European to figure out the psychological aspects of blood mixing throughout Latin America, unless he has lived in one of these countries for a long time.

Tags Latin America, Mexico

Aryan beauty Mexico City Neanderthalism

Surreal Mexico

Race-wise Americans should consider the sociology down the south of Río Grande. Half a millennium of miscegenation ought to be enough not to repeat the Iberian history of the Americas.

Mexico in particular is fascinating. On February 17, 1992 a Newsweek article asked humorously, “Is Mexico blond?” because sometimes the Mexican TV commercials show blond Mexicans even though they are a tiny minority here. What Newsweek failed to report is that it is not uncommon that some Mexicans with overwhelming Indian blood celebrate when, due to Mendel laws, one of their newborns surprisingly looks much whiter than most members of their family.

The most surreal case I’ve witnessed happened in the 1990s during a show of an extreme leftist in Chapultepec’s Casa del Lago, in the open forum for stand-up comedians. I was fascinated to see books on sell authored by Stalin, Trotsky, Lenin and other commie luminaries very close a place with very poor, slightly mesticized Indians listening the comedian. Naturally, he was excoriating the Mexican bourgeois culture. But he said there was an exception: their women! The comedian said humorously that he much preferred the white Mexican woman to the common female of the proles.

I was amazed since the brown audience never stopped to laugh at the comedian’s joke. They didn’t take any offence for what he said about the absolute superiority of the white female even though there were many brown women present; actually, virtually all of them were dark browns with their families. And this was a public show coming from an extremely radical leftist in a place that still sold books by Stalin!

We can imagine what would the reaction be if today a stand-up American Negro said the same about the appearance of the First Lady compared to, say, Nicole Kidman…

The anecdote makes my point beautifully. With five hundred years of miscegenation many “Latin” Americans, even the darkest proles, still can tell the abyssal difference between the superiority of the Aryan female before the Neanderthalesque native.

Tags Mexico

¿Me Ayudarás? (book) Amerindians Aryan beauty Autobiography Blacks Counter-Reformation Goths Henry VIII Hojas Susurrantes (book) Metaphysics of race / sex Mexico City Miscegenation Nordicism Portugal Psychology Who We Are (book) William Pierce

Extermination • III

Post author By C .T.
Post date October 6, 2014

CHAPTER 1:

THE STAR CHILD

A dream in Madrid

The day after my birthday in 2011 I received a wonderful gift, a long letter in Spanish, from which I translate here only one of the opening paragraphs:

You see, like you I was raised and educated in Mexico, where I was taught from school and the official media to despise my people and consider myself a mestizo. Had it not been for the rectifier comments of my parents probably I would be one of those many Criollos waving an enemy flag as if it was my own. The point is that it gradually dawned on me that the Mexican society was multiracial garbage where the Mongoloid-American element has replaced the European element, so causing the current state of anarchy and endemic violence.

“Criollos” or “Creoles” were the children of Spaniards born in the New World who had no drop of Amerind blood. It’s true what the Criollo said, whom I shall refer to as “Ibero,” that in Mexican public education Indian blood far outweighs the Spanish. So true that even some phenotypically Creole people are more identified with the American-Mongoloid element than with their European roots. No wonder the popular Mexican genius says, “Mexico is a surreal country.”

Such surrealism is a direct result of the continental experiment of the Counter-Reformation to genetically mix the European-Iberian with the American-Mongoloid. Never before it had been attempted a project of biological and social engineering on a continental scale in previous centuries and millennia! While the Spaniards used to talk of limpieza de sangre (purity of blood) and a caste system prevailed in the Americas, with the peninsular Spaniards and the Criollos at the top of the pyramid, the desire to exploit economically the New World alongside the universalism of the papacy broke natural barriers between what, following William Pierce, were two different species of humans. The mix of European and Indian worsened considerably with the massive importation of blacks to the mainland. Few know that more blacks arrived in the Spanish and Portuguese colonies of America than to the colonies of their Anglo northern neighbors. The difference is that here they amalgamated earlier, resulting in the formation of a crossbreed stock of the three races that explains the falling behind of the nations south of the Río Bravo.

In the mid 1970s I studied two years at the Madrid School of Mexico City. Back then most of my peers were Caucasian, some even blond: children of refugees of the Franco regime. (The school I knew no longer exist. On February 16, 2014 I received a visual shock when seeing more than a dozen classmates of one of my nephews from the Madrid. There was only one that might be considered white.) The Viceroyalty of New Spain lasted exactly three hundred years, from 1521 to 1821. In one of the history lessons I received in the Madrid School, the teacher revealed that the New Spaniards amused themselves by classifying the mixtures between the three races. Note that in the list below, a transcript of the footnotes of the sixteen illustrations of various Mexican parents with their children, the “Morisco” should not be confused with the peninsular Moor, or “Chino” with the inhabitant of China, or “Gíbaro” with the Amazonian Jívaro tribe:

1.- Spanish with Indian, mestizo
2.- Mestizo with Spanish, castizo
3.- Castizo with Spanish, Spanish
4.- Spanish with mora [negress], mulatto
5.- Mulatto with Spanish, morisco
6.- Morisco with Spanish, chino
7.- Chino with Indian, salta atrás
8.- Salta atrás with mulatto, lobo [literally, wolf]
9.- Lobo with china, gíbaro
10.- Gíbaro with mulatta, albarazado

11.- Albarazado with negro, cambujo
12.- Cambujo with Indian, sambaigo
13.- Sambaigo with loba, calpamulato
14.- Calpamulato with cambuja, tente en el aire [literally, stay in the air]
15.- Tente en el aire con mulatta, noteentiendo [literally, I don’t get you]
16.- Noteentiendo with Indian, tornatrás [literally, jump back]

(The Jews were not included in this melting-pot list of the three races as the Inquisition always kept them at bay; although some say that every Spanish has at least a drop of Jewish blood.) In today’s Mexico these New Spaniard terms are no longer used but the naco, analogous to the North American nigger, is used to refer disparagingly the mestizo with pronounced Amerind features.

In a coffeehouse in the center of Tlalpan in Mexico City, on January 26, 2012 to be exact (as good autobiographer, I keep a diary), I personally met Ibero, the author of the above-cited epistle, when he returned from his stay in Spain. After a long conversation we agreed that we would start a radio program for Latin American Creoles, and that we would meet on Saturday to plan the details. Ibero spoke to cancel the appointment the same week we met and mysteriously did not answer my numerous e-mails. I let time pass and decided to phone him more than a year later, on 31 March 2013. His answer was laconic, and the tone of his voice was not benign. I forgot the matter but later that year, on December 14, Ibero called back. He was very apologetic; insisted on an appointment that afternoon, and we met at another coffeehouse in Tlalpan, near where I live, El caldero chorreado (a translation of The leaky cauldron), in honor of the Harry Potter movie that Alfonso Cuarón filmed.

After coffee I invited Ibero to see my bookshelves, which are under my sister’s house. All the talk had been, from the coffeehouse, friendly until for some reason the subject of Mediterraneans and Nordics was brought up. I was surprised that, with bilious zeal, Ibero said something like: “We [the Mediterraneans] have saved them [the Europeans] more than once!” Ibero ignores that the ruling castes of the ancient Greeks and Romans were Nordic, as shown in FR. Even in the early Middle Ages, Charles Martel, as a Frank, came from a Germanic tribe. But I was surprised when I told him that, to save myself from the currency crisis that is coming, it would be ideal to move to Iceland. I did not record the conversation, I just wrote down what he said: “They kill you!,” “They’d kill us!” or “They’ll kill us!” (when writing the diary I was not sure which of those phrases had been the most accurate and wrote down all three). He meant that the Icelanders would kill us if we dared to emigrate there. I was shocked because I thought it was obvious that the nacos would terminate us—not the Aryans—after the collapse of the dollar leads to social chaos in the largest metropolis in Latin America. I was stunned at Ibero’s vehemence and did not say anything. But when I showed him in a bookshelf the 2011 edition of Arthur Kemp’s March of the Titans, he got very upset. Although I do not remember the specific reason of the anger, the image of Ibero greatly exalted when showing him the book is very much present.

I feel bound to say that on my recent trip to the United Kingdom I visited Kemp in an ideal village to live: far from traitorous London and where I saw no people of color. Years ago Kemp’s car was vandalized by the antifa while working in the British National Party, so I’ll omit mention where he now lives. Suffice it to say that he was very kind to me, a real tourist guide. He took me in his car to Chester and several places of interest: beautiful English countryside far from the Babel of the large British cities. My talks with Arthur in one of the very small towns we visited revealed something I suspected but was not sure.

The anger not only of Ibero, but of a good portion of the white nationalist community about March of the Titans is due to such an elemental truth that it requires complete brainwashing by racial egalitarianism not to see it: The concept “Nordic” refers to those whites who are less mixed. It’s that simple. No one who reads Pierce or Kemp fails to see so elementary fact.

History is the tallest tower of experience, wrote Van Loon, the queen of the humanities; and he who fails to base his understanding of race on it—classics like Gobineau, Chamberlain and Günther—won’t learn the Letter A of racial studies. Most white nationalists persist in not seeing what they have in front of their noses and claim that those who have lived for millennia in the Mediterranean, so close to the Levant and Africa, have virtually the same percentage of non-whites genes that Scandinavians. Not only many so-called white nationalists cling to the absurd premise that the mixture was negligible. Those Mediterraneans with inferiority complex so take this revelation like a bomb that Arthur’s family suffered harassment by e-mail from a Greek man of very dark skin, the stalker came to be called, who felt insulted for the book.

Before I met Arthur I supposed the critique of Christianity by Kemp in a book that took years to investigate was a factor of the visceral rejection of March of the Titans coming from many white nationalists and Mediterraneanists. In the “very small town” I won’t name I became disabused. Questioning Arthur I realized that the cause was simply the most abject state of denial before the elemental on the part of those who had browsed the online version of the book. (Ignorant racists because, as I told Kemp, he had not done anything but “reinventing the wheel” already devised by Gobineau.) And this, even though Kemp was always very polite in his texts by adding, immediately afterwards, that not all Spanish, Greek, Slav or Balkan inhabitants had suffered considerable miscegenation. Qualifying his findings in each chapter was not enough. The mere fact of making discriminative distinctions drives crazy the “racists” who are currently “fighting” the dogma of equality, Ibero included.

Following my meeting with Ibero in El caldero chorreado he invited me to what, as I understood, would be a meeting of Creole nationalists to be held on 21 December. I hesitated but decided to go at the last minute. Besides Ibero I had not met anyone knowledgeable of “white nationalist” literature over the internet, and despite our differences I could not resist the temptation of meeting more people that, like Ibero, were familiar with the subject.

When I parked my car on the street Mecanógrafos in the Sifón neighborhood, where the meeting was held, I was struck by the rock music played in one of the houses. I thought some naco neighbors were having a party and wondered if the noise would mar our meeting. Imagine my surprise to learn that the “music” came exactly from Ibero’s friend’s home! In announcing my arrival to the woman who opened a window, she summoned the one who had invited me. Another surprise: with Ibero a guy on costume with a swastika on his arm opened the door! What left an impression on me was that Ibero’s companion was not Criollo. He was clearly a hybrid whose Mongoloid-American element stand out. As a courtesy, I won’t mention his name but in this book we shall call him “Mestizo.”

Upon entering the party—not a meeting of intellectuals as I had imagined—I was surprised again to see it be held in winter outdoors. At the back of the yard I saw a fabric with the sign of the German SS and another with the Blade of Burgundy: Nazism and Creole nationalism. In my idealized vision I had imagined people like, say, the racially conscious gentlemen of the London Forum I would meet the month before last. But the anti-music and outdoor December party were the opposite: they would perform a crude pagan celebration at midnight, a popular holiday condemned by the pope. More surprising still was that among a few whites were more people of swarthy skin. I could not believe it and the situation turned openly surreal—the surrealism that Mexicans are fond to self-parody—when the friendly Mestizo with his swastika on the arm said “I’m white” to a group of guests, standing and drinking alcoholic beverages. I remembered an adolescent story of Arturo’s follies, one of my classmates of the Madrid School. Arturo once got into his car some transvestites and the police stopped him. One of them made a scene by yelling at the police: “I have vagina! I have vagina!…” Arturo commented that, if he said that, it was obvious that he did not have one. The same is true of those airing from the rooftops that they are “white.” Although I spoke some time in the yard’s party with Ibero, Mestizo and a Punk who showed me the wounds of his fights against the antifas, I could not long stand the music and the cold and left. And yes: the trio was very kind to me and accompanied me off the street.

The following month, the first Sunday of 2014, I saw again Ibero and Mestizo but this time in the Casa del Té—a place chosen by me—in the Condesa neighborhood where, without quarreling, I informed them that I was the staunchest nordicist in the Anglophone blogosphere. I explained that it was all a platonic love for the nymph Catalina when I was in my early twenties. It was then that Ibero confessed that he did not read my blog, and I assumed that the cause was precisely the nordicist articles I was reproducing and my open contempt for Spain. Let’s recall that in FR I pick texts by William Pierce and Kenneth Clark where it is alleged that the Iberian Visigoths allowed to be duped by Christianity, thus breaking their ancient taboo of never mixing with non-Goths, and henceforward Spain had not contributed substantially to the development of the ideas that create Civilization. But what Ibero and Mestizo ignored is that my nordicism obeyed a tragedy that prevented me to relate, among other realities of life, with Catalina (tragedy that I’ll tell in the long chapter “In Search for the Soulmate,” although I mention some of it in the first book of HS).

Although our differences were irreconcilable, I felt very curious to know a little more about the group. In a couple of weekends after a flu that hit me, Mestizo and I met in other places: the first one, a solitary coffee shop on a side of the central church in Coyoacán; the second, at a restaurant in Paseo de la Reforma with distant group members (Ibero missed those meetings while Punk had problems with the law). At the last meeting I witnessed another incredibly surreal scene. Fabián, who barely knew the group had invited one Gabriel at the meeting: a subject with light skin but whose brachycephalic head denoted rude Indian ancestry. Mestizo degraded Gabriel in front of me, Fabián and Pedro—a son of Spaniards—by telling the other mestizo that, due to his Indian-white mixed breed, he could not belong to the group. Gabriel, who had arrived wearing Nazi paraphernalia, was a young man with good feelings and the degradation ceremony distressed me so much that I left the table. Even for Pedro, an authentic Criollo, it seemed excessive what Mestizo did to the other mestizo for being mestizo, and tried to make modest amends.

If we keep in mind that the ethno-state that will emerge in North America will have to know the peculiar psychology of her southern neighbors, you will understand why I mention such colorful anecdotes. The racial complex of the Mexicans is not limited to Mestizo. There is much “coconut” in the country: people brown outside and white inside. Even so-called neo-Nazi groups in Mexico are composed mostly of this type of people. I have seen in the subway of the big city very dark-skinned brown women with bleaching creams on their arms, and have heard of a mother who disowned her daughter for not having being born white. (Mrs. Hypocrite!: she was the one who married a very dark-skinned man!)

Surrealism also occurs in reverse, and even among the Mexican intelligentsia. A family member told the bizarre story about a man who visited my parents’ house: the partner of the former director of the Madrid School, Cristina Barros, granddaughter of the famous Justo Sierra. (Cristina’s daughter, Isabel, was fair-headed, perfectly dolichocephalic and of sublime facial features. To me she always seemed a nymph of pure “nordish” stock but, in reality, her blood was of the most Aryan type existing among Spaniards. She and her family travel with Mexican passports.) Cristina’s partner, whose name escapes me, said with total vehemence that he was “a pure Indian”—something that contradicted all appearances! Although it may seem laughable, there are not only “coconuts” aspiring to white in Mexico, but whites who repudiate their Creole blood as well. We cannot understand the impossible chimera of different ethnic groups that is now called “Mexico”—Indians that not even speak Spanish, a few Criollos, the full range of mestizos and dark-skinned browns with negro blood—if one ignores the psychic toll that such concoction of races caused.

The last time I saw Ibero and Mestizo was on 19 April this year I write in a homely meeting at which only these two attended. The other group members are hobbyists, as they take “Criollo” preservation more like a hobby than a profession. In the meeting Ibero said such an aberration that I won’t sit and take it.

He said, as I annotated the following day, that he did not mind the blond hair or blue eye to become extinct “provided the generic white survive,” i.e., the non-Aryan, peninsular Spaniard like him. Taking into account that I am devoted body and soul to the archetype of the nymph Catalina we did not see or talked again after that meeting; but that night I discovered that Mestizo had better feelings, as he was concerned that the blue-eyed blonds became extinct.

If we translate to Oldspeak Ibero’s vocabulary his words mean something like: “I don’t care that the white race is extinguished always providing the Criollo-types survive,” that is, the mudbloods, as the vast majority of Creoles are not even remotely as pure whites as Catalina or Isabel.

Ibero turned out to be my ideological antipode insofar I am so devoted to the archetype of my hyper-Nordic Catalina as that feudal nobility of the 12th century who fabled with an inaccessible and deified woman. Since childhood, my mind and my most cherished taste for those I fancy have been clearly and inexorably medieval.

The semantic trap in Ibero’s ideology is to call generic white those who are not. “White” as I said in FR refers to the European mixture that occurred in the United States and Canada before the migration of Jews in the late 19th century. Ibero and Mestizo abuse the term by referring to those folk that are far from the Aryan paradigm—Aryans that still exist, though they are very few, in Latin America. (The statistics of the article with the title of “Blanco” in the Spanish-written Wikipedia are misleading: they are based on surveys of mestizo-Americans that, as Mestizo does, call themselves “white” or “of white ancestry”.) Ibero’s stance is aggravated by granting amnesty to people who, without a doubt, are as mestizos as his colleague: accused physiognomies that remind me of the Moorish actors I have seen in several Spanish TV series filmed in the peninsula. “Generic white” does not mean Indo-European. Ibero misuses language as mestizo-Americans abuse words like “Latino” or “Hispanic” in the United States to refer to immigrants of the color of poop.

Although Mestizo has good feelings, cognitively he is a goner because, unlike the Brazilian, he has no objection to breed, as Ibero.

The latter is what the Spanish-speaking Metapedia denominates “mediterraneanist”: people who believe that the “meds” are superior to the Nordic.

In my discussions with Ibero I noticed he has got a clear animosity toward the real Aryans. In the last meeting I saw them he told me that those who fought with most courage in World War II were the Spaniards; and when I mentioned the looming monetary and energy crises he said he was hopeful that Spain would be saved. That is what matters to him.

I mention these stories because, I believe, Sebastian Ernst Ronin’s critique of white nationalism, a late version of American universalism, is correct. Ronin claims that all nationalism is ultimately ethno-nationalism, and that it makes no sense to use the word “white” in Europe.

The case of Ibero illustrates it. Though born in Mexico, Ibero is an ethno-nationalist (a Creole nationalist) to use Ronin’s language, not a “white nationalist.” He apparently has no Indian blood: his heart is in Spain or, rather, in an Hispanic America. Extrapolating the concept of “white race” to Europe is launching into a fool’s errand. Doing it in Spain would literally charge at windmills for the simple fact that many of the “meds” are not even white. Most people of the Iberian Peninsula will identify with other “meds” and, what is infinitely worse, with clearly mesticized people like the Hispanic Americans. Ronin is right: you cannot create “white” awareness among WASPs and MEDs of Europe or Latin America, including authentic Criollos. Perhaps it is worth mentioning that, the day of the pagan party outdoors, Ibero drove back some of the guests: pure English girls living in Mexico. When Ibero’s ideology—whom I repeat: has no-Amerindian blood—came up, one of these English said: “But you’re not white.”

The key to the whole thing is to notice how the inferiority complex of the Mediterranean, so well exemplified in Ibero, sometimes almost comes to desire the extinction of the real whites. It’s not only bothering he does not care that blue-eyed blonds become extinct—presumably, only an eccentric and expendable subset of the “generic white” in his mind. When I was on speaking terms with him I always detected a kind of peevishness towards them. And what’s scary is inferred from this, taking into account the harsh criticism of Ronin to white nationalism.

Although he has no Jewish blood, Ibero is a kind of Jew as he uses his Iberian genotype and phenotype as platform and inferiority complex to degrade the competition. And the competition is no less than the true white. Ibero is, as his internet pennames denote, an “Iberolobo,” a “Peninsular.” He never emphasizes, as I do, the fact that the peninsular Portuguese irreparably tarnished their genes with sub-Saharan, African blood. Although he and Mestizo—especially Ibero—have a good grasp of the content of white nationalist blogs for English speakers, Ibero’s mind orbits around another gravitational field: Spain and its American transplant. He is a silent scholar of English blogs only as inspirational material on how to develop a “Criollo” equivalent in the Americas. By remembering his outburst against Icelanders when I told him if I had money I would move there—with true Vikings genetically speaking—, we will see something fundamental. I never heard from Ibero a similar rebuff against the Mediterraneans, Amerinds, mestizos or Jews. Only the nordish peoples seem to arouse his anger.

I will be told that the case of Ibero is eccentric, and that it is illogical to generalize from an isolated case. But it is not so isolated. Drawing on my recent trip to London I will tell something I saw at the Millennium Bridge.

I joined a walking tour on the bridge led by a young man who spoke, in Spanish, of the desire to divorce of Henry VIII as if it was “a tantrum of a brat” which the Pope did not grant. Although many Spaniards have lost their faith, you may still feel the cultural inertia of previous centuries. Ibero himself, who is not Catholic, has told me he does not like the English. Similarly to the tour for Spaniards, contemporary nationalism reinforces ancient grudges between the nations. Europeans are not united by a common lack of skin melanin! Unlike them I do not care if the divorce was legitimate; only that the establishment of an independent church by Henry VIII helped to break the monolithic power of the Catholic Church which had chained the thought of the white man throughout Europe. An old-styled nationalist in Spain would never reason that way!

To be fair to Ibero, I must make it clear that his anti-nordicism can go completely unnoticed unless someone presses him a little. That distinguishes him from the ancient hatred of Jews for Aryans, who so badly want to exterminate them that in their Talmud they proclaim that “the best of the gentiles must be exterminated.” In other words, the animosity of Ibero before the Aryans is only dormant, not omnipresent as in the case of our ethnic enemies. However, Ibero’s mind is perfectly understood when we note his words, that he has repeated more than once: “I’m not a second-class white!” Actually, as the English girl who he gave a raid said, he’s not even properly white.

Had Hitler’s dream been fulfilled—an Aryan empire from the Atlantic to the Urals—the most Aryanized Spaniards would be already thinking like me, not as Ibero. But I would like to put forward a direct response to his stance that it doesn’t matter that blue-eyed blonds become extinct, and that what only matters are the so-called generic whites, with the opposite fantasy: although it was a gift from the unconscious.

Some years before meeting Ibero, in November 12, 2008, I arrived at the Madrid airport after barely sleeping the previous night in mainland and across the ocean for nervousness to travel: something that usually happens to me the day before transatlantic voyages. Falling into deep sleep that night in a city I had never been, something happened. Unlike my dreams that opened the chapters of my HS, so riddled with symbols, this time the descent into the abyss of my being took me to something I had known for some time but was no longer in the front of my consciousness. But before quoting the content of the naked “dream” without symbols I must say I slept in a soulless building, which was surrounded by more of them: residential complexes like those that have become so fashionable in the West since the culture fell.

The dream had somehow present the rudimentary faces of the Spaniards who had been in the neighborhood without soul where I slept. The message from my unconscious that awoke me suddenly well after midnight let me know that we had to level all that vacuous culture, wiping out the ugly people living there. In other words, in no way my destiny in life ended with the Hojas I wanted to publish (that trip to Spain, I naively believed, would lead to find a publisher for my 700-page book). No: there was not nearly the last word in my Hojas. The wake up dream on another continent, after some thirty-odd hours of not sleeping and then falling into the depths of my being, was analogous to those dreams in which the person believes to have received a divine message: You still have to speak about the extermination of the Neanderthals, César: you still need to talk about it…

Six years have passed since that night of late 2008, but instead of delving further into my unconscious let us continue our story.

Quite independently of my dream in Madrid, it would hurt me horrors that whites with brown hair and/or brown eyes became extinct. There are precious Aryans with black hair—think of the Liza Taylor in 1952 who filmed Ivanhoe or the 1889 painting by Heinrich Hoffman, Christ and the Rich Young Ruler (though of course: the neighborhood Madrilenians where I slept seemed troglodytes compared to them). I’m perfectly capable of appreciating the dark hair to the degree of falling in love if you reach that level of beauty for my eyes. But people like Ibero give us a slight clue to the envy of those who, during the Jacobin terror, sent to the guillotine the blonds of Paris (as Kemp tells us in his magnum opus).

In Europe “white nationalism” not only does not exists: it cannot exist. Ibero is neither white nationalist nor a Nazi, although the website of him and Mestizo, Visión Blanca, sometimes exhibits a rare fetish for Third Reich paraphernalia, a subject that Mestizo is more knowledgeable than us. As already explained, Ibero is simply an Iberian-Latin-American nationalist: he defends the Caucasoids of this part of the continent despite their mudblood. What is striking of quite a few white nationalists who blog or comment in English is that, as Ibero, they are capable of the doublethink that someone with brown skin is “white” simply because he is native of towns along the Mediterranean coast. The truth is that some Europeans are as “white” as Ibero’s partner, Mestizo. If those internet anti-nordicists who have offended me were confronted with pictures of both, they could not decide who is the American mestizo and who, say, the contemporary Greek.

No wonder that, once broken the Visigoth taboo of not mixing with the Mediterranean, the resulting stock of ancient Hispania embraced Christianity with such superstitious vehemence. Pierce said it clearly: the physical beauty of the Aryans is the splendor of divinity, so that the Christians (as the perpetrators of the Jacobin terror with the guillotined blonds) smashed the statues of the Greco-Roman world. A glance at the chapter on Hispania by Pierce in Who We Are is enough to see how the original Iberians mixed with the Semitic Carthaginians from time immemorial—long before the Muslim conquest of eight centuries, of which only the very stubborn say it did not leave a significant genetic mark. (Also, many Russian and Europeans of the Balkans mixed with Asians and Turks respectively.) This passage from the only non-fiction book from the pen of Pierce should be kept in mind:

The hard lesson taught by the different results of the European colonization of North America, Latin America, Australia, New Zealand, India, and southern Africa is that the only type of colonization with lasting significance is racial colonization; and that racial colonization can succeed only when Whites are willing and able to clear the land of non-White inhabitants and keep it clear.

By white Pierce understood of Indo-European origin; not what the newspeak of our days calls “Mediterranean,” “Hispanic” or worse, “Latino.” Independently of the behavior of the Brazilian, who according to the humorous illustration above would be a noteentiendo or tornatrás, he is well above the Criollo nationalists, white nationalists and even neo-Nazis (whom I have referred to in FR as fake Nazis). As seen in FR the Brazilian strongly believes in the “one-drop rule.”

Once one starts tolerating the first drops of non-white blood in one’s own body—say: the ancestral taboo that the Visigoths violated—, those drops will mark the beginning of the end. If we look at the history of the Iberian Peninsula from the highest tower of History we see that it is marked by two major Christian betrayals: the conversion of the Goths that broke the color barrier in the 6th century and, a thousand years later, the green light of a Pope for peninsular males to marry the conquered Amerindian. (In Portugal the church even allowed women to marry a number of imported negroes.) Regarding this last betrayal that began in the 16th century it is worth mentioning that, despite the system of castas the mestizos, the castizos and the harnizos used to bribe the Spanish authorities to be registered as “Criollos” though genetically they were not. These historical realities help us to understand the mind of Ibero’s partner, Mestizo; and also remind me the general amnesty that white nationalists have granted to the populations bordering the Mediterranean Sea.

There is no way to avoid the downward spiral of miscegenation once the line becomes blurred. If white nationalists lack the courage to draw a line highly enough the same fate will fall upon them—what happened to the continent conquered by the Spaniards and Portuguese. So-called Latin America is actually mestizo-America: a gigantic racial rubbish-dump from Río Grande to Tierra del Fuego. And this is true in spite of the fact that a tiny fraction of the population of these countries* remains authentically Aryan.

______________

* Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil, Chile, Colombia, Costa Rica, Cuba, Ecuador, El Salvador, Guatemala, Haiti, Honduras, Mexico, Nicaragua, Panama, Paraguay, Peru, Dominican Republic, Uruguay and Venezuela.

Tags Christian problem (CP), History, Latin America, Mexico, New Spain, Spain, United Kingdom

¿Me Ayudarás? (book) Autobiography

Extermination • I

Post author By C .T.
Post date September 17, 2014

Or:

Second thoughts about my “parting word”

I was serious last July when I wrote that I would not add more posts to this page until the financial accident happens. But another sort of accident happened to me that ruined my plans (see below), and instead of making a living overseas I find myself writing again.

In the July message I also said that I would “be busy explaining my minority report.” Well, I have started that autobiographical book in my native language. Its first translated pages are precisely the ones that appear below:

_______________________________________

To the memory of Percy

_______________________________________

On August 4, 2014 I arrived to London in the hope of moving to a small town in the United Kingdom in order to save my life once Mexico City catches fire after the looming collapse of the dollar.

One of the smartest commenters on my blog, whom I will call “the Brazilian,” had promised, through his contacts, forged work permit so I could look for a job in England. Throughout the two years I interacted with him in the blog and then thru personal communications, this guy reiterated that he wanted to help me to move there, and when in early 2014 he indeed moved to England I thought his plans were sincere.

The man is the result of a mixture between the races of his homeland, Brazil. He himself confessed publicly that his ancestors were Iberians, blacks and mestizos. Thus in order he did not feel self-conscious with me, I told him that I was not properly white.

Later in this chapter I will talk about some “Creole nationalists”—Mexicans that show off their Iberian roots and claim to have no drop of Indian blood—with whom I interacted in Mexico. The Brazilian’s intelligence had so impressed me that I told these Creole nationalists that my Brazilian, “mulatto friend has an IQ of 140.” Moreover, in my intimate soliloquies I said, more than once, that the level of penetration of the Brazilian on important issues to understand the darkest hour in Occident amazed me. I even told to myself that an “upward quantum leap” was crystal-clear when comparing the Brazilian to the vast majority of Aryan commenters visiting my site. No one like him had captured perfectly the disaster that represented Christianity for the white race, to the extent that—like me—the Brazilian considered it a more serious problem that the Jewish problem itself. Even his derogatory remarks about the philosophers sounded to my ears far above the intellectual masturbation we read in some sophisticated pro-white sites in the internet.

The Brazilian’s intellectual acumen, along with my huge need to escape Mexico, made my defenses down and I trusted him to the extent of deferring to his judgment my first steps to immigrate. I refer not only to the steps to obtain forged documents but also to roommate concerns. (London is so expensive that almost everyone shares their departments and the poorest even their rooms.) Although, as we shall see later in Extermination, thirty-two years before I had a horrible experience in London at a time when I also wanted to escape from Mexico, this time I thought that with such smart colleague our plans could not fail. The Brazilian even offered to pick me up at Heathrow Airport outside London; by telephone he informed me that he would not go to work the Monday I arrived to pick me up.

I thanked him and my flight arrived on time. After exiting from the immigration line, where obviously I hid the British woman who interrogated me that the purpose of my trip was to immigrate, I was surprised that the Brazilian was not there. I waited about twenty minutes at Terminal 4, the specific spot of international arrivals I had mentioned to the colleague, but no sign of him. After half hour he hadn’t come. Nor forty or fifty minutes after arriving at the terminal… I had virtually not slept due to my inability to sleep sitting on the plane and I badly needed to leave the soulless airport lounge and go to the hotel I had booked and even paid from Mexico. But the Brazilian did not appear. With the heavy suitcase I carried—suitcase to emigrate, not for tourism—I could not even move at ease in the terminal. I made a change in coins from a fiver to call the Brazilian’s mobile phone. What was my surprise that he wasn’t at the airport; just on his way, and he claimed he was “about to arrive.” I stopped worrying. But time continued to pass, and more than an hour-and-a-half after my arrival at the agreed terminal, he did not appear. I was hesitant to make extra phone calls because the airport’s phone had swallowed one or two of my pound coins but tried calling. This second time his tone was less friendly, “I’m almost there!” It must have been about two to three hours after the plane landed that the Brazilian finally appeared, without apologizing for the delay.

I wish to stop now and don’t recount the misadventure of that day because it makes me mad that I trusted someone whom I had never met in the real world, but I shall keep writing…

Having been so much delayed would be only the first lack of consideration by the Brazilian to a man more than twenty years his elder, who had arrived sleepless from a transatlantic voyage. After greeting each other, the Brazilian convinced me that the taxi would be very expensive and that we better take the subway to my hotel. Once in the tube, as it is called the narrow subway in London, we had to transship over more than once the various lines en route to the hotel, always carrying my heavy suitcase up awful stairs during the transfers. When we got off from a train among the London crowd for one of these transfers, the Brazilian asked me to wait because he wanted to buy something in the store just across the tracks. He climbed the stairs, walked into the shop, came out and smiled at me before… getting out into the street.

I was completely flabbergasted! If such a thing happened to me in my right mind, not in the confused state I was, I would have acted differently. But I was at the mercy of a bloke that—allegedly—would solve my migration problems. He was the only contact I knew in London for a (crooked) work permit. As he had already been delayed at the airport without a good reason or having apologized, had I been in my right mind when he went off the street I would have told him to get lost; fled by taxi to my hotel, and would have sought a more reliable contact the following days (say, through Spanish-speaking restaurants). But without sleep as I was, with great anxiety I remained on the tube station watching the largest racial melting pot of Europe (nowadays London has white minority).

The Brazilian should have taken about thirty-five minutes to arrive, or more, since he left and only then I realized that he had not found what he wanted at the front shop; that’s why he looked it out on the street. Hours later I discovered it were beers what the miscreant had bought, who had cared a damn that his fellow blogger (the Brazilian used to maintain a blog about “racial realism” in Portuguese) remained stranded with his heavy suitcase wondering what the hell had happened.

As I said, it makes me mad to tell this because I did not react as I should. The fact that I did not possess work permit and that the Brazilian had the handle for the grill not only for it, but to get me affordable accommodation—according to him he already had reserved one—played a psychological role in my indecision to make a clean break after the second or third discourtesy. Anyway, when he came laughing and said, “What did you think: that this crazy Brazilian had abandoned you?” I hid my feelings and continued the underground journey to the hotel.

It was during another transfer, now closer to the hotel and where we had to go outside to take another train (I think it was the street where he showed me the tallest building in Europe) that the Brazilian asked me something. He said that instead of going to my hotel, why not accompanying him to the slum hostel where he was living these days. They only charged £60 per week and although his roommates were black—that is, three blacks slept in a single room, beside the Brazilian—, it was only for a week while the better place he had reserved for us would be vacating. The Brazilian had a small back suitcase containing his laptop. He dared not leave it in the hostel with such hosts and carried it every time he went out.

Go figure my dear readers… All of my travel strategy had been based on a bloke that, now I realized, was on the verge of homelessness as he had to carry his belongings in the street for fear of loosing them in a “hostel” without lockers. Had I not been so obfuscated by the turn of events I would have stopped dry the adventure that very instant. But cognitively I was not well. In fact, I was completely alienated. True: I had prepared with extreme meticulousness everything left in Mexico—my library, my manuscripts in ring-binders and envelopes sealed against moisture (I thought I wouldn’t be back in years), the taking care of my pet and even a big farewell party for all believed I would leave for good—, but about my stay in England I had deferred all planning to “the mulatto of 140 of IQ.”

What a mistake. It was not until my return to Mexico, when I told the details of my misadventure to my old friend Paulina, that I noticed things that a man usually cannot see. Pau listened carefully and explained that men tend to admire intelligence at the expense of the other facet of the human psyche: empathy. I knew that in the white nationalist movement there were people with terrible character flaws. But the fact that the Brazilian seemed a hybrid between mestizo and mulatto was no reason to distrust him, as he believes in the “fourteen words” to the extent of having promised not to leave offspring. (Remember the first lesson to the Hitler Youth of Faith and Action by Helmut Stellrecht: “But if your blood has traits that will make your children unhappy and burdens to the state, then you have the heroic duty to be the last.”)

Unfortunately, character flaws can be hidden over the internet. And as in Mexico I only had considered the intellectual aspect of this bloke—a “hemiplegia” of mine, so to speak instead of having delved into the two facets of the person—, in a state of complete cognitive alienation to what was happening I agreed to his idea to abort the journey to my hotel and go to his hostel.

I would lie if I lay the blame at the Brazilian. Now that I’m out of the UK I find it obvious that the planning of my trip was grotesque, to say the least. “The drowning will grab at straws,” and the urgency of leaving a Neanderthalesque Mexico and survive the dollar collapse was such that I put aside from my consciousness basic matters I should have contemplated at my age, before venturing on another continent.

The journey to the hostel was not underground but from the outside, traveling in one of those red double-decker Routemaster buses so showy in London. And still there came the miscreant character of he whom I had placed my most cherished hopes. Throughout the journey in the underground and on the outside of the biggest city in Europe—a crossing that, due to change of plans, had already lasted more than two hours after leaving the airport—the Brazilian had never been solicitous in helping me with my heavy suitcase. Now, in the red double-decker bus, he swiftly climbed to the second floor and asked me repeatedly to go upstairs with him! It was then for the first time, that I showed some self-respect by refusing to come up with my heavy suitcase. During that second-long journey—remember that by aborting the way to the hotel we now were going to a very different address—we still had to make another transfer, but this time from bus to bus. We descended into a densely populated and very noisy area of London; streets swarmed with lots of blacks. To my surprise, the Brazilian told me to wait because he was going to find a toilet.

Lo and behold I was once again alone among human swarms with my heavy suitcase and no sleep! (Later, when I learned that the first time he left he had gone to buy beer, I connected the dots and realized that it was urgent for him to urinate the ingested alcohol.) In that hideous swarthy-filled street, and carrying something less than £2,000 in cash along with my credit cards, a black approached me. I didn’t understand a word. Scared and carrying the heavy suitcase I entered a grocery store but the attendants were not white either. My anxiety was very obvious until the Brazilian reappeared and we boarded the final bus that would take us to our destination.

Unlike the noisy subway, on the red bus it was possible to talk. At last we initiated conversation on topics that fascinate me. I told him that I had seen some mixed couples in London and was greatly surprised that there were so many blacks. He replied that it was a punishment to the English for having waged war against Germany, and added that Nazi Germany was by far the noblest creature that European history had produced. Then he said he did not understand how Americans like Matt Parrott insist on mixing the unmixable: Christianity with white nationalism.

It was not until we reached his quarters that I received the biggest shock of the trip. It’s true that in 1982 I had spent a night in London in a spacious room of a Youth Hostel; a room with many beds. But back then they were all European Aryans; I, the only foreigner. I was twenty-four and, coming from Mexico, was amazed at how good looking some of those English were (in the country where I was born almost all seemed Neanderthals to me). But now I was in 2014, and the all-encompassing social engineering of the British elites in recent decades, that is, replacement of the native race by imported race, had been a success. The Brazilian’s room was not spacious as the hostel I had slept decades ago. It was of regular size with the most miserable niggers you might think of. In fact, in no way it resembled a hostel but one of those trash-people rooms subsidized by charities for the homeless in large metropolis. But they were not homeless: they were blacks surviving, I suppose, from the same type of underemployment of the Brazilian.

I barely saw the spectacle and wanted to run away. On the street the Brazilian insisted that I should pay the £60 for the week. It was already night and he claimed he was tired and that we should think things over the next day. I didn’t know what to do. I had to cancel the hotel reservation so that it was not charged to my American Express, but there were no public telephones in the neighborhood. I tried to get information in a grocery store that opened at night, but they were immigrants who hardly knew English and were unaware of the dynamics of the big city. Not even the Brazilian could tell me what was, in England, the telephone equivalent to 911 so that, through his cell phone, I could make a call. The Brazilian kept insisting me to pay the £60, as the “hostel” never receives one-night payment, only a full week; and said I should forget my worries until the next day. (Take into account that with those £60 I could have spent a single night in a modest hotel, even after losing my reservation.) Still arguing in the street, the Brazilian, speaking in a serious tone, argued that he was tired; ignoring that it was me who had not slept the night before, and insisted to forget the matter of seeking hotel or making emergency phone calls.

As there was no one to help me, not even a taxi to get on in those streets, and as I was worried that in that colored neighborhood I could be assaulted and my money taken away (for my heavy suitcase I was an obvious target), I agreed. I reentered the “hostel,” paid the administrator of the slum the £60 he demanded, and walked into to the room of blacks and the mulatto Brazilian.

But I could not sleep… Although I had not slept the night before I was in a state of extreme anxiety.

I went out to the hostel’s terrace and finally I saw a white man. He was also an immigrant. He didn’t have fluent English and told me he was from Romania. As it had happened to me decades ago in the same city, as I newly arrived from Neanderthalesque lands I was pleasantly surprised by the looks of the blond Romanian. I spoke with him in the fresh night but not for long. He was not very smart and I also felt a little cold in the outdoors terrace. (I had left the plane with my jacket, shirt and dress pants but had not changed my clothes; one of the blacks that tried to sleep in the dirty room, where my cloths were, had warned me not turn the light on.) Apparently the Brazilian also failed to reconcile sleep and after sighting me in the terrace he went to the kitchen to talk at length with a muscular black returning from the gym. The Brazilian informed me that to survive in such place—go figure, myself in formalwear with the downtrodden—, one had to learn to converse amiably with the dark-skinned. The long conversation of the Brazilian with the huge black gave the lie to the claim that he was too tired to help me make an urgent phone-call.

I don’t remember the exact moment when the Brazilian told me that the police had arrested his contact—the very contact that was supposed to get me the papers. He did not say whether he had been arrested the day before or the day I arrived at Heathrow. But I doubt that, if the story is true, it was such a recent event. Chances are that the arrest had occurred long before—which means that the Brazilian had not warned me on time, when I was in Mexico. Had I been informed on time I would have aborted any plan to cross the Atlantic!

The events yelled at me that the trip had been in vain. By not having warned me in time of the arrest the Brazilian had committed a trick of confidence. However, even though that day the Brazilian confessed that he was desperately seeking a decent roommate, I failed to suspect that behind his convincing me to come to London a sinister motive was hiding. The crux of his confession was that his old roommate was a black homosexual whose conduct had caused the Brazilian to flee from there and move to the seedy hostel (where we were now).

I am ashamed to say that even with all this novel information I was slow to connect the dots that such insistence that I go London had not been motivated to help me, the word he used several times but to help himself in his problems with blacks. The underlying motivation of Brazilian seemed to be: “Unlike this nigger, blogger César, who comes from an educated family and whose parents have three pianos at home and five servants, will be my personal savior.”

Such naiveté!: In Mexico I had only imagined a Brazilian full of honor, insofar he vehemently insisted he did not plan to reproduce even after finding a woman in England (remember the wise counsel of Helmut Stellrecht for non-whites). But in London he told me that even before his “racial awakening”—something unheard of in a man of color—he had come to the firm conclusion that he would not leave descendants in Brazil. It was not until I assimilated even more painful confessions than that of the “gay nigger”—for example, that the day prior to my arrival the Brazilian had been wandering at London’s downtown because he could not remember where he lived, and that he drank alcohol to cope with his pathetic life—that I began to glimpse who he really was.

The trip had been a fraud. My purpose had never been crossing the ocean to help a mulatoid fellow to find a roommate—but looking sanctuary for me in a small English village with no coloreds to survive the dollar collapse! He who so much boasted to know something of human psychology had been duped like a child…! Nothing had I suspected of the motives of Brazilian: trying to use me to solve his problem and, therefore, the understandable lack to timely notify me about the “arrest.”

But back to my sleepless night.

My mattress had no sheets. I had no choice but to put my white skin in contact with a mattress that must have suffered a thousand sweats from blacks. Even in such conditions I tried to sleep with the four darks of the room. My anxieties and a disagreeable negress snoring inches from me on the top bunk—the pseudohostel was so abhorrent that not only races mixed, but the very sexes too—didn’t let me sleep…

But with the dawn I regained my senses. In the morning, with several guests already waking up on the terrace, including some I had not seen the previous evening, the Brazilian insisted I opened a bank account and said that another of his contacts worked in a bank (by law, tourists cannot open accounts in the UK). Perhaps that employee even knew, the Brazilian told me, another person to obtain work permit.

But I had lost confidence in him. The second night of consecutive sleeplessness I had talked to another night bird, Stuart, who lived there in another room and used to talk to the Romanian during the evenings on the terrace. His accent was not British. Stuart was born in Scotland and raised in New Orleans. As the Brazilian, Stuart had been so badly beaten by life that he had fallen to the pseudohostel. We spoke of my racial ideas and this young man conceded that in New Orleans blacks had behaved very poorly during hurricane Katrina. He was not bothered, though somewhat surprised, about my overtly racist worldview and I asked him what was the whitest city in Scotland. He said that Perth and his hometown, Dundee. He added that the beautiful town of Perth was ideal for retirees (i.e., for people like me had I arrived with the proper funds to buy a modest house).

I made my decision. That morning I was not going to endure a single minute of a “hostel” which did not even have showers for bathing. The blacks woke up and put their filthy music we all heard over the terrace. I told the Brazilian that I would go to Scotland. He was surprised but, by seeing my resolution, walked along with me to the outskirts of the metro station. We said goodbye and never met again.

I still struggled that day to reach Perth. It was not the Victoria Station that the Brazilian had suggested but the famous King’s Cross the one which would take me to the far north: the very one where they had filmed the movies of the magical station in Harry Potter. My flight had been so hurried that already going on my train to Scotland I had to ask one of the uniformed train attendants if Perth was large enough to house hotels. By fleeing multiracial London and the nightmarish underworld of the Brazilian I hadn’t had time to make the most basic inquiries! (the hostel didn’t have Wifi access). Although nearly all uniformed workers in train stations were black, I approached an Anglo-Saxon woman who informed me that there were hotels there. However, still dying of tiredness I was unable to sleep sitting up and had to wait six more hours to reach my destination.

When I arrived to Perth the tourist information center was closed, but the taxi driver of the terminal, a typical Scot, was extremely helpful in taking me to the cheapest places he knew. We went to Dunkeld Road not far from the station, and the Scot awaited me several times while I knocked the doors of various guesthouses. As it was midsummer the signs were saying “No vacancy” but in one of the houses, Connie, the Irish woman who received guests in Clark Kimberly Guest House, admitted me gladly. Having no reservation I had to rent an expensive room with double bed.

But it didn’t matter. That night I slept placidly after so long. At last I encountered myself in the hands of the white man…

Tags Mexico, United Kingdom

Conservatism George Lincoln Rockwell

Not even one…

Post author By C .T.
Post date May 4, 2014

If I remember correctly, it was Mister Deutsch the one who commented in this blog that no single wealthy white, or any head of a Western state, is doing absolutely anything to defend his race from extinction.

If you scroll down some posts here you’ll see that a few months ago I was complaining that my Mac broke down, and that I could only resume blogging through the permanent loan of a laptop (not by a pro-white advocate by the way).

Well, since I could not afford the thousand dollars that a Mac store was charging me, I allowed the Mexican technician who for years has worked with my family to deliver my Mac to a friend of him who purportedly promised to fix it for half the price.

That was three months ago… It is now clear that the guy stole my money, my broken Mac and the information in it! This happened because I could not afford the fees of a proper repairing shop.

More than blaming the Mexicans who swindled me I blame wealthy whites. I don’t have in mind those who have made contributions to the WDH, only the really wealthy whites reluctant to sponsor the movement.

But forget my blog, my books (presently I am working on a PDF of my personal essays) or this catastrophe in Mexico. Think instead of one of the best minds in the United States, Michael O’Meara, whom I have quoted extensively in this site. How is it possible that he found himself doing blue-collar jobs in the US simply because nobody was sponsoring him after he was fired by the academia (for maintaining politically-incorrect views)?

And Michael is not alone. It really seems that there is in fact no single rich man on the entire Earth who substantially sponsors the best minds in the movement. That’s precisely why I don’t believe that Jews are the primary cause of Western malaise—it is the whites themselves the ones who have lost an elemental lust for life.

For those who don’t visit the addenda of this site, I urge them to do a careful reading this Sunday of my March post, “Greatest American ever,” in which hatnote I said: “In his autobiography This Time The World, Commander George Lincoln Rockwell, who some consider ‘the greatest American that has ever lived,’ describes his experiences dealing with pathetic conservatives in the 1950s.”

The article shows that the difference between a National Socialist and a conservative is that a NS man is genuinely concerned about his race, while a conservative is only concerned about his money. The anecdotes that Rockwell uses in his autobiography are fascinating, a real treat: a must read to understand our present tragedy.

Tags Degeneracy, Mexico

Democracy Ethnic cleansing Francis Parker Yockey George Lincoln Rockwell Kevin MacDonald Mainstream media

Führer anniversary

Post author By C .T.
Post date April 20, 2014

Rockwell’s numinous call vs. white nationalism

Now that I gave up “white nationalism”—because it was an effete, neo-Christian, non-genocidal and anti-Nordicist pseudo-movement (Golden Dawn is a real movement)—what better homage to the martyr of the Second World War than remembering a call onto the real path revealed to George Lincoln Rockwell the year I would be born:

During this period, Rockwell had an experience about which he has never written and which he related to only a few people. Always a skeptic where the supernatural was concerned, he was certainly not a man to be easily influenced by omens. Yet there can be no doubt that he attached special significance to a series of dreams that he had then. The dreams—actually all variations of a single dream—occurred nearly every night for a period of several weeks and were of such intensity that he could recall them vividly upon waking. In each dream he saw himself in some everyday situation: sitting in a crowded theater, eating at a counter in a diner, walking through the busy lobby of an office building, or inspecting the airplanes of his squadron at an airfield hangar.

And in each dream a man would approach him—theater usher, diner cook, office clerk, or mechanic—and say something to the effect, “Mr. Rockwell, there is someone to see you.” And then he would be led off to some back room or side office in the building or hangar, as the case may have been. He would open the door and find waiting for him inside, always alone—Adolf Hitler. Then the dream would end.

One can most easily interpret these dreams as a case of autosuggestion, but in the light of later developments Rockwell considered them as a symbolic summons, a beckoning onto the path for which he was then still groping, whether that beckoning was the consequence of an internal or an external stimulus.

Cited in “Rockwell: A National Socialist Life.”

“Because it was non-genocidal…” I said above. What better example to show what is wrong with American white nationalism that a recent interview of Kevin MacDonald by Luke Ford.

In the You Tube interview we can listen that Ford asks MacDonald if he sees similarities and differences between the white nationalist movement in America and National Socialism in Germany. MacDonald responded after 1:10:23, “The white advocacy movement, as I see it, is not exterminating anybody. It is simply going to assert our interests within the democratic form of government that we have… It doesn’t advocate conquering Mexico, you know—anything like that. There are lots of differences.”

Asserting white interests within US Democracy? Democracy—the worst form of government from the racial viewpoint that has ever been tried? Has MacDonald read what Hajo Liaucius said about the United States (cf. my forthcoming PDF)?

MacDonald’s stance is identical to what other notable white nationalists and southern nationalists believe. The latter fancy themselves as “sane, moral, wholesome, reasonable people” whose Christianity prevents them from becoming “silly vanguardists” of the revolutionary type. Their politics are actually church-picnic stuff with no future after the dollar collapses.

Conservative-religious types aside, in his summary of his latest book, New Right vs. Old Right, Greg Johnson rejects “the Old Right’s party politics, totalitarianism, imperialism, and genocide” in favor of “the metapolitical project of constructing a hegemonic White Nationalist consciousness within a pluralistic society.” Take note that Johnson’s “pluralism,” which reminds me Alex Linder’s non-fascist libertarianism, is incompatible with racial hegemony in Sparta, the Gothic and Visigothic societies, and the Third Reich.

Back to the Ford interview. MacDonald also said that repatriation of non-whites could be performed if a white nationalist reached the US presidency but nothing “short of gas chambers and genocide.”

A single example, related to “not conquering Mexico” will suffice to show how difficult such an apparently noble task would be.

“It is inexcusable that, having power,
you do not want to dominate.”

—Nietzsche

Here in Mexico a non-Jew, Emilio Fernando Azcárraga, the mogul who owns Televisa company, has married a Jewess. This means that in the future the largest multimedia mass media in Latin America will be run by a Jewish family. Do you imagine an ethnostate within the US that expels the brown Mexicans without being demonized 7/24 by the Latin American media? Since presumably Jews will be expelled too in MacDonald and Johnson’s non-genocidal scenario, you can imagine how the Jewish lobbies would press through their powerful media urging Latin American civil societies and governments to build nuclear weapons for their “defense” against the racists that took over the North.

In other words, even without genocide after a North American ethnostate starts expelling the mudbloods, the Rubicon would have been crossed with no way back. There is no credible way to triumph in that scenario except by conquering a potentially nuclear subcontinent that, if forever unconquered, would simply repeat the cycle of what the Jews did in America after a brainwashed West ganged up on Germany.

Starting with Mexico, “Latin” (or more accurately Mestizo) America must be conquered right after the Jew-controlled media starts rising hell in Mestizo America after the expulsion of non-whites. I am not alone in this view. Just compare today’s Christian and Neochristian white nationalism with what Francis Parker Yockey wrote in 1953 in his essay “The Enemy of Europe”:

For the purpose of demonstrating with the utmost clarity the elements of the two world-outlooks in this period of Western history between the Second and Third World Wars, a paradigm is appended.

In that paradigm Yockey dramatically contrasted the cultivation of soldierly virtues in healthy western societies with the cult of bourgeois virtues and the worship of Mammon. More specifically, he compared the virile attitudes of “war and conquest” with the ethno-suicidal “pacifism, non-imperialism and the preparation of the coloured populations for ‘self-government’.”

If Yockey were alive today what would he think about “white nationalism”? What would he say about Greg Johnson’s manifesto, recently published in a book with a foreword by MacDonald himself?: “I do not want anything to do with gun-toting armies of one. The only gun I want to own is made of porcelain” (emphasis Johnson).

George Lincoln Rockwell’s numinous series of dreams with Uncle Adolf, not this effete pseudo-movement, should be our call.

Tags Adolf Hitler, Genuine spirituality, Latin America, Mexico, National Socialism

Amerindians Deranged altruism Homosexuality Human sacrifice Pre-Columbian America Psychology

On pre-Hispanic Amerinds, 7

Post author By C .T.
Post date December 18, 2013

Standing in a bookstore when I was much younger I read a passage from a book by an out-closet homosexual, the Mexican poet Salvador Novo analyzing the term “pecado nefando” (heinous sin). Novo mentioned Nezahualcoyotl, a 15th-century king and member of the Aztec Triple Alliance, who promulgated a law code that included that those who had engaged in the passive role of homosexual anal intercourse had their intestines pulled out, then their bodies were filled with ash, and finally, were burnt (the active or penetrating partner was simply suffocated in a heap of ash): a punishment more severe than a mere capital punishment against sodomy in the Muslim world. Novo included an illustration of a dead male Amerind with his intestines pulled out, but now that I looked if that image was available in the internet I didn’t find it.

I mention this because one of the reasons why the behavior of pre-Hispanic Amerinds is unknown lies in the fact that the deranged Christians and liberals who are obsessed with out-group altruism have been most reluctant to speak about the level of cruelties in the American continent before the white people arrived. In the latest threads I have spoken about some members in the pro-white movement that get mad when I dare to challenge their dogmas. For instance, in an article at Majority Rights I was once called “Jew” because I dismissed 9/11 conspiracy theories. But in my long life I have had similar experiences with this sort of fanatics.

In my book for example I mention that I have taken issue with my father about Nezahualcoyotl. He has enormously idealized this Indian, to the extent that he even composed a short musical piece for one of the poems that some attribute to Nezahualcoyotl. From time to time I have tried to transmit to my father the fact that the historical Nezahualcoyotl ordered his son to be killed, and that that must be enough to stop idealizing him.

In his uttermost dishonesty, my father has not tried even to respond. He simply continues to idealize Nezahualcoyotl during family meetings and even before visitors from Europe; he continues to flatly claim that figure of Nezahualcoyotl proves that the Aztecs were highly civilized. (Incidentally, in my discussions I never mentioned that Amerind fags were disemboweled in such horrible way after Nezahualcoyotl’s laws; only that he ordered his grown-up first born to be killed.)

Another personal vignette. Back in 2008 I was in a taxi with my father and my six-year-old nephew. Those days I had been discussing with him about the fact that according to my sources the pre-Hispanic Amerinds were cannibals. I even photocopied Mexican newspapers notes saying that such anthropophagy had been corroborated by archeological evidence. Keep in mind that virtually all Mexican press side the Amerinds against the Spanish conquerors, but even the indigenista press has to acknowledge the facts.

My father simply stopped talking to me in the taxi, changed the subject of conversation and started to talk with my six-year-old nephew…

Of course: people like my father, completely unconcerned with the facts, exist by the millions. But I find it healthy that presently the top cultural institutions of Mexico have been corroborating the facts (not my psychohistorical theories) that I cited in The Return of Quetzalcoatl. That’s why I have been reviewing the academic treatise El Sacrificio Humano in these series about pre-Hispanic Amerinds. So let’s now continue to refute my father’s intellectual cowardice with another chapter of El Sacrificio Humano.

The Aztecs and the Mayas were not the only sons of bitches in Mesoamerica (see the previous entries of these series). In the opening paragraph of “El Sacrificio Humano en el Michoacán Antiguo” Grégory Pereira says that Tariácuri, the founder of the empire of the Purépecha culture which developed in the Mesoamerican Postclassic period, congratulates destiny when learning that his own son would be sacrificed (page 247). This of course reminds me what my father’s “civilized” Nezahualcoyotl did. Pereira cites the Spanish Relación de Michoacán as a reliable source about how the Michoaque people behaved before the arrival of the Spaniards.

The Relación states that part of the captives such as old people and children were sacrificed by extraction of the heart right on the spot of the battle, and that (my translation) “the bodies of these victims were cooked and consumed at the same place.” I mention this only to show how my father, who has a good library in his study including books about the pre-Hispanic Amerinds, simply doesn’t want to face what’s right in front of his nose.

On page 254 Pereira includes a diagram showing a skeleton with points that show the impact of the rib cut to reach the heart during those sacrifices, and he adds that those who performed the ritual were called opítiecha or “holders” who grabbed the extremities of the victim. He adds: “Once slaughtered and decapitated, the dismembered body was in the house of the priests and the various parts offered up to the gods and eaten by the priests and lords. Those who were killed at the scene of the conflict were eaten by the victors… After the cannibal feast, the bones of the slaughtered apparently were gathered and preserved in the house of the priests.”

On the next page Pereira includes an illustration of the Relación depicting the consumption of human flesh. Later, on page 262, the author reveals that Tariácuri also ordered the killing of another of his sons, Tamapucheca, as punishment for having escaped being sacrificed.

Then Pereira recounts that on the day following the sacrifice, they “wore the skin of the slaughtered in a dance, and for five days got drunk.” That is, the cadavers were skinned so that the priests could wear the skin as clothes.

I just wonder… How would an American leftist react before such information. Like my father did in the taxi?

A figurine at the Museo Nacional de Antropología
showing an Amerind covered with a human skin.

Tags Mexico

Aztecs Mexico City Pre-Columbian America

On pre-Hispanic Amerinds, 6

Post author By C .T.
Post date December 10, 2013

Tell me which gods you worship and I’ll tell you who you are.

In another chapter of the book El Sacrificio Humano I’ve been reviewing, Marie Areti-Hers, the author of the article on human sacrifice in the Toltec-Chichimeca culture, says that “to penetrate” into the Mesoamerican world one must take into account the complex statue represented by the last incarnation of that world, the “Summa Theologica locked in the formidable images of Coatlicue” (page 241).

The Spaniards placed Our Lady of Guadalupe, the symbol of Catholic Mexicans, on the Hill of Tepeyac. But what the authorities conceal from the Mexican schoolchildren is that precisely on that hill the Aztecs used to worship their goddess. And what a goddess…!

A picture is worth a thousand words. The below photograph shows a stone representation of almost 9 feet high of the Aztec goddess that you can see at the Museum of Anthropology when you visit Mexico City.

The Coatlicue is always represented with a skirt of interwoven snakes (nahuatl: Coatlicue, coatl, snake; cueitl skirt). See her collar consisting of a skull flanked by mutilated hands and hearts; her two large snakes that by kissing each other form a hideous face because the goddess’ children had decapitated her and the original face of the mother is missing. See also the phallic snake hanging between her paws like a third leg, paws which look as claws since, in the Aztec imagery, their favorite deity feeds from corpses. (In Tenochtitlan’s houses there were more figurines of the Coatlicue than of Huitzilopochtli, the male god of the Aztecs.) This goddess that devoured human hearts and blood was also the goddess of fertility and of the sacred earth.

The above image has lost its color. How had the statue made its impact when painted with the most violent colors (see the Aztec Calendar above, also of stone) in the pre-Columbian temple? Her aspect was so terrifying that Amerind women entered the shrine headed down to avoid making eye contact with the monster while offering her beautiful flowers.

And not just flowers… As I say in my book, it was said that to placate such goddess sacrifices of juicy infants were needed.

No wonder why the Spaniards chose the hill of Tonantzin-Coatlicue, which used to house the formidable statue, to impose the image of the Lady of Guadalupe they had copied from the Spanish Virgin with the same name. Most Mexicans ignore that the name of the Lady of Guadalupe derives directly from Extremadura, homeland of many conquistadors including Hernán Cortés himself (info in Spanish including an image of the Spanish Guadalupana: here).

Only with such transposition of deities the Spanish conquerors managed to banish the Aztec cult of the terrible mother…

Tags Mexico, New Spain, Religion, Spain

Civil war Mexico City Miscegenation

My “pod” cousin

Post author By C .T.
Post date December 10, 2013

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

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.

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.

Tags Europe, History, Jewish problem (JP), Mexico, New Spain, Spain