Apologia pro vita sewer: I can honestly look back at almost all my opinions, both those passionately held within me and the ambient ones that I abjectly assimilated from my peers, and say I was on the effluent side of most arguments. My post-war generation inherited a world that had been liberated from the Nazis at huge personal cost and was being protected against communism, yet we threw it all away. We abandoned our birth-right. We sneered at the values which had made the world free.
We are the Quisling generation.
Who were the villains of our youth? Enoch Powell for speaking the truth about immigration and the Americans for fighting communist aggression in Vietnam. Even discussing the issue of immigration was “racist”. To accept that North Vietnam had launched an aggressive war against South Vietnam was “imperialist”, as we mumbled historically illiterate cliches about the American “military-industrial complex.”
We didn’t argue, but simply categorised and cretinised. Neither rational debate nor learning are possible when minds merely contain just two discrete and immiscible categories marked “reactionary ideas” and “progressive ideas”.
To be sure, much of the American conduct of the war in Vietnam was ill-informed and promiscuously barbaric. The US should have punished the North Vietnamese for starting the war by bombing the North’s irrigation system and starving communism into submission. But that of course would have aroused the censoriousness of the “western world”, which had already ignored Hanoi’s careful, pre-planned programme of systematic aggression.
Had the communists won in South Vietnam in 1963, as they assuredly would have done without American intervention, then their terrorism would have spread across South-East Asia, creating a continental tyranny stretching from the various Arctic waters of the Baltic and the Barents to the Pacific and the South China Seas. It would have been the largest contiguous empire in history, sharing the one set of political and economic beliefs and employing the usual instruments of totalitarian rule, including slave labour, death camps, torture chambers and mass executions. Its methods would unquestionably have been emulated by communist movements across South America, where Che Guevara had begun his campaign of butchery, while his murderous exploits are still esteemed by the idiot-young of today.
And we had all the evidence necessary to show how evil the North Vietnamese communists were. After they over-ran Hue during the Tet offensive in 1968, they murdered thousands of captive civilians. This was not some departure from the communist norm, but the implementation of standard practice everywhere, from Peking to Cuba and finally Indo-China. In Vietnam, communist governments murdered over 400,000 of their own citizens, and the Khmer Rouge government exterminated millions.
The year of the Tet Offensive was also the year of the optical illusion of benign communism known as the Prague Spring. So profound was my own delusion that I genuinely believed that there was a halfway house between the “evil”, “predatory” yet strangely efficient capitalism, and the incredibly inefficient and totalitarian but nonetheless beguiling system of communism. It enchanted because its rhetoric spoke to our benign, more credulous side, that which believed in the goodness of human nature, just it spoke sotte voce to the Leninist id inside the nastiest of us: here be dragons, and where dragons prosper, blood must flow. Two conflicting ideas co-existing amicably in one brain is popularly known today as “cognitive dissonance”, which is also a polite name for stupidity, perhaps the defining characteristic of my generation.
1968 was also the year of the Papal Encyclical Humanae Vitae, which essentially restated the Church’s opposition to “unnatural birth-control”, by means of altering the woman’s endocrinal cycle or by creating sperm barriers. The Catholic church fatally ruined its own case against “unnatural birth control” by endorsing the rhythm method of “natural birth control”, which involved a lot of deeply unnatural temperature-taking, complete lack of spontaneity and to-the-second coitus, usually resulting in frigidity, impotence and separate bedrooms.
There was a simple argument against the entire culture of contraception: that every woman in every society must on average have 2.1 children for that society merely to survive. It is an inescapable biological duty of women to produce babies otherwise our sub-species (roughly, our race or nation) will die out and be replaced by a variant-species that is less well-disposed to women abandoning their biological duties and opting for more rewarding careers in the city and the courts.
These are not opinions. They are existential facts, largely concealed by the arrival of professionally ambitious feminists and the derision heaped on “motherhood” as a decent, laudable career. And yes, I was guilty here too, because I believed sex was for pleasure and the notion that sex was primarily about reproduction had been a heresy introduced by a reactionary Catholic church whose ridiculous opinions on such matters could be safely ignored.
Meanwhile, feminism grew fangs, and any male who questioned its dogmas was soon ridiculed and side-lined by the sabre-toothed sorority in charge, especially in journalism. Yet quite incredibly, the cultural hegemony enjoyed by women lasted barely a generation before their position at the top of the victimhood heap was taken by an entity as imaginary as the patriarchy against which feminists had previously railed, namely “transexuals”. These came equipped with a dogmatic theology and a ludicrous terminology comprising all sorts of sexual sub-sects – and bafflingly, amongst the most rigorous enforcers of the new rule were so-called “biological women”, as if there were any other kind.
The third issue was similarly existential; immigration, any discussion of the virtues of which was made strictly taboo by my generation and thus placed on the same moral footing as the Genocide of the Jews. This was “confirmed” by the atrocious misreporting of Enoch Powell’s “Rivers of Blood” speech, perhaps the most prescient address ever uttered in British life. His predictions were inaccurate only in that they vastly underestimated the scale of the cultural and moral calamity awaiting Britain. Half a dozen English cities are no longer identifiably European, while thousands of under-age white working-class girls have been raped by men of Pakistani stock. Incredibly, over this ethnic, class and sexual atrocity, the Jemimas, Emilys and Emmas of metropolitan feminism have remained quite scandalously and ruthlessly but nonetheless prudently silent.
Knife crime in Manchester and London remains a disproportionately Afro-Caribbean phenomenon (despite the much-cherished Stephen Lawrence case). Sixty-six percent of crime within the black, male community involves possession and use of knives, most of it in London, which is now also the capital of population replacement. Those jokes about “Essex girls” are really racist, snobbish jests about working-class Cockneys whose families have fled the East End of a city where the majority of the population now belong to an ethnic minority (thereby rendering standard English almost meaningless). Most mothers in London today are foreign-born, and by 2040, the centenary of the Battle of Britain, ethnically foreign children will constitute more than half the students in British state schools, by which time the British capital will have ceased in any real sense to be a British city. That means the complete ethnic transformation of the UK is a generation away – except on television, where the white male has already almost vanished, save as a figure of fun.
It’s not coincidental that some of the worst US Presidents since the Civil War – Clinton, Bush junior, Obama, Trump, Biden – are roughly of my generation. No doubt to the infinite indignation of many readers, I unapologetically exclude Trump because he genuinely tried to improve the lot of white working classes, whom Obama – domestically, quite the worst of them all – despised, letting them rot in poverty and opioid addiction while his evil trillionaire friends within the Californian Silicocracy exported American jobs to low cost, low tax countries.
The real insight into Obama’s moral delinquency came when he filmed himself watching his own Bin Laden snuff-movie, along with the creepy Biden and the loathsome Rodham. My generation rewarded this psychopath by giving him the Nobel Peace Prize to match the one for literature we gave to that mumbling, pretentious poser Robert Zimmerman, after whom thousands of my generation named their children.
Matthew, Mark, Luke, John and Dylan; Dear God Almighty.
Our current gift to the world has been to turn a scientifically ignorant Swedish child into a new Joan of Arc, but – presumably for environmental reasons – not burning her alive, deliciously tempting though this prospect be. In her name, we’ve been busy demolishing conventional power-stations, meanwhile hoping that clean, though not yet invented energy-sources will save us before we perish from frostbite and famine, rather like those hungry Pacific cargo-cultists in the 1950s expectantly gazed into the skies, waiting for the Douglas C-54 to land with the food that they were no longer bothering to grow.
Debacle originally comes from the Latin baculum, meaning “little stick”, and it is the cataclysm that results when you violently yank a twig from within the heart of a beaver’s dam. That’s what my generation did to every dam we saw.
Enjoy the outcome: Quislington.