I periodically wonder to what extent Europeans are feeling the quiet desperation of national loss now so lurid in America. Whether they have yet considered the despair that loss will etch into the faces of their unborn grandchildren. That visceral shudder as cold fingers extend around the neck. And when the available real estate of flight has finally expired, that bright coppery fear arising with the realization there’s nowhere left to flee.
Millions washing ashore year after year…their offspring multitudinous mouths. Every new maw representing another tick of the clock. Another precious moment of finite lives spent laboring to feed, house, heal, and “educate” the eagerly oppressed. And eager they are. Despite being reliably advised of the vicious racism that awaits, they clamber and swarm for entry. They climb, swim, and dig to enter an American hellscape where microaggressions are thick as corpses in the Ganges. Where innocent EBT-Americans may at any moment suffer the bitter sting of a disapproving glance…none to offer solace but the silent walls of Section 8. Yet despite this ceaseless torment, they persevere. Countless prognathic profiles in courage.
And in the face of this deluge we offer hardly a cleared-throat of protest. Only grim resignation and horrified smiles. Smiles meant to tranquilize our own fractious will to live, while signaling our success at doing so to others. I would deploy a cliche about the Twilight Zone, though I would be many years late.
It’s great that we’re becoming despised minorities in our own countries. A real good thing! And tomorrow…tomorrow’s gonna be a real good day!
Here, despite our hateful murmurs of apologetic discontent, mexicans laugh at the border and engorge themselves at the taxpayer trough. Youths rampage from the moment they are ambulatory and commit violence with the same exacting standards by which they copulate. And everywhere the charge of “racist!” hangs heavy as a guillotine’s blade.
As a result almost none who wish to remain employed speak beyond a whisper. Complaints are lodged only in code. But to a confidante I have heard the same sentiment many times: “I’d move my family out of this multikult sanitarium tomorrow if there were only a place to take them. But where?”
As the swarm devours their future, the urgency of this question will become almost primal. And if any of our ancestral homelands rise from their haunches to provide an answer, then there may be a day when Europe calls her children home.
I think many will come to answer.