Although the average American doesn’t know much about him, everyone has heard of a fearsome Indian warrior named “Geronimo.” Recently, I decided it to learn about the man so I read a lengthy volume about his tribe, the Apaches. The book, and the Apaches, proved interesting enough, but the passage that most struck me was about a different tribe entirely, and was a mere tangent in the first chapter.
Jesuit missionaries, headed by Padre Kino, entered Pimeria Alta during the 1680s. The Piman peoples and Opatas welcomed them and quickly accepted Christianity. . . . Of all the tribes the Spaniards encountered in North America none adopted the Spanish way of life more readily or more successfully than the Opatas. They and the Pimas soon assumed major roles in the Sonora settlements. Because the Opatas had forced their way into Pima territory as they moved along the Yaqui River, there had once been hostility between the two tribes. But as Apache attacks intensified, minor irritations were subordinated to the common problems of survival. Opatas, because of their special relationship with the Spaniards, were called “the spoiled children of the Spanish crown” and “the most valiant, most noble and most loyal among all friendly tribes”—the Tlascaltecas [see below] of the interior land. They intermarried with Spaniards and later with Mexicans to the extent that they disappeared as a distinct tribe, and their language was ultimately replaced by Spanish. [The Apaches: Eagles of the Southwest, Donald E. Worcester, University of Oklahoma Press, 1979, page 13.]
The passage is so matter-of-fact in tone that a reader could be forgiven for missing it. But in the space of about 200 words the author summarizes how a people became extinct simply by collaborating with a newly arrived people. I did some research about them and found that no pure Opatas are thought to be alive, and their language is dead. In the Mexican state of Sonora there are mestizos who know that some of their ancestors were Opata, but next to nothing of the Opata culture remains. This erasure took only 300 years.
The “Tlascaltecas” was another tribe I had never heard of until I read the above passage. I learned that they were longstanding rivals of the Aztecs, so were allies of the Spanish in the 16th century. For their loyalty, the Spanish crown gave them special privileges, and with that elevated status came miscegenation. Like the Opatas, there do not seem to be any pure Tlascaltecas left. Their Wikipedia page is entirely in the past tense. The language they spoke, Nahuatl, is still spoken because the Aztecs also spoke it.
The Apaches and the Aztecs suffered a great deal at the hands of Europeans. Much of what they suffered is hard for today’s whites to imagine. But they still exist. The Apaches live as a distinct people on their reservations. All Americans have heard of them and of Geronimo, and the army named an attack helicopter in honor of the bravery of Apache warriors.
Aztecs in Mexico are certainly less distinct than the Apache and more mixed with other populations, but Aztec heritage is widely honored. Aztec history and iconography are everywhere in Mexico — even in the national flag.
In short, there are fates worse than being conquered. Cooperating with conquerors leads to complete oblivion.
I graduated from a Texas university in August 2015, hoping for a job teaching in a public school. I quickly found out that in Texas when a school says it wants a social studies or history teacher, it actually wants a football coach. It was going to be a long, tough road to a teaching job, so I looked for a bridge job, and found work in the warehouse of a company that sold auto parts.
The warehouse manager, Dave, was white and was nearing retirement after working there for 20 or 30 years. He started me at $12.50 an hour, but said, “Don’t tell the other employees that you’re making $12.50 because most of them start at nine or ten dollars per hour.” The other employees were mainly Mexican with a few blacks sprinkled in, and if they found out I was getting a higher wage, they would certainly cry racism.
The warehouse was a great education for me. I learned more about race working at the warehouse than I would have learned reading books for 10 years. Even a stint in the diverse United States Navy did not prepare me for what I experienced. While our military may be filled with non-whites who are not qualified to serve and are semi-literate nuisances, they generally mean well. At the warehouse, however, I met every type of personality from the Mexican and black inner-city.
At first I noticed small things, such as the unwillingness of the blacks and Mexicans to pay attention to detail. My job was to check orders to make sure they were accurately pulled—that the right parts went to the right customers. The pullers were mostly Mexicans, and they routinely made mistakes. There is nothing wrong with making mistakes, but Mexicans could never admit they made one. Whenever one would pull an incorrect number of parts or the wrong part, or no parts at all, I would spend five minutes trying to explain the mistake so they could go pull the order correctly. By the end of my time at the warehouse, I started getting the parts myself; it was quicker and less aggravating.
Mexicans did not care about company property. They routinely drove forklifts into walls and into the metal racks holding auto parts. This happened at least once a month, and it was always the same people, yet they continued to operate the forklifts.
Whenever we had our 15-minute breaks (30 minutes in Mexican time), I noticed that Mexicans sometimes sat on breakable parts, such as gaskets. Explaining to one of them that you should treat something with respect even if it didn’t belong to you was like talking to a brick wall. Their attitude was that it wasn’t theirs so why should they care if they break it. If something breaks, oh well, the white people in charge have a lot of money and can fix it.
Maybe they were just too high to operate forklifts or care about breaking things. My colleagues routinely did drugs, mostly marijuana. One employee who smoked dope regularly was fired when he failed a urine test. The other browns and blacks were outraged and could not comprehend this. I tried to explain that there are consequences when you violate company policy. The other employees blew me off. This incident taught me that many people don’t understand—or don’t care—that breaking rules can have negative consequences.
Their attitude towards drugs is not surprising given their attitude towards laws in general. I remember listening to a group talk about doing something illegal—probably buying drugs—and I said it was a bad idea because it was against the law. One of them, a white woman dating a black man, replied with a giggle, “Oh, you’re one of those law abiding motherfu**ers. You wouldn’t last in the hood.” No doubt she was right. I wouldn’t last, and many whites in Baltimore, Chicago, and Detroit in 1968 also realized she was right.
Mexicans and blacks are loud and obnoxious at work. Whites talked to each another at a reasonable volume, but blacks and browns practically screamed at each other. Their favorite subject was sports. Mexicans and blacks knew more about sports than they did about their own communities. None of them knew who the mayor of Dallas was, but they certainly knew the entire roster of the Dallas Cowboys, the Dallas Mavericks, and the Texas Rangers. Almost none followed the Dallas Stars, because ice hockey is a sport for rich white people.
The happiness of the workplace depended entirely on the outcome of a sports match. When the Texas Rangers lost in the playoffs to the Toronto Blue Jays, work almost stopped. How anyone could get that worked up over such a meaningless event was a mystery to me. Even when I played hockey in college I never got that mad over a loss; no one was going to die because I failed to close a passing lane or rode the bench. When you have an IQ somewhere between 80 and 90, sports may be one of the few things you understand.
Maybe they were obsessed with sports because every black or Mexican worker could have been a professional athlete. Listening to them talk about their glory days was like watching 12 different Dennis Hoppers in Hoosiers. The loudest and most obnoxious was Jorge. Jorge could have been a great soccer player and a golden glove boxer if not for the fate written in his stars. Why he always focused on what could have been is beyond me; however, it’s probably true that sports were his only ticket out of Dallas, because like most Mexicans he lacked education. Maybe Jorge was right. Maybe he could have been a professional athlete, but like most of the other workers at the warehouse, he chose to drop out of high school and get someone pregnant, which most likely ended his chance. It all comes back to choices and consequences: They do not understand that choices have consequences.
While they talked about their past championships, they were not exactly eating like champions: chips, soda, McDonald’s, and other junk food. Judging from their diets it was no wonder none of them wound up playing professionally. They loved fast food. Where they got the money for this, I don’t know. I bought lunch maybe once or twice a week and brought a sack lunch on other days. They ate extravagantly, which no doubt helps explain why non-whites are generally unhealthy.
Every black and Mexican at the warehouse claimed to know more about American history than whites. One day, Jorge informed me that millions of Mexicans were living in the Southwest before white people showed up. Dallas, Los Angeles, and Houston, along with the entire infrastructure of the Southwest, were built by Mexicans in the 17th century. We took it from them in the 19th century. When I tried to explain that the Southwest before the Mexican-American War was virtually uninhabited, Jorge replied, “That’s white people history.”
Every non-white employee was a conspiracy theorist, and they loved to theorize about Donald Trump and how he acquired his wealth. They were convinced he got rich through corruption. “How is he corrupt?” I would ask. “He just is. He’s rich. He’s white,” they would reply. I really can’t blame them for thinking this way; they were all from Mexico or inner-city Dallas, where government corruption is common. To them it was hard to imagine that people could get rich through hard work and persistence.
How did whites fare at the warehouse? I noticed on my first day that only whites and well assimilated Mexicans worked in the front offices, while blacks, Mexicans, and the occasional poor white man or woman worked in the warehouse. The warehouse workers resented this, and took their resentment out on whites who worked in the warehouse.
One man who bore the brunt of attacks was a mentally disabled white man in his fifties named Jerry. Jorge and Demetrius—Demetrius was black—were the two worst bullies. The rest of us would lose our tempers occasionally with Jerry because he was always making mistakes, but Jorge and Demetrius ragged him mercilessly. Jorge told us in Jerry’s presence that he once saw Jerry naked in the bathroom with an erection. Even Jerry had enough sense not to do such a thing, but Jorge loved to have fun at Jerry’s expense. Demetrius was just as bad, calling Jerry a dumbass, idiot, retard, faggot, and other colorful terms whenever he pulled an order incorrectly.
At times I became a target of abuse. After a little reflection I realized why they insulted whites and why we tolerated it; they have nothing to lose. If I had punched out one of my non-white colleagues I would have been fired and I might have gone to jail for assault. Any chance I had of becoming a teacher would be ruined. So, like whites everywhere forced to live or work with blacks, I grinned and bore it. The blacks and browns I worked with had been fired and gone to prison—sometimes several times. If it happened again they wouldn’t care. But they know we care and are afraid to retaliate, so they attack us.
Soon I was desperately seeking a new job—anywhere. I started looking abroad, and within two months found a job working at an English-as-a-second-language school in Kiev where my girlfriend—now my wife—was living. My students are white, my colleagues are white, and my neighbors are white. I can talk openly about my experiences in multicultural America. People here generally have an honest understanding of race and its relevance.
But for how much longer? It is alarming that young people, especially teenage girls, are being infected by the cultural disease that is killing Europe and America. They listen to American pop and rap music and almost all of them—male and female—mimic American fashion fads. A few even date outside their race—Turkish men being the most common non-white choice. If America is able to influence what they listen to, how they dress, and even their dating habits, it could influence how they think politically. I fear for the future of this country when they are old enough to hold public office.
I am still hoping for a teaching job in America, but it won’t be in Dallas or any other big city. I would rather spend my life working on someone’s ranch mending barbed wire fences than working in Third-World Dallas.
Race riots have broken out in the small town of Coligny, suggesting that the dire predictions of the old apartheid theorists are coming true. In the 1980s, a stable and segregated South Africa had to be shaken from the outside by major powers, which applied economic sanctions and supported terrorism. The current “integrated and democratic” state is destroying itself.
The initial spark triggering the racial polarization in Coligny—a small corn-producing town 200 kilometers west of Johannesburg—was the death of a black youth, Matlhamola Jonas Mosweu. He died on April 20 from a broken neck. Depending on whom you believe, he was the victim either of vicious whites or of his own foolishness. You could call him South Africa’s Trayvon Martin.
Initial media reports of a “black boy killed by white farmers” put his age at 12. For a whole week no one knew his name, since his parents had not noticed his disappearance. Then his age rose to 16, with some reports claiming he was 17.
Blacks in Coligny started rioting on April 25, before Mosweu’s name was known or the circumstances of his death established. Blacks looted and burned the liquor store, a hotel, and several white homes. A 45-year-old Coligny resident, Diana Swart, recounted on video how a group of 200 knife-wielding blacks demanded gasoline from her, which they used to burn down her house with her dogs inside. She had been involved in local projects to help black children and had made clothes for them.
Several days later, the South African Police Service tried to calm blacks by announcing the arrest of two white farm employees, Pieter Doorewaard and Phillip Schutte. The liberal media in Johannesburg, the country’s commercial capital, trumpeted “white racism” as the cause of Mosweu’s death.
The two bearded Afrikaner men say they caught Mosweu and another young black stealing sunflowers from the field of their employer. They say they were taking him to the police station when Mosweu jumped off their moving bakkie (the South African term for a pick-up truck) and broke his neck. Thefts of both produce and livestock from farms by blacks are rampant in South Africa, and have driven white farmers into bankruptcy.
Tensions rose further on May 7 at Mosweu’s funeral, which, because of its racial overtones, attracted high-profile speakers. Supra Mahumapelo, the premier of North West Province in which Coligny is located, said:
I have a problem with white superiority in this country. White people continue to control the land and the banks. We are going to call all the white people and tell them they are visitors in this country.
Another black leader, Mxolisi Bomvana of the teachers’ union Sadtu (South African Democratic Teachers Union), said:
I don’t think what happened is the will of God. It is the racists of our time. [Mosweu] is gone because a racist decided to kill a black person.
Another speaker, Packet Seakotso from Sanco (South African National Civics Organisation), urged blacks to assemble at the municipal building the next day to pressure the magistrate not to grant bail to the defendants. “We are closing the roads in an effort to oppose bail,” he said.
Earlier, a white magistrate, Wikus van Loggerenberg, recused himself from the case “in the interests of justice” and because, as a resident of Coligny, he feared for his family’s safety. The bail hearing for the two whites was therefore presided over by a black magistrate, Magaola Foso. Black crowds demanded that the men be held without bail.
The South African justice system is marred by growing corruption, as well as the influence of the anti-white ultra-liberalism of our top court, the Constitutional Court. It was therefore a tribute to judicial impartiality when, on May 8, the black magistrate granted bail of R5000 (about $400) to each of the accused.
Blacks ignored the Magistrate Foso’s explanation in court that the state’s case against the accused was weak, that the defendants had no previous convictions, and that the legal system and constitution required him to grant bail. He released Mr. Doorewaard and Mr. Schutte on condition that they leave town and go into hiding with relatives or friends elsewhere in the country.
The release set off a new round of riots. Blacks torched three more homes and farms, including the house of Coligny’s white doctor, a benevolent Afrikaner man who had treated all races, sometimes without payment. A mob looted the house before setting fire to it.
Journalists from the media, which had been spreading false and incomplete information about Mosweu’s death for weeks, descended on the town and cheerfully reported on the rioting and arson, until an irate farmer manhandled a photographer. This set off media hysteria about the “threat to press freedom” in Coligny.
During the night of May 8, marauding black youths tried to attack farmhouses around Coligny, but by this time the Afrikaner population district had formed a citizens’ militia with the help of volunteers from elsewhere in the country. Militia promptly answered calls for help from farms via WhatsApp and other social media, and chased off gangs of blacks. Burning barricades on roads were removed during the night, and by the next day militia groups reported that things had more or less returned to normal. It remains to be seen whether further developments in the case will set off more rioting.
The whole of South Africa is a tinderbox; riots or protests are a daily occurrence. Official police statistics show that incidents of “violent unrest” have increased by 188% over the past 5 years.
As reported by a local news site, Times Live:
Cases of violent unrest have surged from 1‚226 in the 2011/12 reporting year‚ to 3‚542 in 2015/16‚ according to the latest crime statistics. The number of peaceful protests also increased‚ from 10‚832 to 11‚151 over the same period.
Every day, therefore, South Africa has an average of 31 protests, of which approximately one third turn violent, which means there are about 10 riots, large or small, every day! On Monday, May 8, while Coligny was burning, blacks from the suburb of Eldorado Park brought southern access to Johannesburg to a halt. Rioters had hijacked a truck loaded with gravel and emptied it onto the freeway. They also barricaded other roads, effectively blocking off the whole area from the rest of the sprawling city.
In imitation of Zimbabwean dictator Robert Mugabe, South Africa’s black rulers are fomenting anti-white race hatred and calling for the confiscation of white farms and other assets. Unlike the ex-Rhodesian whites who could flee south across our border, Afrikaners have no refuge. Mrs. Merkel invites Muslims into her country but would not welcome white South African Christians—nor would most other Western leaders, for that matter. We will have to stand our ground and fight.
The events in Coligny are a wake-up call to those complacent South African whites who are still mesmerized by their pay-TV screens on which they watch rugby matches or Hollywood movies. That make-believe world will soon make way before the harsh reality of a South Africa which is more and more resembling the 19th century, when battles between the pioneering Voortrekkers and black tribes were common. Even liberal commentators here admit that a low-intensity race war has already started.
Texas is a majority-minority state. Thirty-nine percent of residents are Hispanic, and 13 percent are black. Only 43 percent of the state is white. Demographers tell us that is the direction in which the entire country is moving. The Texas Department of Criminal Justice, which has incarcerated me for the last 20 years, has a majority non-white staff, and its prisoners are overwhelmingly non-white. Diversity is not our greatest strength.
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For 25 years I worked as a substitute teacher in a sanctuary city in California, and I would like to share a few of my experiences. The racial proportions in the schools have been roughly 75 percent Hispanic, 10 percent black, 6 percent Asian, and almost no whites but for a stray Russian or Armenian.