A Red Pill Testimony

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Have you noticed? You must have noticed that your country doesn’t seem to be yours anymore. That you are made to feel distinctly unwelcome in your own ancestral homeland. That you are told that you never even had an ancestral homeland in the first place. That your town or city has been flooded with menacing interlopers from across the seas; among other travesties. That daring to notice is branded wrong-think, a thought crime. You must have noticed that daring to say or write anything about it is increasingly tantamount to an actual crime. What a thing to contrive. And it is actively contrived, be in no doubt.

You know, Christians have a tradition of testimonies; telling a group what their life was like before they found Christ, their experience of finding the Light, and how their life was affected afterwards. It’s supposed to be something heartfelt. Something sincere. Well I’m not a Christian, but here is an inverted testimony directly from my cold secular heart. Inverted because the revelation is not positive. Instead it’s something approaching the horrific. 

For I remember an England before ‘The Message’ became all-consuming, before our ethnic population was being replaced at a rate so fast that it breaks people’s spirits, breaks their minds, breaks them physically sometimes. Do you remember those times? Ah yes, I remember... I remember the world before 9/11. How idyllic, innocent even, the eighties and nineties seem now. How unthinkable, back then, it would have been to think your own government, armed services, police, broadcasters, friends, and family even, would develop a racial animus towards you that borders on the insane. Is, in fact, insane. Who could have seen that coming even a handful of years ago. The Western world before the globalists decided to show their hand was safe; safer at least. It was almost tranquil. There once was a western hemisphere which was not ruled by psychopaths hell-bent on division and censorship. It seemed so solid. So permanent. There once was a dream that was Western civilisation; yet with just a whisper it was subverted, perverted, and turned inside out by those consumed by hatred towards their own in-group and their useful idiot allies.

My conversion to the ‘based’ side of the aisle, so to speak, my red pill journey, like most others, was not a single moment of lightning-like realisation. It was an accumulation of many small realities. It was a slow dawning of comprehension, a step-by-step progression towards a terrible but undeniable truth, a truth so dark and foreboding that I could barely look at it. I would rather turn away, hoping that if I ignored it it might somehow go away, or get better of its own accord. But no. Our enemies have no intention of stopping, they have no intention of even slowing down. They smell blood in the water and they mean to have their feeding frenzy.

Remember Blair? Remember how he wanted to, as one of his minions once said, “rub our noses in diversity”? Remember a time before Albanian and Afghan and Somali gangs weren’t present in your town centres? Remember a time before hate speech legislation? Before your train carriages were full of fighting-age Islamists? I fear those under twenty do not remember. 

Do you remember a manifesto from any of the main parties since Enoch Powell which included a design to change our demographic for all time? Well, no, you can be forgiven for that last one. Because those manifestoes do not exist. They never asked us because they knew we would reject it with every fibre of our being. It is, after all, a type of suicide. So they just did it anyway. They just flooded us with religious, racial, and sectarian enemies despite everything; despite reason. 

These are all my red pill moments by the way. In the 2000s, when the industrial level of organised rape, rape along ethnic lines, no less, when that became just too big to hush up, they staged phoney inquiries, phoney, stifled investigations, and concluded that not a single member of the police, CSP, or local authorities could be prosecuted or held to account. That was a bitter, bitter red pill for me. That simply ‘mistakes had been made’ and that things would be better going forward. And yet, and yet it still goes on. To this day, every day, we are being assaulted and defiled, and the people charged with our safety and protection facilitate it. This country now crawls with greed and corruption. It is governed by adventurers and profiteers who think more of their pockets than their principles. We have had a string of governments who treat their people with loathing and contempt, who manufacture fake health crises and put us under house arrest with no possibility of appeal. When we object to these injustices, they ignore and crush our voices so that we dare not speak our minds for fear of imprisonment; I say, it is just and right to fight against such tyranny.

These truly awful realisations were so striking that I could no longer look away. I could no longer pretend it wasn’t happening. To do that would in itself be evil. How does the old Burkian adage go? “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.” Right? Right?!... Hey! I’m talking to you. Yes, Sir. You, Sir. That when Britons are massacred on a beach in Tunisia, or blown to pieces on a tube or at an Ariana Grande concert, we are told it is in some way our fault. That to appreciate the magnitude of the crimes being perpetrated against us is wrongheaded; bigoted. To not be so fragile. To ‘not look back in anger’—the Home Office telling us not to look back in anger when we are being raped and murdered as never before!

No no no no no, not this time, not this time, not this time! Goddamn it I’ll look back in anger if I so choose. No, I won't accept their perversity. No, I won’t accept their insanity. I will not surrender my critical faculties to their disgusting vision of what England should become. Never. It’s an abomination. They want nothing short of a complete, a complete and utter capitulation... Well, no. Not me. Not now, not ever. I will not submit. I shall not cease from mental fight, nor shall my pen sleep in my hand. While I have breath in my body I will struggle. I will not go quietly into the dark.

And so what is life like after the red pill? It’s a type of living hell. In a literal sense hellacious. Sickening. Maddening. Distressing beyond description. When you know you and those you love are being condemned to live in a country where we will be a hated and persecuted minority. To see the example of Rhodesia or South Africa, and know that horror will soon be piled upon horror, and to be mocked and gaslit at every stage of the process. That is a nightmarish revelation.

It’s a revealed truth that cuts deeper than anything I’ve ever known. I’ve had sadness and profound reverses and bereavements in my life. Friends and lovers who betrayed me through no fault of my own. Wounds which caused tears and an almost physical ache deep within my chest. But this, this is something of a different magnitude. This is like the death of a loved one. It is a bereavement. It feels exactly like losing someone you loved more than yourself, someone who cannot be replaced. Bruises that won’t heal. Scar tissue that will never disappear. A wound so deep that it is beyond tears. It won’t get easier with time. It is just something you now live with. Something deep, deep down has been fundamentally altered, changed forever. It’s dark. It’s ominous. It’s profoundly grim. Something you will forever battle with.

We are faced with a myriad of enemies: some of the most appalling traitors in all of history. From the likes of AOC and Kamala Harris, to Rishi Sunak and Keir Starmer, to Humza Yousaf and Jacinda Ardern, we are faced with a hoard of implacable maniac children who will never, ever stop. They are filth. Tricksters. Gangsters. Racketeers. Sex crime facilitators; I tell you they are scum, Sir. They are no more fit to run the affairs of State than they are of running a brothel! Therefore, I move that we entirely cease looking to them for direction and leadership. I move that we look to alternative forms of representation. I urge all good men and true of the West to find parties and voices who do not mean to tread them into the dirt. Stop voting for the least objectionable traitor on your ballot paper. We’ve got to stand up and say ‘I’m a human being, goddamn it, my life has value!’