The Counter-Revolution: The Time of Our Peace Is Past

Now we can only wait till the day, wait and apportion our shame.
These are the dykes our fathers left, but we would not look to the same.
Time and again were we warned of the dykes, time and again we delayed.
Now, it may fall, we have slain our sons, as our fathers we have betrayed.



“We must understand why the blacks are rioting and then address their grievances,” the liberal newscaster intoned. I do understand why the blacks are rioting; it is the liberal media and their clerical allies who do not understand why the blacks are rioting. Blacks are rioting because they hate white people, not because of a “legacy of racism,” or because Freddie Gray died during his ride to jail. The guilty verdict won’t “bring peace to the community,” because blacks are not looking for peace. They want power. And every time they stage a successful riot, which was the case in Baltimore, they get closer to complete power. Of course complete black power would mean the end of the white race, just as it did in Haiti, but it would also send the black race back to the Stone Age. Without the whites to sustain them, blacks will be forced to live in a modern jungle where every man’s hand is against them and their hands are against every man. Why would they act against their own self-interest? Why did the swine plunge over the cliff? Both are possessed by the devil. The black savage is completely incapable of looking ahead to the consequences of his actions. He sees an opportunity to riot and he takes it; he sees a woman and he takes her; he sees that whites won’t take any action against him, no matter what he does, so he attacks ‘Whitey’ whenever and wherever the opportunity arises. Last week it was Baltimore, next week it could be New York or some other city or town. The black violence won’t stop when whites become less ‘racist,’ it will stop when whites become racist enough to love their own while hating the liberals and their black gods as they hate the devil, who the liberals and the blacks serve.

I don’t see the proper hatred in the European people, the hatred that stems from love and causes a man to cry, “Stop, this must not go on,” when he sees those he loves attacked by a cruel, merciless foe. It is from such a heartfelt determined hatred of the cruel and merciless that counter-revolutions are born.

Is there anything remotely resembling a counter-revolutionary spirit developing in white people? It seems almost impossible to believe that negro worship has consumed the souls of every last white. But then again, you never hear even a whisper against the black gods of Liberaldom. Perhaps that is Satan’s intent. He wants every white person with a heart that still lives, to feel he is the last white man on the face of the earth. “Despair and die,” the devil tells that last white man. But let’s assume that there are some white men left on earth whose hearts still indignant break when they see the black hell that enslaves their people. What are the obstacles such people face?

The first obstacle is the liberals. They are in power in church, state, academy and the military. In some nations, such as Chile in the 1970’s and Spain in the 1930’s, counter-revolutions were launched from the military, but in the modern European nations there are no counter-revolutionary movements; the democratic virus has sunk deep into the souls of the men who chose to enter the military in the modern European nations. It’s far more likely that the military will be used against white counter-revolutionaries than the alternative – that the military would turn on the liberals. Nor will there be any counter-revolutionary encouragement from the organized churches. They have made peace with the liberals. So long as both worship the negro neither will forsake the other. So any counter-revolutionary effort must proceed without help from any institution in Liberaldom. Nor can a counter-revolutionary hope to win the liberals over by exposing the inhumanity of negro-worshipping liberalism, or by proving the suicidal nature of negro-worshipping liberalism. The liberals’ hearts are as hard as Pharaoh’s, and they must believe in the negro come hell or high water, because without him they have no religious life at all. Whenever liberals gather for serious business, in Church or State, they discuss the negro and how to help him by “fighting racism.” And of course it is always the ‘good’ racism, namely white racism, which unfortunately is in very short supply, that the liberals are fighting. The black racism, which comes from the devil is never a concern of the liberals.

If we overlook the obduracy of the liberals and waste all our efforts in trying to “win them over,” we will be forever bound to Lear’s wheel of fire. Ever since the 1970’s men such as Samuel Francis and John Tyndall have been telling us that we could still reverse the blood red tide of color by voting, because whites are still in the majority. But whites were not in the majority then, and they are even less in the majority now, because the liberals with the black hearts will never side with the whites. A majority coalition of liberals and colored tribesmen will always win the one man, one vote plebiscites. There are a great many white grazers who privately favor the views of white men like Samuel Francis and John Tyndall, but they will never publicly state such views themselves or defend white people in public. Why? They will not do so, because they fear the consequence of the slightest deviation from liberal orthodoxy. And their fears are not unfounded; the liberals have set up a vast infrastructure designed to ferret out and punish all those who are not enthusiastic supporters of negro worshipping liberalism.

The second obstacle that a counter-revolutionary European encounters is the ‘make a living’ obstacle. A counter-revolutionary must spiritually separate himself from all things liberal. This is difficult to do when one must make a living, for the reason that it’s hard to be among them but not of them. It takes great spiritual discipline to hold fast to counter-revolutionary convictions while working amongst liberals and grazers. And it gets harder still when you see your children suffer financially when your lack of enthusiasm for liberalism is detected and you lose your job. But the counter-revolutionary vocation is not something chosen, unlike the revolutionary’s vocation. The revolutionary, in a Christian society, has chosen to rebel against God, because he worships darkness and not the light. The counter-revolutionary in a satanic society, to use the Shakespearean term, has had the counter-revolutionary vocation thrust upon him, because his heart will not permit him to forget or denounce that which was lost, namely Christian Europe.

The counter-revolutionary spirit stems from a love of the past while the revolutionary spirit comes from a hatred of the past. Hence, the counter-revolutionary’s desire to bring the spiritual values of the past into the present and the ruling revolutionary governments’ desire to bury the past in favor of the glorious present and an even more glorious future. What Fitzhugh said about governments is apropos here:

All government proceeds ab extra. Neither individuals nor societies can govern themselves, any more than the mouse can live in the exhausted receiver, or the clown lift himself by the lapel of his pantaloons. The South is governed by the necessity of keeping its negroes in order, which preserves a healthy conservative public opinion. Had the negroes votes, the necessity would be removed, because the interest of the governing class would cease to be conservative.

Fitzhugh makes the same point that Burke made when he stated that a nation is much more than a geographical spot on a map, it is a moral essence. When revolutionaries take over a government, whether they have done it by bullet or ballot, they change the moral essence of a nation. That change should turn all conservatives into counter-revolutionaries. Burke maintained that the real French men were the throne-and-altar aristocrats in exile. And in Europe today, the only true Brits, Danes, Dutch, etc., are the men who want to destroy the democratic, revolutionary governments of their respective nations.

A conservative ought not to be concerned with preserving the democratic process. That is only a means to an end. If it is a means to an evil end, the conservative should oppose it; he should not — as is the case in the European nations today — defend a revolutionary, tribunal government just because white people are allowed to vote for their executioners. Voting is not a sign of liberty or of Christianity. In fact, Christianity always declines in thoroughly democratic nations, because everyone but Christians are given the liberty to practice their faith: Religious liberty for Muslims, Jews, tree huggers, and voodoo priests and priestesses, but no liberty for Christians. The “some are more equal” doctrine is in effect in all the European nations. The only Christianity that is permitted in Liberaldom is state Christianity, which is the complete antithesis of European Christianity.

The liberals have authoritatively decreed that the 21st century will mark the end of the European. Like the demon possessed swine in the Gospel, the liberals must flee from the God-Man whom they hate with an unremitting passion. And their flight has taken the form of institutionalized negro worship. They think that such a system is their best refuge from the God-Man. For this reason the Christ-bearing European will always be an anathema in Liberaldom.

The European counter-revolutionary does not see the 21st century as the end of the European. He sees only one vision: It is the same vision that his European ancestors saw when Odin pointed them to Christ, the true God and true kinsman of the European people. The racist gamut is designed by the liberals to keep the European away from the source of his strength, his racial and familial hearth fire. If there are no European hearth fires there will be no William Tells and the Gesslers of the world will reign unchallenged. The European grazers are kept in line by fear, the fear of being perceived as racist. They won’t lose that fear until they see what they have not seen in this generation of white men – a man who is not afraid of being called a racist. Europeans are not primarily motivated by economic considerations. That is a fiction created by the Marxists and the capitalists. They are primarily motivated by a desire for the approval of their peers. And since their peers live in Liberaldom and have liberal values one must adhere to liberal values in order to win the approval of one’s peers. “How well do you serve the negro?” is the credo of the white every man living in the modern European nations. Hence the declaration, “I will not serve the negro,” is the most counter-revolutionary statement a man can make. Through the narrow racial gate a counter-revolutionary must go, “for there reigns love and all love’s loving parts.” For all their talk of love, the liberals’ heaven on earth has no love. That is the dark secret of their utopia: Where there is no racial hearth fire, there can be no love; thus, the liberals must feed off the remnants of a civilization that was built by a people who loved much. Consistent liberalism is pure negation, so the liberals have institutionalized the hatred of all things Christian and European while reserving the hypocritical right to visit relatives on Christian holidays and raise their chosen children in houses rather than jungle huts, away from the savage barbarians of color who they are supposed to worship and adore. (1) But the liberals cannot feed off the remnants of Christian Europe forever. Men and women need to love and be loved. That need can never be fulfilled in a world consecrated to the loveless, barbaric gods of color.

The counter-revolutionary European, by some miracle of God’s grace, has not lost his capacity to love and hate with his whole heart and soul. He can match the passion of the liberals’ hatred of the light with his passionate love of the light. Charity is not weak; it is fierce in defense of all that is good and pure and noble. Dickens, like all the great poets of Christian Europe, knew the strength and fierceness needed for a loving, charitable defense of one’s own:

Madame Defarge looked coldly at her, and said, “The wife of Evremonde; where is she?”

It flashed upon Miss Pross’s mind that the doors were all standing open, and would suggest the flight. Her first act was to shut them. There were four in the room, and she shut them all. She then placed herself before the door of the chamber which Lucie had occupied.

Madame Defarge’s dark eyes followed her through this rapid movement, and rested on her when it was finished. Miss Pross had nothing beautiful about her; years had not tamed the wildness, or softened the grimness, of her appearance; but, she too was a determined woman in her different way, and she measured Madame Defarge with her eyes, every inch.

“You might, from your appearance, be the wife of Lucifer,” said Miss Pross, in her breathing. “Nevertheless, you shall not get the better of me. I am an Englishwoman.”

Madame Defarge looked at her scornfully, but still with something of Miss Pross’s own perception that they two were at bay. She saw a tight, hard, wiry woman before her, as Mr. Lorry had seen in the same figure a woman with a strong hand, in the years gone by. She knew full well that Miss Pross was the family’s devoted friend; Miss Pross knew full well that Madame Defarge was the family’s malevolent enemy.

“On my way yonder,” said Madame Defarge, with a slight movement of her hand towards the fatal spot, “where they reserve my chair and my knitting for me, I am come to make my compliments to her in passing. I wish to see her.”

“I know that your intentions are evil,” said Miss Pross, “and you may depend upon it, I’ll hold my own against them.”

Each spoke in her own language; neither understood the other’s words; both were very watchful, and intent to deduce from look and manner, what the unintelligible words meant.

“It will do her no good to keep herself concealed from me at this moment,” said Madame Defarge. “Good patriots will know what that means. Let me see her. Go tell her that I wish to see her. Do you hear?”

“If those eyes of yours were bed-winches,” returned Miss Pross, “and I was an English four-poster, they shouldn’t loose a splinter of me. No, you wicked foreign woman; I am your match.”

Madame Defarge was not likely to follow these idiomatic remarks in detail; but, she so far understood them as to perceive that she was set at naught.

“Woman imbecile and pig-like!” said Madame Defarge, frowning. “I take no answer from you. I demand to see her. Either tell her that I demand to see her, or stand out of the way of the door and let me go to her!” This, with an angry explanatory wave of her right arm.

“I little thought,” said Miss Pross, “that I should ever want to understand your nonsensical language; but I would give all I have, except the clothes I wear, to know whether you suspect the truth, or any part of it.”

Neither of them for a single moment released the other’s eyes. Madame Defarge had not moved from the spot where she stood when Miss Pross first became aware of her; but, she now advanced one step.

“I am a Briton,” said Miss Pross, “I am desperate. I don’t care an English Twopence for myself. I know that the longer I keep you here, the greater hope there is for my Ladybird. I’ll not leave a handful of that dark hair upon your head, if you lay a finger on me!”

Thus Miss Pross, with a shake of her head and a flash of her eyes between every rapid sentence, and every rapid sentence a whole breath. Thus Miss Pross, who had never struck a blow in her life.

But, her courage was of that emotional nature that it brought the irrepressible tears into her eyes. This was a courage that Madame Defarge so little comprehended as to mistake for weakness. “Ha, ha!” she laughed, “you poor wretch! What are you worth! I address myself to that Doctor.” Then she raised her voice and called out, “Citizen Doctor! Wife of Evremonde! Child of Evremonde! Any person but this miserable fool, answer the Citizeness Defarge!”

Perhaps the following silence, perhaps some latent disclosure in the expression of Miss Pross’s face, perhaps a sudden misgiving apart from either suggestion, whispered to Madame Defarge that they were gone. Three of the doors she opened swiftly, and looked in.

“Those rooms are all in disorder, there has been hurried packing, there are odds and ends upon the ground. There is no one in that room behind you! Let me look.”

“Never!” said Miss Pross, who understood the request as perfectly as Madame Defarge understood the answer.

“If they are not in that room, they are gone, and can be pursued and brought back,” said Madame Defarge to herself.

“As long as you don’t know whether they are in that room or not, you are uncertain what to do,” said Miss Pross to herself; “and you shall not know that, if I can prevent your knowing it; and know that, or not know that, you shall not leave here while I can hold you.”

“I have been in the streets from the first, nothing has stopped me, I will tear you to pieces, but I will have you from that door,” said Madame Defarge.

“We are alone at the top of a high house in a solitary courtyard, we are not likely to be heard, and I pray for bodily strength to keep you here, while every minute you are here is worth a hundred thousand guineas to my darling,” said Miss Pross.

Madame Defarge made at the door. Miss Pross, on the instinct of the moment, seized her round the waist in both her arms, and held her tight. It was in vain for Madame Defarge to struggle and to strike; Miss Pross, with the vigorous tenacity of love, always so much stronger than hate, clasped her tight, and even lifted her from the floor in the struggle that they had. The two hands of Madame Defarge buffeted and tore her face; but, Miss Pross, with her head down, held her round the waist, and clung to her with more than the hold of a drowning woman.

Soon, Madame Defarge’s hands ceased to strike, and felt at her encircled waist. “It is under my arm,” said Miss Pross, in smothered tones, “you shall not draw it. I am stronger than you, I bless Heaven for it. I hold you till one or other of us faints or dies!”

Madame Defarge’s hands were at her bosom. Miss Pross looked up, saw what it was, struck at it, struck out a flash and a crash, and stood alone—blinded with smoke.

All this was in a second. As the smoke cleared, leaving an awful stillness, it passed out on the air, like the soul of the furious woman whose body lay lifeless on the ground.

Ah, that’s what the counter-revolution is all about, Charlie Brown. The ability to recognize evil and to fight to the death to protect our own from that evil. Miss Pross, William Tell, and all the men and women of Europe who love much are the stuff that counter-revolutions are made on. +


(1) My mad-dog liberal sister sent her daughter to an all-white private school, thus avoiding the negroes whom she professed to worship.

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