Galecki’s was taken aback; he had not heard of this before.
David noted his reaction. “Next to it, the Muslim grooming gang in Oulu, Finland, is as nothing,” he told him. “It even exceeds the Muslim grooming gangs of the Netherlands, which ensnare about one thousand adolescent white girls each year. In the United Kingdom, a far larger number of girls ages twelve through sixteen has been forced into sex slavery by Muslim migrants. Or in the words of one of the grooming gang members, ‘All white women are good for one thing, for men like me to fuck and use as trash.’
“Through the decades,” David said darkly, “tens of thousands of British girls have been lured and later, if needed, terrorized into submission. I know what I am telling you is hard to believe, but it’s true. Some of the girls were warned that if they speak of it, their mothers and younger sisters will be raped. At least one girl was doused with gasoline and was threatened she would be set on fire. Another girl had her tongue nailed to a table. Another girl had a kettle filled with boiling water pressed against her head.” He shook his head contemptuously. “And the ever-vocal feminists who can work themselves to froth over white men who kiss, make a lewd comment, or place a hand on a woman’s knee uncalled-for? Not a peep from them. Exactly what you would expect from a bunch of pussies.”
David cast Galecki an unreadable glance then continued, voice harsh, “Or consider the response of the West to what has been transpiring in South Africa. Along with demands to grab lands of white farmers, through the years, thousands of whites have been brutally attacked in their farms across the country. Plastic bags stuffed down their throats. Tortured with blowtorches for hours. Had boiling water poured upon. Dragged across the land after having barbed wire attached to their heads.”
For a moment, he lapsed into silence.
He went on with a heavy sigh, “A young African man in Paris impassionedly pled the other day in a video, addressing the anti-immigrant rioters in South Africa who directed their rage at Nigerian migrants: ‘If you want to do xenophobia, okay, right. Start to kill white people, start to kill Asian people…don’t kill your brothers.…We are all blacks.…We have same blood.’ The black people standing behind him in the street cheered on and clapped in agreement.
“The mainstream press has been downplaying the black-on-white atrocities in South Africa. While Western countries, which open their doors seemingly to all who allege distress, scoff at the requests of white Afrikaners for asylum. After all, white people are the aggressors; they cannot be like some, well, like some persecuted people of color.”
At times, David had this uncanny feeling he was residing within a vast juvenile detention center. He shook off the unsettling notion and put on an ironic smile.
“Grooming gangs in the UK? What was the old man talking about, boss?”
In response, Master Rafirre smiled deeply and sat back in the high-back armchair of black leather. It was just him and two of his underlings in the vast underground facility. They were watching the exchange between Galecki and David on a giant screen. Shortly after their arrival on Earth two years prior, the survey group under his leadership had progressively deployed a surveillance array across the planet. They now could observe and hear everything everywhere. Rafirre was invited that evening to the party of one Lee Evans and was curious about the guests who had already arrived. He had just spent a few minutes viewing them and listening in.
“Rapefugees and the broader Muslim communities that close ranks around them,” he muttered in response to the question of his underling, his gray eyes glinting. “Iraqis and Bangladeshis, Pakistanis and Somalis, Eritreans and Sudanese migrants have been setting up communities across England in recent decades. Alongside these, grooming gangs have sprouted in Rotherham and Bristol, Aylesbury and Rochdale, Derby and Halifax, Bradford and Huddersfield, Oxford and Newcastle, Batley and Dewsbury, Telford and Manchester, Glasgow and other locales.” He slapped his thigh. “Grabbing them garden-fresh, virginal white broads and fucking them, then turning around and renting them out to their uncles and the larger community. Five, ten, even twenty men per night.”
“They are one of us, boss!” exclaimed one of his two aides.
Master Rafirre laughed in response and the two men laughed with him, savoring the moment.
It was time. He got up, and the underlings followed him as he made his way out. “Clever dogs!” he chuckled as he walked. “White, lower-class girls are reeled in by affectionate young Muslim men, ‘loverboys,’ who ply them with alcohol, drugs and set them against their parents. Slowly, the girls are broken in, and then other, older men are introduced, and the young females start to get passed around. Those sex-slave networks include taxi companies and late-night kebab joints.”
With a spring in their step, they climbed the short stairway leading outside.
Rafirre flashed a nasty smile. “From London in the Atlantic to Stockholm in the Baltic, an iron curtain has descended across Western Europe. Paris, Berlin, Amsterdam, Brussels, Rome, Madrid, all these famous cities and the populations around them lie in the politically correct sphere, where some thoughts are criminalized, some truths and facts are not to be discussed for fear of denouncement if not outright prosecution.”
Outside, over one hundred men waited for him. Someone opened the door in the lead car. Rafirre paused for a moment before climbing in.
“Once the Englishmen did credit to their nation,” he called out. “Hell, once it was a real nation, whose people stood together. That was then. The limp-dick Englishmen of today look the other way as some of their daughters and young women are ravished, brutalized, and used as scum. Their police have downplayed and delayed; their media has covered much of it up; their schools kept students in the dark; their social workers all but encouraged it; their city council members have hushed it.
“A society that will not protect its girls is a society deserving to get plowed under—and so it will, with our help or otherwise.” He chortled. “If the verdict of the hearing goes our way, their wenches would be the low-hanging fruits. Declawed and neutered, their men will stand down as we plunder and take their virgins and make them ours.” He laughed out loud. “Why, only a few days ago, two Muslim migrants had some fun with one of the native herbivores: They robbed a young man in Sweden, made him strip naked, and urinated on his face—later uploading to Snapchat the video they had taken.”
Those within earshot cheered and whooped. Master Rafirre climbed in. Momentarily, his car sprung forward on the dirt road, dozens of gleaming vehicles following. He was headed first to New Mexico, to the party Aratta had invited him to attend. His people made their way to a pickup point and from there to the Mongolian steppe.
It was just a matter of hours now before the curtain was to rise.
“Here is the thing,” said David in reply to something Galecki had said. “Most whites in the West are willing and ready to live in a post-racial, post-ethnic world. It is a wonderful thing if you stop and think about it.”
“It is a wonderful thing—that is, if this mindset and outlook have been just as prevalent among other groups,” Galecki responded, seated next to David on the wood bench. “But is it the case? The vast majority of whites consider children for adoption irrespective of their race. The same cannot be said about blacks. It is newsworthy when a black couple chooses to adopt someone not of their race.
“The black mayor of Philadelphia was proud and happy to say he hired a black police commissioner and a black finance director, exulting, ‘The brothers and sisters are running the city…we are in charge!’ In his talk, there was a definite ‘us’ and ‘them.’ He spoke of his people. And he didn’t refer to the American people.” Galecki’s voice was sharp with sarcasm. “Nothing quite spells post-racial, post-ethnic society as organizations like 100 Black Men of America, MEChA, and the Congressional Hispanic Caucus. In truth, they are about ethnic solidarity and about putting one’s group interest front and center.
The recent bout of black-only university graduation ceremonies doesn’t help matters.”
The two elderly men lounged back and viewed the far-off mountains.
Galecki rubbed his chin absently. “And if this is the mindset of some members of other ethnicities and races, why can’t some whites entertain it, too?
“There is a bunch of dating sites exclusively for black singles but none exclusively for whites. Socially, not permitted. The same principle is at play in Houston, Texas, where whites are in the minority. The city has Meetups such as ‘Latinas Girls,’ ‘Black, Singles and Fabulous,’ and ‘Young Black Professionals New to Houston.’ It has no Meetups dedicated for those among the minority whites who want to socialize or network with fellow whites. And just as meaningful: our society would have treated any such hypothetical Meetup with deep suspicion. It seems that whites as an identity group is predominantly regarded in hostile or disparaging terms.” He tried to keep the rancor out of his voice. “Recently, I read that one girl didn’t want to get pregnant because she didn’t want to ‘create any more white people.’ Within a day or two, this tweet of hers received over one hundred thousand likes.”
He gave a short, bitter laugh. “Some blacks wear ‘Very Black / Very Proud’ T-shirts. Some Latinos proclaim they love ‘their brown skin and rich culture.’ And why indeed should they not celebrate their identity? Unless of course they are white Americans. Hell, a national shitstorm broke out when posters appeared on campus proclaiming: ‘It’s okay to be white.’ It was taken down immediately and investigated by police as it was construed to be ‘incendiary’ and ‘hateful.’”
There was a touch of humorous sympathy in David’s eyes. He wondered what would have happened had two flyers were posted on campus walls side-by-side, one stating “It’s okay to be white” the other stating “It’s okay to be black.”
Galecki looked at David strangely. “Anyway, maybe these posters were propagated by people who sought to push back against the prevailing narrative, which casts whiteness as singularly maligned. Maybe the people who identify with those flyers wish to let their kids know whites are not members of a racial group that is a ‘plague on the planet,’ as was proclaimed in a university lecture. Or offer a counter-narrative to the university event ‘How to Embrace Your Inner Racist: A Session for White People’. Maybe they wanted to push against the messaging that calls upon them to self-flagellate their white flesh and calls upon universities to offer courses that air the notion of ‘abolishing whiteness.’ You see, black studies is about de-stigmatizing blacks and celebrating their heritage. Whiteness studies is about stigmatizing whites and condemning their essence.” He sneered. “It may not be ‘okay to be white,’ but evidently, it’s okay to despise whites.” He was not surprised to learn that in the prior month, the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts had screened the film Why Don’t We Murder More White People?
For a long while, neither said anything.
All David had to do was to swap out the word whites with another word. It was depressingly familiar from the not-too-distant past.
Galecki bit his nail. “In Germany, some have been demonstrating against the arrival of large numbers of economic migrants and the prospect of the Islamization of Europe. Alas, those haters have no place in the bright new tomorrow.” His voice was heavy with irony. “Mob justice warriors snap photos of the demonstrators, sending them to the respective employers of protesters, some of whom have subsequently lost their jobs.”
“What about the journalists? What do they say about all of this?” queried David.
“Journalists?” Galecki flicked some cigarette ash away. “On such matters, they are little more than political activists with a license to print, providing air support to those masked blackshirt street-militants. It didn’t surprise me to read the other day that the professional association of journalists in Canada urged its members to bring ‘decolonizing approaches to their work’ in the context of ‘indigenous women, girls & two-spirit, lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, questioning, intersex, and asexual people.’”
“‘Decolonizing’?”
“Leftspeak for marginalizing, maligning, or blotting out the heritage of Western societies and, more specifically, the contributions and cultural prominence of whites males—whether it’s the contribution of ‘dead white men,’ such as Shakespeare, or otherwise. They would like nothing better than to proclaim it to be Year Zero now, starting with them.”
“Anyway,” Galecki went on, “if a TV show airs some concerns about the mass migration of Muslims, on occasions, a backlash materializes from diversity disciples and ads are pulled. Corporations don’t want their ads to be associated with or otherwise appear to sponsor racism and Islamophobia. They’d rather run their business free of harassment by paying protection money to the woke mob—displaying a LGBT pride flag in their websites or issuing a full-throated support for racial justice.”
“Racism and Islamophobia, you say?” David chuckled mirthlessly. “The followers of Islam are members of all races. And a rejection of Islam’s principles and practices could very well be rational.”
“Well, tell it to the British,” said Galecki. “In the United Kingdom, hundreds if not thousands are fined or arrested each year for online postings deemed offensive, which is to say, posts that denounce Islam or mass migration from third-world countries. Just the other day, a French intellectual was given a suspended prison sentence for giving a speech arguing that European people were being replaced by migrants. As you can imagine, given these rigorously-enforced speech laws, many people are afraid to speak their mind on these matters.” Was it not Aristotle who had said: “Masculine republics give way to feminine democracies, and feminine democracies give way to tyranny”?
Galecki sighed. “But the battle has been lost long ago. I don’t think anyone even noticed at what point it happened.” His lips thinned with displeasure. “First, this generation was raised to equate Western European identity with colonialism, slavery, and racism. The collective achievements of their forefathers have been portrayed as little more than a product of exploitation and resource extraction. In short, their heritage and national identity have been nothing to stand up for or worthwhile preserving. And their sinful nature is to be damned. Or as Sam Fender’s song goes: ‘I wanna be anybody but me….Cause I’m a white male, full of shame. My ancestry is evil, and their evil is still not gone.’ Second, fair-skinned people in the West no longer view each other as belonging to one extended tribe or another, sharing solidarity.
“You could see this on display during a movie screening at Uppsala University, Sweden, five years ago. The provocative movie, Allah ho Gaybar, challenges Islam on issues of homosexuality. It was directed by an Iranian female artist.
“The Muslim Asians who made it a point to show up at the screening went nuclear, and the campus police were struggling to get things under control. The solidarity amid the Muslim attendees was apparent. In contrast, the Caucasian Swedes sat impassively, not communicating with each other, not attempting to rally together against what was an assault on their principles of civil society, and more specifically, on free speech norms. Needless to say, the screening of the movie was aborted. A collection of atomized individuals cannot stand up to a cohesive group. I fear this is the future of the West, in a nutshell.”
Galecki grimaced. “Accomplishments of people of color have been added to the collective achievements of their respective lineages. The accomplishments of whites have been treated as universal domain. Among other things, this has eroded group-identity among Caucasians, weakened ties to their respective lineages, and alienated them from their roots. Shared heritage, shared destiny, and any other meaningful commonalities have faded away among the various indigenous Western Europeans. Belonging to a national project in Europe has been deemed suspect.”
His brows pulled together in a fleeting frown. “In various modern-day films portraying Western Europe
an folklore and history, the iconic figures of Friar Tuck, Sir Lancelot, Margaret of Anjou, Guinevere, and Joan of Arc were depicted as people of color. The Nordic God Heimdallr and the king of the gods, Zeus, were portrayed as black, while brown people were shown as dotting the European countryside. These things would have been akin to depicting Buddha as Slav looking, Sun Tzu as a black African man, Miyamoto Musashi as having Arabic features, Shaka Zulu sporting blonde hair and blue eyes, and medieval Iranian villages filled with Orientals. The films give the impression that people of color have always played an essential role in Europe and hence have historical claims to the land. National myths and history are being rewritten by the Ministry of Truth, preparing the way for a gradual demographic makeover of the continent.”
Galecki leaned back and stretched his legs out in front of him.
He grinned slyly. “In this manner, some whites, especially the financially privileged, are atoning for their sin.” He shrugged. “In actuality, their atonement is but a grappling hook, one of many, used to hoist themselves up, jockeying for position on the social status edifice of the twenty-first century West. ‘Minorities,’ in this context, are but game pieces—shaming tokens, victim tokens, and virtue tokens—in the elaborate board game White Men: the Reckoning.”
David cocked his eyebrow. “What minorities do you speak of?”
“Certain, qualifying minorities.” Galecki smiled harshly. “Not you; Jews do not qualify.” He chortled, “For this reason, the hate crimes against Jews—with the highest rate of any group in the West—do not compute.” If his memory served him, a quarter of the Jews in France had suffered a physical attack at some point. To protect their children, most French Jews had withdrawn their kids from public schools.
The more things change, the more they stay the same, thought David. “What sin were you referring to?” he inquired.
Galecki smiled weakly. “Why, the sin of being born white, of course.” He added, “Some people of color have risen through the ranks, buoyed by the thermals of white guilt.” Supposed white guilt. “Other people of color have caught on and got in on the act.”
The Earth Hearing Page 24