The White Race

by Douglas Mercer

ONE ONLY HAS TO look up to see that our race (the White race, the Great Race) has come to the promised pass of maximum peril. Everywhere our enemies are in control and the vast majority of our own people are oblivious to the impending danger, lost in space in the pursuit of money and trinkets or sports or fandom or celebrity worship or wrapped up in a failed religion or failed ideologies such as conservatism or liberalism, or sunk in oblivion, or making of themselves outright implacable enemies of their own people. As for us, we are cast aside and ostracized as terrorists, crooks, cranks, villains, and as evil incarnate; indeed, as enemies of the state. And so we are, as any state which has dedicated itself to the destruction of our people must be met with inalterable and implacable hatred.

We conquered the world 2000 years ago and seeded the world with our indomitable spirit, with our questing nature, with our ferocious hearts, our fabled fealty, our unlimited energy, our gallantry and our glory, and our art and our philosophy, with our adventure for knowledge. Superfluous wealth and race-defilement pushed us from our path and an evil religion began to hold sway. But then, a millennium and a half later, our spirit, long quelled by fanaticism, fantasy, fables, and fairy tales, began again to burst forth from its long slumber. And we gave the world again what only we can give: the White race of Europe in full flower with its infinite inventiveness, intelligence, courage, and capacity to build. Our people began to paint in perspective and so saw the world in all its dimensions. Our people began to map the world on an X/Y axis and with numbers and figures — and so began to control the world. Our sailors and adventurers began to fling themselves to the far corners of the Earth and we conquered the world again and made of it our home. Our scientists began to pierce the mysteries of Nature — and so we understood the world. Our philosophers began to pierce the veil of the world and we saw it in its essence. Our writers began to create monuments with words, and our artists made sculptures and paintings which awed the world; and within a few hundred years we had created what no one had ever known, not really: a culture and a civilization, the civilization of old Europe, reborn even greater than before. Certainly any that had come before, compared to it, were not worthy of the name.

From this apogee the casting down was swift and severe — and the results were the cultural and moral rubble you see around you. For in an orgy of unnecessary power-lust, and egged on by the Jews, our people decided to let our own blood and rip at our own race-fabric with savage fury. It was if our people in a fit of suicidal mania decided to carpet-bomb ourselves with incendiary devices and turn once noble cities into towers of fire and, finally, dust and ashes. We decided to allow in the alien Jew and let him infect and infest our systems of money, our politics, our secondary education, our art, our philosophy, our universities, our media, our entertainment, and our cultural institutions. And finally, two decades after the funeral pyre of violence was complete, and in a fit of unwarranted amnesiac guilt, we decided to take everything our ancestors gave us and burn it to the ground.

It didn’t have to be this way.

When the fatal crossing happened around the 1920s, a sane observer would have laid even odds whether it would go this way or that, and a great and good contingent of our people were determined that it would go ours. In large parts of the White world including the US, immigration restriction, race laws, segregation, marriage laws, and eugenics were the order of the day — and were widely and wildly popular. And, of course, in Germany one great man rose to the occasion and in draconian fashion set about to re-write the racial trajectory of the world on a template of Whiteness. Naturally when these movements neared their fruition the Jews were in mortal fear and said they were “outraged,” that this “violated common humanity.” The Jews then conscripted half of the White world to fight against the other half, and in the inferno dark night descended on the White world.

Things hung in the balance until the present hopes of the White race were dashed on the rock of Stalingrad. It was not merely the Sixth Army that was encircled there. It was us. And the aftermath, from “free love,” to “free money,” to rampant crime, to riots, to burning cities, to “civil rights,” to key parties, to new age hoo-ha, to “liberalism,” to “humanitarianism,” to “one world” dogmas, to “equality,” to “diversity is a strength,” to don’t tread on me, to the alien invasion, to individualism, to trash television, to the corruption of morals, to Dead White Males, to declining birthrates, to intersex nonsense and “gender affirmation” — all of this has been a disaster of unmitigated proportions for our people.

As for us, we continue to dream of something beautiful.

It was my people who conquered the world twice and I don’t see why we can’t do it again. It was my people who flooded in to the New World and fanned out over the country, built the outposts, forded the rivers, shot through the passes, cultivated the ground and made it bloom, took the wagon trains overland, made destiny manifest, killed the warring Amerindians, tamed the land, husbanded the farms, laid down the rail, conquered the continent, built the villages and the towns and the clean gleaming cities, invented the machines, created the science, flew through the skies, approached the stars, perfected medicine, and made of the land the juggernaut and marvel of the world; and, as such, I have a proprietary interest in it all. It belongs to me and to my people, not to the ones who squat among us now. They are not visiting our world; they are violating it.

Sadly, it is my people, too, who shepherded in these strangers to the blood at the behest of the Jews. And when the accounts are settled, part of my people will feel the reckoning down to the last generation. One has only to look or read to see what they have made of it, this once-green breast of the New World which by rights should have remained forever our paradise and our playground.

The Jews have always played a risky game and none riskier than the one they play now. From long and hard experience they know better than anyone (better, I fear, even than ourselves) the latent power in the White race. Such a people as us, in the final analysis, never go gently into anything. And with their prohibiting and bottling up of the natural instinct of the White race to preserve itself and flourish once again, of forbidding such on pain of punishment and making it verboten, they should not be shocked when the now-throttled and always-famous berserker rage rises again to explode in their half-human faces.

As we gingerly approach the final stages of this long-fought and immemorial battle, the stakes are that high. Us or them, them or us: The world is no longer big enough for both.

And for us there is no choice but to join the fray, for the last victory is no illusion and failure is not an option. For no writer, even a polemicist of rare vehemence and implacable energy and unending torrents and streams of words, wants to give continual paeans or panegyrics to the past, or even florid and fervid and heartfelt homage to the dead, or to extol the ancestors perpetually, and certainly not commit endless exhortations to the future. No, much better after the victory is ours to celebrate the living and breathing race, to be writing a detailed report on some new progress or new milestone passed, a medical marvel, a revolutionary technology, or a flight to the stars, or a process perfected, or the race protected, or a noble work of art erected, or even best a simple and serene description of the members of our race passing their time and endlessly propagating themselves in paradise.

We have worked too hard, created too much — we have too much promise in our hearts and in our heads — our spirit flows much too grandly and our race is much too great (the greatest of all) — to simply let it all slip away without a trace.

What nestles in the womb of time, no man knows. But when it comes to our future I’m long on it. We come from greatness from the ground up, and when the day of greatness is called for I seriously doubt we will do anything less than prevail.

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