Quarantinistan: Escaping the Diversity Death Cult

January 19, 2017


There’s an especially quiet trailer park in St. Petersburg, Florida, Palace Mobile Home Park. It’s so quiet because children aren’t allowed in the park. Children aren’t allowed in the park because it’s reserved especially for sex offenders. Pervert Park is a documentary which explores the miserable and mundane lifestyles and problems of convicted child molesters, rapists, and assorted perverts who’ve served their prison sentences. The community naturally and understandably despises them, just as many of them despise themselves.

I belong to the one group of people even more reviled than child molesters; white nationalists. While the pervert is required to place a sign in his own lawn, the folks in my hometown have a campaign where hundreds of people have put up signs against my beliefs in their own lawns. They could not remain silent, you see, as believing that white people have a right to preserve their community and identity is so toxic, so offensive, so insipid, that the entire village must pass an ordinance confirming that they renounce my evil.

So there I sat earlier this week to be a witness at this peculiar event, Paoli’s passing an ordinance denouncing my beliefs because I dared to hold the beliefs while living within the city limits. I was born and raised here, entering kindergarten in ’88 and graduating in ’01. I sat there surrounded by my doctors, teachers, and neighbors as they surreally repeated the egalitarian boilerplate about inclusion. All of them are apparently clueless about the very real problems encircling our hometown which cannot and will not be resolved by mere inclusivity and kindness.

For them, Christianity pretty much boils down to a bizarre cult where everything’s resolved with more hospitality. Love’s the wrong word, since it implies investment, boundaries, and structure. Love is a finite resource which one can either wisely invest in one’s family, neighbors, and nation or haphazardly spread it so thin that it becomes meaningless. And when love becomes meaningless and superficial, it becomes mere hospitality, “hoosier hospitality” in this case.

Thousands of towns across America have already responded to demographic displacement with “love,” and no longer exist as they once did. Postville, Iowa responded with love, and has now become the “Hometown of the World,” a cesspit of child labor, illegal immigrants, exotic third world crime, and Jewish racketeering where it’s no longer safe to raise a family or let your children explore. It features roughly twice the crime, per capita, of a typical White American town of equal size, and dramatically more alienation, frustration, and hostility.

Throughout the presidential primaries, John Kasich sounded exactly like the speakers in the small room carrying on as he did about “Christian” compassion, charity, and hospitality against Trump’s hateful and hurtful America First message. It sounds nice in a speech, but if you actually look at Ohio, especially at its capitol of Columbus, you find Somali jihadis chasing college students around with knives. You find alienation, violence, and degeneration. The more you receive of their abstract “love,” the more the sidewalks radiate concrete despair. I’ve lived in Cincinnati, and was pained to see firsthand how the once vibrant and vigorous German-American powerhouse has become a dangerous, derelict, and declining embarrassment.

But just ask Cincinnati how proud it is of diversity and how welcoming it is to all of the immigrants and minorities! Just be sure to ask in the right neighborhood and before dark, of course.

If somebody was passing around a cup of Kool-Aid and everyone before you had fallen over dead, you would probably pass on the Kool-Aid. Not a single majority-minority public school in the United States performs at the level of Paoli’s public school system. Despite being especially broke and economically depressed, we still enjoy a relative harmony, cohesiveness, and vitality because we still retain our identity. But we’re eager to drink the Kool-Aid and give that all up because we’re all adherents of the Jonestown cult of “diversity.”

Christianity isn’t a suicide pact, and the teachings of the Bible don’t require us to bow our heads and submit to our eventual genocide. It’s funny, given that Indiana was named for its large Native American population, that our genocide of the natives took on a similar flavor. Tecumseh attempted to rally his racial kinsmen against the rising tide of my forefathers sweeping into the area, but the cult of “hospitality” prevailed and they’re all dead now. He dealt with the same eyerolling indifference, the same chatter about inclusion and niceness, the same ignorance about the dramatic changes afoot, and the same infighting among his own.

For many, the whole “We stole it from the Indians” meme somehow proves that we deserve genocide, too. Tecumseh’s one of my personal inspirations, and I feel that my own work is similar to his, though I’m not suggesting I possess his character or courage. I was relatively close with David “Bad Eagle” Yeagley before his untimely passing in 2014. He was a Comanche conservative activist who explained to me that we White men can honor his ancestors by fighting as bravely for the land as his ancestors did, and by keeping their memory alive in our own hearts as we struggle against globalism.

My opposition expressed concerns that my mere presence in the town, despite my not doing any local activism here, would ruin the tourism industry, would drive out the remaining factories, would compel right-thinking families to flee from this home of “hate.” The town needed to pass an ordinance against my beliefs because otherwise the media would accuse Paoli of being secretly in agreement with my radical proposition that Paoli has a right to preserve its character and identity.

They’re not actually wrong about any of that. Wherever I lay my head, everyone around me stands accused of being pro-white. The massive civil rights rackets and the mainstream media are all too eager to destroy a mere town in their never ending witch hunt against “racism.” And after I’m driven out of here, they’ll destroy the racist bridge I’m hiding under. I know it sounds like I’m exaggerating here, but the mass hysteria against “racism” is the single most acute and hysterical moral panic in America’s history.

And unlike somebody who rapes kids, I’m not even allowed a trailer park to hide away from a society set against me. America’s real estate laws aggressively prohibit White people from creating their own explicit communities. It’s ironic that Orania, the White Afrikaner village in South Africa, actually enjoys a fig leaf of protection of their identity originally intended for the African tribes. We in America don’t enjoy that protection, and it’s simply and directly illegal for White people to take the most basic and friendly steps to preserve their community character and culture.

When it was my turn to speak at the meeting, I respectfully confirmed that the rumors about me posing a threat to anybody or their children are patently false. I confirmed that nobody had yet accused Paoli of being racist. But I also agreed that there is a very real risk that Paoli will be targeted because I happen to reside here. As such, I pleasantly surprised everybody by endorsing the proclamation in the hope that it could protect the town from being attacked by the radical left.

Afterwards, some nationalist friends suggested that I should have made more of a stand. I should have made my case and taken a more affirmative stand for my beliefs. I believe I made the correct decision because I believe that the vast majority of people in this town, as well as most towns in America, would rather ruin their neighborhoods, imperil their schools, endanger their children, and forfeit their future to avoid being called “racist.” How can I stop that? Even those in town who agree with me fully, and there are plenty, wouldn’t dare stand beside me against what I’m up against.

That may change in the future. And if my hometown needs a voice, I will certainly be there for it. Like the natives who refused to stand with Tecumseh, the locals just want to do what’s most comfortable and socially approved. I’m partial to my hometown, but would rather be among my own in Uruguay than among Latinos in Indiana. I don’t care about dirt, and the rumor that I intend to turn my hometown into a giant racist compound is just more nonsense.

Loyalty, like love, is a finite resource to be invested wisely. And I’m more loyal to a rank stranger on the Internet who shares my vision for the future than to people I’ve grown up around who are eager to destroy my hometown and every other founding stock town and neighborhood in America. The refugees are coming. The minority exodus from the inner city to the countryside is official HUD policy which is already having an impact. Even if Trump built the wall and froze all immigration, the birthrate differential guarantees that the people currently carrying on about love and hospitality will become alienated and disempowered strangers in their own hometown soon enough.

I picked up today’s local paper and read the front page article, “Paoli embraces tolerance.” As I read it, I wondered to myself why they refuse to let us go but also refuse to tolerate us. After all, if we “racists” are ruining everything by continuing to hang around, why not just send us off to a trailer park community somewhere in the remote reaches of the mountain or prairie states? If even sex criminals receive this courtesy, why not us? Because unlike pedophiles, our being allowed to go away threatens to unravel the lie at the heart of the diversity myth.

If we were allowed to peacefully and politely go our own way, to quarantine ourselves into our own quiet little Quarantinistan without displacing any minorities or being mean to anybody, we would thrive. We would succeed. And we would eventually inspire others to join us in rejecting the globalist open borders nonsense. The elites and the left can’t have that. Like an amusement park ride, once the seat restraint is locked down on diversity, there is no getting out. But unlike an amusement park ride, it won’t be fun, it won’t be safe, and it won’t end well for everybody.

Local Solutions to the Globalist Problem Forums Quarantinistan: Escaping the Diversity Death Cult

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