FSTDT

In Washington, Regime Change Is Truly and Urgently Needed!

I am surprised that no one else is saying it, writing it, shouting it at each and every corner:

It is not Venezuela, Cuba, Nicaragua, and Iran that are in dire and crucial need of ‘regime change’. It is the United States of America, it is the entire European Union; in fact, the entire West.

And the situation is urgent.

The West has gone mad; it has gone so to speak, bananas; mental. And people there are too scared to even say it, to write about it.

One country after another is falling, being destroyed, antagonized, humiliated, impoverished. Entire continents are treated as if they were inhabited by irresponsible toddlers, who are being chased and disciplined by sadistic adults, with rulers and belts in their hands yelling with maniacal expressions on their faces: “Behave, do as we say, or else!”

It all would be truly comical, if it weren’t so depressing. But— nobody is laughing. People are shaking, sweating, crying, begging, puking, but they are not chuckling.

I see it everywhere where I work: in Asia, Latin America, Asia and the Middle East.

But why?

It is because North American and European countries are actually seriously delivering their ultimatum: you either, obey us and prostrate yourself in front of us, or we will break you, violate you, and if everything else fails, we will kill your leaders and all of those who are standing in our way.

This is not really funny, is it? Especially considering that it is being done to almost all the countries in what is called Latin America, to many African and Middle Eastern nations, and to various states on the Asian continent.

And it is all done ‘professionally’, with great sadistic craftsmanship and rituals. No one has yet withstood ‘regime change’ tactics, not even the once mighty Soviet Union, nor tremendous China, or proud and determined Afghanistan.

Cuba, Venezuela, DPRK and Syria may be the only countries that are still standing. They resisted and mobilized all their resources in order to survive; and they have survived, but at a tremendous price.

The victims keep crying. A few independent countries keep expressing their outrage. But so far, there is no grand coalition, which would be ready to fight and defend each other: “one for all, all for one”.

Until the recent ‘rebellion’ at the UN, no one has been openly and seriously suggesting that international law should apply to all nations of the world, equally.

People talk about ‘peace’. Many are begging the brigands to ‘to stop’, to ‘have mercy’, to show some compassion. But, neither Europe nor North America has ever shown any compassion, for long, terrible centuries. Look at the map of the beginning of the 20th century, for instance: the entire world was colonized, plundered and subjugated.

Now it is all moving in the same direction. If the West is not stopped, our planet may not survive at all. And let us be realistic: begging, logical arguments and goodwill will not stop Washington, Paris or London from plundering and enslaving.

Anyone who has at least some basic knowledge of world history knows that.

So why is the world still not forging some true resistance?

Is Venezuela going to be the last straw? And if not Venezuela, that is if Venezuela is allowed to fall, is it going to be Nicaragua, Cuba or Iran next? Is anything going to propel people into action?

Are we all just going to look passively how, the socialist Venezuela, a country which has already given so much to the world, Venezuela which managed to create beautiful visions and concepts for our humanity, is going to be burned to ashes, and then robbed of all of its dreams, its resources and of its freedom?

Are we all such cowards? Is this what we – human beings – have actually become; been reduced to? Cowards and cattle, selfish and submissive beings; slaves?

All this, simply because people are too scared to confront the empire? Because they prefer to hide and to pretend that what is so obvious, is actually not taking place?

Therefore, let me pronounce it, so at least my readers do not have that ‘luxury’ of claiming that they were not told:

“This world is being brutalized and controlled by the fascist clique of Western nations. There is no ‘democracy’ left in this world, as there is near zero respect for international law in North American and European capitals. Colonialism has returned in full force. Western imperialism is now almost fully controlling the world.”

And begging, trust me – begging and talking of peace is not going to help.

During WWII, fascism had to be stopped. If not, it was going to devour the entire planet.

In the past, tens of millions have already died fighting for freedom and for our mankind.

Yes, some nations tried to compromise and negotiate with Nazi Germany, but we all know where it all ended.

Now, the situation is the same. Or worse, perhaps much worse, because the West has nukes and a tremendous propaganda apparatus: it controls human brains all over the world with ‘mass media’, and ‘education’.

And because the citizens of the West are now much more brainwashed than the Germans and Italians were in the late 1930’s and early 1940’s; more brainwashed, more scared, submissive and more ‘disciplined’.

Look, seriously: are the people who are now writing those “peace essays”, in which they argue with the Western regime about who is right and who is wrong, seriously thinking that they are going to move people like Donald Trump, or Pompeo, or Abrams, or Rubio?

Do they believe that Washington is going to stop murdering millions of people all over the world? Or that the neo-colonialist plunder would stop, after the US Congress and Senate suddenly understands that it has been at the wrong side of history?

This is not some rhetorical question. I am serious: I demand answers!

Does ‘peace movement’ thinks that by amassing arguments it could stop Western expansionism? Yes or no?

Do they believe that Pompeo or Trump will suddenly hit their foreheads and exclaim: “You people are correct! We did not see this!” And call their troops, their thugs and mercenaries back?

If not, if this is not what peace movements believe would be done by North American and European leaders, then why all those thousands of wasted pages?

Would you go near a crocodile that is ready to devour an innocent child, and try to reason with it? Would you, seriously? Do you think it would stop, drop a few tears, wag its tail and leave?

Sometimes I tend to believe that ‘peace movements’ in the West are making things worse. They create false hopes, and they behave as if the empire is some entity that has a soul, and understands logic. They grossly underestimate the threat; the danger.

And they tend to analyze the Western threat from a Western perspective, using Western logic.

It somehow gets lost in interpretation that fascism, terror, and bestiality have to be confronted and fought.

One cannot negotiate with a group of countries which are already bathed in the blood of some 80% of the planet. If it was to happen, it would just be a mockery and it would simply humiliate everyone that is sincerely trying to stop the assassins.

Right now, Venezuela needs solidarity. It requires direct help, actions; not words. And so do many other countries.

Instead, it gets an endless avalanche of best wishes, as well as premature obituaries.

The Bolivarian Revolution has gotten plenty of colorful words. But what it urgently needs is volunteers, money, and internationalist brigades!

I know that billions of people all over the world are now cheering from their armchairs; in fact, doing absolutely nothing, while also spending zero. Their love for Venezuela is ‘platonic’.

I have just left Syria, where I was covering the Idlib war zone. There was not one single foreigner near me, during those days. Eva Bartlett and Vanessa Beeley usually work all over the toughest areas in Syria, but how many others do? And most of the time we work with near zero backing, just because we feel that it is our moral obligation to inform humanity.

I am wondering, how many foreigners are fighting for Venezuela, right now?

Who is going to face the Western spooks implanted into the Caracas and the Venezuelan borders with Colombia and Brazil? A few RT and TeleSur reporters, those true heroes, yes, but who else?

Only direct action can save Venezuela, and the world.

This is no time for debates.

This is worse, much worse than the late 1930’s.

The proverbial crocodile is here; its enormous ugly mouth open, ready to devour yet one more brilliant, proud country.

It is time to stick a big metal rod into its mouth. Now, immediately; before it gets too late.

Let us shout LONG LIVE VENEZUELA! But with our hands, muscles and purses, not just with our mouths.

And let us not be scared to declare: if anywhere, it is Washington where regime change is truly and urgently needed!

I was Liberal Until I Lived in a Los Angeles Barrio. Now I’m a Race Realist.

I was conceived out of wedlock by two California liberals high on marijuana. They had both grown up during the Civil Rights movement, and were proud of their status as enlightened egalitarians. We lived in a 90 percent white town, but my upbringing was nothing but leftist indoctrination and derision of “racist” Republicans and Southerners.

When I was a teenager, the only black guy in school had a crush on me. I didn’t think in racial terms back then, but was uninterested all the same. When a friend told me he had bought me a piece of jewelry for Christmas, I told her he should take it back. I told my mother about the incident, but didn’t mention the boy’s race. Later on, she found out about that particular detail, and nearly fell over herself gushing about how proud of me she was for not having found that aspect of the situation worth mentioning. She had raised a true egalitarian daughter, and she could not have been more pleased.

My mother substance abuse issues that eventually led to my parent’s divorce. Afterwards, she swore off men forever and took to decorating her house with every piece of African “art” she could find. The walls of our living room were soon filled with ghoulish tribal masks, while her bedroom sported framed posters of dancing African women with oversized backsides. As a child, I bought her African wood carvings and statues for Christmas and Mother’s Day. Mind you, I never saw my mother so much as speak to a black person (there were hardly any in our town), so this aesthetic obsession was entirely abstract, gleaned from television, movies, and a learned sense of self-loathing for being white. Today, I believe that her deep-seated white guilt contributed to her addiction problems.

Until reaching middle age, I was exactly what I had been raised to be: a typical ethnomasochist. I hated “white America,” dated outside of my race, took African dance lessons, voted for Barack Obama, and regularly decried racial injustice on Facebook. My awakening was very much an accident. My husband (white, thank God) owned and rented a little house in what used to be a ghetto but was now a barrio because of mass immigration into Los Angeles. He and I lived in another, white part of town, but we had plans to leave the city for greener pastures, so we decided to move into this house to fix it up and sell it. I was hesitant to leave our beautiful white area to live among the vibrant people I publicly praised on social media, but we really wanted to maximize our profit, so I agreed to move.

The next two years were a Hell punctuated by gunshots that my husband kept trying to tell me were only fireworks. It is hard to know where to even begin in describing it. We were immediately struck by how dirty it was. My husband and I walked the neighborhood every evening for months picking up all the trash lining the streets. Right when we’d get a block looking decent, the trash would start to reaccumulate. We’d pick in up again — hoping to shame our “neighbors” into better behavior — but that never happened. Eventually, we gave up and only kept our little part of the street clean. Even when we stuck to our property, tidying up and landscaping, drug dealers would drive by and gawk at me, leaving no doubt as to what they wanted. During those two years, every package I had delivered to our house magically disappeared — no exceptions. Eventually, I gave up and started having things sent to my in-laws, a 30-minute drive away.

Our immediate next door neighbors were Hispanic, and there were seven of them (including two out-of-wedlock children) living in a 700 square-foot, 2-bedroom, 1-bathroom house. To make more room, they put up a party tent in the backyard and turned it into grandma’s bedroom, though it looked more like a junkyard than anything else. They always left their windows, and we heard a constant stream of profane screaming matches, sometimes in English and sometimes in Spanish.

The worst thing about life in the barrio is the partying. Blacks hold base-thumping, rap-blaring, drug-fueled ragers. Hispanics squeeze 100 people onto one tiny property along with a mariachi band and a bouncy-house. Both types of party last all night long. My husband and I both worked hard at our jobs, and needed a good night’s rest, but were besieged by this endless racket. Making matters worse was that in order to make a noise complaint to the police, you have to have a precise address. So night after night, my husband would head out into the dark to find the party. He was always unarmed, too — since conceal and carry permits are not issued to regular citizens in Los Angeles County. I would stay home by the phone, praying for his safety. His perseverance ultimately paid off, and the parties started dropping in frequency and volume. It was a chivalrous act of bravery on his part to tread through the urban jungle and stalk the parties like that, totally defenseless but driven by righteous anger. He was doing the best he could to take care of us under very difficult circumstances, and to this day I admire him for that.

By the time we left this multicultural wasteland, California had started letting “non-violent” thugs out of prison early, so things were only getting worse. Incredibly, our house earned us a nice sum of money when a young professional couple bought it. They were both white, and I felt guilty selling it to them — but they were egalitarian liberals just like I had been. My hope is that they also become race realists and get the hell out. As for my husband and I, we now live in the Deep South.

As all of this was happening, Donald Trump was running for President. His campaign and all the comments he made about immigration were a source of hope for me. Even three years earlier this would have been unthinkable, but in 2016, I registered as a Republican and voted for him. Like with so many in our movement, 2017 was rough. The infamous border wall was clearly not a priority of the Trump Presidency. There was the disaster in Charlottesville, the subsequent deplatformings, etc. Meanwhile, Fox News and Breitbart were telling me how happy I should be because black unemployment was at a record low.

My newfound home did not prove to be a paradise, either. The number of blacks here is high, and getting higher as the reversal of the “great migration” keeps unfolding. There are also a shocking number of illegal aliens here. When my husband and I visited a local state park and we heard more Spanish than English. It makes me angry and depressed to write this, but sometimes it seems like this small Southern town is headed for the same fate as Los Angeles.

There is still hope though. In 2018, I attended my first American Renaissance conference. It was wonderful to be surrounded by people who knew what I knew, and who had their own horror stories about surviving multiculturalism. Not one person held my anti-white past against me. Everyone embraced me as one of them. It was truly one of the happiest weekends of my life. The YouTube personality “No White Guilt” uses the term “Going Free” to describe the process of “un-indoctrinating” ourselves from anti-whitism, and I absolutely do feel free. I am a more productive, confident, and complete person than ever before. My husband is still largely a civic nationalist, but recently when I was talking to him about the importance of “white positivity,” he said, “Your happiness is really attractive.” He’s not the only one who feels that way. Everywhere I go these days, people tell me how beautiful I look. I’m an attractive woman and I dress becomingly, but I’m in my early 40s and I’m not that beautiful. I think they see my love for our people, our culture, and the wonderful civilization our ancestors built radiating off of me. They sense my self-assuredness and pride. They see in me something they want for themselves but cannot articulate.

Unfortunately, I am not yet in a position where I can be openly pro-white, so most of the time I keep quiet and just pray for our people. I do look for opportunities to make small, white-positive comments to the people in my life, though — and when I have done so, people have been receptive. I also have an anonymous white-positive pen pal that I found through Way of the World’s NatConnect service, and she has been a wonderful source of encouragement for me. Our correspondence also goes a long way in making me feel less isolated. Despite the many obstacles we face, I believe the tide is turning in our favor. After all, if someone with my background can develop a sense of white racial consciousness late in life, the tide has to be turning.