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When I was a child, I never imagined there would come a time that I would pen a missive to my countrymen calling them to recognize their identity. I imagined I would write about fantastic lands and even more fantastical creatures. Journey, adventure, strife, and victory in the most dire of times. Tolkien made anew, that was my dream.

Writing about the threat of an Orcish takeover of the kingdoms of man and the impending doom of a swath of countryside churned into garbage. Death comes from a race of locust-ish creatures sucking all the life and soul out of a once beautiful place, on their path to total domination. The end of the people that created all beauty and carved a comfortable mosaic of order, structure and wealth.

A merry band of flawed but good-hearted people attempts to save the world. Nobody thinks to to alert the peaceful farmers and forest dwelling folk of the tragedy ahead. I wonder why, in books by Tolkien, Brooks, Martin, and so on, with all the birds trained to fly forth delivering messages hither and thither, that no one thought to send any to the blacksmiths or the bakers or the teachers or the farmers or the tavern keepers. You know, the silent majority.

I'd imagine they don't do that because it would be a rather short story sans drama. Sans intrigue. Sans climax, sans sequel. Can you imagine? “That long-nosed wizard chap summoned forth an army of orcs, and they are coming to eat us and take our souls to the eye mountain! Send this to ten people or you'll have seven-books bad luck." Everyone gathers together and says “Not today!" And it would work; because the un-attacked and un-depleted population have the numbers and strength to shut down a power grab, even if the sour stench of corpses permeates the olfactory sensibilities for a while.

Not that the orcs solely rely on their numbers. Inevitably they reach out to other small cabals of marginalized, ostracized groups. Like giants. Before the inevitable accusation of gigantophobia comes, I implore you to remember that giants crush economies of in record time, eating up all the resources they are too stupid and lazy to net for themselves. There are no giant engineers. No giant farmers. Sure; not all giants are like that. The occasional giant might befriend the protagonists and knock back serious artillery towards the end, but only after 17 chapters of character development. We all know outliers exist. We also know that the lovable /ourgiant/ is likely to get rocked in the head, stumble, and foot-stomp a critical machine and two of our hobbit farmers. Around giants, never relax.


I've read a lot of fantasy, and so I beg your indulgence. The various plot points are going to blend together somewhat. But; I must digress from my digressions. The point is that tropes exist for a very good reason, as TVTropes succinctly define. "Human beings are natural pattern seekers and story tellers. We use stories to convey truths, examine ideas, speculate on the future and discuss consequences. To do this, we must have a basis for our discussion, a new language to show us what we are looking at today." As we recognize the enemy-trope in fantasy, and what it means, we must also recognize the tropes of ourselves.

When picking up the fantasy genre you are going to come across particular versions of humanoid characters that are familiar- based as they are on European medieval history and ethnic stereotypes.

These stories are part of our Poetic Edda.

There will always be squat, strong, dwarf-like creatures that will have some sort of highlands accent. They will be hardy, skilled, bearded, and efficient. These are your Scots and Saxons.

There will be tall, graceful beings in tune with nature, capable of the most interesting and unexpected magic, Soft-spoken but formidable, these are our fantasy Scandinavians.

Next, they will give you a race of men. They will be represented by a dark and troubled man. He will be cloaked and mysterious, gruff and stoic. Perhaps hot-tempered, we have our Slavic or Mediterranean-peoples analogy.

Finally, there will be simple peaceful people with impeccable manners, a fixation on food, they will be defined by an innocence and naivety. Inevitably they form the bridge that links all the others together in their quest. These are Anglos. Perhaps an outrageous accent is applied, and then these folk are more Gaulish, and much better cooks as a result.


You may disagree with these classifications, and that's okay, it's hardly the important point. What is important is that these fantasy European stand-ins put aside their long-standing rivalries to defeat the evil that threatens their existence. Without fail. Every time. These stories are part of our Poetic Edda.

Before being able to bumble towards victory -falling for many obvious traps along the way- the party must identify that there is a threat and that it must be defeated. What is the enemy that is represented in Fantasy literature, looking through our identitarian lens?

Patriots of all creeds serve a purpose in detaining leftism through discussion and voting. That is fantastic, keep doing that; but those with European ancestry pay attention. You have been taught to detach from your own ancestry to make room for diversity. This is only demanded from you, and no others. Assimilation is a lie.

Never mind that your childhood home is now completely unrecognizable. Your grandmother's neighborhood is boarded up, windows barred. Never mind that the corner store that used to be owned by that kindly old man is now a chain gas station. Instead of sweet-treats, the building now has a shotgun under the counter. Never mind that the expectation is that you pretend to not notice this, and if you do notice, you cannot feel nostalgia for it.

Five years ago I read the first article targeted at me. It was about my very skin color being an oppressive force. There has been an avalanche of them since. Someone is always watching, recording the flaws of man and then attributing them to our race. The conclusions: invite diversity, give up your job to a person of color. Will your accumulated wealth to a person of color instead of your own children. How dare you experience a successful civilization if others do not. Behind this is the assertion that you are racist by default. Therefore, if you do not follow a prescribed list of behaviors you can never be cured; you are a bad person.

It is not bad to consider your own needs and the needs of your community. No matter what anyone tries to tell you, it's not bad to consider the needs of your people. It is good. It is noble. All other groups are permitted to do so. If you don't do the same you are going to wake up one day and the Shire will be a mud-pit. Your neighbors will be strangers, and your rent will be late because Orcs work for less money than you. That is the happy ending of that story.

Can you imagine the Elves of Rivendell being too afraid to walk their own streets?

Let us consider a cautionary tale about elves. The High-Elves of Sweden solved their major social challenges -like poverty- years ago. They built a wondrously advanced, high trust society for themselves. They found themselves with such a surplus of wealth that they felt guilty. How could they be so rich from what they had made, when others had so little? And so, they chose to invite millions of otherlings into their land, to share in the joy the High-Elves had created. Now they suffer unprecedented levels of rape and exploitation from a people so intrinsically different that integration is impossible. The expectation of integration is now considered racist. This doesn't even speak to the up-tick in explosive-related violence, nor the places in Sweden that High-Elves are not welcome.


Can you imagine their brother Elves of Rivendell being too afraid to walk their own streets? No. You may recall there is a specific process visitors to Rivendell must go through to gain entrance. Behavior while in Rivendell is strictly monitored, on pain of expulsion. Ah, 'tis but a fantasy story.

Stoic, Dwarfish Germany, eager to make up for the perceived sins of her past, follows the same path as Sweden in welcoming unwieldy numbers. Violence, in particular sexual violence, has risen to unconscionable levels but hate-speech laws and social ostracism prohibit complaints. The causes of rape and violence cannot be correctly attributed. The prison sentence for speaking out against interlopers is higher than that for interlopers who rape citizens. The brigades tracking down mean words online are busier than the ones who try to prevent terror attacks. It's hard to imagine the hardy Dwarven folk of fantasy allowing such abuse within their own hand-carved halls. As we know, they fought to the death instead. I believe that the Dwarves had a habit of booting out their own residents if they were disrespectful of tradition; let alone inviting others to disgrace their home and hearth. Moria fell due to greed. Delving too deep, awakening the Balrog, and the goblin horde that got in through borders under-guarded.


I recently read an article indicating that Italy estimates that it will take 50 years to deport 500,000 migrants. Seems a little lengthy when one ponders the considerable damage that can be wrought in a single year. Much like Aragorn, first on the scene to notice a problem and execute some sort of a plan, no matter how needlessly lengthy and winding the journey may be, we can certainly learn something from them about the importance of protecting centuries of history. Conquerors can tell when they are being conquered.

Britain, once the head of an Empire that seeded the world with civility, as well as trade wealth, religion, morality, and purpose, loses her identity a little more with every year. Great Britain has the longest and most detailed recorded history of any Western nation. What other empires did before, Britain perfected, so much so that it would be fair to rank their language as the global standard and their culture as the most influential throughout all history. To even scratch the surface of British history, culture and heritage would take a series of articles, nothing I can say comes close at giving her the proper dues. If you are a white American it is likely that British history is your history. Close the book, everything that happens on that island is relevant to you and is a reflection of what is in store for you should you fail to learn from their mistakes. No matter what other nation may claim ally-ship to the United States, Great Britain is our forebear, she is our motherland, she is our sister nation; you should be concerned about Old Blighty.

The Hobbits of England chose to give up the right to self-defense and the right to free speech. It's a racist crime to fight off an attacker on your property. It's a crime to carry a knife, to own most firearms, even so much as to have a cricket bat in one's possession without also a ball. How long before a gravy-boat or soup-ladle are considered deadly weapons? They have taken to imprisoning journalists for reporting on the biggest child rape scandal in modernity, the most prominent location being Rotherham, but is not the only place. An internet search for the term “grooming gangs" will tell you a fraction of what you need to know because the truth is suppressed. So much so, those that dare to speak risk their jobs and lives. Grooming gangs is an ultra-PC term for “Organized gangs of mostly Pakistanis have been taking and continue to take white children to drug them, to rape them, and to sell them as sex toys.” Protected by laws meant to encourage tolerance the UK now experiences state-approved child rape.

The cradle of modern civilization has become enslaved by politeness and victimized by kindness. I don't even want to think of the sweet Hobbits sipping tea and eating elevenses in the garden. Surely they know that down the way Little Girl Brandywine is being passed around a hovel to a crowd of Goblin fiends. I know, and so do you.

The first battle is one of love, against guilt.

No one is coming to rescue them, and no one is coming to rescue you, White America. It is not unkind to protect yourself and your people. It is not bigoted to demand that your laws and customs be obeyed. It is not racist to refuse to feel guilty for your historical success. That success was paid for long ago. It is not a penance to watch as your institutions and monuments are torn down. Your existence in your own land is not an act of hate.

We are not characters in a storybook living out a carefully designed plot to be fulfilled.

We must be writers and protagonists both. All western nations -the PC term for white nations- are experiencing an existential threat via immigration from without, and treachery within. Our resolution is not as simple as tossing a ring into a pit of lava. We cannot fire arrows at a clear enemy on the field of battle. The battle is much bigger than what Tolkein with all his might could ever have imagined.

The first battle is one of love, against guilt. It happens first in your own heart. Victory is assured when we stick together. Be you a Rand al'Thor or a Samwise Gamgee, we are stronger united.

Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?
Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?
Where is the hand on the harpstring, and the red fire glowing?
Where is the spring and the harvest and the tall corn growing?
They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow;
The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow.
Who shall gather the smoke of the dead wood burning,
Or behold the flowing years from the Sea returning?
~ Lament for the Rohirrim


Sophie Schwindlig

by Sophie Schwindlig

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