A lot has happened in the intervening ten years. The third letter addresses the current circumstances facing the English people, which were scarcely on the horizon back in 2007.
A Third Letter to my People — Ten Years On
by Seneca III
And so, the Bitch of Westminster has done it. Where both Napoleon and Hitler failed she has almost succeeded — she is now trying to break up the UK and is in the process of trying to hand over part of it to the new Axis Alliance, but she has not done it alone and just off the top of her head. She has had fifty years of furtive preparation readying the ground for her, and has simply pressed the button to get the operation underway.
However, it is not going as she and her Brussels apparatchik masters planned. Arlene Foster then leader of her coalition partners in Northern Ireland, the Democratic Unionist Party, telephoned her before the deal was sealed and told her that from their perspective the whole heap of excrement was a no-go. The Irish government was delighted to be able to stick its oar in as well and perturbate the general flow of political excrement, and even to lifelong aficionados of the endearing process of political suicide, this must be a classic example of the genre.
What passed between Foster and May may never be known in detail, but Foster is a coalition partner in a shaky government with a very narrow majority and, if she and her party wished, they could deprive May of that majority and thus leave the conservatives to try to govern as a minority government, or go to the polls and face a very hostile electorate. The future does not look good for the Tories but, then again, they are the ones who chose May as leader and, God willing, they will get every desert that is coming to them. A parliamentary vote of ‘No Confidence’ is also possible.
The only chance for survival that they, the Tories, have is if they immediately challenge her via the party rules and procedure (1922 committee and a ‘Stalking Horse etc.) and hold a leadership election where she could be replaced by her own party, who then immediately negate this abhorrent surrender to the EU Dictatoriat, or themselves go down the tubes into oblivion.
But, if this does not happen, then I will know that I am living through the last days of the country into which I was born, and as I have been around long enough to have watched this debacle evolve in its entirety, albeit with a helpless, morbid fascination I must admit, I shall now presume to tell you how it has come about.
As a boy and young man, I was taught by men and women of upright courage and character who had either fought through the war, sometimes both wars, or, if too old, had pursued their profession steadfastly under a rain of bombs whilst they and their students survived on a meagre diet bereft of all luxury, but one never short on love.
They taught me to think, how to learn for myself; they taught me that to work hard and aspire to better myself was an honourable thing, and that a sound personal morality was the foundation upon which we would rebuild a devastated Britain that was to be fair, just, proud and independent. They were the last of their kind, and our world became a far lesser place by their passing and replacement with a collection of spoiled, brainwashed, indulged Marxist-Socialist sycophants, many of whom are sexual deviants of the worse kind, and all of whom do not teach, but simply indoctrinate.
In politics in those days, even those we elected had on the whole actively served their country and thus fully understood the meaning and mechanisms of tyranny, and they conducted their business on behalf of the electorate accordingly. Now they, too, no longer exist — into their shoes have stepped at least two generations of traitors who have been selling and continue to sell us to the highest foreign bidder, invasive terrorist, parasite and/or predator either for votes or thirty pieces of silver to line their already well-lined pockets.
Our once trusted, world-renowned ‘bobbies’ have become nothing more than legalized thugs whose common-purposed function is to persecute any long-heritage native citizen who objects to his or her ethnic cleansing, and to do so with alacrity and draconian glee. This whilst the detection and prosecution of real crimes is reduced to nothing more than a subsidiary function to be carried out when time and resources are not all being utilised putting the jackboot in once-free men and women.
The legal profession is, as always, no better and is doing rather well, thank you, even before they slither into the Commons and/or the Lords.
End of days, people, end of days. Because all the above institutions and professions have also been infiltrated by the many-hued invasive Fifth Columnists of the New World Order, who are being introduced into our deep state and protected by those of substance who in any rational environment would be rejecting them with absolute abhorrence. The Long March Through the Institutions is almost complete.
So, in the final analysis, I note that the future is not orange, it is black, and the only light I can see on the near horizon is that our choice has been reduced to a bare minimum — we either hold out our wrists ready for the manacles, or — win or lose — we physically turn, fight, burn and hang using any weapons we can lay our hands on or manufacture.
I know where I will stand and where it will take me, but I have nothing to lose but my children’s chains. You, too, have a decision to make. Or will you dither in the comfort of your ephemeral affluence until it is too late to make any decision at all?
Only you can know that, for I am not psychic.
— Seneca III, in a suddenly dark Middle England, this 4th day of December 2017.
For links to previous essays by Seneca III, see the Seneca III Archives.