We Are All Rwanda Now

Our German translator Hellequin GB was in Rwanda at the time of the genocide in 1994. In the following essay he points out the disturbing parallels between the Hutu propaganda of that time — which demonized and dehumanized the Tutsis prior to the slaughter — and what we read in the left-wing media (is there any other kind?) in 2021.

About Rwanda and the Genocide Propaganda

by Hellequin GB

Two major radio stations transmitted hate propaganda to the illiterate masses: Radio Rwanda, and Radio Télévision des Milles Collines (RTLM). Radio Rwanda was the official government owned radio station.
Under the second(?) Arusha Accord it was banned from continuing to disseminate hate propaganda. This led the Hutu Power circle around President Habyarimana and his wife to found RTLM as a private radio station.

RTLM became immensely popular as a young, hip alternative to the official voice of the government. They did the usual — played popular music and encouraged the public to phone in and participate in radio broadcasts. Amongst its listeners, RTLM attracted the unemployed youth and the Interhamwe militia, a Hutu paramilitary organization.

RTLM and Radio Rwanda, before and during the genocide, continued to encourage and direct the killing of Tutsis and moderate Hutus until they were forced off the air by the Rwanda Patriotic Front’s military victories.

Here are a few transcripts in English from the Radio/TV-shows in Rwanda 1993/94. The rest is in French and Kinyawranda, but that should give you enough insight into what was going on.

I’m starting with one that’s from October 21 1990 for you to connect some dots: RR_21Oct90_eng_K036-2134-K036-2138.pdf

The next ones are those that come from the nitty-gritty, although there are some serious time-lapses in between.

Also, when you read the word Inyenzi, that means cockroach (Tutsi). There was an article in one of the papers; I cannot remember its name now, but the headline stuck with me throughout the years:

“A cockroach cannot bring forth a butterfly.”

The editorial argued that the Tutsi, like a cockroach, use the cover of darkness to infiltrate: “the Tutsi camouflages himself to commit crimes.”

Another word you’ll read is Inkotanyi, which means “invincible”, and is the nickname given to the Tutsi rebel army, but it was also used in the connection with “Cutting down Tall Trees”, meaning killing Tutsi.

Like the Nazis did to the Jews of Germany and later in the occupied Territories, and what we’re seeing now, was and is a build-up to genocide, in my humble opinion.

This time it’s just on a monstrous scale never seen before in recorded human history.

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Hi-Yo Silver!

For his entire career after leaving the army, my father was employed by the NSA as a cryptographer. His work sometimes required him to travel. In the early days, when I was a small child, he often traveled to Germany, the North of England, and Alaska. Many years later, long after he retired, I realized that those locations must have been listening stations where the agency was picking up the SIGINT that he was tasked with decrypting. I also realized that that was the reason why he had a Russian-English dictionary and a Russian grammar on his bookshelf (he also had a Swedish-English dictionary, but I’m not sure why he needed that).

Later in his career, as his work became largely administrative, his travels were generally more mundane. In 1964 he paid a visit to St. Paul, Minnesota (maybe there was an NSA field office up there) and stayed at the Twins Motor Hotel. For some reason he brought back a menu from the motel’s coffee shop, and I’m glad he did, because it gives me a little window into restaurant prices back then. I was still too young to pay much attention to prices and inflation, so I wouldn’t have otherwise remembered.

Just as a thought experiment, imagine that my father bought the “Burger Steak Supreme” with a cup of coffee. Salisbury steak, fries, cole slaw, and rolls for $1.25. Coffee was a dime. My father was decent tipper, so he probably handed the waitress a dollar bill, two quarters, and a dime, and told her to keep the change.

The dollar bill would have been a Silver Certificate, and not the Monopoly money — Federal Reserve Notes — that circulates nowadays.

You could take a $1 Silver Certificate down to the bank and exchange it for a silver dollar. I remember doing just that, and getting one of those beautiful Morgan dollars. I was still little, so it felt huge and heavy in the palm of my hand.

My dad wouldn’t have used a silver dollar, though. They still circulated, and you would occasionally see people spending them (usually the later Peace Dollars, which were much less attractive), but quarters and half dollars were used most of the time.

To continue this thought experiment, let’s imagine that he paid for his meal with two Franklin halves, two Washington quarters, and a Mercury dime. Roosevelt dimes were more common by 1964, but Mercuries (strictly speaking, Winged Liberty dimes) were still in circulation, and were more pleasing to the eye, so I prefer to imagine one of those.

Now let’s imagine that he decided to spare his waistline, forgo his lunch, and use his $1.60 in silver to open a savings account for the benefit of his young son. In those days banks were statutorily required to pay 4% annual interest on savings accounts. I remember my passbook, with occasional small deposits noted inside, and the line where a little bit of interest was added each quarter.

At some point between those halcyon days and 1980 the rules changed, and banks no longer had to pay 4% on savings accounts. Interest rates became paltry, and anyone who wanted their savings to accrue significant interest found other vehicles for their money.

But let’s pretend that somehow that little savings account kept chugging along at 4%. When I reached my majority I eschewed withdrawing the money, and left it in the account. As of today it has managed to increase in value to $14.96.

“Big woo, Baron,” I hear you say. “That doesn’t even beat inflation.”

No, it doesn’t. But the funny thing is, neither does the current value of the silver. More on that later.

If my father had hung onto those five silver coins, and I had inherited them, as of today they would be worth approximately $33.60. If I took them down to the local silver dealer, that’s about what he would give me in Federal Reserve play money for their “melt value”. A savings account would have had to pay roughly 5.5% annual interest in order for the deposit to have accrued that much value since 1964.

Now let’s think about what the same meal would cost you today. As it happens, I ate almost the same lunch a couple of days ago at a diner in the little town in the hinterlands where I went to visit relatives. I had a more upscale vegetable than cole slaw (greens), but I had to order it à la carte. Since the diner wasn’t as swank as the Twins Motor Hotel, we’ll just assume they more or less even out. With the coffee (which costs a LOT more these days) and tip, my meal came in at just over $19 in pretend money. That’s more than the 4% savings rate would have given me on the original $1.60, but less than the current value of those silver coins.

However… Restaurant prices haven’t inflated to the extent that other commodities have. Consider what a car or a new house cost you in 1964. Back in the late 1950s my parents paid $22,000 for a custom-built three-bedroom, two-bath brick ranch on a large lot. If I still owned it, that property would be worth about a million in today’s market. In comparison, 22,000 silver dollars are now worth about $460,000 — less than half as much.

So what gives? Why didn’t silver keep up?

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I bring all this up because one of Francis W. Porretto’s recent posts discussed Silver Certificates, the Federal Reserve, legal tender, and currency in general. It got me to thinking about changes in the currency since 1964.

As it happens, 1964 was the last year that the Treasury minted silver coins. At that point no silver dollars had been minted since 1935. From 1965 on dimes, quarters, and half dollars were made of a copper-nickel “sandwich”. People called the ugly new coins “Johnson slugs” because they were introduced during the Johnson administration.

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On the Eve of Destruction

A gloomy message sent by Seneca III from the multicultural dominion formerly known as England.

On the Eve of Destruction

by Seneca III

CHANGE is both a constant and a variable; a constant because it is always with us, a variable because its flavour and intensity changes over time. In itself this is not a bad thing, but when change takes a wrong turning in the road and descends into an age of national decay and suicidal lunacy such as that which is now upon us, we must either return to the start line and begin again or accept that we will have to sacrifice our integrity, honour, way of life and independence… and our country as well.

Barry McGuire got it spot on. This song is old, but it doesn’t age:

“Better days will return, we will be with our friends again, we will be with our families again, we will meet again.”
— Her Majesty the Queen, 5th April 2020.

Over half a century ago I swore an oath, the same oath that all persons enlisting or commissioned into the British Armed Forces, except Royal Navy Officers, are required to attest to or equivalently affirm:

I _____ swear by Almighty God (or do solemnly, and truly declare and affirm) that I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, Her Heirs and Successors, and that I will, as in duty bound, honestly and faithfully defend Her Majesty, Her Heirs and Successors, in Person, Crown and Dignity against all enemies, and will observe and obey all orders of Her Majesty, Her Heirs and Successors, and of the (admirals / generals/ air officers depending on the particular Service) and officers set over me. (So help me God.)

[Until recently no oath of allegiance was sworn by members of the Royal Navy, which is not maintained under an Act of Parliament but by the royal prerogative. This is still the case for officers as, by nature of the Navy’s authority deriving from the Crown and not Parliament, the loyalty of naval officers to the Sovereign is taken for granted.]

However, Her Majesty is no more an immortal than you or I. Her time will come as it will for all of us, as evolution has designed us to eventually shuffle of this mortal coil in order to make room for the next lot. The sad thing is that her immediate successor does not inspire confidence in me, to put it mildly, and this causes me to have to seriously reconsider that part of my oath that refers so repetitively to ‘Heirs and Successors’.

Yet there may be hope for the second in line and his charming, duty-conscious family if they have not been too badly afflicted by the verbal ramblings, divided loyalties and ideological circumlocutions of the current Crown Prince. I do hope so. Our Constitutional Monarchy is a wonderful thing, and serves as a safe harbour for all of our hopes and custodian of much of our physical and historic heritage that the Wokists are doing everything in their power to rub from the pages of history. I also have nightmare visions of a Republic led perhaps by a President Blair or Johnson or Starmer or their ilk.

Anyway, enough of me. So where, now, do we find ourselves?

Not necessarily, I suspect, looking out across bloodstained foreign fields and barricades again, but inward, to our homelands, to the cities, the occupied territories where several generations of feral incomers go about their daily business of crime, drug peddling, benefit scrounging, mugging and gratuitous violence mostly beyond the control of an overstretched Woke and Common-Purposed constabulary carrying out selective law enforcement and led by serial incompetents who are supported by a Judiciary fully on board with the same agenda, none of whom our spineless government will or can do anything about, as more reinforcements for these ferals come piling ashore on a daily basis aided and abetted by France.

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The Crash of Civilization

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The Crash of Civilization

by Fjordman

The terror attacks of September 11, 2001 were the type of shocking event where many people remember exactly where they were and what they did that day. Personally, I was living in Egypt at that time. I had started studying Arabic language at the University of Bergen in western Norway. In 2001 I continued these studies at the American University in Cairo.

My linguistic skills in Arabic were mediocre. Since I left the Middle East in 2003 and haven’t practiced the language since, my Arabic has deteriorated and is now quite poor. For me, studying Arabic primarily became a door into studying Islam and Islamic culture. I was far better in this field of study, and continued my personal studies of Islam for years. I am at heart not a linguist, but rather an analyst with a strong interest in history.

Before September 2001, I was already growing more skeptical of Islam based on my own studies and personal experiences. Still, living in the largest city in the Arabic-speaking world during the September 11 Jihadist attacks was certainly interesting. The Mubarak regime imposed a curfew on Tahrir Square and parts of downtown Cairo that day. Perhaps they feared that some local Muslims would publicly celebrate the attacks, the way some Palestinian Muslims did. When Egypt received billions of dollars in aid from the USA, this would not have been good publicity.

I followed the news and newspapers back home via the Internet. They claimed that all Arabs and Muslims were sad and horrified by the attacks. This is not true. I know. I was there. Some of my Egyptian Muslim neighbors celebrated with cakes and said openly that they were very happy about the attacks.

To me, the most shocking thing about this was not that many Arabs and Muslims hated the West in general and the USA in particular. I already knew that. What was truly disturbing was that virtually the entire Western world seemed to be in complete denial about this fact. This was an entire civilization which once used to cultivate logic and reason, yet now seemed to have lost the ability to think rationally. That really scared me.

The Chinese military strategist Sun Tzu completed his book The Art of War around the year 500 BC. Despite being more than 2,500 years old, it remains surprisingly fresh and relevant. This is because Sun Tzu focused mainly on the psychological aspects of conflict. While human technology has changed greatly in 2,500 years, human psychology has changed a lot less. One of the most famous quotes from The Art of War is this:

“If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.”

From what I observed in September 2001, it seemed that the Western world had forgotten who our enemies are. Far worse, though, was that we had even forgotten who we are, and the roots of our own civilization.

A decade later, another terror attack would have an even more direct impact on my life. Both attacks became national traumas. Yet the 2011 attacks in Norway were carried out by a single individual acting alone, whose alleged terrorist network only existed inside his mentally disturbed head. The 2001 attacks in the USA were carried out by many different individuals from a real international terror network whose ideology has adherents worldwide. Moreover, when a small country is attacked, this is bad for that small country. When a large and powerful country is attacked, this has geopolitical consequences.

By 2011, I had been living in the same flat in Oslo for eight years, since my return from the Middle East. When the July 22 attacks happened, some people blamed me personally for the atrocities. I suddenly found myself near the epicenter of an international news story. This was extremely unpleasant, but in some ways also educational. If the 2001 attacks weakened my trust in Western mass media, the 2011 attacks totally destroyed it.

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Been There. Done That.

Unless some compelling reason emerges in future years, this will be my last 9-11 anniversary post.

It’s been an educational twenty years, to say the least. The first three anniversaries came up before Dymphna and I started blogging in October of 2004. During those years we had begun our studies of Islam and sharia, eventually launching Gates of Vienna to make our own small contribution to what later became known as the Counterjihad. From 2005 onward, one or the other of us always did a commemorative post when September 11th rolled around.

I still remember what I was doing when I heard the news on that bright, cool September morning, and how the day subsequently unfolded, but I’m not going to write about all that — I’ve covered it too many times before. And I’ll stay away from the political sequelae, except to note that the way the Patriot Act was eventually abused was at least as bad as the most skeptical libertarians predicted, and probably worse.

Over the next decade I spent a lot of time educating myself about Islam and sharia. Beginning in 2009, retired Major Stephen Coughlin was especially helpful in furthering my education. He made me understand the depth and breadth of the penetration of the federal government and the military by the Muslim Brotherhood, to the point that we had written sharia into the constitutions that we devised for Iraq and Afghanistan.

At first it seemed that a combination of ignorance and cluelessness had led to such foolhardy behavior, but as time went by — especially after the Islamophiles in the Obama administration got going full throttle — I realized that there was more than mere ignorance at work. Yes, there were plenty of ill-informed and stupid people at the upper levels of the government and the military, but John Brennan — just to pick an example — was not one of them. There was no way that he could have failed to understand exactly what the Muslim Brotherhood was up to. Thus we can only conclude that Islamization is part of the Deep State’s plan for the deconstruction of Western Civilization.

As the teens wore on, my cynicism and disillusionment about our government got worse and worse. I had started out with the naïve idea that there were decent people among our political leaders who really were attempting to do their best for the country. However, the true state of affairs eventually became ineluctable: corruption and malevolence were (and are) the norm, from the lowest to the highest levels of government. There are a few very rare exceptions, but they play no meaningful role in steering the ship of state.

The five years since Donald Trump stormed onto the political scene have really clarified the extent of the evil rot that has eaten out the core of our political and cultural institutions. The investigation and impeachment of Mr. Trump revealed the true purpose of the Patriot Act. And last fall’s election showed that the Deep State now has full control over the counting of the votes, so that no future elections will show any results other than those they intend. Diehard Republicans who are salivating over the midterms or 2024 are the most clueless of all. If they haven’t yet realized the nature of our new totalitarian dystopia, they probably never will. There’s no voting our way out of this.

So here we are, twenty years later. Afghanistan has reverted to what it was in 2001, except with much better roads, airfields, telecommunications, and surveillance equipment. We just handed the country over to the mujahideen we overthrew back then, lavishing upon them such quantities of state-of-the-art munitions and equipment that they will be the most powerful jihad army ever assembled, courtesy of the United States of America.

Here at home we are entering the full Corona despotism that the paranoid cynics among us have been predicting ever since the start of the “pandemic”. Since I intend to remain unjabbed, by this time next year I don’t know whether I’ll be able to get medical treatment, or eat in a restaurant, or even shop in a supermarket. By September 11, 2022 I might be unable to post a 9-11 commemoration, even if I wanted to.

I remember the ubiquitous “Never Forget” banners that popped up all over the place after 9-11. I didn’t forget.

I remember the “Let’s roll!” spirit that emerged. I rolled as best I could.

I remember when George W. Bush promised to hunt down the evil perpetrators and bring them to justice. And he did manage to round up quite a few of them and stash them in Gitmo until they were released to become ministers in the new government of Afghanistan.

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Danish Days

Steen has posted an excellent selection of photos of Fjordman taken during the latter’s exile in Denmark.

Now that Fjordman has given permission for photos of him to be published, I dug through my image archives to see what I could find. I have a fair number of photos taken between 2007 and 2013, the last time I was in Europe. It fills me with a kind of nostalgic melancholy to look at them, since I know I’ll never see Denmark again, given that that I won’t be getting the “vaccination”. Even if I could somehow hop a catamaran to cross the Atlantic like Greta Thunberg, the Danish immigration authorities would still want to see my vaccine passport before they’d let me in.

A lot of the photos in my archive can’t be posted, because they contain other people who have yet to go public, and I don’t feel like trying to pixelate all of them out. However, I picked out a small selection to post here.

Steen took this photo of Fjordman and me in Copenhagen after one of our Counterjihad meetings in 2009:

Not all the photos are from Denmark. This one of Fjordman with Tommy Robinson was taken at an event in London in 2011:

Fjordman and Tommy Robinson, 2011

You can see Elisabeth Sabaditsch-Wolff in the left background.

As he mentioned in his post on Thursday, Fjordman spent some time in the USA in the spring of 2012 during the trial of Anders Behring Breivik. While he was here, he went to several wine tastings:

Fjordman at a wine tasting, 2012

In the process of digging through various folders, I came across a couple of screen shots of the letter that Anders Behring Breivik wrote and sent to major media outlets in the fall of 2013:

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July 22, Ten Years On

Ten years ago today Anders Behring Breivik murdered 77 people in Oslo and on the island of Utøya. Of all the Counterjihad activists who were impacted by the political blowback from the attacks, none was more affected than Fjordman. Below are his remarks on the occasion of the anniversary.

July 22, Ten Years On

by Fjordman

Sometimes life can be very strange. When I was eating lunch in my small basement flat in Oslo on July 22, 2011, I did not anticipate that in a few hours my country would be rocked by a brutal mass murder. And I certainly did not expect that these events would also turn every aspect of my own life upside down.

Suddenly and without warning, I was thrown into the epicenter of an international media storm. Less than two weeks later, I had evacuated my home and fled from Norway out of serious concerns for my safety. At this point, I was publicly accused of being a possible accomplice to mass murder, and the suggested brains behind an international terrorist network. If my life in the summer of 2011 had been the script for a film, it would have been rejected as being too improbable to happen in real life. Yet all of this did happen to me, plus a lot more. All because of the actions of a man I have never once met in my entire life, not even for a cup of coffee.

Ten years later, things have calmed down somewhat. I have managed to reestablish a reasonably stable personal life. However, this is a new life in a new country.

I quietly moved back to Norway in 2017, to see whether it was possible for me to have a normal life there again. The answer was no. Three and a half years of applying for jobs turned out to be futile. I got no job whatsoever, not even as an unskilled laborer in factories, butcheries or the fishing industry. I applied for such jobs, too, not just for work in offices or shops.

In early 2021, I therefore decided to leave Norway again, for the second time in less than ten years. It is unlikely that I will return in the foreseeable future for anything other than short visits.

A decade of smears following the July 22 attacks by Anders Behring Breivik has left its mark. Norwegian media still publish new articles suggesting that I inspired mass murder. New comments are still being published on social media claiming that I have the blood of children on my hands. Not every month, fortunately, but from time to time.

Being quoted in Breivik’s confused compendium/manifesto is by far the greatest curse of my life. Nothing else even comes close. But perhaps it is possible to be cursed and blessed at the same time. I was also blessed with being surrounded by kind people. Both old friends and new friends alike.

I was homeless for some time. Friends in Denmark referred to me, only half-jokingly, as a political refugee from Norway. My first temporary home was with my friend Steen Raaschou in Copenhagen. He was exceptionally patient, and allowed me to occupy his sofa for months at a time. I also stayed for a while with professor emeritus Bent Jensen and his lovely Russian wife Tatjana. In the spring of 2012 I spent several months in the USA, and never lacked a bed to sleep in. My friend Ned May from Gates of Vienna helped me with this arrangement*. Not all of those who helped me probably want to be named. But they know who they are, and they have my gratitude.

In 2011, I had a part-time job in Oslo, working with young people suffering from autism. After the massive and extremely negative media focus on me in July and August of 2011, it was impossible for me to keep doing this job. Frankly, it was probably dangerous for me to even stay in my old flat. So I suddenly no longer had a job or steady income at the same time as I had to spend money on lawyers.

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A Summer of Madness

Ten years ago I walked this street; my dreams were riding tall.
Tonight I would be thankful, Lord, for any dreams at all.

— Robert Hunter, from “Mission in the Rain”

Tomorrow is the tenth anniversary of the terrorist attack in Norway. On July 22, 2011, a man named Anders Behring Breivik detonated a truck bomb in central Oslo next to government headquarters, killing eight people. While police and emergency services were dealing with the aftermath, Mr. Breivik drove to the island of Utøya, where a summer camp for Socialist Youth was being held. There he methodically shot and killed sixty-nine teenagers with a high-powered rifle. When police finally arrived at the island, he calmly surrendered.

Anders Behring Breivik was a neo-Nazi, but that fact did not emerge until several years later, when he wrote a letter to multiple media outlets and admitted that his declared affiliation with the Counterjihad movement had been a strategic misdirection, to spare his Aryan nationalist comrades from persecution. That part of his letter to the media was widely ignored, and was never publicly reported by any major outlet. To this day he is widely identified as an anti-Islam ideologue.

Before he committed his atrocities, Mr. Breivik had arranged the media distribution of his manifesto, or as he preferred to call it, “the compendium”. It was a lengthy, rambling treatise. It contained some of his own writing, but most of it consisted of extensive quotes from various English-language writers, the most prominent of which were Fjordman and Robert Spencer of Jihad Watch.

Those writers and others mentioned in the manifesto became the focus of a media frenzy beginning the following morning. Progressive pundits applied their usual pseudo-syllogism to the Utøya massacre:

1.   Breivik admired Fjordman.
2.   Breivik massacred innocent people.
3.   Therefore Fjordman was at least partially responsible for the atrocity. Q.E.D.

As I mentioned above, the Butcher of Utøya did not really look up to Fjordman; his admiration was a feint. So even the pseudo-syllogism was wrong. But none of that mattered; any information to the contrary was ignored by the left-wing media. Fjordman became an object of universal loathing. In Norway he was Public Enemy #1, in some ways eclipsing Breivik himself.

Up until that time Fjordman had only published his essays under a pseudonym. Beginning on the morning of July 23, the press and internet sleuths began an intensive effort to unmask him. It was only a matter of time before his real identity was uncovered, so after retaining counsel and making himself known to police, he outed himself via an interview with the tabloid VG. After that he fled the country and went into hiding.

And it’s a good thing he did: there were calls for him to be arrested and tried as Mr. Breivik’s accomplice, despite the fact that the two had never met, and Fjordman had never advocated violence in any form. But Norwegian public opinion did not bother itself with such trivial matters as facts and the truth. The slaughter on Utøya required a scapegoat, and Fjordman was chosen for the role.

He lived outside of Norway for a number of years, and only returned when the risk of arrest had diminished. However, he was unable to find work. Any prospective employer who was aware of who he was would refuse to hire him, and if he somehow found a job, even a menial one, he would be discharged as soon as his employer became aware of his identity. Now, ten years after the attack, he is living outside the country again, since he is unemployable in his homeland.

And, regardless of Mr. Breivik’s admission that his admiration for Fjordman was a ruse, Fjordman is still widely known as “Breivik’s mentor”.

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I won’t go into the Breivik affair in great detail, since this is primarily a reminiscence about the effect the atrocity had on Gates of Vienna and the Counterjihad in general. To learn more, check out the archives for the period from July 22, 2011 to ca. November 2011. Or look up the relevant items in the Fjordman Files. The trial of Anders Behring Breivik sucked up a lot of our blogging oxygen in the spring of 2012; see Circus Breivik for a relevant sample.

Because Gates of Vienna was the main venue for Fjordman’s writings, and was mentioned repeatedly in the killer’s manifesto, this site was put under the media’s klieg lights beginning the day after the massacre. We were thrust into a prominence we had never seen before (or since). It was a hideous kind of fame that I would never have asked for — they say there’s no such thing as bad publicity, but my experience in the summer of 2011 makes me vehemently disagree.

In the first few weeks we received hundreds (maybe thousands) of emails. Some of them were simply requests for information, but they were mostly hate mail, sometimes in Norwegian and Swedish. Various media outlets wanted to contact Fjordman, and I dutifully passed the messages on to him, but he didn’t respond to any of them.

The number of comments at Gates of Vienna (which was still on blogspot at the time) rose into the hundreds for each post, many of them from obvious trolls and provocateurs employed by one or another state intelligence service. They soon became unmanageable, so we reluctantly closed the blog to comments for a couple of months. When we reactivated them, we made them subject to moderation, and they’ve been that way ever since. It’s frustrating and annoying for commenters to have to wait to see their contributions appear, but otherwise Dymphna and I would have been unable to cope with all the trolls and provocateurs.

By the beginning of the week following the attack, media outlets started contacting me. They somehow managed to obtain my phone number, and I received calls from newspapers in Norway and the UK. Needless to say, I declined to say anything to them.

During our fifteen minutes of lurid fame we were mentioned in The New York Times and The Washington Post, among other illustrious publications. The following report from the NYT told its readers that Anders Behring Breivik had commented on Gates of Vienna several times:

What they said was quite true. Fortunately, I had already been alerted to the fact by a European contact, who told me the pseudonym that had been used by Mr. Breivik, so I was able to track down all his comments. Some people urged me to delete them, but that’s not the way we do business here at Gates of Vienna. First of all, nothing ever disappears completely from the Internet; it can always be found in the Wayback Machine or other web archives. But more importantly, I don’t believe in hiding the truth, whether it makes me look bad or not. So I collected all of the Butcher’s comments and reposted them.

Other things published by major media outlets, particularly the British tabloids, were not as accurate. The Washington Post published my name and something about me that was completely, factually false. I sent them an email demanding that they retract and correct their error, but I knew that nothing would happen. All I could do was post about what they did and ridicule them. If I had been a famous movie actress or best-selling novelist who could afford to retain high-powered lawyers, I might have had more success. But the WaPo knows it has nothing to fear from minnows like me.

Other papers, especially the tabloids, published even more ludicrous falsehoods about Gates of Vienna — who we were associated with, where we got our funding, etc., etc. And they asserted various bogus things about other people in the Counterjihad whom I knew personally — so-and-so is funded by the Koch Brothers, or the Mossad, or whatever. Just absolute nonsense.

That summer taught me not to believe ANYTHING that I read in the media unless it is corroborated by multiple independent sources and has a breadcrumb trail that leads back to verifiable facts. Which doesn’t leave much. Reading media news reports has become a form of entertainment for me, like reading mystery novels or watching The Simpsons.

The general effect on the Counterjihad was catastrophic. A lot of sites, especially those in Europe, closed down for good. A number of Counterjihad activists I knew personally soiled their breeches and fled the field at the first whiff of grapeshot. I must admit that I became exasperated with them — I said, “You knew how serious this work was when you got into it. What did you think we were doing, playing tiddlywinks??”

However, in retrospect, I’ve had to acknowledge that they did what they had to do. Unlike me, most of them had day jobs. They stood to lose a lot if they were exposed. Some of them had families to support. I can’t judge them. They dropped out of sight, and I haven’t heard from them since.

A few people urged me to shut down Gates of Vienna. But my Scots blood comes to the fore at such times, and my natural response is defiance. I said, “F**K THAT S**T!” [emphasis in the original] and soldiered on. It was a rough time, and I didn’t get much sleep for the first couple of months. But we weathered the storm.

On the whole, however, it was a major setback from which the Counterjihad never fully recovered. The resistance to Islamization has never returned to the level of July 21, 2011. Freedom of speech has been eroded even further, and sharia is now de facto in force in much of the West.

Dymphna and I always thought that Anders Behring Breivik’s machinations had been guided and assisted by a certain three-letter agency with the assistance of Norwegian intelligence. His “compendium” was obviously in large part not his own work, and his selection of “mentors” was exquisitely chosen to do maximum damage to those who opposed Islamization, at the exact time when Secretary of State Hillary Clinton was in the thick of collaborating with the Muslim Brotherhood in what eventually became known as the “Istanbul Process”. Resistance to Islam was a thorn in her side, and Anders Behring Breivik helped remove it.

I don’t think mass slaughter was part of the plan, however — the Norwegians would never have co-operated with such an operation. I think the intention was to let Mr. Breivik put together his scheme, and then roll it up at the last moment before it was executed. There would have been a prominent arrest, followed by maximum media publicity for his manifesto.

However, just before the plans matured, Wikileaks released a damaging series of documents showing some of the things [agency name redacted] had been up to in Europe, which forced them to shut down their presence in the American embassy in Oslo and withdraw Mr. Breivik’s handlers. The Butcher of Utøya was then let off his leash, and the rest is history.

Whether mass slaughter was intended or not, the plan was a great success. The Counterjihad was hobbled, the spread of sharia proceeded apace, and the Obama administration became a servant of the Muslim Brotherhood. And the Biden administration is, in effect, Obama’s third term.

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Before I close these remarks, I’d like to address an appalling issue that has emerged surrounding the mass murder committed by Anders Behring Breivik. When it first came up it was very distressing, but I’ve had ten years to get used to it. Now it’s just something that I have to endure whenever the topic is broached on this site.

In those early days I was shocked by the number of people who supported Mr. Breivik and considered him a hero for what he did. And I’m not talking about the neo-Nazis and Aryan supremacists, but more mainstream people who oppose mass immigration and hate socialism. Every time I post something about the Butcher of Utøya they pop up again and express their admiration for him.

I’m not going to tolerate such comments, and will delete them when they appear. You might as well spare yourself the effort. If you want, you can visit Storm Front and similar sites and make your remarks there, where you’ll get a sympathetic reception and find a lot of people who agree with you.

I’m familiar with the arguments that people make to justify their opinion: Mr. Breivik was targeting future socialists, who would otherwise have grown up and entered politics and invited even more of the Third World into Norway. But that’s a specious line of reasoning, in my opinion. The mass slaughter only hardened public opinion against those who oppose mass immigration, and made it even more difficult to restrain such immigration. Killing all those kids inspired no sympathy for the Aryan cause; it had the opposite effect.

But that’s just the practical, utilitarian argument against it.

Mr. Breivik’s strategy was a recapitulation of one of the major trends of the 20th century: the mass extermination of entire classes of people. For him it was Young Socialists. For Hitler it was Jews, gypsies, communists, homosexuals, and the feeble-minded. For Stalin it was counter-revolutionaries, “wreckers”, the bourgeoisie, kulaks, and Ukrainians. For Pol Pot it was the intellectuals. For the Hutus it was the Tutsis. For Muslims it was Jews, Christians, Hindus, and other infidels.

What all the architects of those atrocities have in common is that they considered it morally justifiable, and even laudable, to engage in the mass slaughter of people based on their membership in a particular class — a race, a social class, an occupation, a nationality, etc. Individuals meant nothing. Those who engineered the massacres were not required to determine whether their victims were guilty of any crimes, or even subscribed to a particular ideology. They were members of a class, and for that reason they deserved to die. Men, women, children, invalids, the elderly and enfeebled — all had to go.

That is a pernicious mindset, and I’ll have none of it. It was the bane of the 20th century, and we’ve no business extending it into the 21st.

I know the counter-arguments — we’re in a war, and war sometimes requires us to do horrible things, etc., etc. If we want to win, we have to grit our teeth and do what is necessary.

Well, if that’s what it takes to win, then I don’t want to win. I’ll go down to defeat rather than jump into that particular boxcar to hell.

A Midsummer Daydream

Dymphna died just four days before the thirty-ninth anniversary of the celebration of our marriage. The photo at the top of this post was taken forty-one years ago today, on June 21, 1980 (our actual marriage had taken place the previous fall at the county courthouse). After the service we held a reception for relatives and friends back at our house, which is now known as Schloss Bodissey.

I’ve blurred out the face of my good friend in the background who officiated at our little service, and cropped off the maid of honor on my left and the best man on Dymphna’s right.

My mother had given Dymphna her own mother’s wedding ring, and I’m wearing my late father’s wedding ring.

1980 — just the other day!

The Biologic Urge to Readjust the Map of Europe

In the two years since Dymphna died I have dedicated myself to putting my affairs in order, so that the future Baron won’t have too hard a time when I shuffle off this mortal coil and go to claim my 72 virgins. One of the most difficult and time-consuming tasks has been to clean out, cull, and reorganize the material in the filing cabinets here at Schloss Bodissey. I have to pull out all the papers and scrutinize them before deciding whether to keep them or not. In the process I have come across a number of delightful surprises, plus a few mysteries.

An example of the latter is a hand-written chart (to be discussed in detail below). It’s in pencil, in my handwriting (and very small — you can tell my eyes were still working), written on the back of a computer printout that dates it to 1990. It’s basically a compendium of territorial changes in Europe between 1916 and 1945.

(Click to enlarge)

The big mystery is: why the heck did I put the thing together? It was written fourteen years before we started blogging. The future Baron was too small at that point for the document to have been one my lesson plans for him. The material in it closely tracks what I had to absorb to take my A-levels (and special papers) in European history. But it was written twenty years after I took my exams, so I couldn’t possibly have been regurgitating it from memory. I can tell I consulted the Harvard Encyclopedia of World History (a 1948 edition inherited from my father that is now held together by duct tape. It is one of the most treasured resources in my reference library, second only to the Oxford Dictionary of English Etymology). Alas, I can no longer read it without a magnifying glass, so I won’t be checking any of the dates and facts on my chart to make sure they’re right.

For weeks I puzzled over the document, trying to figure out why I compiled it. My best guess is that Dymphna had been reading something — possibly The Guns of August by Barbara Tuchman — and wanted to know about the territorial adjustments made in the map of Europe by the Treaty of Versailles and others that followed in the wake of the Great War. She knew I was well-versed in modern European history, so she must have asked me if I would put something together that would summarize it for her. I would have been delighted by her request, because I love to do that sort of thing — or used to, when my eyes still functioned normally.

The chart is a useful resource, so I took the trouble to transcribe it as well as I could. Doing so brought back memories of all that old A-level material. Vojvodina! I hadn’t thought about that name in a while. And some of the other names — Serbia, Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia-Herzegovina, Moldavia, etc. — are well-known now, because they’re sovereign states, but they weren’t in 1990; they were still socialist republics within one or the other of the communist superstates.

I can still remember a few more names that didn’t make it to the chart — the Sanjak of Novi Bazar, for example, or Eastern Rumelia.

The map of Europe was drastically reorganized after 1917 (after the Bolshevik Revolution, that is) and then even more so after 1918 in a series of treaties that divvied up the territory of the collapsed empires. Adolf Hitler did his part to rearrange the map even further, and then major revisions took place after the end of World War Two until 1946 or so. After that everything was frozen in place by the Cold War for the next 45 years. Then suddenly in the 1990s you started to see names in the newspaper that hadn’t been there since the 1930s — Montenegro, for instance, and Estonia. And things are still in flux now — who knows what the map of Europe will look like after the EU finally collapses?

Here’s my transcription of the document. I tried to put it in date order as far as possible. I expanded abbreviations when I was sure what they meant; otherwise I left them as-is:

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June 17, 1953: The East German Uprising Against the Communists

As I mentioned yesterday, June 17 is the anniversary of my wife Dymphna’s death. Until today, when the translation below arrived in my inbox, I wasn’t aware of any other significant event associated with that date. Now I know that yesterday was the sixty-eighth anniversary of the popular uprising against the communists and the Soviets in the DDR.

Many thanks to Hellequin GB for translating this article from Junge Freiheit:

June 17, 1953: “The sheer hatred of the communists”

Interview June 17, 2021
by Moritz Schwarz

At the end of the war Walther Frielitz fled from Silesia to Thuringia as a child, where he witnessed the popular uprising against SED [Sozialistische Einheitspartei Deutschlands, Socialist Unity Party] rule on June 17 in 1953 . Today nobody wants to hear the contemporary witnesses. But he fights against oblivion.

Mr. Frielitz, you saw the end of the war….

Walther Frielitz: Yes — I didn’t catch a bullet until June 17, 1953 in Thuringia, even though I didn’t come from there.

How so?

Frielitz: My grandfather was a shoe manufacturer in Waldenburg near Breslau. As a trained businessman, my father and my uncle took over the company with around eighty employees. But both were drafted in 1944 — and stayed in the war. When the Red Army approached in 1945, my grandfather decided: “There is a hospital train going west and you are going with us! I was able to get tickets for you guys!” I was nine and it was an enormous sight. The train consisted of many, many cars and was pulled by two locomotives! Wounded, Red Cross personnel and only refugee families with children were allowed to go with them.

So you could escape relatively “comfortably”?

Frielitz: Yes, but when we crossed our feet while we waited, I was amazed: What is there in a row under blankets? — They were dead soldiers! Each time the wounded were unloaded who had not survived the rigors of the transport or who had succumbed to their wounds. In the rush they were simply placed on the platform and the journey continued — just get away from the Russians! We were unloaded near Gera, namely in Weida in Thuringia. And so we were spared from being overrun by the Russians. Because Thuringia was conquered by the Americans and only later handed over to the Russians in exchange for West Berlin.

“Those were terrible pictures”

Wasn’t that a shock then?

Frielitz: It was bad that the Russians took the animals out of people’s stables. The Americans didn’t do that. Which does not mean that they did not steal: The refugees were distributed in Weida and we were quartered in a manor in nearby Mosen, the owner of which had fled to the west. When the Americans came, they just took everything there that was valuable. Then when they evacuated Thuringia, of all people they warned us about the “thieving Russians”. But rightly so, because they now stole from the manor what was not valuable enough to the Americans, i.e. actually everything that was not nailed down.

The Russian soldiers were also dangerous, especially to the women. In any case, the Americans were well cared for by their army, even for us children sometimes something came our way. The Russians, on the other hand, had to rob or starve. They were very, very poor people anyway. We witnessed how they treated their own soldiers: inhuman, absolutely inhuman! If someone did not toe the line or perhaps had stolen, they would be ruthlessly beaten! I thought: My God, they’re killing their own people! Well, they beat them half to death and then they left the poor devils, covered in blood, unconscious on the street. Those were terrible pictures.

You were a middle-class merchant family. Weren’t you afraid of persecution by the Russians and, after the DDR [Deutsche Demokratische Republik, German Democratic Republic] was founded in 1949, by the SED?

Frielitz: Oh, we had lost everything, our house, the factory, everything was gone. We didn’t even think about politics, we were concerned with survival! My mother was happy when she saw her four children go to school again. When I came home from trade school one day sometime later, on June 17, 1953, it was like wildfire: “Did you hear? Strike in Berlin! And it’s starting in Gera, too! We have to go there!” A couple of drivers came with their trucks ready to support the strikes and to carry all who wanted to take part to Gera.

But you said you were apolitical.

Frielitz: We all were. Capitalism, communism — most of them didn’t understand what it was. But everyone had learned by now that one had to be afraid of communism — and what kind of people they were!

“Files flew out of the windows and the SED people fled”


Frielitz: The SED had a lot of dodgy people — all of whom could not be trusted, who cheated others, who had no morals. The communists gave them advantage and influence if they participated. That was how the bottom came up — dissolute guys pestering people. And if you opposed it, you risked [being sent to the] camp!

So you jumped on a truck?

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We Could Do Nothing, Being Sold

From time to time Saturday is Poetry Day here at Gates of Vienna, and today seems an appropriate occasion — given that it’s the first Saturday since the Investiture of the Puppet — to repost an old favorite by Edwin Muir. I’ve posted it at least twice in the past, but it’s worth revisiting.

I don’t know why people are complaining about the legitimacy of last November’s election. I mean, we got the best election money can buy* — what’s not to like?

As a matter of interest, I memorized this poem for my O-Level examinations when I attended the High School in Harrogate. Except for the odd preposition here and there, the text in my head seems to be intact some fifty-three years later:

The Castle
by Edwin Muir

All through that summer at ease we lay,
And daily from the turret wall
We watched the mowers in the hay
And the enemy half a mile away —
They seemed no threat to us at all.

For what, we thought, had we to fear
With our arms and provender, load on load,
Our towering battlements, tier on tier,
And friendly allies drawing near
On every leafy summer road?

Our gates were strong, our walls were thick,
So smooth and high, no man could win
A foothold there, no clever trick
Could take us, have us dead or quick.
Only a bird could have got in.

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Laughing Into 2021

Dymphna and I made somewhat of a tradition of posting “Laughing into 1939” on New Year’s Eve, most recently four years ago. It’s a song from Al Stewart’s 1995 album Between the Wars, and is always worth listening to as we ring out the old and ring in the new.

I’ve been laughing into 1939 for almost fifteen years now. Will it ever actually arrive? Or will we somehow manage to skip it, and go straight to 1946? Or, better yet, 1968…

The New Year’s celebrations in the Year of the Corona will be somewhat restrained. The ball is going to drop on schedule in Times Square, but the only people there to see it will be select municipal employees who have been granted the privilege to be present, socially distanced and wearing their masks.

All around the globe New Year’s Eve parties have been banned. In major cities the CoPo will be enforcing the lockdown. Be careful when you raise that glass of organic sustainably grown fair-trade champagne!

Happy New Year, everybody. The Boogaloo awaits us!

The lyrics to the song are below:

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A Lost Generation

Like me, JLH is the age group that is most at risk from COVID-19 (although he’s a ways further along in that group than I am). Below is his take on the current Coronamadness, and what it portends for younger generations.

A Lost Generation

by JLH

It’s a pain for all of us — wearing a mask, keeping social distance. But, in a way, it is easier for those of us most vulnerable. We just have to follow the rules and try to stay safe. Those who are considered most at risk are often retired — able to stay out of the mainstream of life until this all goes away (when?). And we also have the choice of resisting it in whatever way we wish.

Even if we live out our lives this way, we have already had lives. We went to school, had proms, dated and mingled. It’s there in our memories. What we are deprived of is perhaps one more trip we wanted to take, the parties we still wanted to give and attend.

If you live to a certain age, how much do you have to complain of? If your life was not completely to your satisfaction, that may have had something to do with how you lived it.

But how responsible is a sixteen— or seventeen-year-old high school student for what is happening to him or her? Classes at a distance — not only no real contact with the teacher, but with classmates. Maybe abbreviated, masked attendance at classes where not everyone understands everyone else. Where the teacher may sound as if he or she is talking with a mouthful of mashed potatoes. Where the teachers, too, are frustrated by seeing only a fraction of students at a time — possibly teaching the same thing twice. Where you can ask a student “What did you learn in your two days of class this week?” And the answer is “Nothing.”

What happens to the average student in an average town, in an average school, whose average parents have no idea about home-schooling? Is this their lost year? Will it be the only one? Will there be whole cohorts of youngsters whose minds and psyches will forever be stunted by the (hopefully one) year of stasis?

Nowadays, even young kids are into online surfing, texting, e-mailing. Sometimes someone of the older generations sees them with their noses in a phone and thinks, “Why aren’t they running around, skipping rope, playing sandlot baseball, capture-the-flag?” Adding a mask only intensifies the “flight inward”.

And the little ones… How do you explain to a 2-year-old that it’s okay that he/she can’t breathe so well, or eat M&Ms or (heaven forbid) chew bubble gum. Once we get home and close the door, you can, uh, watch TV without a mask on. But don’t go to your sister’s room for the next two weeks, okay?

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