London saw swarms of Black Lives Matter marauders again this weekend. Seneca III sends this report.

London is Being Ethnically Cleansed — The Rest of us Are Next

by Seneca III

Preamble

Today in Africa-on-Thames there were two supposed ‘protests’. Their assembly points, routes and final destinations had been designated and published to keep them separate at all times before the dispersal time of 1500hrs. Either by intent or by sheer incompetence the Metropolitan Police under the titular command of Commissioner Cressida Dick, but actually under that of the Mayor, Sadiq Khan, the Paki bus driver’s son, one time legal defender of Muslim terrorists and a Labour Party stalwart, failed miserably.

One of these groups was the usual collection of BLM/Antifa semi-sentient thugs and criminals who by now had learned how to co-ordinate their movements — well, they’ve certainly had a lot of practice recently!

The other group were a relatively smaller ragtag and barely organised bunch of anti-BLM protestors whom the Police tightly kettled in a small corner of Trafalgar Square, their designated area, such that when the Black mob were permitted to infiltrate the area the Brits were trapped and had to sustain a barrage of flares and firecrackers. Plod did nothing to stop this nor other sporadic attacks upon them.

However, no doubt our impartial media will report otherwise. Here I will end this brief report on the early situation and focus on a singular event which occurred elsewhere after the second group had left the area and it was occupied by the cheering Black mob punching their fists into the air as if to threaten Nelson himself. As, again, Plod looked on.

They thought they had won, and they had, thanks to Khan and Dick and their inadequate and in many cases Common-Purposed constabulary on the ground. I wonder what the hero of Trafalgar, still stolidly looking straight ahead, must have thought of that disgusting scene playing out below.

Simian pack-attack on a lone white man and then a possible knifing/slashing followed by a head stomping when he goes down.

In Africa this is the norm — remember Rwanda? …

…and here in what once was our capital city the immigrant hunting pack gathers and attacks its prey.

As the prey tries to escape it is encircled and there is now nothing left to it can do but face its fate.

Then one of the pack breaks away, the one in the grey track suit, seen here just off the left shoulder of the other hoodie who is waiting in the foreground to make a quick, covert, weapons pass to the striker.

Meanwhile the fleeing prey is finally stopped dead in its tracks by a stomach kick from a third animal.

Animal 1 then uses whatever is passed (by the look of the way it is being held probably a small, concealable fist shiv designed to slash rather than wound, a popular piece of kit where these bottom-dwellers camp out).

Note the position of its right hand and arm ready for an upward extended strike and then a swift slicing withdrawal.

Note again that this is not a punch, but a move to pass the weapon under the chin and then draw it back across the throat of the prey.

Which it does and then turns and legs it, disappearing off screen still clasping whatever is in its hand.

Note also the gloves it is wearing so that there will be no DNA trace or prints on the weapon in case it has to be quickly dumped — the passer was also wearing gloves, so there can be little doubt that this was a well-practised and common procedure. The motif on the hat of the other thing in the foreground says all you need to know, really.

The full video is below — if it has not already been pulled by the time this report is published. Everything happens very quickly, and to follow the action in detail you will have to rapidly stop-start several times.

Conversely, earlier, this one was protesting ‘peacefully’, albeit somewhat loudly…

…but the…

…in the main sequence above were not protesting, they were out for a kill.

Penultimately, take a look at this snap just before Plod arrived and broke up the final stages of the attack with some difficulty. The female in the white top and blue jeans was one of the kickers/head-stompers…

[Tip —she leads with the left boot so is probably a southpaw.]

…and here she is bugging out as Plod arrived. I wonder if anyone knows who she is?

And, just to complete the icing on Plod’s cake in case they are actually looking for them in order to charge them with ‘accidental wounding’ or something similar (protected species, remember!), here is a different picture of the principal perp without his hood and mask.

He’s really not the ripest coconut on the palm tree after all.

Whatever else this day may have done, it has illuminated the fact that within human cultures, particularly between civilized peoples and rampaging barbarians, war has always been the most common form of political intercourse between tribes. It is invariably the result of competition for resources, precipitated by an incursion or invasion undertaken by one group with the intention of seizing the resources of another group.

As the human mind is inarguably the ultimate resource our species possesses, it endows unlimited power and wealth upon those who can control it. Be they priests or politicians, or an unholy alliance of both, those who seek to gain such control so define their ultimate objective. Hence, the suppression or subordination of a group identity is the principal determinant in the enslavement or extermination of one tribe by another. It is both the essential precursor to and the sine qua non of abiding conquest… and it’s happening to us now.

This, however, is not unusual: The historic course of all civilizations is cyclic in nature. Over a period of three to four hundred years, on average, all of them return to a similar common starting point, a point always defined by a darkness of the collective soul and a loss of moral fortitude. It is there and then that an inevitable movement for a return to old ways and meanings begins to form. Imagine if you will a civilization’s chronological pendulum completing a vertical ellipse rather than just an arc at the bottom.

At the superior apogee, twelve noon in the cycle, the pendulum almost pauses at a point of stability before beginning its inevitable descent, accelerating slowly at first, even imperceptibly, but ever faster as the gravity of cultural entropy increases its velocity until it approaches the inferior apogee, midnight, where then it begins its at first rapid but ever-slowing climb back into the light.

It is there, at midnight and immediately before and beyond, that chaos rules, and with it comes a time in human affairs that does indeed try men’s souls; a time where dawn remains but a hope beyond an unseen horizon, where the night people are well about and yet to be put to the sword and where is found the formative crucible within which men and women, bound by strength and tradition, gather together and stand firm against the depredations of barbarism.

Here is a standard media mealy mouthed subservient ‘far-right this and far-right that’ report from Breitbart London… Andrew must be turning in has grave.

The same applies to the Daily Mail by several orders of magnitude; I gave up trying to count the number of times it used the phrase ‘FAR RIGHT’! However, read the comments and you will see that the readership does not agree.

The link to the video of the purported knifing incident is here, and you the reader must make your own analysis and come to your own conclusions, as no further news has broken as of the time of writing.

Conclusion

As the future unfolds before us, we white, real indigenous Brits are going to have to make a stand or turn our backs on what we once were and should have remained and accept what is coming down on us. Unless we take that future into own hands, act according to our needs and damn the traitors in Westminster* and the media parrots, then we are finished, ethnically cleansed and forgotten… the fate of all tribes that cannot or will not defend themselves and repel invaders with a greater ferocity than that which is being inflicted upon them.

The future always belongs to the victorious, not to the defeated.

— Seneca III, as my homeland sky darkens about me in sunny Middle England on this the 13th day of June in the year of our Lord 2020.

For links to previous essays by Seneca III, see the Seneca III Archives.