I come from a small town that is, in many ways, a microcosm of America. My small southern hamlet in Appalachia was, in my youth, a town of 6,000. My graduating class was fewer than 100, and everyone knew each other and the intimate details and histories of each of the town’s families.
The people I grew up with didn’t know of Pat Buchanan or Michael Anton, but they were conservative. They did not know about John Calvin, Roger Williams, or R.C. Sproul, but they were Christians who believed in God’s plan for the world.
A hundred years ago, the town was the prosperous hub of a rail line; 60 years ago, it was the fiefdom of one of the last heroes of the Southern gentry, who made a valiant stand in defense of freedom of association and against forced integration. Twenty years ago, the town boasted several factories; today, only ghosts of that glorious past remain.
Yes, my town, not unlike many towns in the United States, was a victim of the post-war consensus. A consensus among the cosmopolitan class that white people are the only people who cannot have a civilization because of World War II. A consensus that Whites must accept “cultural enrichment,” and demographic replacement.
While my hometown lacks many amenities suburban Americans would want, it was, and still is, a Mayberry. I say still is because this is not a story of decline, but of growth, and the consequences of growth. You see, in the last four years, my small Appalachian town has seen rapid population growth. We have new houses and businesses. Our highway now has three lanes instead of two. Newcomers and money are pouring in. This sounds wonderful until you realize it is not.
The new homes are cookie-cutter McMansions built by clearing out our beautiful woodlands, and they are owned by Blackrock, which cares more about the Benjamins than the Average Joe. The businesses aren’t revitalizing our shuttered Main Street; they’re gas stations and fast-food joints for those getting on and off the interstate that runs alongside the town. None of these businesses, of course, is run by the Smiths and Clines who lost their jobs at the auto factory, but by Patels and Singhs.
This is not growth like a teenager becoming an adult; it is cancerous growth. The spiritually-void neighborhoods growing like tumors by gas stations are turning my hometown into a pit stop for foreigners who drive two hours to their jobs in defense, or lobbying, or in some cosmopolitan corporation.
What was once a little Mayberry is now a little Islamabad. For the first time, we have students going to school in hijabs; the old theater is a Spanish-language center for new arrivals; packages are now stolen from doorsteps; Christmas is now called the “winter celebration.” An idiotic town council encouraged all this against the wishes of the original residents.
My little town is truly a Camp of the Saints. Surrounded by an invading army, and with town leaders who lecture heritage residents on the need for growth and acceptance, while newcomers suck the blood out of what was once a strong community.
This is happening all over America. Our nation is being conquered, our mothers and sisters are being violated, and our ancestors insulted by people who could not improve their own societies. Our leaders do nothing.
The question of our time is whether whites will be permitted to be a people with a homeland. That question has one answer: an unequivocal yes. And to secure a future for ourselves and our posterity, whites have only one option: total remigration for everyone who came after the 1965 Hart-Cellar Immigration Act. The old men in government won’t make it happen. Fearless, action-oriented young people will. It’s time, young men and women, to turn your plowshares into metaphorical swords.
Make your state unwelcome for those marauders who would build a fire with your oak door, and turn churches into pagan temples. Condemn Hindu idols in your hometown, and loudspeakers blasting Muslim calls to prayer. You must save your homeland so that your children may enjoy the fruits of your labor in a safe, homogenous nation.
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