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Just before Communist tanks rumbled into Saigon in 1975, the American radio station played repeatedly Irving Berlin’s “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas,” as crooned by Bing Crosby. It was the final alarm for Americans to rush to predesignated evacuation points. All was lost for Uncle Sam.

As an 11-year-old in Saigon, I didn’t know Bing Crosby from Dave Bing, the hall of fame point guard, nor have I seen snow. Christmas in Saigon was always hot and festive, with hundreds of people converging on its cathedral. All neighborhood churches overflowed for midnight mass. Star shaped lanterns hung at Catholic homes, and nativity scenes, often elaborate, could be seen even at private businesses, not just churches. My grandma glowed from so much happiness.

Playing “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas” during April was certainly bizarre. In “Elvis Phong is Dead,” I fictionalize that moment, “I remember April 30, 1975 very well. I was sitting in my office at Viet Rock!, overlooking Nguyen Hue Boulevard. I could hear distant explosions and nearby gunshots. No sirens, strangely enough. Get away from the window, I thought absentmindedly but did nothing. I felt fatalistic that day, and wanted to be implicated in history, a vain and pompous notion. In any case, I had my radio turned on to the American station, in an early bid for nostalgia perhaps. Someone was singing ‘I’m Dreaming Of A White Christmas.’ Sick, absolutely sick!, the American sense of humor. A few blocks away, people were clawing at each other and trampling on bodies to get aboard the last ships to leave Saigon. I should have been among them. Communist tanks were rumbling in and I was going to be toast as the foremost rock and roll critic of Vietnam.”

I created a fictional Vietnamese rock critic because nothing symbolizes American vitality, innocence and irresponsibility as rock and roll. It can make even death or hell virile and sexy. In any case, a lot disappeared that day, and much is being vaporized now. The darkest Christmas is near.

With Uncle Sam blocking cheap natural gas from Russia, many Europeans will freeze to death. Suicides, domestic violence, food prices and vaccine fatalities, especially among the young, are way up. Soccer players collapse during games. Most Christmas markets in Germany and Austria have been canceled. Normally, they last over a month, with each night a carnival. Wurst and gluhwein, plus lángos, too.

Across Europe, hundreds of thousands of people have protested for months the Covid health pass, lockdowns or toxic jabs, but most Americans have no idea, as they’re brainwashed and tranquilized relentlessly by their Jewy government and media.

Their uniformity alone should wake you up. If the New York Times, Washington Post, Yahoo! News and the Economist, etc., all push the I’ll-wipe-you-out-and-dash-your-children-against-the-rocks Yahweh vaccines, what about the littlest guys, in Bitsy Bung Holes?

Let’s check in on the Toledo Blade:

The goal should be to admit the gravity of the situation, stand and fight, but somehow also carry on.

Hence, we must take reasonable precautions but also calculated risks; note that being homebound is not as bad as being hospitalbound or standing in a breadline or crouching in a foxhole; and we wait, patiently, for the vaccine.

Idaho Statesman:

Decades of research has proven that vaccinations are literally our best shot at corralling COVID-19. Ask anyone over 80 years old about living with measles, mumps, and polio. Vaccines work and the data supporting their effectiveness is overwhelming.

[…]

As someone who worked at the CDC for 21 years, as an expert in vaccine-preventable diseases, I can tell you that following the proven science of vaccinations is our best path out of the pandemic. The COVID vaccines have been thoroughly tested, meeting strict FDA and CDC criteria, and safety is being closely monitored.

Hattiesburg American:

Mississippi just passed the grim milestone of 10,000 people lost to COVID-19. When a vaccine was announced, I told anyone in my circles I would take it if it allowed me to hug my now 94-year-old grandmother again, among other things.

This last editorialist, Marlon A. Walker, says that from the start of Covid, he wore masks and gloves everywhere, and “When the Amazon truck made a delivery, the box sat in the foyer at my townhouse to give time for the COVID-19 to wear off.” That’s some serious science, man.

It’s too bad Michael Jackson isn’t around to warn us against Covid. Way ahead of his time, a prophet really, Jackson wore masks for no good reason decades before it was mandated. Fornicating air on stage, Jacko fled in terror from all fleshy women, with their methanogens, yeasts and bacteria, up unseen channels, lurking in the dark, ready to ambush. Corona-chan is ready to mount you, Michael.

A public sex machine molested children in private, but then America’s most complete male athlete is an aging cross dresser. It’s all image.

Beyond the Jewy media spin, there’s grief everywhere, with all of it drawing almost no attention.

In a suburb of Melbourne, a woman placed a sign in her car’s back window, “NO ONE CARES, MANDATES ARE KILLING US.” Pouring four cans of gasoline on herself, she then set herself on fire.

Also in Australia, Aboriginals uploaded an SOS on YouTube. They say they’re being force vaccinated by Australian and foreign troops, with those trying to flee fined \$3,586 [5,000 Australian dollars]:

We need international attention focused on what’s happening here in our communities […] So this is martial law. This is a war crime. This is a crime against humanity […] We are the Guinea pigs. We are the dry run for everything […] Do not think because you live in major cities that you avoid of it. This is a dry run for the rest of the country and the rest of the world.

In Portland, Maine, a 39-year-old man, Nicholas Mitchell, was sentenced to 4 years and 9 months for putting razor blades and screws in pizza dough at supermarkets.

Here’s the context: because of Covid, his girlfriend couldn’t work as a hair stylist. They argued, so cops arrested him. Homeless, Nick had to live in his car, then he was fired from It’ll Be Pizza. His felony, then, was a crazed attempt to get even. Luckily, no one was hurt.

For those on the lowest rungs, to eat and pay rent is already a huge challenge, physically, mentally and psychically, so any additional stress can be catastrophic. Without Covid, Nick’s life would not have nose dived.

In Vietnam, only 35 people died from Covid in 12 months before “vaccines” were introduced. In eight months since, 27,600 have perished. Last week, three teens were killed immediately after their second Pfizer shot. A hundred and twenty ended up in the hospital.

A Saigon friend is very sick after being Pfizered twice. Divorced, he has a 12-year-old son he raises alone. I can’t imagine how terrified this kid is. Quiet and smart, the boy’s big treat was an occasional trip to the KFC. Last time I saw them, we watched Vietnam playing somebody at a café.

Fearing arrest for using fake Covid vaccine certificates, a German killed his wife and children, aged 10, 8 and 4, then himself. So many unnecessary tragedies, with millions more to come, if not billions. There has never been a crime on this scale, with each life in every country affected.

 

In Hanoi in 1998, poet Phan Huyen Thu gave me an anthology of the earliest Vietnamese prose, a book that’s now in a box in Moorestown, NJ, at my friend Ian Keenan’s house. Along with all my other books, which constitute my mental terrain, roughly, I won’t see it again. Life is loss, in installments.

Though I read every page with much interest, all its characters have disappeared, except a certain ghost that used to bother people at a Hanoi wet market. Meaning no harm, he was just frustrated, it’s clear, at not being seen and heard properly, like the rest of us, especially now.

In a 15th century account of just over 100 words, this ghost lives, then, an individual with sane, normal needs. Though fleshless, he’s social and keeps no distance, unlike too many of us, entombed, as we are, in a chimeric fear. Snap out of it, fools!

Granted, we had faded into nearly nothing even before this. By consensus, we had agreed to become mostly virtual. Still, handshakes were normal, hugs were OK and we routinely saw each other’s lips, teeth and tongue. Now, with our body’s last exposed orifices concealed, we move singly along, rubbing against nothing.

This regiment of self-erasure hasn’t been followed universally, however. Here and there, as in Sub-Saharan Africa and most of the Balkans until recently, people have maintained their ordinary tics and intercourses. During my 21 months of Covid-enforced wandering, I’ve been lucky to encounter life as it has always been, with people, almost unthinkingly, just being themselves, most gloriously. Let’s meet three.

In downtown Skopje, there’s Ramstone Mall, which bills itself as not just a center of shopping, but of friendship. Filled with anticipation, I barged in and wasn’t disappointed. In a wooden shack, there’s a white haired man drawing portraits under a sign, “ART STUDIO/ SAIGON / SABEDIN EJUPI.”

“Excuse me, Sir, but why is your studio called Saigon? I’m, uh, from Saigon.”

Showing not the least surprise at having such an unlikely visitor, 64-year-old Sabedin Ejupi explained that when he was 11, a chocolate company had a promotion. Each piece of chocolate came with a picture of a national capital. If you could collect the entire set, you’d win a prize.

Sabedin and his friends, then, bought way too many pieces of chocolate. With infinite patience, they gathered, you know, Washington, Paris, Moscow, Peking, Seoul and Cairo, etc., but no one ever came up with Saigon. With the Vietnam War raging, that elusive city was always in the news, like a daily taunt to these frustrated Macedonian boys.

Fate touched Sabedin, however, for he heard there was a place that sold these pictures. He went there and, sure enough, they had the extremely rare Saigon one! What a miraculous snatch!

Winning, Sabedin wasn’t just the envy of all his friends, he became Saigon, that unreachable, ghostlike city now reduced to just one tiny, inaccurate photo. It could have been anywhere, really. More Saigon than me, Sabedin was still Saigon half a century later, and he’ll die as Saigon, of course, without ever seeing his namesake.

My first morning in Cape Town, I walked nearly the length of Kloof onto Long. In any new city, each building is curious, each shop sign, each passerby. Near the corner of Wale, some grinning guy at a sandwich stand yelled at me, “Hey!”

I just had a long flight, I thought, with two layovers. I slept on the floor in Rome. I haven’t had breakfast. Just leave me alone, man. I don’t want your sandwich. Looking at him, I nodded and grinned, quickened my pace.

Each time after that, he would do the same, even when I was on the other side of the street, so I said, “You’ve got to stop yelling at me, man. I’m afraid to walk by you!”

Finally, I bought a cup of coffee from this dude. We talked. As I got to know him better, I realized he yelled at everybody, in the most cheerful way. Seeing a woman walking by, he might say while putting two fists to his chest, “Oh, I’m so happy!”

“You’re a total whore, man. You flirt with every woman!” I ribbed.

“They’re beautiful.”

“Hey, that’s a good attitude. I hate guys who always judge women. She’s this, she’s that, but then, look at you, man!”

“That’s right. Ha, ha!”

“Hey, you didn’t say hello to her!”

“Which one?”

“That one.” Studiously, we stared at this lithe woman in a tight, gray dress strolling away.

“I didn’t see her.”

“She’s offended.”

“I can’t say hello to her if I don’t see her.”

Twenty-seven-years-old, he had never been outside South Africa. Though white enough, he actually had a colored father, whom he had no memory of. His dad was abusive to his mom, so she moved away and raised two sons alone. She’s English.

Like most working people, he was not a reader, it’s clear, so his knowledge of the world was very limited. So what. Once, he asked me if the Portuguese language was native to Angola? Another time, if cheeseburgers were popular in the USA?

Like most South Africans, he’s fluent in Afrikaans and English, of course, but since he didn’t have a third language, like most South African blacks, he was trying to teach himself Xhosa. It’s not easy, he stated, for there were few resources online, but he was determined. Each language is a new, unsuspected universe. Plus, none is as rooted to that land as Xhosa. Going nowhere, he dug.

Already, I’m in Windhoek five weeks. I’ve just moved into my second apartment. It’s bigger, quieter yet cheaper. My landlord is an Indian who’s interesting to talk to.

Most of the streets in my neighborhood honor German composers, Beethoven, Bach, Wagner, Brahms, Schubert, Strauss, Mozart and Gluck. Hey, where are Mendelssohnstrasse and Schoenbergstrasse?! For such blatant antisemitism, Windhoek must be renamed Stevereichstadt, Bobdylanburg or, simply, Streisand.

Compared to Cape Town or, frankly, Columbus, Ohio, Windhoek is a bit dull, but this suits me fine, for I need rest. There are no cafes or restaurants near me, just an old woman across Beethoven who sells lunch, I suppose, from a single pot. I haven’t asked her to lift the lid.

Half a mile away, though, there’s Old Location, a bar and restaurant named after a black neighborhood that was cleared out by the South Africans, when they ruled Namibia.

Drinking a Hansa there one day, I met our final character for this article. Seeing Joana walk in, the barmaid tensed up, but served her anyway. A short, wild-eyed woman in her 60’s, Joana lost no time raving. Clearly unhappy with this earth, she started to rant about space exploration.

“So you’re a philosopher,” I said.

“And a politician!”

“Why do you want to go to space? There’s nothing there. I’d rather stay here.”

“But we must explore!”

Turning to the barmaid, I asked, “Do you want to go to space?”

“Are you making fun of me?” Joana snapped.

“No, I’m just saying. There’s nothing out there. Everything is here.”

“You’re right. It is horrible, but everything is here.”

Frowning slightly, the barmaid clearly didn’t want me to encourage Joana, but it was too late. I learnt she was an ex-teacher who lived with several relatives just down the street. “Come,” she said, “I want to show you how we live.”

 
• Category: Culture/Society, History • Tags: South Africa 

My last night in Cape Town was spent at 91 Loop Boutique Hostel. Paying \$33, I had a rather large, if very spartan, room, with my own toilet. With six beds, it was clearly intended as a dorm space, but tourists were still scarce, thanks to Covid.

A filling breakfast was included, and it wasn’t just a buffet, but prepared to order. As is usual at any hostel, the clientele was mostly young. I noticed a Southeast Asian, a rare sight in Cape Town.

(During my three-month stay, I had met a Vietnamese-American and a Filipina, both under 30. As we chattered over coffee, they kept their masks on between sips. When I said I didn’t trust the Covid “vaccines,” the Vietnamese-American got even chillier. At least the Filipina smiled with her eyes. Neither understood why I’d stray outside Cape Town’s safest zones, or take a taxi van.)

The Southeast Asian at 91 Loop was a Filipino nurse working in Qatar, where he had spent six years. Before that, he was in Saudi Arabia. Eric had the confident, easy manner that comes with knowing you’re good looking. (God has blessed me in the opposite direction, however. If I was handsome, I’d be unbearable, even to myself.)

Applying for a job in Springfield, Missouri, Eric had just taken a test in Joburg. As everyone must know by now, American hospitals are constantly recruiting foreign nurses and doctors.

I had to warn Eric about leaving Qatar for Springfield, “You must know Filipinos in the States? Ask them about the situation there. Also, make sure you can save while working in the US. You don’t want to regret leaving Qatar.”

After twelve years abroad, Eric had stashed away enough to ponder opening a mini hotel back home, “In Bukidnon. I’m from the same province as Manny Pacquiao!”

“Your next president!”

“Ha, ha!”

Investing in tourism during a worsening Covid crisis is not exactly wise, but hey, he’ll figure it out soon enough. In any case, Eric hadn’t been home since Covid was launched. His last two vacations, he spent in Georgia and Armenia.

Overhearing our conversation, a young man at a nearby table introduced himself, “I’m sorry, but I hear you guys talking about jobs overseas?”

“He’s applying for a job in the US. Where are you from?”

“I’m South African, but I want to get out. It’s horrible here.” Thin, Dean had a worried face and defeated posture.

“Are you from Cape Town?”

“Just north of here. I just got cheated. That’s why I’m at this hostel. A guy rented me a room he didn’t own.”

“How much did you lose?”

“Just a month’s rent.”

“You’re lucky.”

“I know.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I’ll look at another room today. It’s cheap enough. I hope it works out.”

“You can always move into a township!”

“Yeah, right.”

“And get killed!”

“Even if I don’t,” he frowned, “I can’t walk 50 yards to get water to do my laundry. I’m a white man.”

“I’m just kidding. So what do you do, man?”

“I work at a sporting club. I sit at the entrance and collect the money. I’m sort of the manager there,” he chuckled. “That’s one job where they still want a white man!”

“What do you mean?”

“The Africans, they steal.”

“Hmmm.”

“For just about every other job, a white man is at the bottom. There’s a thing here called Black Economic Empowerment.”

“Like Affirmative Action in the States.”

“Exactly, so white men are below blacks, women, gays, black women, everybody! I know a black woman who doesn’t even show up to work! She doesn’t have to, and her company doesn’t really care. They just hired her because she’s a black woman.”

There’s a cartoon by Anton Kannmeyer, a Capetonian artist. In a corporate office, a bald white man is interviewing a black woman. She has huge lips and fro. He’s a middle-aged Tintin. “I SEE BY YOUR RESUME THAT YOU’RE A BLACK WOMAN,” he says.

“It’s wrong, man. All racism is wrong.”

“I know, but that’s just how it is here. That’s why I want to get out. Do you have any suggestion?” Dean half grinned.

“Listen, when this Covid bullshit is over, you should consider going to Asia. You can teach English there. In East Asia,” I laughed, “being white is actually an asset.”

“Yeah?”

“Seriously. Have you traveled much?”

“Ten years ago, I went to the UK. I worked there for two years, saved some money, then came back.”

“How much did you save?”

“12,000 pounds.”

“That’s pretty good! You must have worked your ass off.”

“Yeah, but I also had fun. I had friends, I partied, I drank. Now, I’m making the same money I made ten years ago, but prices have gone way, way up. Twice as much! I’m 32-years-old. It’s horrible.”

As a teenager, Dean made the national baseball team, but was bumped to make room for a black. When his dad offered to buy some of the team’s equipment to get Dean reinstalled, he balked. He didn’t want any derision from his teammates.

In Cape Town, I met skilled or entrepreneurial whites who weren’t just doing well, but absolutely loved the Western Cape. A white couple drove me to a vineyard where whites, plus a few coloreds and blacks, enjoyed drinks and food at long tables, set outside amid a magnificent landscape.

Near Cape Town’s touristy waterfront, I chanced upon Un/Settled, an art installation by white South African Sydelle Willow Smith. Various whites are quoted at length with their photos.

Seen on his ocean-facing veranda, a clearly affluent Albie Sachs says, “You do not shed the aspects that constitute you as somebody with a history, with a culture, with a presence that is particular […] The next generation are picking up the remaining elements of white hegemony, with an assumed sense of superiority and white living conditions. There is no ‘one size fits all’ in relation to anything in South Africa. Everything is jumbled up and mixed up. When the shackles of overt racism fall the pinpricks of covert racism hurt unbearably.”

Chavi Alheit, “I just think white people, white South Africans are the luckiest nation, community, whatever you want to call it, in the world. For all intents and purposes we all should have been macheted a long time ago. And the fact that we are still living with comforts and advantages that we have, really goes to say a lot for the black population. We really should be thankful towards them. They have been very tolerant of us.”

Terry Oakley Smith, “I suppose the only glimmer of hope on the horizon is that we as whites only make up 8% of the population so we are becoming increasingly irrelevant.” Judging by her tasteful clothing and jewelry, it’s obvious Terry is no trash.

Sydelle Willow Smith also shows photos of whites at the horse races and in a desert swimming pool, to emphasize their privileges.

 

The most salient feature of totalitarianism is control of movement, which entails tracking each citizen. Before the internet era, this could only be achieved roughly.

The state knew John Smith lived on Lumumba Street and worked on Stalin Avenue. If Smith wanted to spend a night at a woman’s apartment, she had to register him at the neighborhood police station. Big Brother entered the bedroom, but not totally, for he couldn’t hear all the sibilants, exhalations and squishes. Daytime movement was generally unmonitored, but the state always knew where you were at night.

Smith’s ID card also prevented him from moving to the next city, much less getting a better job there, so he was stuck in Bidenstadt, his hometown.

Smith was free, though, to walk into any state store to browse, for as long as he wanted, its empty shelves.

Now, the state knows where Smith is all the time. At 5:51:15PM, this scowling man is again at Blather Bar, next to Red Levine, who, despite his name, also has alternative right tendencies. Vein-popping fans of Steve Sailer, each has left hundreds of fist-pumping comments, under “sigofnig” and “xxxxrabbi.”

For the state, the whole point of tracking is to reward or punish, mostly the latter. In the past, you’d be invited to the police station, or just dragged off the street. Now, punishment can be much tidier, and instant, even for the tiniest sin. That’s where the vaccine, green, access or health passport comes in.

Required to have one, Smith can be prevented from entering Blather, or any bar, for that matter. If his transgression is bad enough, Smith will be blocked from any indoor space, period, except the shoelace factory, corner grocery and his basement apartment, though even this last privilege can be revoked.

Traipsing home exhausted one winter evening, Smith discovers his passport no longer opens his building’s door. He must have said something at work, or the evening before, at Blather. Maybe it was an online comment. Smith should have known. Several of his neighbors have been locked out. He deserves it, Smith thought of one he disliked intensely, and not just politically. Let him die! Now, it’s his turn.

To prevent such scenarios, we must reject the newly-introduced right-to-live pass. Worse than Soviet-era internal passports, it can prevent us from buying even a cheeseburger. As with the jab that’s designed to sicken, disable, sterilize or kill, it’s not about our wellbeing. No pass, no entry means we’re constantly at their mercy.

Having already killed millions, they want to cull billions of us and strangle the rest. Half of this earth must be reverted to nature, they preach, but they’re not going anywhere, nor will they curb their indulgences. As they splurge on slabs of gold-leafed Aberdeen angus, we’ll have to swallow wood lice and brown marmorated stink bugs, with upcycled shit for variety. Trust the science!

Covid has been engineered to steer us to this point. Terrifying us with inflated death figures and apocalyptic predictions, they herd us into vaccine chambers, while explaining, preposterously, that only Nazis resist.

Presenting himself as synonymous with “science,” a psychopathic doctor keeps insisting we trust him, even as he wobbles or contradicts himself, with his only constant a relentless push for the poison jab, which, of course, also rakes in billions for his patrons.

For helping Big Pharma to sicken, addict and kill over half a century, Fauci is rewarded with a bigger salary than any US government employee’s, including the President’s.

Though the left is supposedly most sensitive to animal rights, they just shrug at Fauci having puppies, with their vocal cords cut, eaten alive by ants. These staunch defenders of “people of color” are also unfazed by Fauci’s mass murder of black and brown babies in dubious experiments.

If you have a relative or friend who’s still uncertain about Covid jabs, give him immediately Robert F. Kennedy Jr.’s The Real Anthony Fauci—Bill Gates, Big Pharma, and the Global War on Democracy and Public Health. You might save his life, and his children’s, too.

Meanwhile, Pfizer boss Albert Boula indignantly declares that those who resist his genocidal vaccine are criminals! Satanist inversion, indeed.

Before this staged insanity, they teased us with tales of space travel and mars colonization. They knew we weren’t going anywhere, except under, en masse.

Their plan can be thwarted, though, if there’s a collective will, but first, we must see through their lies, and call out the liars.

“No way I’m going to stick my chicken neck out for nothing! I’m not going to dox myself!”

Acquiescing, you’ll be forced to wear a “health” bracelet, or have a coin-sized chip implanted in your skull. Since happiness, relief, anger or arousal, etc., can be measured, the state will be instantly alerted to your incorrect response to a face, text or sound, as emitted by your Samsung or Apple tracking device.

It’s hard to be amputated from your portable porn theater, vanity broadcast and selfie camera, I know.

Already, our lives are mostly virtual. We’ve been eased, all along, into lockdown, but life, all of it, must be reclaimed.

Linh Dinh’s latest book is Postcards from the End of America. He maintains a regularly updated photo blog.

 

Born into a war, I was a refugee by 11, living in a tent in Guam, then an army barrack in Arkansas.

In 2015, I wrote “Our Refugee Future,” because I knew that nearly all of us, even the most comfortable or smug, were only too likely to become refugees soon enough.

I said, “There is always an economic reason behind a refugee crisis. People flee because they can no longer make a living due to a tyrannical government, foreign intervention or evil ideology, not just bombs falling.”

And, “Count yourself lucky if you’re allowed to thrive in your native environment, a place you’ve been groomed for since birth. Too many of us, though, have been forced to reinvent ourselves to somewhat fit into one or even several alien environments.”

I’ve also said repeatedly that Mexico would need a border wall more than the US, to block panicking Americans from flooding into their country.

Each time I talked about America’s dismal prospects, I would get shouted down, predictably, with one reader screaming that the USA would be number one for the next five hundred years. Poor man’s no student of history. When I suggested the best solution was secession, to protect local freedoms and autonomy from Washington’s suffocating diktats, another reader sneered that I, as “a perennial ESL students,” had no business advocating the breakup of “his” country. One man said it was “an affront” for a yellow man to discuss America’s problems. These will be solved by people of European descent only. Since they’re doing such a great job, as we can all see, I should just bug off.

Since Covid broke out, I’ve been to Laos, Vietnam, South Korea, Serbia, North Macedonia, Lebanon, Egypt, Albania, Montenegro, South Africa and now Namibia. Though each of these countries face serious challenges that are compounded by Covid, with Lebanon perhaps the most imperiled, all of these societies are still more intact and resilient than the crumbling USA, with cracks everywhere you look, with smoke, if not fire, billowing out of windows.

Collectively threatened, Americans are still stuck on red vs. blue, blacks vs. whites or Biden suckers vs. Trump swallowers, etc. In the mainstream and alternative media, Jews rile racial bile. Works every time.

Glad to be in the cheapest seats, they cheer for their favorite playas, while just outside the stadium, everything burns. Leaving the rigged game, they’ll spend the rest of their lives trying to find their clunkers. “I’m pretty sure it was right here. How are we going to get home?”

But home, too, is gone. There’s nothing to return to. Klaus Schwab, “Many of us are pondering when things will return to normal. The short response is: never.”

I’ve written, “There’s no true resistance or hope for America until the first meaningful assassination. Only galvanized by this can a pushback begin,” and who knows, this can still happen. All it takes is the first man with balls, and access, of course. You can’t win, though, if you don’t even know who you must fight. Isn’t that obvious?

War produces many more refugees than warriors or martyrs. Threatened, people will run.

Outside a downtown shopping mall in Windhoek, there’s a 62-year-old Serb who sells T-shirts, caps and posters celebrating leftist leaders, like Chavez, Lumumba, Biko and even Stalin. A poster depicting “RUSSIAN TZAR PUTIN” is not meant ironically, for the Serb loves this much-demonized adversary of America.

Escaping the war that broke up Yugoslavia, he’s been in Africa for 30 years, with stays in Angola, Uganda, Zambia and South Africa. “Namibia is best,” he tells me. A hardcore Communist, he had no cause to fight for in Yugoslavia, even if he was inclined.

When I ask him if he misses Serbia, he makes a hugging gesture and says, “No, I’m not,” to mean he’s no clinger. He hasn’t been to Serbia in 15 or 20 years, he can’t even remember.

As a white refugee in black Africa, the Serb is unusual, but there will be more, millions more. Even before Covid insanity, many Germans and Englishmen were buying houses in Cape Town to move in. There, I also met a Lebanese realtor who was counting on his fluency in English, French and Arab to sell houses to foreigners.

When I pointed out that, despite its problems, Cape Town had some magnificent neighborhoods where whites lived splendidly, I was, predictably, screamed at by angry white Americans. They just wanted to believe no whites could live peacefully in Sub-Saharan Africa, because, you know, all these uncontrollable blacks just couldn’t wait to rape the nearest white woman. For these raging whites, it’s an unending pornography, apparently.

Say refugees and most people will think of black, brown or yellow hordes invading white nations, but most Arab refugees, for example, end up in nearby Arab countries. Before it was itself attacked, Syria absorbed at least 1.5 million Iraqis fleeing white/Jewish aggression. In tiny Lebanon, there are nearly half a million Palestinians escaping Jewish violence. Fighting for themselves or Jews, white nations have generated millions of refugees. Now, many whites will learn what it’s like to be refugees themselves.

I have a German friend who’s seriously considering Namibia as a refuge. He cites all the nonsensical Covid rules strangling Germany as a reason to get out. He asked me for some practical information, and if I had met Germans in Deutsch-Südwestafrika?

I answered, “If you want to come to Windhoek, then get a room in Klein Windhoek, a neighborhood with many Germans. It’s not cheap here, but still a lot cheaper than Deutschland.

“Dropping into a random café in Klein Windhoek, I sat near four German speakers, and the waiter also spoke to them in German.”

Any reassuring tidbit can help a prospective refugee.

It turned out the Klein Windhoek café was owned by the coach of the Namibian field hockey team, and the waiter, Nicolai Hilbert, was one of his players. Even with minnow Namibia losing nearly every match, it’s still worth it to compete, Hilbert indicated by touching his heart.

At Old Location Bar, I meet another Namibian of German descent, but this man, a tour guide in his early 30’s, has only been here a decade.

Eighty-five percent of Namibia’s foreign tourists are German speakers, he tells me. Because of Covid travel restrictions, he couldn’t work for 18 months, so had to learn how to make lawn furniture to barely get by, but the tourists are back, so all is well.

Although he still goes home occasionally, he doesn’t miss it. In fact, he’s thrilled to be away from Germany, and even other Germans. That system is going down the drain, he says, for people have to work like robots until they’re 69-years-old, to support a vast welfare state that also takes care of too many immigrants.

As we talk, I enjoy an excellent plate of rice, spinach and dried meat strips (eedingu). The Hansa Beer is only so-so.

“Hey, this food is pretty damn good!” I blurt.

“Yeah, I know. I’ve tried everything here.”

Preferring Namibia and even Uganda to South Africa, he’s committed to being a white African, just like the Serb, and perhaps even my German friend.

 

Several online commenters have pointed out that Covid spelled backward becomes דיבוק in Hebrew, meaning dybbuk, a malicious possessing spirit.

Using Google Translate, I found that divoc did yield דיבוק, but now, Google has tinkered with דיבוק so it merely translates as “obsessed.” Very cute. Exorcised, dybbuk is just excessive passion, you see, like a love for chocolate. Even verbal coincidences must be sanitized, lest people get ideas.

Far from being possessed by Covid, with its lockdowns, right-to-live passport and clot shots, you’re just obsessed with being safe, that’s all, so that your children, too, must get injected with spike protein and fetal cells, to destroy their immune system and ruin their future fertility, if not kill them.

In this Covid war, and it’s definitely a war, against us all, propaganda is massive and constant, with any questioning of it immediately branded as a “conspiracy theory.” We’re not allowed to challenge those who are conspiring against us.

Steve Kirsch asks, “How are they going to explain all the newborns with cardiac problems?” Their mothers have been injected with spike protein, but there’s no correlation, we’re assured. CDC Director Rochelle Walensky insists spike protein isn’t just safe for pregnant women, but especially useful.

Since adults are already dying by the hundreds of thousands from Covid “vaccines,” with even top athletes dropping dead on the field, why are these lethal jabs not terminated immediately, but extended to children?!

Investigating 13 cases of kids who died after being vaccinated, Kirsch points out, “My analysis of the VAERS records showed 5 of the 13 died of cardiac arrest. That’s not normal for kids. In a recent 5 year period (2015 to 2019), there have been zero deaths listing cardiac arrest in that age group (as you might expect). Zero deaths in 5 years! So the 5 deaths are both excess and suspicious and merit investigation. But not according to the CDC.”

In 2019, skeletons of 227 sacrificial victims, aged between five and 14, were discovered in Peru. A year earlier, 200 more child skeletons had been unearthed at two other Peruvian sites. They had all been murdered around 550 years ago.

Examples of child sacrifice can be found much closer to home. Who isn’t edified, if not charmed, by the story of Jephthah and his daughter?

Warring against the Ammonites, Jephthah called on Yahweh for help, with a vow that he’ll sacrifice as a burnt offering whatever comes out his door upon his victorious return.

It’s certainly a bizarre pledge, for don’t you think a family member was most likely to be the first to greet him, even if it’s a sheep, if Jephthah was sleeping with a sheep?

It turned out to be his only child, a daughter.

When her dad told her he had to murder her, to keep his promise to the Lord, this unnamed girl asked for “two months to roam the hills and weep with my friends, because I will never marry.” Touchingly, this “will never marry” is repeated like a refrain just two sentences later.

Allowed this brief stay of execution, she roamed the hills and wept with her friends, before her own dad burnt her to death. (See Judges 11:30-40) Each year, the young daughters of Israel spend four days commemorating this ghastly incident.

Much better known is the story of Abraham and his son, Isaac, of course. Out of the blue, God commanded Abraham to burn Isaac on a mountain, so the obedient Jew agreed without questions.

What’s most interesting to me are the two instances where Abraham lied. First, he told his two servants that he and Isaac needed to go worship, and would be right back. Then he lied to his son. It’s chilling:

Abraham took the wood for the burnt offering and placed it on his son Isaac, and he himself carried the fire and the knife. As the two of them went on together, Isaac spoke up and said to his father Abraham, “Father?”

“Yes, my son?” Abraham replied.

“The fire and wood are here,” Isaac said, “but where is the lamb for the burnt offering?”

Abraham answered, “God himself will provide the lamb for the burnt offering, my son.” (Genesis 22:6-8)

To kill, you must often deceive.

At the site, Abraham tied up his betrayed son, laid the startled boy on the wood and took out his knife, then God intervened.

Subjecting Abraham to such a test, an evil Yahweh corrupted him, because Abraham was ready to murder his innocent son. Yahweh also destroyed the boy’s sacred trust in his father, whose first duty was to protect his offspring, obviously. That’s not my God.

Some Jews, then, could piously murder their own children, but many, many more didn’t shrink from butchering goyische ones. In fact, they had to do it.

Discussing Ariel Toaff’s The Bloody Satanic Sacrifice Rituals of the Jewish Race, Ron Unz writes, “It appears that a considerable number of Ashkenazi Jews traditionally regarded Christian blood as having powerful magical properties and considered it a very valuable component of certain important ritual observances at particular religious holidays. Obviously, obtaining such blood in large amounts was fraught with considerable risk, which greatly enhanced its monetary value, and the trade in the vials of that precious commodity seems to have been widely practiced. Toaff notes that since the detailed descriptions of the Jewish ritualistic murder practices are very similarly described in locations widely separated by geography, language, culture, and time period, they are almost certainly independent observations of the same rite. Furthermore, he notes that when accused Jews were caught and questioned, they often correctly described obscure religious rituals which could not possibly have been known to their Gentile interrogators, who often garbled minor details. Thus, these confessions were very unlikely to have been concocted by the authorities.”

Mass murder of goyim, including infants, has long been sanctioned by Yahweh. Here are some blood curling examples in the Hebrew Bible:

This is what the LORD Almighty says: ‘I will punish the Amalekites for what they did to Israel when they waylaid them as they came up from Egypt. Now go, attack the Amalekites and totally destroy all that belongs to them. Do not spare them; put to death men and women, children and infants, cattle and sheep, camels and donkeys.’ (1 Samuel 15:2-3)

The people of Samaria must bear their guilt, because they have rebelled against their God. They will fall by the sword; their little ones will be dashed to the ground, their pregnant women ripped open.” (Hosea 13:16)

Like a hunted gazelle, like sheep without a shepherd, they will all return to their own people, they will flee to their native land. Whoever is captured will be thrust through; all who are caught will fall by the sword. Their infants will be dashed to pieces before their eyes; their houses will be looted and their wives violated. (Isiah 13:14-16)

There are more, but you get the idea. The last is Yahweh raging against the Babylonians, whose women, according to this Jewish divinity, deserved to be mass raped.

So much gore and grimness. It’s time for a Jewish music break, “Daughter Babylon, doomed to destruction, happy is the one who repays you according to what you have done to us. Happy is the one who seizes your infants and dashes them against the rocks.” (Psalm 137:8-9)

 

Don’t be on the wrong side of history, Communists often warned, though of course, they needed entire classes of such people, from the bourgeoisie to landowners, kulaks, reactionaries, decadents, Fascists, monarchists, counter-revolutionaries, unreformed intellectuals, wreckers, diversionists, believers in God and, often, even yesterday’s revolutionary heroes. It didn’t matter if these charges made sense individually or collectively, for Communists had to generate new enemies to squash.

It’s a natural outcome of the us vs. them Jewish mindset, chosen vs. unchosen, into eternity. The ultimate racism, Jewish thinking is a condescension or righteous rage against others, for these aren’t just inferior to Jews, but guilty of malevolence, in thoughts if not acts, against Jews. Blocking Jewish progress or destiny, they’re on the wrong side of history.

Much dumbed down, today’s reds simply charge anyone they disagree with, even slightly, as a Fascist. If you don’t think a guy like Johnny Sins, say, should soap his balls in a female shower just because Sins decides, spontaneously, that he’s a woman, you’re a Fascist.

For writing “female” so offhandedly, I’m also a fascist. There are no unambiguous penises or clitorises, but merely a continuum of jutting pudenda. Granted, half of us don’t have a lurid gash beneath our balls, but let’s not sweat that detail.

If someone told you just a year ago that today’s us-against-them would pit those who believe the entire world should, if not must, be “vaccinated” against those who would rather not be jabbed, you’d probably laugh it off, “Shut the hell up, you dumbass conspiracy theorist!”

In the first camp, we have Anthony Fauci, Klaus Schwab, Dustin Moskovitz, Albert Boula, Rochelle Walensky, Ron Klain, Jeff Zaints, Noam Chomsky, Scott Gottlieb, Howard Stern, Big Bird, Fondling Joe and, uh, Ron Unz, etc. In the second, we have thousands of nurses, policemen and firemen who would rather lose their jobs than be “vaccinated.” American pilots, too, have staged a walkout to protest the jab.

I’ve merely been inconvenienced by vaccine mandates. If they weren’t in place, I would be flying to Paris soon, with flights and hotel room for a week all paid for. (After my song-and-dance, I could hang out with a friend near Toulouse, then just linger in France.)

Since I’ve been canceled, literary invitations have disappeared almost completely, so this was very rare, but the catch was I had to be vaccinated, so no, thanks.

Also, Vietnam will reopen soon, but only to the double, triple or quadruple-jabbed, so I will still be locked out. Until when, who knows?

Making their own lives so difficult, are anti-vaxxers insane? No, Faucians, they’re just, uh, Fascists!

On November 6th in Boston, protesters against Covid “vaccines” were attacked by a mob, one of whom is quoted by boston.com in a subheading, “We heard there was going to be a rally of anti-vaxxers and white supremacists… and we wanted to help drown that out.” So the issue is immediately shifted from Covid “vaccines” to white supremacy.

Here’s an Ecologist—Informed by Nature headline, “Anti-maskers, anti-vaxxers and the racist right.”

A Conversation headline, “The inherent racism of anti-vaxx movements.”

At NBC News, there’s an article by Tonya Russell, its “culture and wellness writer,” “Why are anti-vaxxers so desperate to be seen as victims?” It begins:

In 1946, Albert Einstein paid a visit to Lincoln University, a historically Black university. Like many scholars who fled Nazi Germany, he found his place among Black people. That’s because, after escaping harm, many Jews found they weren’t embraced in the U.S., either. Both groups found common ground as they experienced bigotry and discrimination great enough to cause their deaths.

Again, race bumps Covid “vaccine” concerns. Beware of all those who would use race to mask the greatest health and human rights crisis ever, and it’s only beginning. Russell:

Three-quarters of a century later, certain Americans who are neither Jewish nor Black believe they, too, are experiencing a similar oppression. Apparently, being told to wear a mask and get a vaccination to stop the spread of a deadly virus means they now know what it’s like to live in Nazi Germany.

After stressing that anti-vaxxers are spoiled white babies, Russell wants them to “reflect on the modern-day adversity that your neighbors currently face, like the fact that Black and brown people have been disproportionately impacted by Covid-19.”

Like nearly all mainstream media narratives, this one doesn’t add up, for black and brown Americans lag behind whites in Covid vaccination, and it’s not because of cost. In the US, even illegal immigrants can be death jabbed for free, since it’s already paid for by American taxpayers. Ven al norte por el veneno gratis!

From 1932 to 1972, the United States Public Health Service enrolled 399 black men with latent syphilis in a bogus treatment program, The Tuskegee Syphilis Study. Since the goal was to observe this disease’s unchecked rampage, none of these men were treated, although penicillin had been made available by 1947. Thus, more than a hundred of them died, 40 of their wives were infected and 19 children were born with congenital syphilis.

Remembering this, plus many other instances of their government’s perfidy, American blacks are understandably more likely than whites to be anti-vaxxers.

I just spent three months in South Africa, a country I’m pretty sure is in Africa, where most people are black, I think. South Africa has just 39 Covid “vaccine” doses administered per 100 people, compared to 274 for Gibraltar, 185 for Singapore, 172 for Israel, 169 for Iceland, 164 for China, 158 for the UK, 154 for Japan, 129 for the US and 76 for Russia. Keep in mind that China and Russia have their own vaccines, bypassing the American Pfizer, Moderna and Johnson & Johnson, and the British AstraZeneca.

I’m now in Namibia, where the Covid vaccination rate is even lower than South Africa’s, despite a massive propaganda effort to get people jabbed. Saner than others, black Africans are the least vaccinated.

Entering Windhoek in the dark two weeks ago, I was greeted by a billboard showing four health workers, “NAMIBIAN HEROES. They risk their lives to take care of YOU. Protect our front line workers, Get vaccinated.”

Walking around, I saw many more public encouragements to get jabbed, plus a vaccination center in a downtown shopping mall, though with hardly any suckers.

Most importantly, life is normal here, with restaurants and cafes open to everyone, unlike in, say, Paris. There is no apartheid between vaxxed and unvaxxed.

 
• Category: Ideology, Science • Tags: Anti-Vaxx, Conspiracy Theories, Coronavirus 

I often write about ordinary people and the banal, because each situation is a complex allegory, if not an intriguing painting, and no one is uninteresting. Plus, normalcy calms.

When you smell smoke, however, it might be wise to stop waxing about fried chicken, say, and see where the flames are coming from. In case you haven’t noticed, our world is burning.

It all starts with Covid. Covid locks you in, freezes your economy, destroys your business, wrecks your mental health, strains your relationships, drains your savings, empties your stores, disfigures your society, conditions you to be unnatural and, now, if you don’t agree to be vaccinated, threatens to isolate you (even further) and starve you to death, as charmingly decreed by that Olympus of human rights, Noam Chomsky, plus a host of others.

Never a fan, I find Chomsky’s prose devoid of sparks, such as is routine in Orwell, but maybe I’m just thick. In a Guardian piece, “Conscience of a nation,” Maya Jaggi swoons, “Chomsky ranks with Marx, Shakespeare and the Bible as one of the 10 most quoted sources in the humanities—and is the only writer among them still alive.”

In his 1967 essay, “The Responsibility of Intellectuals,” Chomsky succinctly declares, “Intellectuals are in a position to expose the lies of governments, to analyze actions according to their causes and motives and often hidden intentions.”

In his 2002 essay, “Reflections on 9-11,” Chomsky points out that “despite what must be the most intensive international intelligence investigation in history, evidence about the perpetrators of 9-11 has been hard to find.” And yet, “Nevertheless, despite the thin evidence, the initial conclusion about 9-11 is presumably correct.”

Notice how the deft linguist went from “hard to find” to “thin,” but there ain’t none, Noam! From Building 7 to Betty Ong, none of this story makes sense. Still, Chomsky sticks to his evidence-free conclusion, so regarding 9/11, an event that has changed our entire world, there are no governmental lies to unearth.

Now with Covid, an even greater 9-11, America’s most celebrated public intellectual is, again, trusting the worst science.

In his 9-11 essay, Chomsky does state that the U.S. and other governments would seize “upon 9-11 as a window of opportunity to institute or escalate harsh and repressive programs.” Plus, “Israel recognized that it would be able to crush Palestinians even more brutally, with even firmer U.S. support.”

A crisis, then, is a great opportunity to institute your evil plan, but why wait for cave dwellers to knock down three skyscrapers and puncture a hole in the Pentagon?! Just do it yourselves. Which brings us to Covid.

A key aim for the planners of 9/11 and Covid is the normalization of repressive measures. The first brought us an increased surveillance state, prison or even death without charge, the no-fly list and a nebulous definition of “terrorist.”

The second subjects us to, above all, a forced vaccination which may maim or kill, and, for those who survive, a passport that’s needed to do anything, shop, go to school, travel or just stroll down the street.

In constant fear of having your passport deactivated, you must obey each new diktat, no matter how absurd. (A core feature of totalitarianism is its relentless absurdity.)

Like I’ve said several times before, repressive systems learn from each other, so the West’s CommonPass or Green Passport, whatever they want to call it, is clearly modeled after China’s social credit system. It’s all about having total control of your life.

On 9/20/21, Paul Craig Roberts published a 2,200 word article at Unz that was never featured, “Conquered by a Fake Pandemic, We Can Kiss America Good-Bye.” It begins:

How obvious does it have to be before even insouciant Americans realize that there is something seriously wrong about the Covid vaccination program?

One would think we are already past that point even for the mentally-challenged.

To dismiss concerns about the Covid “vaccines” is to be retarded, Roberts is saying.

On 8/15/21, however, Ron Unz had written:

Beginning late last year, several of our regular columnists became vocal anti-vaxxers with regard to the new Covid vaccines, and as a result our website was swarmed by their zealous adherents, who soon began pushing their determined message on entirely unrelated threads. This greatly irritated me, and I made increasing efforts to drive them away. This is not an anti-vaxx webzine, and I was concerned that it might become perceived as such.

I didn’t know or care anything about the vaxx issue one way or the other, and was disturbed that so many seemingly rational people had suddenly become obsessed by that topic.

It’s irrational, then, to be “obsessed” with the Covid vaccines, according to Unz.

Having written two articles about the Covid “vaccines,” I’d say that, like most of us, I didn’t want to deal with vaxx at all, except that vaxx has become an unavoidable obstacle and even threat in my life. We have no choice but to be “obsessed” with vaxx.

I must admit to being rather startled by what Ron Unz said to Mike Whitney in an interview, on 8/1/21:

I tend not to be overly focused on constitutional or ideological questions. One way of looking at it is that America has certainly suffered far more Covid deaths during a twelve-month period than American servicemen died during the four years of World War II, perhaps even more than twice as many, and virtually none of those latter casualties were on the civilian home front. During time of war, it’s pretty typical for the government to suspend various freedoms, and if we consider the Covid epidemic in that light, the behavior of the government starts to seem less unreasonable.

So questioning the Covid “vaccines” is irrational, but the government’s suspension of nearly all our freedoms to supposedly fight Covid is not so unreasonable. Ron has shifted his stance on lockdowns, however, so maybe he’ll rethink the death jabs and its evil enforcement.

Ron Unz has written extensively about Covid as an American bioweapon aimed at China, so if we agree with Ron, and I do, isn’t it likely that Covid was also created by this criminal government to muzzle and strait jacket the home front?

Worse, it’s being deployed as a political, economic and biological weapon against as much of humanity as possible. Of course, Americans are also being culled.

There are too many of us, the elites have been saying for decades. This long-looted planet must be saved, at least for their superyachts and Learjets.

Useless eaters be gone!

Linh Dinh’s latest book is Postcards from the End of America. He maintains a regularly updated photo blog.

 

This happened in Tirana, Albania. As I walked across Skanderbeg Square one fine morning, a black dog darted across my path. As if this wasn’t disturbing enough, there was a woman chasing after him, shouting, “Nigra! Nigra!”

It’s 2021, lady! At least have the decency to call him, “My nigga!” (Consult Rachel Jeantel for exact pronunciation.) Slurred from birth, how will Nigra grow up to have a long, productive life and contribute to global society?

I’m just joking, of course. Nigra merely means black in Albanian, so it’s not wrong to call a black dog “blackie,” or, for that matter, Jewish power as quintessentially Jewish, and not just “Zionism.” That’s weak shit, pussy. Reread your Old Testament!

With mass death near, it’s evil to mislabel the Covid jab as a vaccine. By definition, a vaccine is supposed to protect you from a disease, not increase your chance of getting it, plus just about everything else, since your immunity’s wrecked by such a death jab.

Is “death jab” hyperbolic? No, if it’s already killed thousands of people, with millions more to come. Note that “Covid vaccine” deaths are only counted as such at least two weeks after the lethal jab, with the rest mislabeled as Covid deaths.

If you collapse right after the needle’s pulled out, you’re dead from Covid, sucka, and not the “vaccine,” and that’s no Jewish lawyer jabbering, but your government.

Rochelle Walensky, head of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, tells us that “Covid vaccines” aren’t just safe for pregnant women, but especially useful to them, “Data show that pregnancy increases the risk of severe Covid disease. And sadly, Covid-19 infection during pregnancy can also increase the risk for preterm birth and other pregnancy outcomes that have impact on the baby. The good news is that we are now fortunate to have the tools to largely prevent these tragic outcomes when they are related to Covid-19. For all three vaccines, there have been no safety concerns in animal studies, there have been no safety concerns in the clinical trials, and there have been no safety concerns in multiple safety monitoring systems that have followed over thousands of pregnant women to date.”

“Safety” repeated four times in such a brief message, and notice also the meaningless “over” to precede thousands. Interestingly, its video on YouTube doesn’t just have comments turned off, but LIKE and DISLIKE disabled.

Ex-Jew Brother Nathaniel is no fan, “She’s a lying Jewish tramp who fudges the death stats of the nasty Vaxx. I’m talking about her false statistics of her CDC’s ‘VAERS.’ She works hand-in-hand with Albert Bourla, Jewish CEO of Pfizer. He and Larry Fink—principal shareholder of Pfizer via his BlackRock Investments—are making millions on ‘divisive’ mandates. Throw in Alex Gorsky, Jewish executive chairman of Johnson & Johnson, and you’ve got four soulless ghouls from hell.”

Online, there are so many claims and counterclaims, people can believe just about anything, but the weeks ahead will bring much greater clarity, should your double jabbed relative(s), or even you yourself, still die from “Covid,” just like Colin Powell.

“Covid vaccines” were introduced into Vietnam in March of 2021. With only 35 Covid deaths by then, Vietnam was lauded worldwide as perhaps the most successful at fighting the pandemic.

As a point of honor and pride, Vietnam spent hundreds of thousands of dollars to save a British pilot who had just been hired by Vietnam Airlines. Celebrating St. Patrick’s Day 2020 at Saigon’s Buddha Bar, Stephen Cameron caught Covid even before his first flight.

Released from the hospital after nearly three months, Cameron told the BBC, “I’m very humbled by how I’ve been taken into the hearts of the Vietnamese people. And most of all I’m grateful for the bloody-mindedness of the doctors in not wanting me to die on their watch.”

With its borders still closed, plus recent crippling lockdowns, Vietnam now has nearly 22,000 “Covid” deaths. The only difference is the introduction of vaccines, primarily Pfizer, Moderna and AstraZeneca.

If Vietnamese doctors were brilliant enough to save Stephen Cameron, why haven’t they figured out that American and British vaccines are killing Vietnamese by the thousands?! I’m sure many have, but in a totalitarian society with no free press, you can’t question official policies. Sounds familiar?

American doctors and nurses have also not spoken up, except indirectly, by leaving their jobs by the thousands instead of being death jabbed.

America’s most visible public intellectuals generally support “Covid vaccines.” Amy Goodman, for example, complains that Pfizer doses are not reaching poor countries fast enough. Meanwhile, Chris Hedges laments that the “neo-fascist” states of Texas and Florida “prohibit local vaccine and mask mandates.”

On the fringe, you have very vocal death jab critics, such as Mike Adams, Alex Jones and Brother Nathaniel. Adams also thinks extraterrestrials may be coming to eat us, however. Like Jones and Brother Nathaniel, Adams has also zealously backed Trump, though the ex president’s support for death jabs has cooled this ardor. Sticking strictly to the science, Whitney Webb, Mike Whitney, Paul Craig Roberts, Del Bigtree and James Howard Kunstler have been most helpful on the anti vaxx front.

Title of a recent Mike Whitney article, “It All Makes Sense Once You Realize They’re Trying to Kill Us.” It’s not like there aren’t enough clues via kosher sources, though they’re mostly glancing teases.

They’re trying to kill us because we’re useless eaters who can’t stop breeding. In 1800, there were just one billion people. Now, there are over seven. Cheeseburger chompers, we’re cutting into their Kobe beef feast. Even if we’re just digging through trash cans outside their restaurants and mansions, we ruin their neighborhoods and planet. We befoul their evening walks by lying half dead on sidewalks.

Club of Rome co-founder Alexander King in 1991, “The common enemy of humanity is man. In searching for a new enemy to unite us, we came up with the idea that pollution, the threat of global warming, water shortages, famine and the like would fit the bill. All these dangers are caused by human intervention, and it is only through changed attitudes and behavior that they can be overcome. The real enemy then, is humanity itself.”

Problem is, the global poor want more meat, not bugs, and they don’t see why they shouldn’t finally have a car?

Those at the very top of the all-seeing pyramid want us bottom feeders to change our attitudes, so they can increase consumption. Can’t blame them. They’re winners.

Chris Rhodes in Forbes on 8/13/12, “We are an overshoot species, and may expect a rapid cull, as in the S-shaped curve that prevails for bacteria. The initial growth is slow, but then given sufficient resources (food, oil, and gas in the human situation), the population rapidly escalates until it can no longer be sustained by its food. Then the bacteria begin to starve and consume each other.”

As oil, natural gas, coal and food become scarce this Dark Winter, many of us will certainly consume each other, but why not boost this die off with a few billion reassuring jabs?

Our planet will thank us.

 
• Category: Ideology • Tags: Anti-Vaxx, Conspiracy Theories, Coronavirus 

Universal suffrage finally came to South Africa in 1994. Not everyone cheered. Many whites hoarded beans, rice, rusks, canned protein, candles and gasoline, etc. They expected societal breakdown, if not mass violence committed by blacks in retribution.

Thousands of whites emigrated, but, this is often overlooked, thousands also returned from overseas, so the “chicken run” was balanced out by repatriation. Foreigners also arrived to join the Rainbow Nation. Here in Cape Town, I’ve met two Americans who are still here, though their children have left.

Chicken Licken is a South African fast-food chain. Founded in 1981 by the son of a Greek immigrant, it has 259 branches in two countries. In 2010, it aired a classic ad that begins with a snapshot of suburban tranquility. We see a pleasant house in Krugersdorp boasting a landscaped front yard, date palm, arbored entrance, stone chimney and handsome muntined windows. Its fence is low, with no razor or electric wires above it.

A young male voice narrates, “In 1994, we moved from our house in Oranje Street, number 30, to our new home, under Oranje Street, number 30.” From warm, natural light, we shift into a darker world that’s blueishly lit. Long rows of steel shelves hold boxes, bags and cans of food. Brilliantly cast, a ghostly pale, moon faced boy with a bowl haircut seems incredulously at his new abode. A thick steel door slams shut.

“Whenever I asked pa why we moved down here, he’d just say, ‘Don’t be silly. Go play outside!’ Of course, there’s no outside. As the boy hugs a ball while running around a pole in a tight circle, his mom tells him to go back inside! It’s too dangerous outside, you see, even when there’s no outside.

“But life in our new home was very fine… for a while.” The mother is shown lounging beneath several lamps, with an electric fan behind her. She’s sunning herself at a mental beach, to the strumming of an electric ukulele.

As soul sapping boredom sets in, they become zombie like. Dead eyed, the boy throws a ball repeatedly against a wall. He presses the vacuum cleaner hose against his mouth or cheek. Their meals always feature Vienna sausages. They welcome a baby girl into their tiny, suffocating universe. We see her blowing out two candles on a Vienna sausage cake.

“We lived there for 16 years, 9 months and 5 days.” Finally, their food runs out, so the father has to emerge to look for some. After three days, he’s still not back, so the son has to go find him. With a backpack and bush hat, the young man laces up his boots with trepidation.

Above is a cheery Chicken Licken franchise, next to the old date palm. He comes out through the garbage can to a heavenly chorus, “Gloria… Gloria…” Basking in the normalcy of it all, his face is angelic. Suddenly, he sees his pa at a Formica table, pigging out and looking guilty. Golden fried chicken fills the final shot, “IF YOU HAVEN’T TRIED IT, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?”

In 2010, it’s easy to laugh at the hysteria of 1994, but some of it had been justified. A lot depended on where you were. By 2010, over 3,000 white farmers had been killed by blacks. It’s a problem that’s especially serious in the eastern, more Zulu-dominated provinces, such as Gauteng, KwaZulu-Natal and Mpumalanga.

In the three Cape provinces, it was less of a problem. Cape Town based J. M. Coetzee, though, has seared us with the horrific black-on-white gang rape in his 1999 novel, Disgrace.

Coetzee also describes “cardboard-and-iron shanties clustered on the fairways of the golf course.” Shacks and tents have certainly become common all over Cape Town. Bits of the black townships have encroached into civic spaces and formerly all-white neighborhoods.

Many ramshackle dwellings or just ragged people sleeping on the ground can be found outside the Castle of Good Hope or Saint Mary’s Cathedral. The Grand Parade opposite City Hall has turned into a third-world bazaar, with shoppers rummaging through steel bins for used clothing.

Coetzee is off, though, with this prediction, “Inexorably, he thinks, the country is coming to the city. Soon there will be cattle again on Rondeborsch Common; soon history will have come full circle.” Cape Town hasn’t devolved that far yet.

An Oriental immigrant tells me Cape Town has gone steadily downhill through his two decades here, yet he won’t go anywhere, for he still loves this sophisticated beauty. Plus, can you deny that the US, UK, Australia or France, for example, hasn’t suffered maybe even worse decline?

On his cellphone, the Oriental man shows me a party of whites dining in rococo splendor at some country mansion. “They get there by helicopter,” he chuckles.

Coetzee taught at the University of Cape Town in Rondeborsch. As with college neighborhoods everywhere, political statements are common, so I wasn’t surprised to see anti-Covid vaccine fliers there.

Threatened by the Coronavirus, a sweating man crawls towards a carrot dangling over a skull-filled gully, with a false bridge over it. “NEW NORM,” says a sign. “We’re In This Together,” mutter the skulls.

From above, there are three messages, “Almost there!” “…And The Next VARIANT…” “It’s JUST For Two Weeks!”

On the N1 Freeway, I’m behind a car with a large sign in its back window, “I SAY NO THE EXPERIMENTAL.”

In 2 ½ months in Cape Town, I’ve taken Uber just three times. Two of those drivers told me about Covid vaccine deaths.

Shaun, a Mozambican immigrant, told me about his 23-year-old friend. Vaccinated on Friday, he felt unwell so went to a clinic on Saturday, where he was assured he was fine. Sunday, he went to a private doctor and, again, was told there was nothing wrong with him. On Monday, he died.

“Before he was vaccinated, we even joked about vaccine passports. He said, ‘If we don’t have vaccine passports, who will buy food for us?’ We were laughing about it.”

“If he had any doubts about the vaccine, why did he get it?”

“Many companies require you to get it.”

“So he had no choice.”

“No choice.”

“And you can’t even sue them!”

“No, you can’t sue them.”

“What will happen to his wife and children?! You said he was only 23. Did he have a wife and children?”

“Yes.”

The other anti-Covid vaccine driver was from Burundi. One of his country’s leading intellectuals had just died, he said, after being vaccinated. During my ride, he got a call from a fellow Burundian, and they discussed this shocking death.

 
Linh Dinh
About Linh Dinh

Born in Vietnam in 1963, Linh Dinh came to the US in 1975, and has also lived in Italy and England. He is the author of two books of stories, Fake House (2000) and Blood and Soap (2004), five of poems, All Around What Empties Out (2003), American Tatts (2005), Borderless Bodies (2006), Jam Alerts (2007) and Some Kind of Cheese Orgy (2009), and a novel, Love Like Hate (2010). He has been anthologized in Best American Poetry 2000, 2004, 2007, Great American Prose Poems from Poe to the Present, Postmodern American Poetry: a Norton Anthology (vol. 2) and Hopeless: Barack Obama and the Politics of Illusion, among other places. He is also editor of Night, Again: Contemporary Fiction from Vietnam (1996) and The Deluge: New Vietnamese Poetry (2013), and translator of Night, Fish and Charlie Parker, the poetry of Phan Nhien Hao (2006). Blood and Soap was chosen by Village Voice as one of the best books of 2004. His writing has been translated into Italian, Spanish, French, Dutch, German, Portuguese, Japanese, Korean, Arabic, Icelandic and Finnish, and he has been invited to read in London, Cambridge, Brighton, Paris, Berlin, Reykjavik, Toronto and all over the US, and has also published widely in Vietnamese.