The world is preoccupied by an Economic Crisis, by Middle East turmoil, and Japanese radiation. Little does it know, or suspect, that the real explosion sits right around the corner. It wont be economic, it wont be Islam, and it wont be nuclear. It will be Racial, and it might go off in less than a few months.
If the show is to hit the road, then the tinder box required to start the Crash of Races must sit ignored in the middle of a multi-racially crowded Theater. Good people will reliably keep their mouth shut about the burning fuse, engrossed in a self-congratulatory of sitting next to those of a different skin colour. Right up on stage, a light will festively hiss its way to the TNT box, while white audience members hold their breath in the conviction that not breathing will preempt the racial explosion.
An average Beduin, Berber, or an Arab, is phenotypically closer to whites, than he is to a Sudanese, Chadian, or Malian. One particular Berber, of appropriate Jewish and Muslim parentage, possessed the non-black agility of mind to regularly ingest a few million Euros from Italy’s Berlusconi, in exchange for keeping sub-Saharan Negroes out of Europe.
Apart from anecdotal mention of 5 billion Euros, our century of touted free universal access to Information made the straightforwardness of Qaddafi’s bargain impolite for public discussion in the American, European, or any other White public. No comprehensive and publicly available account of the verboten services European conservatives were buying from Qaddafi via their Italian proxy, exist. Was he sinking boats before they could set sail? Was he shooting Negroes on the border with Niger, Chad, and the Sudan? There’s only so much you can know about a subject, you are not allowed to comment upon, discuss, or acknowledge as existing.
The Devil is in the details; the detail of Lybia being that it is Africa’s shortest corridor between Negro populations of the Sub-Saharan heartland, and the Maghreb.
Whatever Qaddafi was doing, a smiley would say that he’s no longer motivated, nor capable of doing it. The shores of Italy are feeling the pain, and the wheels of a bloody episode in the Crash of Races, are beginning to turn.
To some, it may come as a surprise, that a war started on the very premise of its facility – i.e. started without care for consequences nor for continuity of Qaddafi’s services – should become precisely its opposite, the Beginning of the End of those who started it: the French, the British, and the Americans.
The rise of Marine Le Pen in the French mainstream, following her visit to an Italian port city is pure sulfur. Her blatant characterization of Europe as a sinking ship, which sinks the faster with each extra needy immigrant, is the grist that will break the mill.
A majority of Non-whites residing in Europe, and their Narcisstic White handlers, see a Hitlerite mustache under Marine Le Pen’s schnozzle. Modern, post-WWII Europe, has never refused immigrants. Now, in the middle of a war with a nation which divides Europe from the Bantus (i.e. Lybia), a White Christian European dare call for a cessation of this policy. After fifty years of the browning of the continent, such a proposal no longer has the room to go unanswered. This is the fuse.
The tinder box is a France
The Sparks, are a dime a dozen.
Just as with all previous revolutions, what happens in the land of the Franks, will inevitably transform the world as we know it. No one sees it coming, but the film can is already making the rounds. The Theatrical release is but a few months away.