Tom’s Big Picture

I will probably start doing the quotes of poetry and prose on Mondays, as that’s easier for starting the week than writing something of my own.

The following is a short little poem of Kipling’s relevant to our multi-culti immigration practices.  Particularly salient is his line about “when the Gods of his far-off land shall repossess his blood”.

In the 1950’s, many Europeans thought Muslims were the perfect immigrants- moral to a fault, with a silly little faith no one took seriously, hard workers who didn’t drink and didn’t ask for much.  Then resurgent Islam took hold in the latter half of the twentieth century, and now Europe is held by the neck by high-fertility Muslims amidst dying native populations.  For Europe to recover her birthright, it will take a ruthlessness of leadership that will make Putin look like George Washington.  Much evil could have been avoided by simply preventing the immigration in the first place.  After all, simply refusing someone entry to your country is not immoral, because they have no right to it and they’re not any worse off as a result.

Similarly, the elites in our country think people from Mexico and Central American are the perfect docile workers, just like Europeans thought of Muslims.  But history teaches us that no group of people wants to do dirty work for another group of people in the long term.  And in a universal suffrage democracy, a large poor ethnic group of people will demand socialism to assuage their egos from the inevitable inequalities of a meritocratic society. 

Democracy, Liberty, Multiculturalism.

Choose two.

The Stranger by Rudyard Kipling

The Stranger within my gate,
  He may be true or kind,
But he does not talk my talk–
  I cannot feel his mind.
I see the face and the eyes and the mouth,
  But not the soul behind.

The men of my own stock,
   They may do ill or well,
But they tell the lies I am wanted to,
   They are used to the lies I tell;
And we do not need interpreters
   When we go to buy or sell.
  
The Stranger within my gates,
  He may be evil or good,
But I cannot tell what powers control–
  What reasons sway his mood;
Nor when the Gods of his far-off land
   Shall repossess his blood.

The men of my own stock,
   Bitter bad they may be,
But, at least, they hear the things I hear,
  And see the things I see;
And whatever I think of them and their likes
   They think of the likes of me.

This was my father’s belief
  And this is also mine:
Let the corn be all one sheaf–
  And the grapes be all one vine,
Ere our children’s teeth are set on edge
  By bitter bread and wine.