When The Solution is The Problem
The West's hyper-tolerance will be its' undoing.
Why I have given up trying to talk with Wokies, Lefties, Pro-EU, Eco-fanatics and all the so-called tolerant, oh-so reasonable liberal narrow-minded. And anyone who doesn’t like Duran Duran. I suspect sometimes, half-convincing themselves, that there is not a toe-nail clipping of a possibility of nuance in their received wisdom. The Orthodoxy. They move seamlessly from pitying your naivety, to blocking you in the Facebook page. The one they told you, you had to like, Like. Unfriending you, in case you infect their children- with nuance. Or tarnish their Right-On Instagram profile of this week’s Transgender Palestinian tofu recipes. But enough of the good news…
As the West is undergoing one of its periodic unravellings- the last equivalent somewhere between the fall of Rome and the misnamed Dark Ages. With an irony equal to the naivety and self-destructiveness of the Woke classes, a new “Dark” ages is being imposed on The Sheeple masses. This time round, by deliberately and needlessly restricting energy and resources in order to “Save The Planet”. Who can agree to disagree?
But in reality to grease the slippery slope into the rolling news of perma-crises. The economic tectonic plates creak and crack like melting ice. World Government will be the only “Answer” left, when the dumbed-down Proles have forgotten the question. If they had a nation, as once they had and threw away, they would not need to obsess about “Multiculturalism”; forever chasing the rainbow’s end of “Community” and Integration. Every Westerner’s good intention has an unintended consequence. Leading to yet more division. Erasing their own indigenous culture, their society, like footprints in the sand behind them. Until they are so lost, they do not even realise they are.
When The Sheeple awake, inside the abattoir, the college lecturers and Do-gooders, Right and Left are all stunned the same. They will bleat and wonder- but have their woolly ideas and polo-necks cut just the same.
For when politicians and parties, Parliaments and even “Democracy” itself becomes part of the The Problem, the solution will be, as it always is, one bald man arm-wrestling another, across a sticky beer-stained table. For possession of a comb. Or a strip of sand beside the blue, blue Mediterranean.