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FINAL WORD: Wither Empire

LONDON-CHICAGO, July 27, 2008 – As I left England this morning, I registered a mild surprise at being glad to be going home.  It wasn’t because of the “home, sweet home” longing.  I travel way too much for that.  It was more like the joy you feel when you stop banging your head against the wall.  I was glad to be leaving because life in Britain has become such a hassle.  Wither empire, enter another globalist colony.

An old friend of mine summed it up very well in a comment he sent me last night:

“I should like to be able to feign nostalgia for “Old Blighty”, as we British call the homeland.  Unfortunately, all I see is pollution, overcrowding, inconvenience and a poor overall quality of life. Your travelogue did nothing to dispel same, despite your taking in the ancient university town (Oxford).  England, I’m afraid, is finished. I’m simply waiting for the last person to turn off the lights as they emigrate!”

That’s a pretty strong indictment of one’s country, yet it is entirely appropriate.  Ye Olde England is indeed finished.  None of the changes I have witnessed in this country since my last extended visit, more than 15 years ago, were for the better.  The once vibrant Miss Britannia has become a tired old hag.  Its middle and upper middle class have either emigrated overseas, or have been decimated by rising prices and cheap immigrant labor. 

“Everything is so expensive here,” noted several of my Dutch friends from the crop circles tour.  And the folks from the continent, fellow EU members with a strong euro, are no strangers to high prices.

When I was in London eight years ago, a couple of friends traveled by train from the northern British city of York to meet me.  They had not been to the capital for 10 years, they said, so they had to ask several people for directions on how to get to my hotel.  "Everything seems so different," they said.

"And as you traveled through London, did you happen to meet any English people?", I asked, partly hiding my hyperbole behind a tongue-in-cheek look.

At first, the two ladies looked startled.  Then as gradually as the dawn spreads across the horizon, smiles of comprehension rolled over their faces.

"You're so right," one of them finally spoke.  "Come to think of it, all five people we had asked for directions were foreigners."

Based on what I have seen in London streets on this visit, things have only gotten worse since the start of the new millennium.  The newcomers to Britain from Asia, Africa or Eastern Europe don't even tried to assimilate the local culture.  Instead, the native Christian values have retreated, while the imported foreign ones have been allowed to take root in the name of “multicultural diversity,” a sacred globalist mantra.

The result was predictable.  When you cross a spunky horse with a dour ass, you get a mule… a hard-working but spiritless animal, sterile to boot.

This was no accident.  Destruction of indigenous cultures is a result of deliberate policy.  It is a policy carried out by national governments that do not act in national interests.  Nor is Britain an isolated example.  Annihilation of local cultures has taken place everywhere the wave of globalism washed over a country’s shores.  While decimating native traditions, globalism left in its wake nations of mutts and morons (see my 1997 Washington Times column “Toward a Nation of Mutts”, and its 2006 sequel, “Toward a Nation of Morons”). 

We, in America, are actually further along the curve of cultural self-destruction, as you can see from the above articles.  It’s just that we did not have a very strong identity to start with, such as the one in England, for example, forged by 2,000+ years of history and Christian traditions.  So our obliteration by the globalist materialism seems less perceptible and feels more indigenous.  But one only needs to venture into some Midwestern ghost towns to see the physical and cultural devastation of our former way of life at the hands of Wal-Marts et. al.

There are no exceptions.  No country is exempt.  Nothing is scared.  For, globalism knows only one God – the Almighty Dollar (or a pound, or a euro, or a yen - see “The Nothing Philosophy,” Washington Times, 1996).  Where globalism treads, grass does not grow.  Fast food outlets and shopping malls spring up from the ground instead. 

Wither empire… that's my final word from this trip.  It is more than a little ironic that, what mighty armies of Napoleon and Hitler failed to achieve, shopping malls succeeded in.  Rule Britannia is no more.

And that's all she wrote from this Sun, July 27, in Chicago.

THE END

P.S. Well, not quite the end.  Here are some belated photos from this trip that I have just received from my crop circle roommate Walter:

The first two pictures were taken on our first day in Wiltshire (July 18) - at our group dinner at our hotel (left) and in the middle of a nearby crop circle late at night (middle left).  Walter says you can see an orb to the left of Bart (the guy in red sweater laying down on the ground).  The middle right shot was taken at Silbury Hill (Bob, Heather, Joy, Bart), while the rightmost picture was from atop the Tor, the ancient hill above Glastonbury, where a strong wind was whipping up my poncho (July 21).

Love  Light

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