White Race

White Race, you've been foolish. You believed the lie of multiculturalism, thinking it to be a route to an enlightened humanity. You accepted the diversity agenda, even as, year on year, it ate at the roots of your own Tree.

You've been misled, White man, White woman. Too kind, you flung open the doors to your own inner chamber, and now the robber, the barbarian and the madman have subjugated you.

You turned your fertile fields over to alien hands: and now the riches of your lands raise up your enemies.

But would you awaken? No. Would you listen? No. Even on pain of death, you chant the hymns of the multicult.

You have been foolish, White teacher, White judge, White politician, White activist, White parent, White citizen. You allowed yourself to be convinced that blood did not matter, and now aliens trample your cities underfoot. Your people, afraid to leave their houses, your sons, unable to buy bread.

You are paying, and will pay in full, the price of your ignorance.

White race, you've been blind. The open-mindedness that once helped your creations soar when other nations faltered has turned as a dagger against you. You now seek your own demise, oblivious that enlightenment is in your blood, and having drained its last drop, the Light you brought to the world will be extinguished, your mighty works torn down to the ground.

Your hunger for the charms of foreign lands is a folly, White race. Your ancestors knew the difference between baubles and blood, between artifacts and extinction. You have traded your blood for other tongues, for cheap goods, for the lust of other tribes. You have ensured it is a transaction paid in full.

There is hope, White race. From a dying Tree now springs a Living Root. It is a root even you cannot touch, and all enemies who wish to gnaw it in darkness wither at its touch.

This root is truth and justice, things you have long forgotten, White race. Nature once nurtured you and fashioned your Tree into one of the proudest and most glorious, but even old trees must fall when decay has cut off life to the branches.

You, the Old Wood, who babble ceaselessly about rights and inclusivity -- your fever will soon consume even you. Rising in your place is a New Tree, and it shall flourish in your ashes.