Bonus Content: Extracts from last week's Diary of a Dissenter
A moment is coming that Paddy refuses to contemplate, which I have decided to call the moment of Demographic Singularity, when the number of aliens in Ireland will exceed the number of native people.
The Demographic Singularity
THURSDAY
One of the things Gerry O’Neill observes in his fine article of this week is that many immigrants to Ireland, who arrived here before the insane waves of mass inward migration of the past eight years or so, are just as disturbed by what they’re watching as are Irish natives whose families may have been here for thousands of years.
This was highlighted for me recently when I received a message from a friend from South America, who has been living here for more than 15 years, who has just attained the honour of being conferred with Irish citizenship, at the most recent conferring ceremony, held earlier this week. This person speaks perfect English, has worked for a living here from the beginning, is married to an Irishman and is in love with Ireland, though deeply saddened by what is happening now.
‘The ceremony itself was beautiful and well organised,’ she writes to me afterwards, ‘but it felt surreal. On the right of the stage, you have a lieutenant colonel, very stoic, holding the Irish flag with pride, a very good army band in the centre of the stage, and then you have Helen McEntee on the left saying they want to add other cultures and traditions to the Irish one so it becomes richer, and those new traditions and cultures can become part of the next chapter of the state. ‘
My friend translates:
‘Basically, to dilute and eventually destroy Ireland. Then you have former judge Bryan MacMahon, giving a speech about the greatness of Ireland, encouraging us to embrace the culture, learn Irish, etc. Very contradictory speeches.’
Her husband attended the ceremony with her, and what might have been a beautiful day was instead, for both of them, heartbreaking.
‘It was also very hard for [her husband], watching how they're destroying Ireland with all the fanfare. It was sad, surreal, many emotions at the same time. There were very few Irish guests too, mostly foreigners. I feel lucky I got to experience Ireland before all of this. That's what I hold dear, what Ireland means to me. So sad to see it all disappear in front of our eyes.’
This highlights the core of the lie being told by the planters and their proxies and stooges who tell us that, Shure, we travelled all over the world. Nobody ever said we didn’t, but it wasn’t anything like what is being done to us now.
There is something that might reasonably be called organic migration, in which people come to a country because they are attracted to it and believe they have something to offer there. They come in reverence and curiosity, seeking to be accepted by the natives. They work hard to earn a place. These people, interestingly, rarely if ever complain about wacism. They see it as their duty to integrate, to achieve harmony with the host nation in thought and movement. There is a world of difference between this and dumping thousands of unvetted, paperless and mainly feral male aliens, sucked en bloc from some remote region of a different continent, into a tiny village in the midlands or west of a country that has maintained its essential structure for hundreds of years. This is racism: the hatred of Ireland and her people — most of all by some of her own people.
It goes without saying (but you know yourself): The ‘racist’ smear is rooted in a studied, point-blank and calculated denial of the obvious distinction between these two categories of arrivals, and its logic implies that there can be no limit set on the number or nature of these arrivals, that their claim on our country is absolute, limited only by themselves. We have no say in the matter. To disagree, even to question, even to say ‘pause’, is wacist.
Just short of a century ago, in 1924, the globalist and Malthusian, Richard Coudenhove-Kalergi, expressed the view that the races of Europe needed to be destroyed and replaced with a race of ‘Eurasian-Negroids’, because such a population could more easily be controlled by the ruling elite. This is what is now happening to our beloved country, and anyone who still calls this a conspiracy theory is an idiot. What is happening has nothing whatsoever to do with immigration as conventionally understood, and resistance to it is therefore not only not racist but amounts to opposing the most radical and egregious form of racism ever seen in history.
Europe is under racist attack. Ireland, not for the first time, is under racist attack. And that attack is being spearheaded in Ireland by Irish people — against their own neighbours, their own children, their own People, their own forefathers, their own history. Separately from and together with the Covid crimes, it amounts to a genocide of Ireland by the Irish, viz. politicians, civil servants, setaside journalists/journaliars, NGO quislings, unprincipled hoteliers, et cetera.
I’ll say that again:
The current Plantation of Ireland, considered separately from or together with the Covid cull, amounts to a genocide of the Irish population by sections of itself.
Aside from the widespread inculcated fear of being called nasty names by the self-interested traitors orchestrating this assault, one of the reasons why the Regime is meeting so little resistance to the continuing re-plantation of Ireland with mainly self-selecting spongers is that most Irish people are incapable of comprehending that the arithmetic facts of life could possible apply to the country they were born and reared in. Thus, clinging to the sole element of Christianity that remains in their consciousnesses, they choose to understand what is happening as Good Ol’ Paddy being kind and dacent, like he was told to be in Catechism class. People think of it in much the way they thought in the past about famines or tsunamis, when they happened in distant lands, and Paddy dug deep to send a good few bob out to the black babies out foreign. It just doesn’t occur to them that, this time, the tsunami is surging towards our own shores, and the clock-hands move inexorably towards the blighting hour. Since nothing bad happened to us out of the previous episodes of kindheartedness, what could be different here? Shure a few darker faces might be good for the ould gene pool, as that nice-spoken man on the TV said the other night, and that wasn’t even a bit wacist. So let’s try it the other way around: ‘A few fewer black faces would represent an improvement of the African gene pool? How about that? No? Oh!
In my election leaflet when I ran for the Dáil in Dun Laoghaire, four years ago, I declared:
I’ve put myself forward for election because I believe we are at a moment of grave national crisis, created by our political class's failure to represent the interests of the Irish people. Our ‘leaders’ pander to the wishes of outsiders — the EU, the UN, fly-by-night corporations availing of our bargain basement tax rates. In doing so they are not only harming our indigenous economy but fundamentally changing Ireland’s cultural and demographic nature.
Our public utility systems are dysfunctional — hospital waiting lists, homelessness, traffic gridlock, schools bursting at the seams. The reason is rarely mentioned: our population is increasing at a rate unjustified by the growth of our infrastructure. How can Ireland extend a welcome to the world when we are unable to look after our own most needy while young Irish people continue to haemorrhage from every harbour and airport?
MY PLEDGE TO YOU
Construct an independent Irish economy uncontrolled by foreign vested interests;
End mass immigration, easing the burden on hospitals, schools, policing and roads;
Implement zero tolerance for the escalating culture of corruption and criminality in our county and country;
Restore a pro-baby culture and renewal of respect for fatherhood and family life;
Protect our people’s right to speak their minds.
Pretty prophetic, if I do say so myself. But still I remember one Sunday morning outside St Brigid’s Church in Cabinteely, an elderly couple returning from their car after they had paused to read it — having already assured me of their two votes — to inform me that they could not vote for me because I was a . . . what Misther? A wacist, Misther!
I have written in some detail previously here on Unchained about the alarming statistical facts of our demographic life, and, each time I broach the subject anew, feel the need to register a higher degree of alarm.
You’ll find the general statistical picture up to a couple of years back in some detail here.
There is a moment coming that Paddy refuses to contemplate, which I have decided to call the moment of Demographic Singularity, when the number of aliens (defined reasonably, not ideologically) in Ireland will exceed the number of native Irish. We used to warn, by way of staking out some kind of reference point, that the indigenous population of this country was likely to fall numerically below 50 per cent of the total by 2050. This is now a forlorn hope, as the recent upsurge in intake, plus the shifts taking place in nativity patterns, indicate that this point of Demographic Singularity may come much earlier, conceivably (so to speak) within 15 years.
About one in eight children born in Ireland now are registered to non-EU nationals. This figure does not include any of the tens of thousands of people who are fast-tracked to citizenship within months of getting off a plane, or those who have arrived here, legal or illegally, in the past 20-odd years and decided — or had it decided for them by the rogue Irish authorities — that they are now ‘Irish.’ Meanwhile, the number of births to Irish women is dropping noticeably — down three per cent in the last yearly count, and now below three-quarters of total births for the first time ever.
Of course, the typical response of the feckless liberal is an indifferent ‘So what?’, followed by a contemptuous ‘Who cares?’ After all, they say, it doesn’t matter what colour the majority of the Irish population is.
Perhaps not, but it isn’t about colour. It’s about culture. It’s about home. It’s about homeland. It’s about having a safe harbour in the world to call you own. And it’s about the possibilities that may exist for the indigenous population of Ireland to remain safe after that moment of Demographic Singularity, now heading down the track in our direction.
Most Paddies have not applied their dwindling imaginations to this question. I would earnestly suggest that they begin to do so sharpish.
From the moment of Demographic Singularity — the moment when aliens begin to outnumber the indigenous population — all claims and rights of the indigenous population will be forfeit.
I’ll say that again,
From the moment of Demographic Singularity, all claims and rights of said indigenous population will be forfeit.
This will mean that the issue will no longer be the extent of Paddy’s ‘generosity’, but something else. The conch will fall from Paddy’s hand and be picked up by the next random wayfarer.
From then on, it will fall to others — the ‘New Irish,’ who will then own what we were raised to call ‘our country’ — to be ‘generous.’ Or not.
It will no longer be in Paddy’s gift to be dacent or otherwise, because, as just one of a minority, he will have minority rights in a country that values all kinds of minority rights except those of straight Christians with pasty faces, but which, for some time afterwards, in the manner of a man with an amputated leg, he will continue to think of and feel about as though it were still his own country, his ancestral home.
But it will not be his own anything. He will not own it anymore: it will be like the house he used to live in when he was a child, now occupied by strangers, and the feeling will be something the same. It will not be his to say what or whose it is.
And, lest we forget, Paddy, general speaking, has this rather unmistakable giveaway feature: He is pasty-faced. He isn’t ‘black’, or brown or ‘white’. He is not a ‘person of colour’, no matter how deep his tan. He is ‘a person of no colour.’ He is a bad ‘minority’ prospect in the conditions he has so tolerantly enabled to establish themselves.
The always implicit — sometimes subtly explicit — logic foisted upon the Irish people in the course of this plantation has been that Paddy has had his day on the ground of Ireland, it is time to move over. Paddy can’t help hearing this but he does not take it literally. Shure how could that happen? G’wawn outa tha’!
The newcomers take it as literally as they take their rights to be fed, watered and sheltered from the Atlantic winds. Just listen to the way some of them or their NGO proxies muse in public about the need for ‘reparations’ — as they stand on the sacred ground of an island that suffered more grief, pain and loss than the whole of Africa ever saw in its nightmares.
Here’s the bad news, Paddy: They will own Ireland and you will be an alien in it.
You will be an alien in it, Paddy. Did you hear that?
It will become a South Africa in the Atlantic, and you will be the pale-faced boy with the barred-up windows and the shotgun lying primed on every window ledge.
This will unfold, and very quickly, in maybe as little as 15 years — if the present intake continues at a constant rate, i.e., if it does not increase. If it increases, scratch that and make it a decade.
Or less.
Maybe by 2030, Paddy. That ping! indicating that the Singularity has been attained will go off in the depths of the Irish consciousness, and the history of Ireland will be at the beginning of its concluding chapter.
That is the true meaning of what is happening. Anyone who still says he cannot see this happening is either a dupe or a scoundrel.
Is there an ‘unless’? I cannot truthfully assert one.
FRIDAY
Today, more or less, is the third birthday of Unchained, which has clocked up over 400 posts, or roughly one every three days. Not bad when you consider that one reader told me that even this weekly diary amounts to a newspaper all to itself! (I always know what they’re getting and neither take offence nor change anything!)
Seriously, I am deeply grateful to, in particular, the regular readers of this diary — my full subscribers — who support me, financially and otherwise, and thereby enable me to keep the lights on and the wifi pumping out. I ought to be saying it more often. Thank you all. Happy Birthday to us.