Why Ireland Matters (to the tyrants)

The continuing assault on Western civilisation has exhibited a particular venom towards my country, Ireland, which the wanna-be owners of reality seem to perceive as uniquely resistant to subjugation.

War on the Irish Spirit

I’ve recently had a series of Damascene moments concerning certain aspects of what confronts us.

One relates to the meaning of the past 52 months, which I had felt primarily as a period of waiting — for clarity, perhaps, for a return to normality, for the next blow to fall. I now feel that it has been more like a period of induction to/preparation for what is being called the ‘new normal’. We are being trained for serfdom and subjected to regular checks as to our ‘progress’.

The second, related matter, concerns the role of my own country, Ireland, in what(ever) has been happening. It is clear that we have been subjected to a process of preparation which in general is dramatically more radical than what has occurred in most other places.

What I have documented in these pages over the past nearly four years may therefore be more significant than I appreciated for much of that time. In a sense, this is more a matter of growing clarity than of insight, since I have expressed various suspicions and intuitions over that period about what was happening to my country, and the probability that it had been picked out for special treatment. I have also touched on the specifics of this, albeit fleetingly, or as a by-the-by, without attributing to them any particular malice. i.e. over and above that endured by other people in other places. I now believe that I may have misread this situation somewhat — that the events in my country may well be central and crucial to the creation of the planned global tyranny, and that is what I would like to elaborate upon in this article.

It struck me recently, in the course of a conversation with a friend, that although there has seemed for the past four years to be a constant movement towards some new reality — perhaps some further state of emergency or crisis — really nothing much has changed since the spring of 2020. Almost everything that has happened has been a kind of continuation rather than a development or escalation. We have been running to stand still. Or have we really been running? Perhaps ‘trudging’ would be more appropriate.

Yet, we have this odd sense of movement that never seems to take us anywhere. Everything seems to be changing, but mostly what is changing is the level of pressure within our heads, orchestrated by the Combine, the architects of all this evil. In other words, what has been occurring is not a preparation for the next stage of the tyranny, but a preparation of us, ourselves, its potential captives and victims. This, I believe, has a particular ugliness in its application in Ireland, where I have been situated for all but a few weeks of the past four years. After the initial shock of the lockdowns, things moved towards a state of what increasingly felt like a plateauing, and really it has not shifted from this other than by occasional insinuations or threats. It is probable, therefore, that we have been misdirected towards situating the meaning of events in the anticipation or apprehension of a coming further assault, whereas in truth the intention and aim of the perpetrators/preparers was to subject us to processes of continued uncertainty, sucking the hope that comes from the prospect of relief or alteration from our lives, and monitoring the responses.

A second realisation was intimately related to this: that Ireland may very well be the central laboratory of this process — globally speaking, I mean. After all, Dublin has long housed the headquarters of all of the main tech operators, which have been central to the management and enforcement of public events since the spring of 2020.

Before that moment, I was in the habit of travelling much more frequently than I have since then. In an average year I might travel several times to the United States, perhaps to Africa or South America, to several continental European countries, and perhaps half a dozen times to the UK. In the past four years, our international travel has been pretty radically curtailed, which has ensured that I too have been grounded for most of that time. Because of the mRNA poison injections, I ceased going to the US and have yet to resume going there. To a degree, this is because of deteriorated relationships with certain organisations or individuals, and this in the main is due to (largely unspoken) differences of opinion as to what was occurring. (They nowadays regard me as an ‘extremist’.) Similarly with several of the European destinations we might have expected to be invited to. The UK is rather different: we could go, but generally prefer not to. We have been to London a couple of times in the past year or so, but usually for personal reasons, and nothing like as often as we went there before. Since 2022, after an unprecedented two-year break, we resumed our regular trips to Andalusia, which remains our sole regular port of call.

What has struck me in these various recent excursions to other countries is that all of these places feel infinitely more ‘normal’ than does my own country. This is particularly the case in Andalusia, which feels as though nothing has happened in the world at all. When we go there, we leave all the symptoms of what has been happening behind us. The people we know there seem to be as they always were. (Most, though not all, are sceptics). In general, the year might still be 2019. The same appears to be true of eastern Europe, although we have not been there since ‘before’. We were in Budapest a few months ago, and it seemed largely untouched by the kind of horrors Ireland has been experiencing on a daily basis.

My dear country is a hellhole now. There is no other way of accurately describing it. Having had one of the most vicious lockdowns in the world, it caught its breath briefly before being subjected to the most radical orchestrated invasion of aliens suffered by any European country of the past few decades. In 1997, the population of the Irish Republic was 3.67 million; now it is (officially, at least) 5.2 million, an increase of close to 50 per cent, most of it by dint of mass inward migration. The official statistics say that one in five of the present population is of foreign origin, but these figures are given the lie on any streetscape, and many Irish people believe the figures for migrants are being radically doctored in a downward direction. In the past two years alone, Ireland has taken in over 250,000 foreign migrants, representing a population increase of five per cent. In March 2024, the EU had an average of 16.4 asylum applicants per 100,000 populations; Ireland had double at 35 applicants per 100,000. Between January 2023 and March 2024, 245,000 PPS numbers (personal public service numbers — i.e. the means to access the rights of a resident, such as social welfare and heatlhcare entitlements) were issued to foreign migrants, while in the same period just 80,000 were issued to Irish natives. Many of these newcomers are unvetted males who arrived in Ireland without identification. Many are believed to be criminals released from prison in their own countries. Across Ireland, criminality — in particular sexual assaults and attempted child abductions — are informally known to be increasing dramatically, though the authorities-without-authority and their purchased media turn a blind eye lest this slow down their plantation agenda. Despite this, a series of headline atrocities have broken into public view in recent years, creating a deepening of the shock being silently experienced by many citizens, and an uptick in the gaslighting conducted daily by politicians and those posing as journalists.

Many of the aliens come to Ireland on a promise from the Government that they will be housed within four months. The Government claims that it is merely fulfilling its ‘international obligations’ (a meaningless piety) but in 2023, the gay and childless Roderic O’Gorman, Minister for Children, Equality, Disability, Integration and Youth, advertised in multiple languages across Asia and Africa for an unlimited number of migrants to come to Ireland, promising front-door keys and free stuff. From the moment of their arrival, migrants are provided with food, free medical care, priority in school admission, prepaid bank cards and bank accounts, and extraordinary levels of social welfare payments. During the recent European and local elections, many of these new arrivals, with no ID documents and barely capable of naming the country they had fetched up in, were bussed into voting stations to vote for corrupt establishment politicians. There is no agency or institution left to which a citizen can go to report these abuses.

Meanwhile the statistics for homeless Irish people go through the roof — north of 14,000 at the moment, including more than 3,000 chiildren, with 400,000 Irish people on waiting lists for medical treatment. Some 100,000 Irish natives applied for visas to Australia in 2023, and had the pleasure of meeting their replacements at the airport on their way out. (The word ‘replacement’ is anathematised as a descriptor of what is occurring, which simply serves to confirm its appropriateness.)

Anyone who raises questions about any of this is declared a ‘racist’. Those who have objected or demonstrated against the overpowering of their communities by the imposition of hundreds of indifferent and self-evidently unsuited aliens have been tasered or beaten off the streets by a onetime people’s police force — An Garda Siochána (‘Guardians of the Peace’!) — which is chartered to police only by the consent of the people.

Not unconnected with all this, the atmosphere in Irish towns and cities is disintegrating rapidly. Not only is there a dramatic alteration in the visible demographic character of the population, but there is general, albeit low-key agreement among Irish people that many of their city-centres, particularly Dublin, the capital city, have become no-go areas due to the levels of menace, begging and general decay on display.

There are other symptoms also. In Andalusia, a five-year drought was brought to an end this year by abundant rains that took the reservoirs back to comfortable levels after an extended period of water rationing. In many parts of Ireland, it has rained almost continuously for the past two years, and dramatically so since June 2023, resulting in massive crop failures which go largely unreported. Ireland has become a prime target for geoengineering technologies directed at damaging the production of food, the security and incomes of farmers, and probably also the health of the overall population — all with a view to making land available for purchase by financial predators and rendering the population more helpless, unwell and dependent on tyrannical authorities for some of its most basic human needs.

This outline, as any sentient and honest Irish person knows, is only scratching the surface of the nightmare that has befallen Ireland in the 21st century, and escalatingly in the past four years. Accompanying this has been a decided shift in the demeanour of politicians towards their own citizens. Gone is the ingratiating smile of old and in its place a bare-fanged grimace evincing malice, cruelty, indifference and contempt.

The Irish people — under a range of headings — from demographics to culture, via history, economics and democracy — are being rooted out of history and replaced with indifferent or hostile outsiders who offer the orchestrators of this plot a better prospect for whatever agendas they seek to further in the coming times.

It is clear that, although these programmes and strategies have been pursued in most other countries also, Ireland has been targeted with added venom, and for particular reasons, which occasionally lend themselves to speculation, albeit rarely any serious attempts as to the divination of meanings. There is a vague sense of a looming tyranny, of which all this is part, but little specificity as to its deep configuration, beyond the standard listing of elements: CBDCs, data harvesting, compliance monitoring, Universal Basic Income (UBI), biometric IDs, mandatory ‘vaccines’, et cetera.

I had been saying for some years before 2020 that Ireland had become a Petri-dish for all that was to be imposed on the world, though especially the West. In the first instance, I was thinking about things like homosexual marriage and abortion, which were introduced in Ireland at a level far beyond what was requested by or even tolerable to most people. It was clear that what was happening was in response not to democratic sentiment, or even localised lobbying power, but supranational pressure to make Ireland conform to an agenda that was intimately connected to the drive towards global homogeny and hegemony. I have documented these wars pretty exhaustively in my 2018 book, Give Us Back the Bad Roads.

But a new element has reared its unambiguous head since 2020. The two introductory thoughts sketched out above — that we are not so much ‘waiting’ as ‘in preparatory mode’, and that Ireland is probably centremost in the attendant experimentation — are linked by something that has also been widely canvassed, but rarely with any degree of specificity. The common-thread underlying these two half-realisations has to do with the possibility of a revolution intervening to interrupt and perhaps abort the plans of the Combine, the amalgam of monied and powerful interests seeking dominion over the world and the human race.

We should remember that, when ‘elites’ seek to gain control over populations, they take on something that is both fragile and dangerous. Invariably, their numbers are much fewer than those they seek to subdue, and they depend additionally on members of the classes they seek control over to deliver the mass of the population into their hands. This is in part why we have had such a long period of apparently nothing happening since the assaults of 2020. It is also why Ireland has become the focus of the Combine’s attentions.  

One of the more understood aspects of Ireland in its recent shifted apprehension by the outside world is that it is a nation which has only recently begun to collapse out of ‘traditional’ understandings of patriotism, civilisationalism and transcendence, as well as tribal/clan understandings of loyalty and connectivity. For 1,500 years a Christian/Catholic country, it has in recent times been rather easily persuaded to abandon all that in favour of an empty secularism, not easily distinguished from nihilism. It has, we are constantly reminded, embraced modernity and wrapped itself in the rainbow flag. In the initial period of the mRNA poison rollout, it was one of the most compliant countries in the world, though this enthusiasm has waned somewhat since then.

Comtemplated historically, however, Ireland is a rather different proposition, known for its defiance to illegitimate authority, its rich culture and literature and its indefatigable personality, forged on the anvil of historical tyranny. In this contest, it is diverting to pause briefly to note that virtually all of the elements of the so-called ‘Great Reset’ — the operating programme of the tyranny now threatening the world — have already been tried out in Ireland, to eventually meet with failure.

As a correspondent of mine (thank you Patrick!) has pointed out, many of the slogans purveyed by the WEF as teasers of the New Normal have equivalents in Ireland’s history of subjugation and plunder, including:

‘You will own nothing and be happy’: Irish slaves had no ‘legal’ personhood and therefore no property rights for roughly 600 years, from the 12th century;

‘You vill eat ze bugs!’: The policy of the British Empire was to keep the Irish population on the brink of starvation, up until a century ago.

‘You will live in pods’: most Irish slaves (tenant farmers charged with feeding the English) were housed in mud huts;

‘You will abandon religion and revere only your earthly masters!’: Ireland’s national religion, Catholicism, was outlawed under the Penal Laws;

(There is much more of this fascinating comparison, which I may return to another time.)

And plantations are nothing new either!

But remember also that Ireland was the first nation of Earth to shake off the avaricious and bloody grip of the British Empire. Ours is a country that, having been robbed of its native language, took on an alien tongue and mastered it in a manner that drew tears of envy from those who had imagined they could destroy a nation by attacking its voicebox. In the first half of the twentieth century, Ireland became the world-centre of literature in English, casting its neighbouring island in shadow.

Above all factors is the matter of personality. The Irish population has long been one of the most charismatic on Earth, beloved of peoples in other nations, far and wide. The ‘personality’ of Ireland is — or was — discrete and distinct, expressed in a strange mix of affection and badinage, kindness and gentle mockery. Despite — or because of — its dark history, Ireland presents a profoundly comedic landscape as a collateral effect of its past. In Ireland, for historical reasons, the concept of ‘joke’ has an unusual pathological dimension, arising in part from the pratfalls inflicted on us by history, and inviting us to laugh at ourselves as an alternative to tears. Humour was to a high degree a suit of armour developed by the Irish against the onslaught of tyranny and exploitation — one of the less obvious reasons why our country is currently being flooded with indifferent aliens who have as much in common with that sensibility as visitors from another galaxy.

There is a neurosis — a constant tearing between extremes of love and hate — at work at the heart of Irish life, from which we protect ourselves with laughter. In the works of Samuel Beckett, for example, there is a quality of truth which is far more real than outsiders comprehend. Because his plays in particular have acquired the label ‘absurdism’, it is assumed that the characters are in some sense akin to cartoons, or that Beckett himself was primarily a dabbler in abstract styles. In fact, the (mostly) old men that Beckett depicts are people he actually observed, refugees from a catastrophe that became a slapstick. We natives watch them with two sets of eyes: the eyes of the outsider, acquired by dint of literary education, and accordingly inclined towards laugh at the misfortunes of our ancestors; and the eyes of the insider, which see what is actually there, albeit mostly in silence. We laugh not to mock those who, in the moment, become the butts of our jokes, but to protect ourselves from what we imagine must be the griefs of our ancestors, which we visit only in this way. Laughter is like a layer of gristle between bones which would otherwise grind into one another to the point of seizure. It is a kind of self-protection, a philosophical response born of the need to maintain a blinkered outlook in the face of calamity

The joke that is intrinsic to Ireland and its people gravitates around the idea of a culture, truncated by interference, suddenly rebooted and beginning to behave as though it had never been disrupted. Though, of course, because it had been interrupted, and rudely so, Irish reality turned into something utterly different to what might have been imagined as a logical progression from what had come before.

There is a strange connection between these undertows and the national faith of the 1,500 year period just lately ended. Ireland’s sense of humour long prevented its religious sensibility becoming fatalistic or resigned. Rather, the two elements together are what forged in Ireland the spirit of rebellion that culminated 108 years ago in the most dramatic revolution of the twentieth century, which took the hitherto undefeated British empire by surprise in a moment of distraction.

There are here, however, many ambiguities and paradoxes. On the one hand, the role of the Church in Ireland was as a protective, peoples’ church, which worked to defend its flock from assault; on the other the Church of Rome was also a foreign despotism, which purveyed globalism before it was invented or named. On the one hand, Catholicism offered Ireland a fount of anthropological understandings and moral wisdom that steered the country through innumerable trials to a form of independence; on the other it became a source of soft tyranny that intruded at the most intimate levels of human existence.

‘Independence’ and ‘freedom’ have more complex sets of meaning for the Irish than for most other peoples. When we became ‘free’, we shook off not merely our oppressors, but to an extent our emancipators, including the institution that had done most to consolidate the Irish spirit in its times of greatest trial.

One of the problems with such an arrested culture is that it has no way of growing organically, or even of imagining how this might have happened if the interruption had not occurred. And so there are only two ways of responding culturally, one being fossilisation, the other a process of lurching forward in jumps and starts, reacting neurotically to developments elsewhere, imitating, reinventing oneself and trying to unbecome what you have been given as a self-description. For the past half-century, Ireland has seemed to want to undo everything about itself that once made it what it was, albeit this apparent fixation with becoming thoroughly modern may not have been as organic as it sometimes appeared. Because of the fragmentation of inherited meanings, and the consequent development of multiple versions of itself, Ireland has always combined a strong sense of nostalgia for a past it had repressed — a desire to celebrate its unique nature and yet a countervailing impulse to escape memories that were all too real, and remember itself differently in order to become something other but unimagined. Those who remain in this culture are trapped, therefore, between an out-of-date version of Ireland — existing largely in the imagination of its exiled millions but reflected in, for example, the kind of kitsch iconography long aimed at tourists by the national tourism board, Bord Failte  — and their own yearning to escape, perhaps to some idealised notion of what Ireland might have become with a different history. Our aunts and uncles went off and built and vacuumed Manhattan, while we who remained continued to live in thatched homesteads but watched our children acquire the sensibility of skyscraper-dwellers and pursue doctorates in the absurdist drama of Samuel Beckett. Thus, poverty and kitsch came to have the same face, and history lurked like a custard-pie waiting to take the fun out of modernity.

This, and many other ingredients, makes Ireland a suitable laboratory specimen for those who would try to figure out how to enslave human beings in their version of reality, and keep them there. It is clear that the Combine wished to erase the pious but mocking Paddy from the face of the Earth

There is a mythology of the ‘fighting Irish’ which may once have possessed some truth, but which is nowadays a fanciful conceit, mostly engaged in from a distance. The most recent episode to support this notion was the Easter Rising of 1916, which occurred in Dublin, but in reality was planned and engineered by a tiny group of men, mostly from far-flung parts of the island, with sensibilities that were far from normal for their time or any time. They were mainly writers, poets, artists, with a couple of soldiers thrown in to ensure they did not go down with the first punch.

That revolution continues to fascinate the world, not least because of its slow-burn effect. Built around the mythology of the Crucifixion and Resurrection of Jesus, it took five years to achieve its objectives, though its ringleaders had perished within weeks of the uprising. The idea of posthumous revolution is a strange and troubling recollection for those who would subdue human beings and imagine that their tyranny will hold though time, and its locus could not be left unwatched until the spirit of its onetime emancipation had been buried at a crossroads with a sword piercing its heart.

These factors of spirit and personality are among the chief reasons why Ireland has been targeted for particular savagery and cruelty. For the past four years, we have been subjected to innumerable provocations, any one of which would have been unthinkable even a decade before. The outright hostility shown by the governing entities and their personnel towards those who are nominally their masters, bespeaks something more than a sudden lurching into bad manners. It is, of course, a symptom of the handing upwards (without authority) of power belonging to the people. The creeps who inhabit the husked offices of governments are now little more than the messenger boys of globalist dictators, so that when the whip is cracked they must perform whatever it says on the page instantly before them. Strangely, this has the reflex effect of making them appear not merely powerful but as if they are actually administering the fulfillment of their own wishes and requirements — than which nothing could be further from the truth.

The purpose of the assaults on the Irish spirit and personality are undoubtedly directed at seeking the limits of the tolerance of the population for lies, gaslighting, cruelty and abuse. Throughout that period, Ireland has been in an undeclared post-democratic state, with the electoral franchise, the rule of law and the right to basic freedoms persisting merely as charades designed to pacify the population until an announcement of their termination can be made. To this end, the authorities-without-authority have been seeking to goad people into a violent reaction. When this has not been forthcoming, they have sought to insinuate it as though it were already happening. The have created massive cultural lies about, for example, the existence of a menacing ‘far right’, which seeks to grab power and destroy Irish democracy, when in fact the sole threat to democracy comes from those inhabiting the corridors of onetime power. The objective is to pinpoint the likely moment of revolution before it happens, and ensure that it can be disposed of with lies and coercion. Needless to say, given Ireland’s cultural make-up, this experiment would be highly instructive for the Combine in its efforts to subdue less quixotic or unpredictable peoples.

The modern conception of revolution is intrinsically linked to various colourations of Marxism, which is one of the reasons the Combine has activated numerous Marxist-sounding initiatives (against private property, for example) even though socialism is about as far from the planned endgame as it is possible to imagine. This goes some way to elucidating the paradox I outlined in an article some months ago, in which I pulled up the Argentinian president, Javier Milai on the idea he expressed in Davos in January: that the motherWEFfers are seeking to impose ‘Communism’ on the world. I understood what he was getting at, but he misstated the issue in a way that is misleading, and falls into a lazy-minded trap which has already caught out a goodly number on the side of the Resistance. It is ludicrous to accuse the motherWEFfers of peddling communism, when what they are doing is using Marxist software to bring about a situation that would cause Marx to rotate uncontrollably in his plot in Highgate Cemetery, London: i.e. the total and permanent reign of monied oligarchy, with the means of production irrevocably in the control of those who have already commandeered the money system. The endgame was never Marxism/Communism, but the antithesis: total monopoly capitalism, which is to say a reigning despotism of self-appointed dictators over a neo-feudal world.

Marxism was merely the operating system of the planned transformation —chosen because it was the most developed ‘modern’ prototype for human revolution, but of limited appeal or usefulness to the Combine after that. It suited them in this context because it set down a highly particularised paradigm for the human resistance to tyranny, and sought to suggest this as the only effective mode of revolution — that Marx, in fact, had acquired an eternal monopoly franchise on that concept.

This, as Václav Havel tells us, is an error, since the very idea that there is only one way of proceeding in any given circumstance is itself the very essence of the totalitarian. In his 1988 essay, ‘Stories and Totalitarianism’, Havel writes of a ‘nihilisation of the past’ that laid waste to the spirit of his own country, Czechoslovakia, arising from ideologies that laid claim to having understood history completely.  In this schema, history, past and future, is appropriated in a manner that eliminates the human element — what Havel calls’ the human story’. All the spontaneity, unpredictability and possibility that arises from the human capacity for endless variety are removed and replaced with a sense that the future is simply an ideological continuum from the past, and that all that is required of the citizen, the human person, is to move forward into a utopia that has been prepared according to diktats received from history. This process begins with the commandeering of history by a single viewpoint, which is then made absolute, enabling the past to be reduced to that single aspect. This, Havel elaborates, occurs when the ‘story’ — that which gives human history its shape and meaning and structure — is eliminated from human culture. After that, he continues: ‘Since the mystery in a story is the articulated mystery of man, his story began to lose its human content. The uniqueness of the human creature became a mere embellishment on the laws of history, and the tension and thrill in real events were dismissed as accidental and therefore unworthy of the attention of scholarship. History  became boredom.’

This is another way of saying that human destiny is defined and ordered by transcendent forces, which set mankind, or its constituent members, on a path towards a destiny that vivifies the entirely of an existence provided it is followed truly.

Ireland was the first European nation to throw off the yoke of colonialism. There is a mythology suggesting that, as a consequence, the Irish are the least likely to accept slavery, but there were particular factors intrinsic to the revolutionary spirit of 1916 that do not necessarily apply to the entirety of the race, especially now, but in reality even then.

It is the case that Ireland was in effect the only ‘white’ Western country to be colonised by another Western country. I mean ‘colonised’ in both the literal and psychological sense, whereby the purpose was to break the spirit of a people, destroy their culture and personality, and have them become the architects of their own enslavement by dint of an imposed hankering, rooted in a constructed sense of inferiority, to imitate those who had colonised them.

There are no real parallels in the modern world with the trajectory of Ireland and its indigenous population through the arc of recent history — post-colonial, European, a similar shade of colouration to our colonisers, speaking the same language as our colonisers albeit ‘on top of’ a rich and vibrant ancient culture rooted in a centuries-long existence of an entirely different tongue, which still exhibits spectacular life of its own in volcanic eruptions that occur without warning across a range of disciplines and mediums.

Ireland was also the first nation to turn on its enslavers, throwing out — or seeming to throw out — the English invader.

Although most revolutions of the twentieth century tended to be Marxian in conception — following the standard prescription of violent overthrow of the establishment in pursuit of a dictatorship of the proletariat — Ireland’s Rising of Easter 1916 was entirely other: it conformed to the formula Havel would sketch out some 70 years later in that it sought a modus and a motivation that was anything but ideological. Violence was employed but proportionately and in response to unspeakable provocation. In a sense, the Rising was no more than a gesture, directed at provoking the response that would duly ensue — the execution of the ringleaders, which was what eventually created the wave that would put the British empire running crying to its King back in London.

Elsewhere, revolutions emanated from the concept of violent overthrow and takeover in the name of the ‘masses’. Ireland’s Easter Rising was defined by Christian understandings/protocols. What that means is not simply that it was conducted by men who trusted in Jesus, but that these men possessed an outlook on reality whereby they understood that, being embarked upon a path that had righteousness on its side, they were entering into a reality defined by transcendent forces. Thus, the possibilities were not dictated by force or strength of numbers, or a vision of their aims and the future derived from ideology or dogma, but by the very fact of their seeking a path that was true to themselves, their nation, and their personal, educated sense of reality. They did not know when or in what way the victory would manifest, but simply that, as an iron law of reality, it eventually would. And when it did, it would not be so much their victory as a victory of transcendent reality over the mundanity of ideology and violence — a victory for Christ. It is also important to observe that this tradition of human-centric tradition was also richly pollinated by the Pagan period, in particular the Brehon Laws, one of the oldest, most sophisticated legal systems in the world, stretching back to more than 1,000 years before Christ. These, too, influenced the unique demeanour of the 1916 insurrectionaries.

The Combine, all but certainly, had all these factors in mind when looking in 2019 at the potential problems presented by Ireland, in spite of its much degenerated state some 98 years after its nominal independence. In spite of their best efforts with indoctrination, deracination and secularisation, could there be residues of this mentality which had overturned the greatest empire the world had ever seen a year before the Marxian revolution of 1917 took out the Russian tzars?

Of course, the Combine, for reasons we have explored elsewhere, is not in any degree motivated by Christianity, or indeed any form of transcendent thinking beyond their own egos. Its chosen software, as already stated, is Marxian, which it appears to read as the acme of operating systems in the matter of creating a control grid. It is for this reason that it has long been intent upon imposing forms of soft-Marxism on the population of Ireland, patterns of interference which go back nearly 35 years, to 1990 and the election of Mary Robinson as President.

A country like Ireland, not being normal, needs a lot of study and work before it can be made to yield to tyranny. That’s partly why the Combine had put such an effort in. But it’s also because, once you've cracked a place like Ireland, any kind of half normal country is a doddle. It’s a little, if incongruously, like the way the Irish footballer, George Best, became the greatest footballer in the world ever: by practising with a tennis ball in the back streets of Belfast; when he switched to a proper football, he could do anything. My guess is that the Combine resolved that, if it could succeed in imposing its software on Ireland, nothing would stand in its way in any other location. If they could figure out what was going on in the Irish mind, and achieve the final quietude of the Irish spirit, it might be able to impose the ‘solution’ on the rest of the Western population.

By the way, the purpose of the Combine in imposing a Marxian software has nothing to do with any sense of reverence for that ‘boring bearded phenomenon’ (© Osip Mandelstam), but simply because it wishes to make everything manageably predictable. The essence of Marxism is predictability, which is why it functions, after a fashion, as a kind of Mackintosh of totalitarianism. It presents an approximate theory of man in society that seems like it might be true, until, put into practice, it starts to go seriously awry. On paper, it is a plausible theory of everything social and human; in practice it collapses in the face of human spontaneity and incalculable desiring. This is something the true Christian intuitively understands, an idea until recently axiomatic to Irish people.

To some extent, of course, the Combine has been imposing its software on a phantom. The Ireland of 1916 is ancient history, being replaced by a ‘modern;’ society in which transcendent ideas are either dismissed as superstition or pursued as a crude moralism with thin roots in any sense of total reality. And yet, there are residues of the trace elements of personality and spirit that represent an acknowledged threat to the Combine’s plans.

The Combine, in its attempt to take over the world, has therefore been haunted by those exhilarating words of the beloved Irish Parens Patriae:

‘If you strike us down now we shall rise again and renew the fight. You cannot conquer Ireland; you cannot extinguish the Irish passion for freedom. If our deed has not been sufficient to win freedom then our children will win it by a better deed.’

Beyond theory, the Combine’s plan for Ireland was to foment a revolution that was not of the Christian type, and therefore lacking a moral imperative which would be persuasive for the generality of the Irish people, and systematically put it down. It had hoped that three decades of intense indoctrination might be sufficient to steer the Irish rebel spirit on to the Marxist tracks, and thereby push it into a predictable uprising which could be smeared as terrorism, discredited in the mind of the wider public, and suppressed in the interests of ‘democracy’. This can be observed in the attempted race-baiting of the population over the past three years or so, which has attempted to push communities over the edge into what would readily lend itself to the designation of a racist backlash against purportedly vulnerable ‘refugees’ from (as was spuriously claimed) war, famine and other calamities. Such an operation, and far more effectively than might be hoped on the basis of force, would represent a victory over the Irish personality and the whole of Irish history. Ireland would have stood shamed not merely before the world, but against the backdrop of its own heroic history.

There was also an experiment in play, predicated on the question of whether a country which had responded to an experiment (in the Irish case dating from the 1960s), can become capable of achieving what is called ‘modernity’ without undoing the psychological damage imposed by colonisation — i.e. a Western nation which may have the potential to succumb to communism in the manner of the Chinese, while retaining certain Western characteristics, such as creativity, individual subjectivity, cultural particularity and the generation of genius. The aim here was to see whether a people, despite being broken in spirit, might still retain the useful elements of individualism, while remaining happy in their chains.

This endeavour failed because of the restraint of the vast majority of those who sought to step into the shoes of Pearse and Collins on the streets of Irish towns and cities since 2020, albeit with perhaps only a crude instinctual understanding of what this signified. As though possessed of a residual programming in a mindset that had been publicly discarded, they stood their ground without losing self-control, exercising restraint and temperance beyond the call of duty. Though understandably baffled by much of what confronted them, they hugged close to their primary motivations of protecting family and community, and focussing on the evildoing of authority rather than rising to the bait of racial conflict. They kept their sense of humour, too, more or less. Though confronted by an evil establishment and a corrupt media, they did not deliver to the Combine and its minions what they so earnestly desired. Why? One reason is that the people called to the front line by these developments were exclusively of the working class — the most attacked and therefore motivated and brave enough to spearhead a resistance — a class which is nowadays blessed by no longer having an ideological leadership. This was something the Combine failed to see coming: that, by shifting the leftist focus from economics to the intimate life of humanity (i.e, sex and gender wars) they would lose control over the working classes. The Left no longer speaks for — or to — the blue-collar worker who makes, mends and feeds the world every dawning day.

For the past four years, then, it is not that nothing has been happening, but that we Irish have been quietly refusing to take the route that had been written from the beginning in the Combine’s blueprint, which outlined a one-size-fits-all understanding of how peoples behave under the attempted suppression of their spirits. The Combine had hoped to foment a revolution in Ireland which they could attribute not to Marxists, but to the ‘far right’, which they could then put down in triumph. This has not yet happened, nor does is seem likely.

The victory, then, is this: that against the plans of the allegedly cleverest and most powerful actors in the world, the Irish people, as though instinctively seeing into the trap, have retained and reinvigorated the qualities that defined their history through the most outrageous provocations and abuses. They did this on the basis of a reflex, — possibly subconscious — memory, which guided them towards reason and gentleness rather than the violence their tormentors wished for.

The precisely articulated reason the Combine sought to use Ireland as a lab-rat is that it wished to discover if a race is capable of being immunised against colonialism. They hoped not, and they lost that bet. If such an inoculation were possible, then the Combine might well have to rethink many of its plans for re-conquering and asset-stripping in territories conquered by Western countries in the late-nineteenth and early twentieth century wave of colonialism — in Africa, for example, which, as far as many of these recidivist (and genuinely racist) exploiters are concerned, remains a largely unexploited locus of plunder.

The new colonialism is global. It is a plundering of everything — every last tree and mountain, every blade of grass, every grain of sand, all of which are to be tokenised, priced and labelled with levies. This wave of colonialism is also supranational in that it is engineered via quasi-political, albeit unelected entities such as the UN, the WHO and the WEF, which operate in effect as factories of global interference in nations/countries/democracies (they don’t distinguish or care) with a view to imposing forms of occupation and subjugation that the earlier colonisers did not foresee in even their wettest dreams. The mechanism of this colonialism is corporatism — the insertion into the economies of targeted countries of a layer of quasi-governance that is neither democratic nor particularly political, but which operates by exerting such control over the economies of these countries that it becomes, by dint of money-power, the invisible senior partner of the relevant government administrations, creating genuinely fascist coalitions of faux democrats and corporates. By combining with ostensibly democratic parties, it can camouflage the true nature of what is happening, which is essentially a process of siphoning-off real wealth, using three-card money tricks, debt-pushing, propaganda, psychological operations and, in effect, slow-moving coups that reduce the democratic quotient of the affected nations to husks of their former condition.

The struggle against globalism is essentially a struggle against the One Best Way, a concept that goes back to Henry Ford and Frederick Taylor, more than a century ago. To rinse it down to its essentials, it is a struggle against having the world and its population reduced to what is codified and written down — as opposed to understandings rooted in the mysterious, given genius of humanity. It was through the application of time-and-motion processes that Taylor and Ford managed to plunder the skills of the original carmakers, an ‘achievement’ that cleared the way for the many micro-industrial revolutions of the twentieth century. Ultimately, this amounted to two kinds of fraud: the defrauding of the craftsmen, followed by the defrauding of the customers, who were deprived of particularity, quality, and uniqueness, in favour of ‘value’ dictated by cost-cutting, controlled incomes, greed and short-sightedness. Human skill and ingenuity have always been a focus of envy for the rich and powerful, who, since the abolition of slavery have been deprived of the total ownership of human beings. What they can steal since then has been but the shadow of the genius of humanity, but the downside of this is that there is little place for human genius in a workplace governed to their ‘ethic’, which is to say the profit motive. The predictive language of the modern technological workplace has painted humanity into a corner characterised by limited creativity. In the tech age, language of industry has mutated to match the escalatingly mechanised view of the world, locking humanity into a potentially fatal condition of inarticulacy. By mortgaging our own cultures, creativity and imagination, we are running the risk of obliterating our capacity to progress. Public language, as utilised in politics, economics and other areas of civic discourse, is disintegrating, narrowing in its capacity to express what a man really feels in his heart. As we yield up our skills, memories and narrative abilities, we abort the possibility of further progress, painting ourselves permanently into a continuous present of which the past four years have offered a mere taster.

What Taylor and Ford ‘achieved’ with the production line, the Combine seeks to finish off with AI. It hopes to strip humanity of its residual skills and genius, in order to create a world of the future which will cost only the price of the electricity to run their machines. Its particular concentration has been directed at ensuring that there was nothing left in Paddy’s spiritual tank that might unseat this new model of enslavement. Its biggest concern was that the race memory of overcoming the prior model of enslavement and plunder might cause Paddy to pose a potentialy terminal threat to their plans.

It will all come to grief, of course. Colonisation ultimately leads to the destruction of everything, including itself. The most fundamental error made by the Combine and its ilk is the failure to understand that there is no perfect paradigm by which the future of a nation, a human community, or a human being can be imagined and implemented with any degree of certitude, for this is the very essence of the anti-human. Because of the irreducible mystery of both reality and man within it, there will always be elements which remain outside the realm of external control. Just as there are things that Ford and Taylor had to leave behind in the heads of the mechanics, cabinet makers and upholsterers of the early Ford motor cars, so there will be chunks of the knowledge of humanity that will never find their way into an AI-driven machine.

It is all but certain that the Combine’s plan for Ireland has already failed, and this gives us hope that it may fail in the broader world also. The ploy of demonising those who stood against it and its tyrannical minions has failed also, as the preparatory period has gone on so long that the population at large has begun to rumble the ‘far right’ ruse. The model of upwardly surrendered power — though a sine qua non of supranational usurpation — has served the Combine badly, in large part due to its having to depend for the implementation/administration of its tyrannies on just about the lowest levels of intellect in the land. This has emerged as the Achilles heel of the attempted coup against Irish democracy: that the incremental disincentivisation of the intelligent elements of the population from involvement in politics has left the would-be tyrants bereft of deep local knowledge. A beautiful Catch-22.