Good evening, London.
Allow me first to apologize for this interruption.
I do, like many of you, appreciate the comforts of everyday routine, the security of the familiar, the tranquillity of repetition.
I enjoy them as much as any bloke.
But in the spirit of commemoration, whereby those important events of the past, usually associated with someone's death or the end of some awful bloody struggle, are celebrated with a nice holiday, I thought we could mark this November the fifth, a day that is sadly no longer remembered, by taking some time out of our daily lives to sit down and have a little chat.
There are, of course, those who do not want us to speak. I suspect even now, orders are being shouted into telephones, and men with guns will soon be on their way.
Why?
Because while the truncheon may be used in lieu of conversation, words will always retain their power. Words offer the means to meaning, and for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth.
And the truth is, there is something terribly wrong with this country, isn't there? Cruelty and injustice, intolerance and oppression. And where once you had the freedom to object, to think and speak as you saw fit, you now have censors and systems of surveillance coercing your conformity and soliciting your submission.
How did this happen?
Who's to blame?
Well, certainly, there are those who are more responsible than others, and they will be held accountable. But again, truth be told, if you're looking for the guilty, you need only look into a mirror.
I know why you did it. I know you were afraid. Who wouldn't be? War, terror, disease. They were a myriad of problems which conspired to corrupt your reason and rob you of your common sense. Fear got the best of you, and in your panic, you turned to the now high chancellor, Adam Sutler. He promised you order, he promised you peace, and all he demanded in return was your silent, obedient consent. Last night, I sought to end that silence. Last night, I destroyed the Old Bailey to remind this country of what it has forgotten. More than four hundred years ago, a great citizen wished to embed the fifth of November forever in our memory.
His hope was to remind the world that fairness, justice, and freedom are more than words;
they are perspectives.
So if you've seen nothing, if the crimes of this government remain unknown to you, then I would suggest that you allow the fifth of November to pass unmarked.
But if you see what I see, if you feel as I feel, and if you would seek as I seek, then I ask you to stand beside me, one year from tonight, outside the gates of Parliament, and together we shall give them a fifth of November that shall never, ever be forgot!"
"The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous."
ā V
The UK dystopia is real, and I am in two minds. Profoundly embarrassed; yet deeply proud
As the nationās march towards communism accelerates daily, it strengthens a people who grow increasingly bold in resistance
Hard times create strong men - this has never been truer. The unavoidably obvious truth of a fallen empire finally stirring the waters of a sleeping giant
As Orwellās warning continues to manifest in potent irony, Big Brotherās relentless surveillance and thought control has re-birthed the nationās courage to resist
Statistically quantifiable ethnic replacement, or the incarceration of citizens who exercise free speech online ⦠these are merely symptoms of a dying empire, spearheaded by vultures pretending virtue
Marionettes manipulating malevolent ministers. A parliament of puppets, but who pulls the strings?
Treasonous suits protecting those who hurt children, and imprisoning those who highlight it
All in all, itās just another brick in the wall
This is a nation on palliative care, rotten to the core. The death pangs of moral bankruptcy
Which leads to my own personal division. The darkness has made lights shine brightly. The UKās steady decline into a global laughing stock has ignited the nation that once carved mountains, spanned gorges and tamed continents
Is the nation dying, or is it being reborn? Both are true, since rebirth is contingent on death
So is there glory in this fight? Yes. Is it a fight I want to win? Of course. Is it a fight I believe we can win? Absolutely
But is there honour in staying to have your freedoms and liberties stripped away one layer at a time? Or being taxed into inescapable servitude so more money can be laundered through funding endless fiat wars?
Is there glory in playing roulette with your familyās safety, in a society which has already fallen into the event horizon of cultural genocide, simply to say āI didnāt leaveā? Iām not sure
I understand why people leave this country, and itās not for lack of national pride. In fact, itās likely due to national pride. Ex-Pats would not consider themselves āEx-Patriotsā. Far from it. They mourn the glory of the UK culture, now considered offensive, extreme or even far-right
Sarcasm. Graft. Ingenuity. Community. Pride. āBe careful what you say, wouldnāt want to offend anyoneā ⦠this is the antithesis of what it means to be British. Offend each other, and shake hands
Totalitarianism took a different form 250 years ago. Monarchism and taxation led to revolution, and brave men birthed a free land
The Founding Fathers ensured their ideas, considered treason and sedition, were penned under the pseudonym āPubliusā. Now the Tyrants at Number 10 want our ID to engage online. VPN or jail for us, it seems ā¦
Today, it isnāt monarchism that is stoking the fire of British revolution. It is communism, cosplaying as tolerance, diversity and safety
But this time, there isnāt an ocean to cross, and no New World to populate
So what will this national death and rebirth bring, if not a geographical land of liberty?
Perhaps for the first time in recent history, we will see the same revolutionary battle lines drawn on these great and consequential islands
Perhaps it will set the tone for a wider, global culture war
The Oppressorās Grip and the Peopleās Voice