Just over ten years ago I moved back to Greenwich, Connecticut. I lived in a one-bedroom flat in central Greenwich with a hot little Brazilian girl with green eyes, jet-black hair, and an insatiable sex drive. It was a couple of blocks from Greenwich Avenue, within walking distance of Richards, JCrew, Starbucks, the tobacconist, and a variety of restaurants and bars. As you know, it was familiar territory: I lived for many years in that part of Connecticut and still had family there.
I had spent the preceding three years on a sojourn in England and South Africa, taking time off from a NYC banking career to travel. In London I renewed ties with Tory and Nationalist contacts and fell in with a group of consultants and journalists specialising in security affairs, counter-terrorism, and political risk assessment. I supported the Serbian campaign against Albanian insurgents in Kosovo, and, when US-NATO forces retaliated against Serbia in 1999, I volunteered with Serbian activists in London. Fighting terrorism was very much on everyone's mind in the late 1990s, but no one, it seems, was prepared to consider they were supporting the wrong side. But more on that later.
I worked at an international bank in Stamford. On the morning of the attacks in Manhattan one of my colleagues stumbled into my office, wide-eyed and upset, and said: "We're being attacked!" The news programmes showed the second jet hitting a tower. From the office windows we could just about see the plumes of smoke rising over lower Manhattan. After a short while we were told to go home. Driving south on I-95 over the Mianus River Bridge I caught up with a dark young man of Indian or Middle Eastern appearance driving an old car and shot him a look that must have said "I'm going to fucking kill you!", because he looked terrified and quickly switched lanes to avoid me. I would have done, at that moment.
Once home I changed and met up with some friends at Mackenzie's in Old Greenwich. It was crowded and the television sets were on. The regulars were already there. Soon a stream of New York commuters filled the bar, covered in ash, horrified and quiet, tear-stains on their face, asking for and receiving drinks. It was a solemn spectacle. I spent the rest of the evening with friends at Sundown Saloon on Greenwich Avenue. Over and over again footage of planes hitting the towers filled the screens. Later that night the Greenwich firefighters, paramedics, and cops who had gone to Manhattan that morning returned to town, groups of big silent men moving through the streets.
Ten years later, the situation is badly eroded. Introducing a host of authoritarian measures in the name of 'the war on terror', the governing authorities have transformed America into a police state. American forces remain in Iraq and Afghanistan waging unjust, unwinnable wars and slaughtering innocents. The US foreign policy establishment, firmly in the grip of its Levantine masters, is quietly gearing up for war with Syria and Iran, even as the central government is on the edge of bankruptcy. Borders remain wide open. American communities are filling up with the dregs of the third world, unwanted and unasked for. The barbarians are not only inside the gates, they are beginning to make demands. Muslim immigration has increased, and, with it, more incidents of Muslim terrorism. African 'flash mobs' continue to terrorise Euro Americans with impunity, as a low-level race war simmers and threatens at any moment to boil over. Incredibly, the MultiKult, wasting no opportunity to tighten its stranglehold on the majority population, portrays ordinary Americans as 'terrorists' and issues threats of violence against them.
What began as chest-thumping farce has turned into a serious case of treason and betrayal.
The Ernstfall is upon us.