In my life, I wanted to take on two challenges: the first was to repair a genocide, that of my native Vendée. So that justice may be done in the rest of time. Very young, I had guessed that the Vendée spoke to the entire History of France, where it took, over time, a place of choice, gaining access to the symbolic promotion of a province of the spirit. The Vendéen is a refractory person. In the shadow of his heroes, his martyrs, he learns to face the infernal columns of yesterday and… today. The Vendée has become the timeless myth of raised awareness.
The second challenge was to repair a memoricide, that of our country. Reconnecting with the common memory that shaped us, which was a crucible of grace, tenderness, and a conservatory of the fervor of a stylish people who cultivated good tone and good taste, cherishing the treasures of a heritage envied by the whole world. It all collapsed. The French mind was struck with ridicule by progressivism in its incessant search for new figures of the unusual and the fanciful.
Islamowokism and multiculturalism
The question that arises today is not the same as in other times of great upheaval. It is much more serious. It is no longer a question of knowing whether France will be able to recover sufficient moral resources to regain momentum, it is a question of knowing whether it can be reborn. Dormition is its state, slumping, its deadly tropism.
The elites have disappeared. They participate in the same society of a univocal world. They commune under the two species of multiculturalism, which is a powerful blurr of our identity, and Islamowokism, which tramples on our vital heritage.
“History is numbers”my dear friend Pierre Chaunu repeated to me. The demographics of the future are already preparing their verdict. Only two movements will provide relief because they still have a taste for life: the movement of Islamic tradition and the movement of Christian culture. Between the two, soon, there will be nothing left. Nothing but spasm and contortions.
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Wokistan will be carried away by hedonism and die of its eccentric sterility. GPA will not be enough to produce generations compensating for the claimed deficit of missing lives. The offspring of middle-class families, having escaped state eugenics, will have the choice between becoming vegetables or dissidents. Halalized vegetables, cooked in court-bouillon, or dissidents who will blossom, very young, in their recalcitrant moods. There will no longer be room for the neutral, the half-satisfied who, for a long time, have practiced vertigo above the void, with a freeze-dried good nature, and who perhaps still think they can get away with the opulent syndrome. of oneself.
Minorities make history. Future minorities will be made up of survivors
There will no longer be a refuge to shelter the lives of neutrals. A generation of fighting survivors will emerge. It will hold isolates, fissiparities of the French species. Young people will cross paths for French sustainability, as their ancestors crossed paths for Jerusalem. They will meet so that France remains France and that it rediscovers the living memory of the thousand-year-old deposit.
If I had to remember a single lesson from my entire life, to share with young people, I would not hesitate: it is the minorities who make History. Future minorities will be made up of survivors. They will sleep with their eyes open. Practicing survival, they will adopt the reflexes and the culture. The undead of the System will be swept away by the burning fire and crystalline purity of the new French intentions of these wayward spirits.
One day, perhaps, the word “memoricide” will be obsolete. Again, we will remember. And we will have fun there, we will pick up fresh emotions there. This would mean, as they say in the Vendée Globe where the shipwrecked people fly a small white flag on the overturned hull to be spotted before it is too late, that France is still showing “signs of life”. She could be reborn, she will be reborn, she is reborn.
France
