This past week demonstrated an uncomfortable truth that I was avoiding coming to terms with. Minneapolis is not my home, and now I doubt whether it ever was.
I grew up in Minneapolis, and I spent most of my life in the city. I left for college and when I came back it felt like traveling to another planet, but it wasn’t my hometown that had changed, it was me. I was finally able to put the pieces together and come to a conclusion that I should have reached long ago.
Some of my most vivid memories growing up are focused on colored people. Getting in trouble for not wanting to play with a girl in preschool because her hijab was most prominent outward manifestation of her alien status. Performing a play about the underground railroad. Coming home crying to my mom because I watched a harrowing cartoon movie in class about time travel and Martin Luther King and was worried that I was racist. Having to get pulled out of class for gay multicultural propaganda events like an Ojibwe drum circle or a Kwanzaa assembly that kicked off with the “black national anthem”. Riding the buses in the city with black Israelites in full uniform. Watching Somalis and blacks tear my school apart while the less vibrant students scattered to the four winds to avoid being caught up in the African-style tribal violence.
All this time, I was being inoculated with liberal propaganda. A lot of it was negative, heavy-handed demonization of whites in all of the usual jew-approved forms, especially the Southron and the German people. Don’t worry, they also allowed us to hate on Saddam Hussein when the first stage of the Iraq War was going on, and then they put a lid on that.
There was also a litany of positive propaganda about how noble and upstanding colored people were, and how exciting and interesting their cultures are. Worst of all was the kind of insidious anti-social propaganda celebrating disgusting things that we should have been trying to stamp out. When I was in high school it was announced in the pages of Lavender magazine, to much acclaim, that Minneapolis was the gayest city in the United States, gayer even than San Francisco.
There was never an effective opposition to any of this. In 2010, Al Franken stole a U.S. Senate election from Republican Norm Coleman, who happily played the usual conservative role of the principled loser. The biggest political mobilization that I ever saw before becoming an adult was the outpouring of support for legalizing gay marriage in the state, prompted by half-hearted Republican efforts to put the issue to rest. It worked out about as well for them as the Brexit vote worked out for David Cameron.
College was bad enough, but I was always able to tell myself that it was not my reality, not my home. My parents moved out to the suburbs while I was in college and when I came back, I was stunned. There were no bus stops, there were swimming pools in the yard of every other house, and, aside from some dot-Indians adopted children from overseas, it was a sea of white faces. They were mainly woke liberals, of course, with a small scattering of the socially-liberal, fiscally-conservative type that conclusively shows that someone has done the absolute barest minimum of thinking about politics, but it was still a shock to me.
I was just starting to get used to it when I moved to the Twin Cities area with my wife. I was so excited to show her the places that I remembered from growing up; the parks, the lakes, sights like the Global Market and the trolley car I used to ride with my mom. These were things that I was excited to pass onto my own children.
But as I rediscovered the city where I had been born and raised, it became clearer and clearer that this was not my community and these were not my people. I saw things that I should have noticed before, but now unsettled me deeply. There were Ethiopian grocery stores and public notice signs in English, Spanish, Somali, and Hmong. There were stabbings on the public light rail station, and small expressions of historic white culture like German and Eastern European restaurants and communities aging out and being choked out by encroaching darkness. The streets were awash with the homeless and brown hoards. In the middle of the day, black and brown people roamed around, everywhere you looked. The apartment building that I moved into was littered with chicken bones and cigarette butts and the management told me that I could smoke weed as long as I didn’t make it too obvious.
Minneapolis is beyond saving, and it has been that way for a long time. It just took me a long time to wake up, but now there is no going back. It may take a few years, but I will not stay here long enough to be trapped as this city becomes the next Detroit. Beyond that lies South Africa, and an unmistakable mark of death on any and all white people in the cities. The raw numbers are deceptive. If every white man and woman in the Twin Cities were awake to the severity of the problem and willing to fight to defend their own people, we would have a chance, but too many of them are happy accomplices to their race’s destruction.
Isn’t it amazing how much damage and destruction thirteen percent of a population can cause nationwide? But we need to know what lessons we are going to come away with from this nightmarish week.
For me, the chief among them is this: Minneapolis is beyond saving, and it makes more sense to build up and protect what we can. There is a nobility to protecting your people and your land, but we don’t have the manpower, the resources, or the willpower to waste on lost causes, and that’s what Minneapolis is: a black hole beyond any efforts to save it, and another lesson to us and our progeny of how long a wealthy white city can hide its rot and how quickly it can be destroyed.