Vox Popoli

It’s really rather remarkable, in the historical context, how so many Western countries continue to endure one murderous provocation after another while staunchly refusing to take any steps to resolve the situation. 

Stephanie M, a 49-year-old mother-of-two, was slashed in the throat by Djamel G, a Tunisian delivery driver at 2.20pm today as she worked in a police station in the leafy Paris suburb of Rambouillet.

French prosecutors have opened a terror probe after the killing which was carried out by the 36-year-old who arrived in France illegally in 2009 before he was given leave to remain in 2019. 

Stephanie, an admin worker, who had worked for the police since 1993, had just ‘popped out of the station to change the parking disc on her car’ when she was pounced on by the attacker in the lobby. Investigators said the killer had been scouting the site before the attack in broad daylight. 

France’s counter-terrorism unit has taken over the investigation into the killing. Francois Bersani, a police union official, said the attacker slipped into the building before shouting ‘Allahu Akbar’, meaning ‘God is greatest’ in Arabic.  

The attacker was not previously known to police or anti-terrorist authorities and had recently moved to Rambouillet having previously lived in the Val-de-Marne.  

The murdered woman was the mother of two children aged 13 and 18.

Rambouillet is a quiet and leafy commune southwest of Paris and is known for its historic chateau.

The reason the media is harping incessantly on the evils of white supremacy is because the boomerang effect in response to the invasions of the last 55 years promises to be of a that will make the democides of the 20th century look like a golden age. And perhaps they can fend it off for a while longer, but history has demonstrated that demographics is destiny.

There is a reason that people who look different and speak different and worship different used to be attacked on sight. Thanks to decades of “progress”, those days are in the process of returning.

Before the St. Floyd riots made it internationally notorious, I was occasionally asked if I regretted leaving Minneapolis. I don’t, as it happens, and perhaps this account of a woman who is a lifelong resident and is leaving Minneapolis today will help explain why:

I’ve lived in Minneapolis my entire life. I’m leaving Friday. I no longer recognize my hometown. Minneapolis is my home. My happiest memories are here. It’s where I learned to ride a bike, had my first date, received my high school diploma.

But today, I’m too afraid to even walk in my neighborhood by myself.

The ACE Hardware down the street? The one that I used to bike to in the summer? Robbed twice in the past five days.

The Walgreens next to my elementary school? Molotov cocktail thrown into it.

The Lake Harriet Bandshell, where we spent countless Mother’s Days? Homeless encampment popped up next door.

These are the things you don’t read about in the news.

My friends from MA, Edina, and Jefferson used to hang out at Lake Harriet on a regular basis once we got our drivers licenses. It was like an 80s movie come to life, only decorated with better-looking guys and much prettier blonde girls. I can’t even imagine a homeless encampment there. 

Even two decades ago, the last time I was downtown, the area from First Avenue to Washington Avenue was barely recognizable even though most of the landmarks were the same, including the place where I first met Spacebunny. It looked less like the place I spent most of my weekend evenings and a lot more like my recollections of nights out in Atlanta. 

I’m sure it’s just a coincidence that people are now afraid to walk in their own neighborhoods.

Apparently East 38th Street and Chicago Avenue is now a holy place for Africans. The POX have even put up a sign to commemorate St. Floyd’s overdose and ascension:

“Decenter yourself and come to listen, learn, mourn, and witness. Remember you are here to support, not to be supported.”

“Be mindful of whether your volume, pace, and movements are supporting or undermining your efforts to decenter yourself. Seek to contribute to the energy of the space, rather than drain it. Bring your own processing to other white folks so that you will not harm BIPOC (black, Indigenous and people of color).

“Consider if you want or need to take photos and post them. Do not take photos of other people without their consent.”

“If you witness white folks doing problematic things, speak up with compassion to take the burden off of Black folks and our siblings of color whenever appropriate. Seek to engage rather than escalate, so that it can be a learning moment rather than a disruption.”

As an Indigenous sibling of color, I’d certainly appreciate it if you white folks would take off your shoes before entering this sacred space. Watch out for the needles, though.

A reader relates a time that he failed it. If you refuse to allow people to be held accountable to their own decisions and actions, they are never going to learn from their mistakes or change their behavior:

When I was in grad school, there was a female grad student who gave a presentation on “toxic, white masculinity” in the library. Well, it was extremely late at night, and I was leaving the library, when I saw her. This was in one of America’s most dangerous cities. It’s normal for us to walk female students and professors to their cars at this university. Especially for me, being 6’10”. Well, her car was a good bit away, and to get there, she would have had to cross two different groups of negroes, in darkness, aside from two, weak streetlights. She asked me to walk her to her car. I said, “you don’t need me too. I’m not seeing any toxic white males over there.” She looked confused, then shocked, then upset, because there were no other people nearby, and she knew instantly that I was angry at her treason. She would have to walk to her car alone, unless she was willing to wait an hour for the campus police to finish up arresting criminal negroes elsewhere. She asked “please,” a couple of times, and I agreed to walk her to her car, if she would listen to what I had to say, and I gave her an earful about how rotten and treasonous she was being, and how the real world is out there, waiting to chew us up. That she needed to bring white children into the world. I hope it had an impact. I doubt it. Not as much of one as letting her get assaulted and robbed would have had, but I lacked the strength and resolve to let that happen. I didn’t have the heart to standby while she got clocked and had her laptop stolen.

If you don’t have the heart to permit people to experience the inevitable consequences of their choices, you are an enabler. You are, quite literally, part of the problem. You are helping destroy civilization.

Hence the importance of the Rorschach Test and accepting the teachable moment.

This city’s afraid of me. I’ve seen its true face. The streets are extended gutters and the gutters are full of blood. When the drains finally scab over, all the vermin will drown. The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up around their waists and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout: ‘save us.’

And I’ll whisper, no.

There is a place for mercy and forgiveness, but only in response to genuine repentance, not momentary uncertainty and fear. In the absence of repentance, never stand between Justice and her lawful prey.