Further to recent rumblings about progressive racial agonising and the fashionable rush to denounce, this caught my eye:
The problem here is that liberals demand a conceptual coupling that isn’t required and at least in my own case doesn’t exist. I’m not uncomfortable around non-white people. I find most of the individuals I meet from diverse backgrounds to be perfectly nice, kind, interesting, etc.
But I’m also not concealing that I would aim immigration policy at preventing further demographic change.
Immigration policy is not individual relations. How you should treat the individuals you meet and what we should do at the border involve non-overlapping magisteria, so to speak.
There’s nothing further for me to come out and say, nothing about which I need be more honest. The world is bigger than your demand for a coherence that makes sense to you personally.— wanye (@xwanyex) October 7, 2026
For those without X accounts:
But I’m also not concealing that I would aim immigration policy at preventing further demographic change.
Immigration policy is not individual relations. How you should treat the individuals you meet and what we should do at the border involve non-overlapping magisteria, so to speak.
There’s nothing further for me to come out and say, nothing about which I need be more honest.
Such are the travails of dealing with people who can only engage with objections to massive, indiscriminate immigration, and its predictable social effects, in terms of some presumed racial animus. Which can then, of course, be seized upon and denounced in order to elevate one’s own status.
And so – to add a European perspective – if you have visible reservations about this kind of social trajectory, or the prospect of periodic eruptions of lively tribal antagonism, or simply regarding everyday courtesies that can no longer be assumed, then, in their minds, conveniently, this can only be because you dislike people lacking in pallor. No other possibilities being permitted.
As I said here, regarding the evaporation of bus-queue proprieties:
As if the grievance, the stated issue – “queuing means the old, small, and weak are treated fairly” – could only be about the pigmentation of the players, not their actual behaviour, to which attention has been drawn.
And from the same post, this anecdote seems apposite:
The gist of the comedian’s punch line was, “Isn’t it hilarious that people who have concerns about mass immigration and failures to assimilate – the rapid and estranging transformation of their neighbourhoods – now have to be quiet because otherwise they’ll be called racists and possibly lose their jobs. Ha! We won!”
This triumphal non-joke – and it was blatantly triumphal – was deemed incredibly funny, or at least ideologically congenial, and much mannered clapping ensued. Of course, this was aired shortly before the uncovering of events in Rotherham and elsewhere, and before our immensely vibrant age of Congolese machete gangs.
And so, if that nice Mrs Wilson, the old dear two doors down, can no longer get on a bus, and dreads waiting for a bus because of the Third World scuffle that now ensues, and if she no longer feels she can complain about this without being thought racist, then this is totally fine, apparently. Indeed, it’s a basis for triumphal smugness by BBC comedians and BBC studio audiences.
A not dissimilar dynamic.
Update, via the comments:
Readers may recall BBC broadcaster Dan Snow, who, during the tribal riots of 2024, seemed determined not to comprehend the realities unfolding in front of his eyes. Namely, that when you place incompatible cultures with vividly conflicting values in very close proximity, such that they compete for resources and prevailing social norms, the results can be unsavoury and volatile.
Mr Snow denounced even the suggestion that such conflicts might arise as “stunningly racist.”
The obstinacy in this matter, the determination not to perceive the obvious, can be quite remarkable. I’d forgotten, for instance, about LBC presenter James O’Brien, who was gushingly moved on air by the mass invasion of Ceuta, though not in ways that seem sane.
Needless to say, the rate at which new arrivals wash up on our shores, and the ratios of newcomers to natives in any given area, are matters of some importance. This is before we even address the types of newcomers, their basic compatibility, and the need for some discernment.
One might, for instance, aspire to the role of gracious host, as it were, of making newcomers feel welcome. But this ideal presupposes an immigration policy that is limited and selective, and in which newcomers have good reason to feel lucky – and grateful.
The graciousness of the locals, the ideal, depends on the notion that the host country is regarded as something special, a desirable thing, something worthy of respect.
But massive, indiscriminate immigration undermines that ideal.
If seemingly anyone can walk in and demand goodies, any ill-mannered flotsam of the world, and if they can do so with no discernible sense of gratitude, and with no apparent regard for the norms and values of the host society, as if they were unimportant, then the indigenous population may feel they have little reason to be gracious.
Indeed, being gracious may be something of a struggle.
I realise that even the idea that the locals might dare to think in such terms – of being the gracious host – is, for some, anathema, a basis for tutting and scolding. But the sense that the value of one’s society – one’s home – is being pissed away, sold off cheap, is not a promising basis for coexistence.
And there’s a big difference in wanting to make a manageable number of newcomers feel welcome – an ideal that requires certain conditions, a certain care in immigration policy, one we do not see – and feeling swamped and displaced by some kind of demographic terraforming.
A phenomenon discussed recently.
Update 2:
Commenter [+] quotes this,
And replies,
It does seem rather unlikely. Enthusiasts of indiscriminate immigration do tend to live far removed from its less endearing consequences. Say, the lofty Simon Schama, mentioned here, or the equally lofty Dan Snow, mentioned above – married, as he is, to Lady Edwina Louise Grosvenor, daughter of the sixth Duke of Westminster, one of the country’s richest landowners, with an estimated fortune north of £7 billion.
I very much doubt that Mr Snow, or Mr Schama – who lives in Briarcliff Manor, Westchester, noted for its genteel social norms, its country-club charm, and for being home to the Vanderbilts, Astors, and Rockefellers – have neighbours who struggle with the concept of electricity. Or who butcher animal carcasses in the back yard. And I doubt that they have their evenings enlivened by Congolese and Somali borra gangs, whose preferred modes of expression involve machetes.
Or that they find newcomers quite literally shitting on their doorsteps.
Or that their experiences of enrichment resemble this, or this.
Scenes of this kind, of which there are now so many, will not, I suspect, be imprinted on their minds. Or on the minds of their children.
Passengers stop a naked man exposing himself in front of children on a train in the UK, now THEY’RE being interrogated by the police
https://t.co/wI2y66X0Ah
— Defiant L’s (@DefiantLs) October 12, 2025
Update 3:
And should you need another illustration of this piety from afar, and from above, conveniently distant from any unpleasantness, there’s always more.
It turns out that if you’re unhappy about the demographic displacement currently underway – say, in your own, modest neighbourhood, Cate Blanchett questions your humanity and thinks you need educating by actors.
Ms Blanchett, needless to say, is unlikely ever to face any of the issues illustrated above. Living, as she does, in a five-million-pound Victorian manor on a thirteen-acre estate near the overwhelmingly white town of Crowborough in East Sussex. And her other properties, including what is referred to as a holiday cottage in Cornwall, are similarly insulated from any untoward diversity.
As Ms Blanchett doesn’t have to use public transport for a daily commute, she isn’t likely to find herself sitting next to a masturbating African. And she isn’t likely to find all that vibrancy and enrichment crouching on her doorstep and taking a shit.
And Ms Blanchett isn’t likely to find exotic newcomers, these supposed bringers of our betterment, creeping into her garden at night and peering through her windows to watch her, and film her, for erotic purposes.
But less statusful women – women who don’t live in mansions on private thirteen-acre estates, and who aren’t insulated from the consequences of indiscriminate third-world immigration – do experience these things.
Much as they’d rather not.
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