The godfather of Australian unionism, W.G. Spence, who sits on the pantheon of Australian nationalism with all the greats, has a fine quote we’re just itching to share. It comes as a passage from his 1909 book, Australia’s Awakening, and applies as much to us here at NAB, but it has a wisdom that is wider, as we shall digress upon. It regards, as its title states, the press. We quote:
“There is an old song, the refrain of which runs, ‘It must be true because it’s in the papers.’ The majority of people believe what they see in cold type if it does not conflict too strongly with their own opinions. Only those who have had an opportunity of getting behind the scenes realise how unreliable the ordinary newspaper is. Part of the blame rests upon the system. Take ordinary news, which may be classed as the gossip and scandal of the community put into print. The reporter does his best to give a correct report of a public meeting or some other incident, but owing to the exigencies of space the sub-editor cuts slabs out of it and alters the whole tenor of the report.
Again, every paper has a policy laid down by its proprietors, and the man whose brains are hired to act as an editor must build according to design and specifications. The paper caters for a certain class of readers, and only prints what makes the paper sell, and thus secures advertisements. Readers like an organ which clearly puts ideas that are flowing more or less vaguely in their own minds and throw down in disgust any paper which exposes the falsity of long-cherished opinions. The people are generally not seekers of truth. They like what panders to their own vanity, and they get it.”
That is a wonderful passage, not only for the truth of its insights into how the press, and even the media today, operates, but the essence of niche markets, and in fact, it contains the vital lesson that white men need to avoid Woke Culture.
But before we get into that let’s talk about Woke Culture or ‘W.C.’ as we put it (W.C. was the old-timey term for lavatory, as in ‘water closet’).
If you’re white and a man then you’re better off just never turning on the television lest you end up putting your boot through it. This goes double for streaming services. Moreover, never set foot in the cinema. For if you watch free-to-air, or entertain yourself by watching rubbish on Netflix, visiting the flicks, or just surfing most mainstream news sites, as any half-enlightened white kid knows, you’re constantly under attack for being white and male.
If you walk into a public shopping centre without earplugs, chances are you’re being assailed by whatever black-girlie-faggy music is being piped out over the PA; assuming you don’t already work in an environment where you’re forced to listen to mainstream radio excluding M.O.R. Everything is against you, from literature to movies, to music, to advertising, to the corporation. We won’t even mention sports. If you follow anything but your own private team sports then you deserve to be assimilated into the Woke cult.
They talk about White Male Privilege, but this is just a clever way of disguising that apart from the fact privilege is owned by whoever can afford it, it is mostly possessed by those bourgeoises who freely attack white men over their perceived privilege.
However, it ultimately resides in those supposedly affected by it, thus the reality is obverse, as instead of White Privilege in a social sense there is ‘minority privilege’; and women are the
biggest recipients of privilege.
To this end, you cannot watch anything anymore because it’s all about redressing ‘types’ and their portrayals. As such, dad is a drongo, while mum is a sage. Black men are the alpha models, and whites nervous and indecisive. The epitome of sexuality is apparently a black man, and the contemporary Woke couple is a buck and a white woman. This is assuming they’re even heterosexual, which is, as we know, one of the myriad categories of sexuality and gender now so hideously unfashionable to the chattering classes.
Now, culture being necessary, and involving music, literature, drama and sports is essential, so we have to find ours somewhere. But modern entertainment is so riven with this rule of revising type that one cannot view a program which dares to depict classic masculine characters or role models unless they’re virtuously black, or other.
Classic series like Star Trek and Dr Who always revolved around liberal concepts but they never reached the chronic level they are at now, where white men are dis-included, and portrayed mainly as exasperating braggarts to the cool, common sense, rational females whose extraordinary power and control wins the day (how’s that for a contradiction in terms). Then again, we’re probably kidding ourselves; they were always shoving hoity quim at us.
In Star Trek’s latest, Picard, the first thing you’ll be struck by is that it’s basically a vagina trek. We’re pretty sure that the possibly-homo Patrick Stewart is comfortable with this for Woke reasons. As to Dr Who, well, he now has a vagina because time lords are transgender, but time lords are apparently now both female AND black. Quite amazing for a race which never struck upon the wheel to suddenly find themselves in a TARDIS travelling time and space, but hey, that’s Woke.
All the talk about James Bond transitioning thankfully have been knocked down by the creators, but they haven’t ruled out dyeing his skin black. It’s probably a wise move right now to refuse to watch the next instalment, and especially on the grounds that bland-as Daniel Craig is Woke.
If you scan the playlists of streaming services then about the only safe films are old Clint Eastwood movies, documentaries, and Breaking Bad. You’ll note how most shows have either neutered male roles, metrosexuals, bucks, female bosses, or whimsical chicks on perennial self-discovery trips. You can catch a lesson in white frivolity and male privilege on just about every new series, but amongst that, and alarmingly, are a creeping selection of Asian and (gulp) Indian shows and movies. Now, Asian is bad, but it’s ignorable, yet, there is something physically irritating about searching through a movie list and finding Bollywood crap you wouldn’t show to a deaf, dumb and blind person.
Furthermore, it’s a terrifying indication of not just where we’re at, but whereabouts we’re heading when Indian culture becomes liberally interspersed with western offerings. But then again, when we talk western, we’re actually talking Woke.
Forget about buying a new book or novel, either, since lesbians run the entire publishing industry and you won’t get a look-in unless you’re a refugee with a damning indictment to make against white people.
This is where we focus on the wisdom of Mr Spence because he gave us the answer, and that is, “Readers like an organ which clearly puts ideas that are flowing more or less vaguely in their own minds and throw down in disgust any paper which exposes the falsity of long-cherished opinions. The people are generally not seekers of truth. They like what panders to their own vanity, and they get it.”
With just a little rejigging, this passage means us. Yes, we white men can throw away anything that doesn’t appeal to us, refuse to read anything which we don’t agree with and enter that reality predicted by futurist Alvin Toffler in his book Future Shock in which the human race breaks up into subcultures.
We at New Australian Bulletin, or at least I do, at any rate, live this way every day. To do otherwise would be nuts.
So, we, or at any rate, I, am going to give you a few pointers and make a few suggestions for avoiding Woke culture.
Firstly, I don’t have a free-to-air TV. I refuse to plug in the digital aerial. I have no idea what’s going on in their programming because the only place I encounter it is in the doctor’s waiting room, in which case, I put in earphones and listen to good old white tunes like Ship Those Niggers Back, and Walk in the Black Forest.
Which is a point, since music is something everybody can personalise and control, so I only hear what I want to listen to. I have no hip-hop, no girlie crap, and definitely no doof. I listen to classical, and occasionally, Herman’s Hermits.
Books are another thing I have full control over and mine are a useful mix of novels, but mainly biographies, textbooks, essays, and classical literature. I have filtered out all disagreeable opinions save for those I hope to rebut.
As to movies, well, between my DVDs and those films I ripped and copied, and those I buy and store on a cloud service, I never have to watch anything I disagree with again. In fact, I’ll end by sharing a list of wonderful and white films and shows to get your hands on.
Nevertheless, it is in reality that you’ll find a problem since no amount of denial will erase the presence of the mongrel hordes or the coloured enclaves; much less the children of the Woke with their pink-dyed hair and bondage gear. In these cases, you just have to fight back, in your own little way. For instance, I never move out of the way for anyone who isn’t white. I simply refuse to acknowledge that they’re in the way. Even if they’re a massive Maori, chances are they’ll be so shocked at your casual disregard that by the time it’s occurred to them to make an issue out of it you’ve strolled off confidently with your head held high.
Never allow Indian security guards in shops to check your bags, since there is no legal requirement for you to do so. They only have power if you let them. I am famous for simply walking past as if they don’t exist and leaving them to feebly scratch their oily heads at their lack
of authority; something they came to this country to acquire when they signed up for that security course.
Other ways I get even is by grabbing a tin of baby formula before the Chinaman gets a hold of it. Now, I don’t have kids, but that doesn’t stop me walking all the way around to the other end of the supermarket to stash the tin behind the pineapple chunks or some line of goods nobody hardly buys. The staff will find it eventually and return it to the shelves so hopefully, a white mother will buy it.
Once, I went to buy a roast chicken at Woollies. Only two were left. An old Chinese crone slammed her hand down on the one I had chosen. She actually tried to wrestle me for it, but I elbowed her, grabbed both, and dropped them in a basket which I left near the checkout. She was gabbling after me in her indecipherable dialect when I wrested them away, but I lost her at the fresh fruit and vegetable aisle, where, when she turned to walk away, I paused to grab a Brussel Sprout which I lined up and threw at the back of her head. It was gold.
It is really easy to trip-over coloured kiddies, too. When their mothers and fathers drag them through a store or whatever, they’re usually misbehaving, and the parents are trying to ignore them. Just stick out your foot casually as possible and you trip up the little fuck and ruin his or her little world for about a minute or so. The parents won’t know why they’re crying and might even bark at them for mucking about.
Pushing ahead of non-whites in queues, giving wrong directions to disoriented Chinese travellers, gobbing on them from bridges, randomly chasing Indian men alone on dark streets at night, it’s all revitalising stuff.
Meanwhile, here are some items of films, all my own recommendations. They are in no particular order.
The Duellists (1977) Ridley Scott
A Clockwork Orange (1971) Stanley Kubrick
Mad Max (1979) George Miller
The Searchers (1956) John Ford
Dirty Harry (1971) Don Siegel
Barry Lyndon (1975) Stanley Kubrick
The Hill (1965) Sydney Lumet
Scum (1979) Alan Clarke
On Her Majesty’s Secret Service (1969) Peter R. Hunt
The Cruel Sea (1953) Charles Frend
Belly of an Architect (1987) Peter Greenaway
Mr Turner (2014) Mike Leigh
The Godfather (1971) Frances Ford Coppola
This Charming Man (2006) Phillipa Lowthorpe
Big Wednesday (1978) John Milius
The Deer Hunter (1979) Michael Cimino
Apocalypse Now (1978) Frances Ford Coppola
Bronco Bullfrog (1969) Barney Platts-Mills
If… (1968) Lindsay Anderson
This Sporting Life (1963) Lindsay Anderson
Patton (1970) Franklin J. Schaffner
The Go-Between (1970) Joseph Losey
The Shout (1978) Jerzy Skolimowski
Eraserhead (1977) David Lynch
Hitler’s SS (1985) Jim Goddard
The Good, The Bad and The Ugly (1969) Sergio Leone
Hacksaw Ridge (2016) Mel Gibson
Made in Britain (1982) Alan Clarke
Withnail & I (1987) Bruce Robinson
Just a Boy’s Game (1979) John Mackenzie
Kingdom of Heaven (2005) Ridley Scott
All the Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit
McVicar (1980) Tom Clegg
The Caretaker (1963) Clive Donner
A Kind of Loving (1962) John Schlesinger
Blade Runner (1982) Ridley Scott
Ben Hur (1959) William Wyler
The Spy Who Came in from the Cold (1965) Martin Ritt
Nosferatu (1979) Werner Herzog
The Whisperers (1967) Bryan Forbes
Aguirre, the Wrath of God (1972) Werner Herzog
And too friggin’ many… just too, too many. See,
get all these, you’ll never begrudgingly watch Hollyweird again.