Reading around the blogosphere I find that even moderate voices are coming around to the realization that they only have three choices, Fold, Flee or Fight. And the top choice this week seems to be flee. What complicates it is the fact that they don’t differentiate fleeing a blue state vs. fleeing the country altogether. And with good reason. No one knows whether heading to a red state is just a very short-term delay in the life sentence that the federal government is declaring against all its enemies. But it is sort of encouraging to see that others are coming to the same conclusions.
What also remains to be seen is if some kind of coordination will be the popular approach. After all there is safety in numbers and if you are planning to uproot your whole life it might be helpful to have a few or a few thousand comrades along to establish a beachhead somewhere and share the expense and risks of starting a new life. I have actually had a number of conversations with folks who are earnestly searching for destinations that won’t treat them like what they are experiencing in the present state of Woke-istan. And they have been looking at ways to band together. If a dozen families buy a big chunk of land, they can each put up a house and still leave a common area for recreation, socializing and community projects of various sorts. These communities are always fraught with the danger that civil strife will show up even in these Gardens of Eden but life is full of trade offs and compared to having a BLM mob heading for your homestead the prospect of battling over the height of your forsythia bushes seems a reasonable risk.
But I am not minimizing the risk and trauma associated with uprooting yourself. Obviously few people will be intentionally heading into the wilderness or the jungle but just moving to a new town is a dislocation. Imagine having to learn a new language and culture. That’s the one I’m chewing over right now. Even moving to a place like Italy, the land of my ancestors, would be a shock. I am an American. I never wanted to even leave this country for work or vacation. It is the world I love and I love what it stood for. Italy is just another strange place where people have a history of being ruled by gangsters. The fact that America has become just another country among the rest of them doesn’t make it any easier to move there. But maybe enough of the good things in the old America has rubbed off on these strange places that they will be good places to live. I’ve been thinking about Hungary and Poland. I don’t know how they’ll feel about me but I’ve heard things about their views on all the social craziness that’s going on and it’s refreshing to hear of places that are saying no to the madness, very refreshing.
Because of family commitments I won’t be moving, even out of state, for at least a year or two. But now is the time to be analyzing information and narrowing the choices to the best options. And there is a lot to do. Selling real estate, moving assets, even learning a language isn’t something you do overnight. Just gathering the information isn’t automatic. What must you know? Who can you trust? Will things change?
But one thing is certain. Flee or fight are the only options for me. Living under these people is death. Death for the soul and the end of all the things that make life precious; family, tradition, pride, freedom. They are the enemy of all of these. Their rotten hive existence is contemptible and their tactics are exactly the gangster model that people fled here from other lands to escape.
Yes, people are waking up and that means there is hope that some of us will be free again someday. Wasting time on winning the mid-terms other than as a way to screw with some of the RINOs that stabbed Donald Trump in the back doesn’t interest me. I’ve seen enough to know they’ll rig whatever elections they need to keep control of the levers of power in Washington. Well, let them for all I care. I just want to escape from under their yoke. Let them live in the hell they’ve assembled. I hope to live to see the day when their rotten anthill collapses under its own filth. The only thing I ask is that me and mine aren’t there when it happens.