Was there a particular event or reason you decided to commit to a violent attack?

There was a period of time 2 years prior to the attack to the attack that dramatically changed my views.The period of time was from, beginning of April, 2017 until the end May, 2017.

 

In this time period a series of events broke down my own reserves, my reservations, my cynicism and revealed the truth of the Wests current situation.

These events turned my thoughts from pursuing a democratic, political solution and finally caused the revelation of the truth, that a violent, revolutionary solution is the only possible solution to our current crisis.

 

I was travelling as a tourist in Western Europe at the time, France, Spain Portugal and others.The first event that begun the change was the terror attack in Stockholm, on the 7^th of April 2017. It was another terror attack in the seemingly never ending attacks that had been occurring on a regular basis throughout my adult life. But for some reason this was different. The jaded cynicism with which I had greeted previous attacks didn’t eventuate. Something that had been a part of my life for as long as I could remember, cynicism in the face of attacks on the West by islamic invaders, was suddenly no longer there. I could no longer bring the sneer to my face, I could no longer turn my back on the violence. Something, this time, was different.

 

That difference was Ebba Akerlund.

Young, innocent and dead Ebba.

Ebba was walking to meet her mother after school, when she was murdered by an Islamic attacker, driving a stolen vehicle through the shopping promenade on which she was walking. Ebba was partially deaf, unable to hear the attacker coming.

Ebba death at the hands of the invaders, the indignity of her violent demise and my inability to stop it broke through my own jaded cynicism like a sledgehammer.

I could no longer ignore the attacks. They were attacks on my people, attacks on my culture, attacks on my faith and attacks on my soul. They would not be ignored.

 

The second event was the 2017 French General election. The candidates were an obvious sign of our times: a globalist, capitalist, egalitarian, an ex-investment banker was no national beliefs other than the pursuit of profit versus a milquetoast, feckless, civic nationalist, an uncontroversial figure who’s most brave and inspired idea resolved to the possible deportation of illegal immigrants.

Despite this ridiculous match up, the possibility of a victory by the quasi-nationalist was at least, to myself, a sign that maybe a political solution was still possible.The internationalist, globalist, anti-white, ex-banker won. It wasn’t even close. The truth of the political situation in Europe was suddenly impossible to accept.My despair set in.My belief in a democratic solution vanished.

 

The final push was witnessing the state of French cities and towns. For many years I had been hearing and reading of the invasion of France by non-whites, many of these rumours and stories I believed to be exaggerations, created to push a political narrative.

But once I arrived in France, I found the stories to not only be true, but profoundly understated.

In every french city, in every french town the invaders were there.

No matter where I travelled, no matter how small or rural the community I visited, the invaders were there.

The french people were often in a minority themselves, and the french that were in the streets were often alone, childless or of advanced age.

Whilst the immigrants were young, energized and with large families and many children.

I remember pulling into a shopping centre car park to buy groceries in some moderate sized town in Eastern France, of roughly 15-25 thousand people. As I sat there in the parking lot, in my rental car, I watched a stream of the invaders walk through the shopping centre’s front doors.

For every french man or woman there was double the number of invaders.

I had seen enough, and in anger, drove out of the the town, refusing to stay any longer in the cursed place and headed on to the next town.

 

Driving toward the next french town on my itinerary, knowing that inevitably the invaders would also been there, I found my emotions swinging between fuming rage and suffocating despair at the indignity of the invasion of France, the pessimism of the french people, the loss of culture and identity and the farce of the political solutions offered.

I came upon a cemetery, one of the many mass cemeteries created to bury the French and other European soldiers lost in the Wars that crippled Europe.

I had seen many pictures and heard many people discuss the cemeteries, but even knowing about these cemeteries in advance, I was still not prepared for the sight.

Simple, white, wooden crosses stretching from the fields beside the roadway, seemingly without end, into the horizon. Their number uncountable, the representation of their loss unfathomable. I pulled my rental car over, and sat, staring at these crosses and contemplating how it was that despite these men and womens sacrifice, despite their bravery, we had still fallen so far.I broke into tears, sobbing alone in the car, staring at the crosses, at the forgotten dead.

Why were we allowing these soldiers deaths to be in vain? Why were we allowing the invaders to conquer us? Overcome us? Without a single shot fired in response?

 

WHY WON’T SOMEBODY DO SOMETHING?

 

In front of those endless crosses, in front of those dead soldiers lost in forgotten wars, my despair turned to shame, my shame to guilt, my guilt to anger and my anger to rage.

 

WHY WON’T SOMEBODY DO SOMETHING?

WHY WON’T SOMEBODY DO SOMETHING?

 

WHY DON’T I DO SOMETHING?

 

The spell broke, why don’t I do something?

Why not me?

If not me, then who?

Why them when I could do it myself?

It was there I decided to do something, it was there I decided to take action, to commit to force.To commit to violence.

 

To take the fight to the invaders myself.

 

 

Who do you represent?

Millions of European and other ethno-nationalist peoples that wish to live in peace amongst their own people, living in their own lands, practicing their own traditions and deciding the future of their own kind.

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