Sunday 17th of November 2024
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"freedom is hell, hell is freedom" — unless....

“Never were we freer than under the German occupation. We had lost all our rights, and first of all our right to speak. They insulted us to our faces every day — and we had to hold our tongues”.

So began Paris Alive: The Republic of Silence, Jean-Paul Sartre’s excellent article in The Atlantic’s December 1944 edition, where he perpetuated the myth of heroic French resistance to the German Occupation. Arthur Koestler’s Scum of the Earth reinforces that Hollywood image when it recounts the fate of a rag bag of European intellectuals (and others) caught between the floundering French Third Republic and the unstoppable Nazi juggernaut.

 

BY Declan HAYES

 

Although Le Vernet, unlike Dachau or Auschwitz, was not at the heart of the Nazi terror, those Scum of the Earth interned there with Koestler had already been kicked about from pillar to post and were not in the right state of mind to resist the twin assaults of the Hitler and Vichy regimes that awaited everybody.

Or, almost everybody, because one person’s Nazi occupation is another person’s rags to riches ladder. Forget the young French women, who had their heads shaved by their fellow French collaborators after the 1944 liberation (sic) and think more of serial killers like Dr Marcel Petiot, who offered Jews and other unfortunates safe passage to the Free World but actually sent them to the next world by bumping them off. Petiot has his modern day equivalents in the masses of NGOs Soros and other NATO aligned characters weaponise to emasculate Europe by flooding it with today’s scum of the earth. When thinking of Georgia’s resistance to the CIA’s NGOs, just note that Ireland has over 8,000 of these conniving CIA groups cannibalising our souls here.

As regards the fall of France, most French people collaborated for one mercenary reason or another and only some 150 French troops hit the Normandy beaches on D Day. More Parisians turned out to celebrate France winning the World Cup than they did to greet De Gaulle on his staged August 1944 entry into Paris. And, as for the French Army, the great French Army as Churchill had previously described it, it was replenished with veteran Waffen SS troops and Alcasian Wehrmacht conscripts like Guy Sajer at war’s end so that the Yanks could join De Gaulle in pretending the French still had an army and that they could thus use France as a further foil against the Soviets in the UNSC.

But, just as Guy Sajer’s The Forgotten Soldier had to attest that the Americans had the makings of better soldiers than had either the Germans or Russians, so also would he have to affirm that they make much more successful colonialists. Leaving aside such facts like they gave the least but won the most from the Second World War and even setting aside their prior antics in the Philippines, Cuba and Central America, they have colonised Western Europe to a degree the likes of Hitler could never begin to envisage, never mind emulate.

Although this process began at the time of The Great War, it really gathered pace when Britain and her colonies stood alone against Hitler. Not only did the Brits have to surrender their gold reserves and all of their military secrets to their Yankee masters but Churchill’s famous Fight Them On the Beaches speech stated quite clearly that he was prepared to see “this island nation” being wiped from the face of the earth as long as “the New World” carried on the fight.

That global fight, which continues to this day, is manifested most controversially in massive swathes of males of fighting age flooding into Josep Borrell’s European garden. Prior to the collapse of the Berlin Wall and NATO’s subsequent eastwards drive, we had essentially three distinct demographic blocks, those of the European Union, the Warsaw Pact countries and the Arab and Asian worlds, with manageable migration between those blocks.

Globalisation and other NATO gimmicks have turned that trickle into a flood. Whereas West Germany needed East Germans to do their physical jobs and to procreate, the Statue of Liberty’s tired, poor, huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of Afro-Asia’a teeming shores are being ferried into the European Union in unsustainable numbers.

Some 5 million Ukrainians have joined the stampede where, in countries like Ireland, their social welfare benefits far outstrip anything the Irish aboriginals could ever dream about, never mind claim. In Switzerland, meanwhile, Roma gypsies have swarmed in on fake Ukrainian passports to claim for themselves some of the freebies the Swiss have laid on for Zelensky’s cheerleaders.

The Roma are not the only ones up to this dodge. Following the capture of Syria’s Idlib region, some 50,000 blank Syrian passports were stolen and I know, as a fact, that many of those passports were used by ISIS activists to secure political asylum in Britain and Ireland, with a contingent of over 300 of these muck savages living less than 3 kilometers from me, one of their most consistent, implaccable and accessible critics.

Not that I complain about them because, in some sense, I am like the French under German occupation, albeit I am under a more invidious one, where Yankee Big Tech skews the entire Irish and European economies to their own selfish ends and floods us with these huddled masses, who work for buttons and whose normal needs help keep NATO’s retail industries as well as Europe’s building and rental industries in the black.

Because construction (of apartments to rent out to these huddled masses) is booming, there is plenty of work in this NATO Ponzi scheme to attract more workers and, as it is in building, that money quickly gives a caffeine fix to the economy, allowing it to motor along from one quick hit to the next like a headless, apparently directionless chicken.

But this headless European chicken is really a puppet controlled by the Yanks who know exactly what they want and what they have always wanted. That is a neutered Europe with good food (bonjour la France e ciao Italia), some boutique beers (Germany, the Czech Republic and Belgium too for the sweet toothed), a change of pace (Iberia), Buckingham Palace, Harry Potter and some good yoghurt (if the Dutch multinationals don’t first finish that Greek industry off).

Though the French Foreign Legion can still waddle down the Champs Élysées on Bastille Day, and the Brits can fire up the last of their Spitfires every D Day, they are the American parameters within which we operate. Like the French under the Swastika, we can cos play at being free but we cannot be free and you need not take my word on Nordstream for this.

Read this brilliant article on Slovakia’s Robert Fico by Stephen Karganovic and wonder if there is also a NATO bullet out there with your name on it. At day’s end, the logic is as simple as it was in France or in fields further east during the Occupation, when the Reich was in search of lebensraum. If you think like Fico or, for that matter, Karganovic, well then you are impeding the lebensraum quest of Monsanto, Raytheon and NATO’s other stalwarts and that can have the same fatal consequences it had for far many good French people in the early 1940s. However, just with gay Paree, so also today are there muted conversations afoot throughout Europe and the unspoken hope is, as it was in France from ’40 to ’44, that this time we the people will win, no matter what price in lost lives NATO’s legions of lone gunmen exact from us as we scale Martin Luther King Jnr’s mountaintop to his Promised Land. La Garde meurt mais ne se rend pas! Vive la liberté! Vive le Slovaquie! Vive la Hongrie! Vive la république du silence!

https://strategic-culture.su/news/2024/05/21/europe-alive-the-republic-of-silence/

 

du silence et de la nuit....

Jamais nous n’avons été plus libres que sous l’occupation allemande. Nous avions perdu tous nos droits et d’abord celui de parler ; on nous insultait en face chaque jour et il fallait nous taire ; on nous déportait en masse, comme travailleurs, comme Juifs, comme prisonniers politiques ; partout sur les murs, dans les journaux, sur l’écran, nous retrouvions cet immonde visage que nos oppresseurs voulaient nous donner de nous-mêmes : à cause de tout cela nous étions libres. Puisque le venin nazi se glissait jusque dans notre pensée, chaque pensée juste était une conquête ; puisqu’une police toute-puissante cherchait à nous contraindre au silence, chaque parole devenait précieuse comme une déclaration de principe ; puisque nous étions traqués, chacun de nos gestes avait le poids d’un engagement. Les circonstances souvent atroces de notre combat nous mettaient enfin à même de vivre, sans fard et sans voile, cette situation déchirée, insoutenable qu’on appelle la condition humaine. L’exil, la captivité, la mort surtout que l’on masque habilement dans les époques heureuses, nous en faisions les objets perpétuels de nos soucis, nous apprenions que ce ne sont pas des accidents évitables, ni même des menaces constantes mais extérieures : il fallait y voir notre lot, notre destin, la source profonde de notre réalité d’homme ; à chaque seconde nous vivions dans sa plénitude le sens de cette petite phrase banale : « Tous les hommes sont mortels. » Et le choix que chacun faisait de lui-même était authentique puisqu’il se faisait en présence de la mort, puisqu’il aurait toujours pu s’exprimer sous la forme « Plutôt la mort que… ».

Et je ne parle pas ici de cette élite que furent les vrais Résistants, mais de tous les Français qui, à toute heure du jour et de la nuit, pendant quatre ans, ont dit non. La cruauté même de l’ennemi nous poussait jusqu’aux extrémités de notre condition en nous contraignant à nous poser ces questions qu’on élude dans la paix : tous ceux d’entre nous – et quel Français ne fut une fois ou l’autre dans ce cas ? – qui connaissaient quelques détails intéressant de la Résistance se demandaient avec angoisse : « Si on me torture, tiendrai-je le coup ? »

Ainsi la question même de la liberté était posée et nous étions au bord de la connaissance la plus profonde que l’homme peut avoir de lui-même. Car le secret d’un homme, ce n’est pas son complexe d’Œdipe ou d’infériorité, c’est la limite même de sa liberté, c’est son pouvoir de résistance aux supplices et à la mort. À ceux qui eurent une activité clandestine, les circonstances de leur lutte apportait une expérience nouvelle : ils ne combattaient pas au grand jour, comme des soldats ; traqués dans la solitude, arrêtés dans la solitude, c’est dans le délaissement, dans le dénuement le plus complet qu’ils résistaient aux tortures : seuls et nus devant des bourreaux bien rasés, bien nourris, bien vêtus qui se moquaient de leur chair misérable et à qui une conscience satisfaite, une puissance sociale démesurée donnaient toutes les apparences d’avoir raison. Pourtant, au plus profond de cette solitude, c’étaient les autres, tous les autres, tous les camarades de résistance qu’ils défendaient ; un seul mot suffisait pour provoquer dix, cent arrestations.

Cette responsabilité totale dans la solitude totale, n’est-ce pas le dévoilement même de notre liberté ? Ce délaissement, cette solitude, ce risque énorme étaient les mêmes pour tous, pour les chefs et pour les hommes ; pour ceux qui portaient des messages dont ils ignoraient le contenu comme pour ceux qui décidaient de toute la résistance, une sanction unique : l’emprisonnement, la déportation, la mort. Il n’est pas d’armée au monde où l’on trouve pareille égalité de risques pour le soldat et le généralissime. Et c’est pourquoi la Résistance fut une démocratie véritable : pour le soldat comme pour le chef, même danger, même responsabilité, même absolue liberté dans la discipline. Ainsi, dans l’ombre et dans le sang, la plus forte des Républiques s’est constituée. Chacun de ses citoyens savait qu’il se devait à tous et qu’il ne pouvait compter que sur lui-même ; chacun d’eux réalisait, dans le délaissement le plus total, son rôle historique. Chacun d’eux, contre les oppresseurs, entreprenait d’être lui-même, irrémédiablement et en se choisissant lui-même dans sa liberté, choisissait la liberté de tous. Cette république sans institutions, sans armée, sans police, il fallait que chaque Français la conquière et l’affirme à chaque instant contre le nazisme. Nous voici à présent au bord d’une autre République : ne peut-on souhaiter qu’elle conserve au grand jour les austères vertus de la République du Silence et de la Nuit. 

 

https://essentiels.bnf.fr/fr/extrait/035fef58-c78a-4ef6-a929-d0f98ab0e723-jamais-nous-navons-ete-plus-libres-que-sous-occupation-allemande

 

We have never been freer than under German occupation. We had lost all our rights, first of all the right to speak; we were insulted to our faces every day and we had to keep quiet; we were deported en masse, as workers, as Jews, as political prisoners; everywhere on the walls, in the newspapers, on the screen, we found this filthy face that our oppressors wanted to give us of ourselves: because of all this we were free. Since the Nazi venom crept into our thoughts, every right thought was a conquest; since an all-powerful police force sought to force us into silence, each word became precious as a declaration of principle; since we were being hunted, each of our actions had the weight of a commitment. The often atrocious circumstances of our fight finally enabled us to live, unvarnished and unveiled, this torn, unbearable situation that we call the human condition. Exile, captivity, especially death which we skillfully mask in happy times, we made them the perpetual objects of our worries, we learned that these are not avoidable accidents, nor even constant but external threats: we had to see our lot, our destiny, the deep source of our reality as men; every second we experienced in its fullness the meaning of this little banal phrase: “All men are mortal. » And the choice that each person made for himself was authentic since it was made in the presence of death, since it could always have been expressed in the form “Rather death than…”.

And I'm not talking here about this elite that were the real Resistance fighters, but about all the French people who, at all hours of the day and night, for four years, said no. The very cruelty of the enemy pushed us to the extremities of our condition by forcing us to ask ourselves these questions that we evade in peace: all those of us – and what Frenchman was not at one time or another in this case ? – who knew some interesting details of the Resistance asked themselves with anguish: “If they torture me, will I hold out? »

Thus the very question of freedom was posed and we were on the verge of the deepest knowledge that man can have of himself. Because the secret of a man is not his Oedipus or inferiority complex, it is the very limit of his freedom, it is his power to resist torture and death. For those who had clandestine activity, the circumstances of their struggle brought a new experience: they did not fight in broad daylight, like soldiers; hunted down in solitude, arrested in solitude, it was in abandonment, in the most complete destitution that they resisted torture: alone and naked in front of well-shaven, well-fed, well-dressed executioners who made fun of their flesh miserable and to whom a satisfied conscience, an inordinate social power gave every appearance of being right. Yet, in the depths of this solitude, it was the others, all the others, all the comrades in the resistance that they defended; a single word was enough to provoke ten, a hundred arrests.

This total responsibility in total solitude, is this not the very unveiling of our freedom? This neglect, this solitude, this enormous risk were the same for everyone, for the leaders and for the men; for those who carried messages whose content they were unaware of as for those who decided on all resistance, a single sanction: imprisonment, deportation, death. There is no army in the world where we find such equality of risk for the soldier and the generalissimo. And this is why the Resistance was a true democracy: for the soldier as for the leader, the same danger, the same responsibility, the same absolute freedom in discipline. Thus, in the shadows and in blood, the strongest Republic was formed. Each of its citizens knew that they owed themselves to everyone and that they could only count on themselves; each of them carried out, in total neglect, their historical role. Each of them, against the oppressors, undertook to be themselves, irremediably and by choosing themselves in their freedom, chose the freedom of all. This republic without institutions, without an army, without a police force, each Frenchman had to conquer and assert it at every moment against Nazism. Here we are now on the verge of another Republic: cannot we hope that it preserves in broad daylight the austere virtues of the Republic of Silence and Night.  TRANSLATION BY JULES LETAMBOUR.... 

 

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