The Chinese very much resemble jews, who prefer to live amongst 'foreign' host peoples, to escape their vampire-like congeners. But, like jew vampires, the Chinese bring their plague with them of selfishness, materialism and corruption, so they will surely recreate the mess they temporarily escaped from, just like the Latin American mestizos and the Blacks. We are suicidal fools for letting them live amongst us, for they will take over our livingspace and devour us. Hispano-mestizos traditionally have extended families whose lazy, incompetent members await the arrival of some 'locomotive' family member, who will be expected to provide for them, ad infinitum. The mestizo Indians described by Oscar Lewis in his "culture of poverty" were similar: practicing communists, who believed that anyone with 'more' should share it, so all would be poor. One insightful writer styled communism as "the politics of envy", not aimed at general betterment, but at general misery. Quite so!
If the environment of poverty in China has created Chinese character, then we may expect to see a general 'Chinafication' of the North American population, as livingspace and resources become scarce and the population becomes over-abundant. On the other hand, I believe that the terrible conditions in China were created by people with a genetic predisposition. If we observe, as I have, the poverty of India, we see nothing like the Chinese materialism and selfishness. There is a similar indifference to suffering, but the Indians rationalize their tolerance of others' suffering in terms of obedience to "karma" or fate. If you rescue some one from starvation, for example, you are inviting "bad karma" for yourself. A picturesque fable of "inviting bad karma" was depicted in the excellent movie, "Excalibur", in which King Arthur foolishly asks Merlin to save the life of Sir Lancelot. Merlin says, "just as you wish" and all hell breaks loose. His queen runs off with Lancelot, whom he fails to slay with his royal authority (Excalibur), and he plunges his kingdom into disaster, which he manages to squeak out of, at the cost of his own life. Boy, don't mess with karma!
An old British Indian Army colleague of mine in Rhodesia taught me what he'd learned about karma. During World War II, when the Japs were banging on the gates of British-ruled India, my friend was a young subaltern, like a second Lt. He was in charge of a small railway station on the southern route, and as the Japs were attacking in SE India, ammo trains arrived at his station. Chandra Bose spies (one of whom was Savitri Devi) informed his Indian National Army followers to stop the trains. They threw themselves across the tracks, and my friend complained to his senior Sikh sergeant, "Whatever are we to do? We haven't the manpower to get these buggers off the tracks and the engine drivers won't run over them because it's bad karma!" The Sikh sergeant said cheerfully, "Leave that to me, Sah!" and he disappeared into the omnipresent mob of wogs. In a jiffy, he brought with him a few Harijans or Untouchables, the lowest of the low caste Indians. The sergeant paid each of them a rupee to stand on the locomotive cowcatchers and pee in front of the engines. When the higher caste Indians saw who was about to piss on them, they all fled in fear and loathing, and the trains moved out on time. Apparently, water of the right sort at the right time can defeat karma. Ah, the joys of diversity! I experienced that in Rhodesia, for if one knew Black customs, one could achieve many advantageous things, despite the buggers. I find my imperial experience useful here in mongrel, multicultural North America. My knowledge of hispano-mestizo customs and language makes me feel right at home, in Nogales!
I get a chuckle out of a terrible, typically twisted Brit-skit in which two explorers are sloshing through a swamp, to the tune of myriad mosquitos. The leader, an upperclass fop, laments to his stalwart subordinate: "For 5 days and nights we've been marching through this stinking swamp in this suffocating heat and these clouds of ravenous mosquitos. I think I shall go mad!" The hearty comrade replies, "Buck up, Sah! It's only another 20 miles to the hut, where we can sit down to a nice plate of fried grubs and a tall glass of warm swamp water!" I enjoy such positive-thinking. Ah yes, the fried grubs. In my part of Africa, they were called Mopani worms, for they infested the mopani trees at certain times of the year and the natives gathered them up. When deep-fried in grease, they resembled corn curls, and had a somewhat similar flavor as beer snacks. One could almost imagine they were corn curls, if one ignored the cute little eyes. I am told that the termites had a superior taste, but they were harder to catch. African termites are quite large, about an inch long, and they were our anti-terrorist allies, for they consumed all sorts of cellulose, including the Soviet antimagnetic mines, which they could disarm in a week! After 3 nights in the bush, my plastic groundsheet was a collection of termite holes, and totally useless. I donated the holey remains to them, and I suspect that they ate it completely in one or two days at the most.
As I told the sister of the Marine flyboy candidate: I wish him all the best, for young people are entitled to make mistakes, and my hope is that he survives his. I know that the spirit of adventure overrides a young man's critical faculties, if he has any. When one is 'born 50 years old', as I have been accused of, I was too busy being careful, so any adventure I had was by default, as well as the fact that I did not care. If the price of my freedom from the Judeo-American ratrace was an early death, that price was well worth it. In knee-jerk fashion, the would-be Marine said, why don't I go live in a foreign country? I replied, "We are living in a foreign country. Just look around!" He could think of nothing to say to that. At least he isn't blind, although he will not see through the ZOG-propaganda, yet. There's nothing like 'incoming mail' to focus one's mind on reality. He might even survive to ask, "What the hell am I doing here?" I hope he returns healthy and wiser. A correspondent asked me if I knew John Coey in Rhodesia. I knew him quite well, and I advised him to go back to the U.S.A. and have lots of White kids. I warned him that the Rhodesian civil war was already a foregone conclusion, and that Ian Smith would betray Rhodesia whenever his kike masters told him to hand over to Black Marxist Misrule. Coey asked me why I stayed on, if I believed what I said. I told him that I did not want to wind up 'dead right' as my journalistic predecessor, Frederick Seelig, had done, after his illegal stint in the Marion ZOG-gulag. Yes, I stayed in Rhodesia for personal health reasons. Coey thought I was a terrible guy, but likable. He made all sorts of excuses for chasing jigaboos in the bush, none of which I accepted, such as: he wanted to fight Communism. I said, all Blacks are communistic and always have been, long before the jews adopted the word. He said he was also there for Jesus ben Yahweh. I said that his god must be in dire straits if his cause would fail without Coey's FN rifle. Brave, idealistic and adventurous John Coey was killed in an ambush while attempting to rescue wounded comrades, like a real Aryan hero. I knew other good White men who were wasted in that sold out civil war, who I deem were better men than I am, but I was the survivor, and therefore, I am obligated to carry on their valiant struggle with every means available. That is the very least I can do. If I cannot save the living, I may at least avenge our honored dead. As I reread these words, I suspect that some may find them melodramatic, but I have no other words for my sincere wishes. Obviously, one man cannot pay homage to our heroic dead, not unless he has help, but given that help, I am more than willing.
Perhaps I am getting slow on the uptake, but your dire description of your Black Turd World city finally impressed me as you see and suffer it. You really do live in a demographic disaster area, much worse than Yakima. As The Law of the Contrary would dictate, the chronic poverty of Yakima has served to deter the heavy underclass influx which major cities have suffered. Thanks to self-inflicted commercial blunders, stupidity and shortsighted greed, this place is becoming a ghost town. That improves the demography considerably, and I view it as an advantage, as long as I can eke out a bare living. Yakima city and county are just about the poorest part of Washington State, and the 'criminal justice system' consumes 78% of the annual county budget. The majority of the population lives hand-to-mouth on FEDZOG handouts, including the "Yakama (mestizo) Nation" with their subsidized casino. The growth industries are spicklettes, drugs, cripples and mental health patients, so we do have a 'big city' atmosphere in those respects. Yakima earned the status of "All-American City", when it was determined that English is not the only language spoken here. I wonder if "All-Mexican cities" are also rated according to foreign languages spoken there; not unless the moon is made of green cheese. I doubt that Mexican ballots are bilingual, either.