I do not write this as a reflection, but as a testimony. For we live in a time when an entire civilization is tearing down its own walls—not in panic, but in triumph. We do it in broad daylight, with speeches and banners, as if the act itself were proof of our superiority. And we refuse to see that the gates we open lead straight into a darkness that has been waiting for centuries.
We removed the walls believing that the absence of borders would lead to peace. But from the open land did not come peace. It came as a wind, cold and dusty, carrying memories of old conquests and old doctrines. That wind has no intention of leaving us. It does not seek compromise.
The cold numbers
Professor Betz, and others like him, place numbers before us like an accountant of the dead. Fragmentation. Loss of trust. Economic decay. Political impotence. This is not statistics; it is a list of symptoms of a society that has stopped loving itself.
But they hide the name of the disease. They say “people” – a word without a face. They point to “tensions” – an expression without will. But the truth is that this process has an architect. It has a doctrine, a plan, a perseverance that we do not have.
An enemy without a uniform
For the average Briton does not wish to tear down his country. He wants to build, preserve, and pass it on. He builds bridges, maintains power plants. He wants safety for his children.
The dissolution of England, and of the entire West, does not come from him. It follows a doctrine declared fourteen centuries ago: jihad – with pen, with money, with words, and when the time is ripe – with the sword.
Islam in its classical form is not merely a religion. It is a totality – an imperial project with political, legal, and cultural goals. It does not seek to share power. It does not seek to be part of diversity. It seeks victory or submission. And in the meantime, it seeks to dissolve the trust and cohesion that stand in its way.
Scenes from the silence
In Rotherham, a woman sits at her kitchen table holding a worn notebook. It is full of dates. The first time her daughter didn’t come home on time. The first time she dared to speak. The date she went to the police. The date she stopped going out. She places her hand over the book, as if she could keep the memories from escaping.
In Birmingham, an old man locks the door to his house for the last time. He is moving from the street he has lived on for forty years. He no longer knows his neighbours. The language in the air is not his own. On the corner stands a shop that was once his pub – now a halal butcher. He bears no grudge. He carries only the feeling of being redundant.
In Stockholm, a police officer sits in his car watching the block in front of him. He knows who lives there. He knows what they do. He knows he cannot go in without making the papers the next day. He sits there until his shift is over.
The weapon that does not fire
The most powerful weapon carries no gunpowder smoke. It is the birth register. Demography is the fuse – a war fought with wombs and generations. One man, four wives, a dozen children. Each generation doubles, triples, and quadruples the strength.
This is not accidental. It is not a quirk in integration statistics. It is a goal in itself. Population growth is part of the doctrine. And while the host population’s numbers creep below the replacement level, parallel societies not only fill the void but take over the ground.
The tactic that breaks souls
We have seen it at work. Not only in the crevices of the law, not only in the patient growth of mosques, but in violence against the most vulnerable. The industrial-scale rape of girls in English towns is not a breach of a norm – it is a declaration. A weapon.
In an anonymous courtroom, a girl stands with downcast eyes. She answers questions with single syllables. The judge looks at her as if she were a row of numbers, a case among many. Her case will not be remembered in two months. But she will carry it for the rest of her life.
When power betrays
This is the greatest crime: that the men and women in power, those who have sworn an oath to protect their people, have chosen to look away. Not out of ignorance – they know the numbers, they know the doctrine, they know the history. They choose silence. They choose for others to pay the price.
And the people, blinded by a false morality that will not distinguish between guest and conqueror, refuse to see that time is no longer on our side.
The numbers of fate
History shows that when the numbers tip, everything tips. The Balkans. Lebanon. None of them fell overnight. They simply woke up to a new reality – laws, customs, and power structures that were no longer their own.
In Beirut in the 1970s, one could go to church and drink coffee at French cafés. Ten years later, the cityscape had changed. It happened without people noticing from day to day. In the end, it was simply gone.
When a people lose the majority, they also lose the right to decide over their own country. The rest is just formalities.
The verdict
This is not a question of politics. It is not a question of integration, tolerance, or economics. It is a question of survival. We do not stand at the beginning of the process; we stand in the middle of it. The fuse is burning.
Demography is destiny. And whoever understands this knows that the time to act is not tomorrow. It is today.