Aboriginal Fatigue Is Real

They ruined my favorite colour!

Image from Lady Gwendolyn of X,

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By James Pew

Tomorrow is Orange Shirt Day aka National Day of Truth and Reconciliation. So, before I get into the aboriginal fatigue that results from baseless Truth and Reconciliation propaganda, let’s first make it clear how false and disgusting Truth and Reconciliation is.

It is anti-white hatred. It is anti-civilization. It is anti-Christian. It is anti-everything-that-is-good. We should feel awful about the tragedy of aboriginal existence in Canada. We should be horror-stricken by the third-world conditions they live in. We should be doubly horrified that Leftists call the awful, violent, and depraved conditions of aboriginal communities, “First Nations,” “culture,” “indigenous ways of knowing,” and any number of terms that essentially attempt to shine an unpolishable turd. We should be disgusted to the point of sickness, but instead, we celebrate it, and call racists those who refuse to.

The Social Justice paradigm is about Leftists supporting and celebrating every form of anti-white hatred, and anti-civilization derangement, they can get their unwashed tattooed hands on. Every year I take my kids out of school on Orange Shirt Day. We have a quick conversation about that despicable pathological liar, Phyllis Webstad (she of the big untruths and stupid orange shirt), along with a quick summary of the rampant ahistorical propaganda that tries to pass itself off as history, that my children’s feckless “social studies” teachers try to brainwash them with. My kids are so smart its scary. They don’t fall for this crap.

My son is also quite based. One year, as we were protesting Orange Shirt Day like we always do, we had a conversation about the term “indigenous.” Of course, I explained to my son in my most patient fatherly tone, that the idea aboriginal people are the only indigenous people of Canada is a laughable atrocity of truth. We, as in my son and I, and every other person born in Canada, are fully and officially indigenous. The next day at school, my son told his teachers he didn’t want to participate in a Truth and Reconciliation thought-control exercise his class was doing, he also, based on our previous conversation, told his teacher he was indigenous. They stared at him blanky. They didn’t know what to say. My then 12-year old son manipulated the crap out of his full grown teacher, made her freeze with fear, and ultimately got out of the propaganda assignment he knew was utter horse shit.

It’s actually quite sad that I don’t feel safe enough to tell the internet where I’ll be taking my kids tomorrow. It’s a really cool place, where we often go to honour our cultural heritage. It is a place where a handful of our illustrious Canadian ancestors are celebrated. It’s a peaceful and beautiful place. But if I mention it, there is always the chance, even if it is slight, that some ANTIFA thug, or awful blue haired, septum-pierced shrieking harpy may show up and try to throw a wrench in my wheel. I have a tendency to fly to anger without much prompting, I don’t trust myself around social justice miscreants, so I must avoid them at all costs. The health and safety of everyone involved, including my own, depends on this level of vigilance.

On the good side. I sense a change. I more than sense a change…I notice change. Things are changing slowly for the better. The term Black Fatigue, which of course I couldn’t resist commenting on, to me, was a major development in the culture wars. It was the moment when white people looked up from their own bullshit, noticed the frustration shared with those of their own people group, then cast a secret white people vote, which took place at the white supremacy forum of pure whiteness, which is located in White Town (an undisclosed location only the white people of the world know about). The results of the vote were overwhelming in favour of “Black Fatigue.”

A few stipulations were discussed regarding use of this racially charged term of white liberation. All agreed that if black fatigue were real, and it was to be called out, if any given scenario were to be described in this fashion, it must indeed describe the common occurrence of black thuggery, or general anti-social black antics. You can’t just point at any black person and say you are fatigued by them. That would be racist. To properly deploy the term as it was designed, the black fatigue must be legitimate. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, there is always an abundance of anti-social black antics on display in the public square. Black fatigue is real.

Turning to aboriginals in Canada. There is unlikely to be a more fatiguing bunch then the fetal-alcohol syndrome gang. Also known as the the gang who “blames the abundance of student-on-student rapes that occurred at Indian Residential Schools on the kind-hearted Christians who operated said schools.” The boundlessness of their lies can only be matched by their hatred of the people who civilized them. Instead of thanking us for the uncountable gifts our ancestors gave them, they have hijacked history in order to create a new narrative that rationalizes their enormous cultural failure, by blaming it on “settlers.”

The tragedy of aboriginals in Canada is that they are scattered groups of disparate people who are lied to and manipulated by Leftists so that social justice can continue to function as the operating system of Canada. Leftists are keeping aboriginals in a state of arrested development. The Aboriginals themselves, at the collective level, are a mess. I feel the same about them as I do the Leftists. They offer nothing but untruths, hate and division. They sow confusion with their ahistorical activism.

The thing I am most fatigued about when it comes to Canada’s aboriginals is the nerve they have to think they can re-write Anglo-Canadian history. Yes, aboriginals have failed spectacularly. I have shown ample levels of generosity of spirit towards them in my past writings, by rationalizing their abysmal failure as caused by binge-drinking and substance abuse, and a few other unfortunate factors and circumstances that were not the fault of the aboriginals (like Europeans diseases). I have explained that the aboriginals had no experience with alcohol when it was first introduced to them by European fur-traders, so they had no way of knowing or preparing for the devasting effects of alcoholism.

The story, the true history, is sad. Aboriginals need help, and I would fully support helping them. But we do not help them. Instead, we perpetuate their misery and ensure their continued dependence. So, in this way, our new term, “aboriginal fatigue,” describes more than just annoying “elders” who bang on untuned drums trying to drown out the voices of academics who ask questions and examine the history of Indian Residential Schools. In my view, aboriginal fatigue is a fatigue not just with anti-social individuals, but with the entire conception of aboriginal-non-aboriginal relations in Canada. And especially, aboriginal fatigue is fatigue of Orange Shirts, Truth and Reconciliation, Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls (made so by the Indigenous men who stalk them), indigenous ways of knowing (myth-believing), and all the rest.

I have a dream that within a decade no one in Canada will celebrate Orange Shirt Day, and Truth and Reconciliation will disappear. Later it will be recalled as an actual dark chapter which pretended and exaggerated a different phony dark chapter in order to extract rent from Canadian taxpayers, who were filled with guilt over politicized and misrepresented history. Truth and Reconciliation must go away becuase there is nothing to reconcile for. Anglo-Canadians will accept thanks, on behalf of our ancestors, from the aboriginals if they ever catch a grip and realize that our European forefathers catapulted them into civilization, gifting them opportunities, and a quality of life never seen under primitive and un-civilized conditions.

Aboriginal Fatigue is Real. Truth and Reconciliation is trash. Pass it on.

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Thanks for reading. For more from this author, read Aboriginal Children Who Never Grow Up

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