On the passing of a Traitor

The death of Martin McGuinness is a body blow to republicans throughout our land. He was both the brawn and brain behind Sinn Féin and the Provisional Irish Republican Army. To many Martin is a hero; a modern day Michael Collins. He was someone that physically defended them, their identity and their interests. Most, I am sure are utterly oblivious to the Sinn Féin policy of ethnic replacement. His send-off had all the trappings of a republican funeral. The piper played patriotic tunes and his tricoloured draped coffin was carried through his beloved Bogside by former comrades. But Martin was not a patriot. He was an Internationalist; a Globalist; an alley of every grievance mongering non-white throughout Ireland and the globe.

But for all his love of the third-world planters, there was not a single non-white face among the thousands that lined the streets and packed the chapel (the exception being the Cuban ambassador who was among the mourners at his graveside.) The people that came out to pay their respects and to mourn his passing were HIS people. They came from every corner of this country to pay homage to one of their own. It is a shame that he never recognised that his people are not an interchangeable lump of cells, to be traded like Pokémon cards.

The interlopers that he was so keen to import and replace his people with couldn’t care less about the Republican ideals Martin supposedly cherished. Republicans within Sinn Féin often tell me that attracting immigrants with a message of tolerance, cultural respect and inclusion is simply a tactic. The end goal, they tell me is and always will be the reunification of our dear country anda to break the connection with England. But is a united Ireland in which we, the native people of Éire are to be a minority within a few decades and a small minority by the end of this century the goal; a borderless, united Ireland but an Ireland made up of every race and nationality? If so, Ireland would cease to Irish.

This is a fact I frequently put to Republicans. Unfortunately, they cannot comprehend the changing demographics of Ireland and the West and the perils of multiculturalism. One cannot help but look at the last forty plus years of struggle as pointless, considering the open border policy of Sinn Féin and the Neanderthals that make up the Dissident Republican ranks. There was too many needless deaths and too many families destroyed. Two generations of our people had their futures robbed because of the “liberation struggle.”

Serial-rapist big Willie Clinton summed up the backward worldview of Martin (and the modern Republican movement) perfectly in his Eulogy: “he expanded the definition of us, and shrunk the definition of them.”

An Ireland of black Gaeilgeoirí, Muslim hurlers, Chinese river dancers; an African Munster, an Asian Connaught, an Islamic Ulster; is that what Ireland is to become? That is certainly the nightmarish future than Martin imagined for us. But the Gael is not interchangeable. Our tradition is not a product. It cannot be purchased at a supermarket. It is not an identity that anyone can take up and then drop like a hobby. Yes, third world colonists can read and admire our ancient literature; our songs and dances, and our noble sporting heritage, but to claim our history and heritage as their own, to live and breathe that tradition would be inauthentic. The site of a white girl hip-hop dancing is no less ridiculous than that of a Paki lining up on all-Ireland final day. But there will be no accusations of cultural appropriation levelled at non-whites that pilfer, deconstruct and bastardize our heritage.

Martin McGuinness was a brave, highly intelligent individual. He lived an austere life, shunning alcohol and cigarettes. He was a devout Catholic and by all accounts (even F.R.U informant Freddie Scappaticci admitted this) a faithful husband and loving father. He refused his ministerial salary. The idea of moving from the Bogside to a leafy suburb never crossed his mind. He could have stolen a chapter in the annals of Irish history as one of our greatest sons.

But when the history of our people is written, future generations will read his story with bewilderment. Here was someone that put his life on the line against the world’s most accomplished and well-trained army; in defence of and for the advancement of his people, all whilst not being able to define who and what his people are. To Martin, anyone born on the Irish landmass and calls himself a Gael is therefore a Gael. There is no essence to his people, no history, and no destiny. His legacy is as tragic as the lives he stole and broke for his corrupted definition of Nationhood.

By Fenian O’Flaherty

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