My Christmas Gift to You

For those of you who may not know, I was born in Cassino, Italy. I lived the first two years of my life in the small town of San Clemente, which has a population of 900 people, located in the province of Caserta.

San Clemente is a place where everyone knows each other. It has a tiny church in the center of town whose bell rings every day at noon—the chime can be heard across the entire town.

Like most Italians, I was raised Roman Catholic. However, my faith was tested during my two tours in Iraq, seeing what evil really looked like up front.

I left the faith around the age of 24, after studying philosophy, mass communication, and doing research about the truth of this world. I concluded religions had no ground to stand on and were nothing more than belief systems designed to control the masses.

At that point in my life, I would only attend church for the sake of tradition: when I was invited to attend baptisms, communions, or going to Christmas Eve mass with my family. But as the years passed, I stopped going entirely.

Fast-forward to the age of 31, I had my first child. When he was born, my father encouraged me to baptize him, but I refused. Both my Uncle Andrew and Grandma Wilma also pushed me to do it, but I refused them, too.

When my son was two years old, my Uncle Andrew was diagnosed with ALS. What we thought would take several years, turned out to be several months, due to an extremely aggressive form that surprisingly took him while he was sleeping one night, in 2017. Two years later, my grandmother passed away, in 2019.

My daughter was born in 2020, and my father asked me to reconsider baptizing them at the same time, that it was something he and my family always wanted, naming my uncle and grandmother. I caved, because I realized my desire to keep them away from tradition was doing nothing but offending my family. I figured if I was raised Catholic, what harm would it do if they were raised with the same morals as I was, even if I no longer believed.

So, I decided to allow my family to raise them as Catholics, while I stayed on the sideline. Of course, I attended their baptisms, and later my son’s communion. When I did, it felt great to honor my family, as my uncle and grandmother always wanted my children to be baptized. I felt sad that they were not to see I granted them their wishes, but the rest of my family was extremely happy, even though they knew I did it for their sake, not mine.

Today, I wasn’t feeling good at all; my anxiety decided to flare up, as it does from time to time. But as my wife was getting ready to walk out the door to take the kids to church, I told her I would tag along. She was surprised, since I never do, and she knew I was having a bad day. But I told her that I had to my fatherly duty, and I wanted to lead by example and take communion with my son, now that he is able to.

So, I went to church, and I will say, I was completely overwhelmed with emotion. This was not some spiritual experience, but rather a reliving of a time when I was innocent, a time when I didn’t know any of the truths I know today. In fact, this was similar to the emotion I felt during my children’s baptism and communion, when I was honoring my family’s wishes, but much more intense.

I felt this pit in my stomach, with tears wanting to burst out of my eyes. It sounds pathetic, but it is the truth. I couldn’t figure out why at first, but then I realized what it was: as I looked around the room, I saw these innocent people, all signing and praying together. I looked at my children, gorgeous, young, and innocent, singing along and praying, as the other children did.

These innocent souls, all living in a bubble and shielded by their beliefs, have no idea about the brutality of this world or the truly satanic nature of our enemy. They really think it is some horned demon named Satan, rather than the flesh and blood parasites destroying everything we love. This ignorance reminded me of former self, when I had no clue, either. It was nostalgic.

Another thing that hit me: none of them knew me. They didn’t know who I am or what I have done. They didn’t know that I am hated by the very “chosen people” they are told to love and forgive. None of them knew that one of the world’s most “notorious antisemites” was praying among them. None of them knew I am the man who made “Boom, Boom, Tel Aviv” and have gone viral several other times due to my activism.

As I stood in prayer with them, I blended in the crowd and become a normie just like them, feeling the “joy” that they felt. But mine wasn’t the same feeling of joy; it was something else: none of them have seen what I have seen or been through what I have been through; and because of this, they enjoyed their Christmas Eve in a way I could never.

In a way, I envied them.

But in my emotional state, I realized why it is I fight for them, even if they can never comprehend or appreciate it. I fight for them because they are not fighters; they are workers. They are the flock that must be protected from the wolves. And their way of “fighting” is with gatherings and prayers, thinking their appeals to God will change this world—they won’t. In fact, not a single rape, murder, or criminal politician will be stopped by the hands of God, just like no wolf pack, hungry and ready to pounce on the flock, will be stopped by the baaing of the sheep.

And no matter how good the Christmas Eve mass made these innocent families feel, other families are being blown to pieces in Gaza; the Ukraine-Russia war is still going on, causing people to lose their fathers and brothers; and our demonic enemies are currently plotting another strike on Iran, because no one is able to stop them, not even God.

The anxiety I felt was a mixture of envy and sorrow. On the one hand, I missed the days I was oblivious to reality, enjoying the world and its distractions like any other goy; on the other, I felt a deep sorrow for these people for not knowing any better.

And then I felt another emotion: a deep sense of failure and shame. What have I done for the last 13 years? What have I really done to protect these people? I’ve done nothing. And no matter how many times someone online calls me a hero, or that I woke them up, it means nothing. It means nothing, not because it doesn’t mean anything to me, but because these people are still enslaved. These beautiful innocent children at the mass, signing carols and smiling with their cute faces; they are all slaves and don't even know it. And it’s the fault of men like me; men who think anything we have done up until now has made any difference at all.

Oh, the Infowar, you say?

Tell me, dear reader, what laws have we changed? How many bullets and bombs have we stopped from being dropped? Who am I to judge these people praying to a God who will not listen, when I yell at demons who do not, either?

If anything, this experience has taught me that none of us—not anyone you can name in our struggle—has done anything worthy of praise… yet. And this means all of us need to up our game next year, organize and bring the fight beyond memes, streams, collabs, marching, banner drops, or whatever else you can think of. We’ve been doing these things for decades, and not one law has changed anywhere in our favor. Not one! In fact, quite the opposite: every law has changed in our enemy’s favor!

This “winning” people speak of is just as effective as the prayers in the church I saw tonight. Sure, these Catholics felt good, but nothing in this world ever changes by prayer. In the same way, our activists and followers feel good, but nothing in this world changes by just telling the truth and feeling good about ratioing people on Twitter.

Yes, words can wake up and inspire people. Yes, we are winning the Infowar and even the Culture War, but none of this is enough! This is just the beginning.

Yet there are plenty of grifters, scammers, frauds, and shills who will sell you the fantasy that all we need to do is keep waking everyone up forever, until we reach that magic number, and boom! We win!

This is dead wrong. In fact, this will get us all killed. There is no magic number; there are only the right kind of men. The masses have and never will do anything. Like the congregation who prayed tonight to end all war, they will never do anything to end a single war. Likewise, the masses will never fight to free themselves.

Dear readers, the time has come to move beyond the Internet, because this is where our enemy wants us, sitting here yapping, streaming, and telling the truth forever, while they lie and make real gains in the real world. The only thing we should use the Internet for, is to inspire people to get organized.

You may not like what I am saying, and you may even feel offended because you think you have done something important, but it is no different from feel-good prayers. And if I’m willing to write this openly, trashing myself in front of you, when I know I have done more than 99.999999% reading this, and will compare those things to mere prayer, then I have every right to expect more from others as I expect from myself.

WE. NEED. ACTION!

But what action?

As we close up this year, we must start thinking about this very question. Like the innocent people in the church, not all of us have the same roles, so many of you have been doing your part and will continue to do it at your level.

But I know my role is bigger; I feel it in my heart. I know I am not doing as much as I could, and that is why I felt the way I did today: a shame I never want to feel again.

This means I have to change everything. I need to stop playing around with these Internet figures, sitting on the sidelines and submitting to their agendas.

NO! I must assert myself more! I must do more!

Who among us has truly done anything? Who? Anyone you name, including me, I will laugh.

The only time we will have the right to say we have done something, is when we at least change one law in our favor. And the only time we have the right to say “We are winning!” is when we can look at the innocent children in our schools, churches, and playgrounds, and sit back and say, “They are finally free,” because our enemies have lost. Until then, we need to shut the hell up.

This was my Christmas gift to you: the harsh truth.

I hope it inspired you in some way.

Merry Christmas!

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