Canada First Immigration Reform Committee

It amazes me that politicians, with their silly smiles, with their multi-acre homes, with all their money and power, can talk about such things as multiculturalism, mass immigration, and the homogenization (though they never use this word) of all ethnic traits as if this were a purely dispassionate exercise in demographics, a matter of educating the simple people, with their primitive superstitions, to the algebra of the coming global dictatorship, and to the unavoidable facts of an intensely overcrowded planet, three times the size of what it was in 1950, when “wilderness” did not yet mean “places on the Earth where permanent human life is impossible.”

Today’s politicians never mention the fact that love of one’s home can be as strong as any other love, that homesickness can be as strong as any other emotional pain, and that without that bond to the home a human being is like a fetus without an umbilical cord.

This love of the land, I mean a little plot of land, on the edge of the sea, on the edge of the forest, was recorded in words that can easily be found. The Norwegian national anthem begins, “Yes, we love this land, where the wild sea foams, wind and weather-beaten. . . .” And Sir Walter Scott asked: “Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, /  Who never to himself hath said, / This is my own, my native land!”And the Ponzi scheme that constitutes all of modern finance means that everyone’s income pays for less than before, and that each person’s home is easily lost through the nightmare of paying for everyday bills. And the sink-or-swim daily routine of employment means that no job is guaranteed for more than a month in the future. The chances of actually living in a house of one’s own, with no little horrors of losing it, become less and less likely.