Why I'm leaving Britain

Which way, Faustian Man?

In 1471, a young Englishman fled his country for Brittany, where he would spend the next 14 years in exile.

His noble father had died like a dog, imprisoned in Carmarthen Castle after battlefield defeat. The mentally ill king whom he served had bought the nation to ruin and was deposed and executed in the Tower of London.

But in Brittany, the young Englishman married strategically and built alliances. He won over Francis II, Duke of Brittany and the English baron Richard Woodville.

In 1485 - now in his prime - he set sail for the isles to which he was born. Alongside him were two thousand French mercenaries and a ragtag group of other dissidents.

They landed at Mill Bay on the Welsh coast. The young Englishman knelt in the sand, raised his hands to heaven, and prayed “Judge me O Lord, and favor my cause!”

They began their march inland. Invoking the names of his ancestors, the young man amassed the support of local nobles, and his ranks grew.

Two weeks later, outnumbered, he engaged the forces of Richard III at Bosworth Field, Leicestershire. The victory was decisive; Richard was slain. The young Englishman became the last man to ever win the British crown in battle.

His name was Henry Tudor, and he went on to found a dynasty that gave his country an empire and laid the foundation for her dominance of the planet.

But if he had never left these isles in his youth, history would never have known his name.

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I’ve come to a final conclusion on the question which I’ve agonized over for more than a decade. I’m leaving my home. It’s time to get out.

I love my land, but I love my family and my people more, and we’re not thriving here. The land will still be here in 100 years; I need to make sure my descendants are too. A nation is its people.

I’ve stayed this long because of a belief in the duty to stay and fight. But in the part of the country in which I was born and raised, the battle is already decisively lost.

It's not clear that I am actually ‘fighting’ those destroying the country by being here. In fact, I'm paying huge taxes to them, funding their schemes while inhibiting my own ability to act independently and to raise my family.

The British State has completely lost its way. Through various taxes, it takes more than half my income before I’ve ever seen it. Its policies have nothing to do with the wellbeing of the country or its citizens. It does nothing to help my little son or daughter.

My income is used to battery farm Bomalians in London tower blocks. The NHS almost killed my wife. There are no British children in the local school. The police won’t come and move on the balaclava’d drug dealers outside my home unless they’re actively in the process of stabbing someone.

Our family is basically impoverished, despite my good income, because we have to pay twice for everything: once in crushing taxes (for services never delivered) and then again in crushing expenses for private services instead (healthcare, schools). If you calculate our disposable income after this process you get an amount significantly below the poverty line.

I pay more than the average British annual salary just in rent to live in what was once a beautiful part of London, near where the Darling family are supposed to have lived in Peter Pan. The government has covered the area with council blocks filled with random foreign men and made it totally unsafe.

A few months ago a group of men in masks invaded a local pub with baseball bats and robbed the entire clientele. This was in a ‘good’ area. What if my wife had been there?

I watched someone snatch a phone from a woman and jump off the tube just before the doors closed. She simply put her head in her hands and cried, knowing she’d never see it back or get any justice.

Real fighting makes you stronger. This isn’t fighting: its a process of gradual demoralization through attrition. Its weakening. I can take it - I’ve taken it for years - but my young children must be spared.

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This is my home. I was born less than a mile away from where I now live. My parents live a few streets away. I don’t want to leave.

But the choice is stark. If I stay, I’ll forever see in my mind the children that I couldn’t have because it was impossible in Britain.

I want to build a community around my children. But the UK - even outside London - is a terrible place to do this. Its crushingly expensive and the pathological State can reach into your life at any moment and destroy it.

We need to move to a place where we can have a large family, and they can grow up healthy and strong, alongside other people like us.

I'm an Anglo-Saxon: my ancestors have always moved to the next frontier. My father was born in England, yes, but his father was born in India, the son of an Army officer of the Empire.

The Anglos settled these hallowed shores, which should forever be ours, but their progeny also created beautiful colonies the world over. It’s time to take up this mantle again.

Moving and founding a community is also a forcing function to actually do something and build something, rather than decay and wait out a decline that may take a century to complete.

I’ll be out of the country in six months, and will move to a position of strength from which to build. I know where I’m going; it’s in a remote part of Europe.

More to come on this front. Let me know if you’re interested in coming too.

Sic transit imperium,

Johann