I’m here stunned about the inquiry into the British Rape Gang.
250,000 White British girls were groomed, drugged, and raped by predominantly Muslim Pakistani men.
I can’t even read the reports. My heart can’t take it. And trust me I’m tough.
The really sad part?
The police knew.
Schools knew.
Hospitals knew.
Government knew.
But they covered it because “racism”. British people want immigrants out of their country.
Then they are called racists and far right for it. I really do not understand how immigration into another person’s country is a right or even a moral determinant.
Now, unchecked immigration has cost 250,000 British girls their everything.
Do you see the news anywhere? Do you see any feminist actions?
Nothing. It’s White girls involved. They are “evil white colonialists” so they deserve.
The most horrific British crime ever was suppressed because authorities didn’t want to be accused of racism.
Racism, a construct that no longer means anything other than an avenue to discriminate and subjugate White Christian folks.
A brown Sikh man stabbed a white guy four time just two weeks ago.
British police came to the scene. They arrested the bleeding man.
He told them he was stabbed. They said he wasn’t. Why?
The one carrying the knife who stabbed him said he was racist to him.
That was it. They cuffed the white guy. Dragged him off till he died.
He kept saying I can’t breathe. Nothing was done.
Did you hear the news? Did you see protests?
Remember George Floyd? A career criminal who died of drug overdose? He was made immortal.
I’ve said all these to say there’s a systemic eradication pogrom against White people.
And these people are being subjugated. One day, they will rise and take their country again.
And I pray that happens. These girls deserve justice.
God don’t play about Trevoh Chalobah.
Trev always finds a way.
He has an unexplainable luck/favour, no matter how up/down the journey can look at times.
Incredible to watch in real time.
❌❌Stop scrolling ❌❌
@egyptianppo
Stop this injustice.
Drop the charges against Said Abdelrazek.
A man is on trial for his Christian faith while the world watches.
@elonmusk@realDonaldTrump@UNHumanRights@volker_turk
Intervene. This cannot stand.
Pray for me. RT this until they feel the pressure.
Follow @SaidAbuMustafa for updates.
#FreeSaidAbdelrazek
⚠️⚠️⚠️24 HOURS.⚠️⚠️⚠️
This time tomorrow, Said will be sentenced for his Christian faith.
After months of imprisonment, and after documented TORTURE and ABUSE, I ask a simple question:
Is it not enough?
How much more must one man endure for his beliefs?
@egyptianppo, RELEASE SAID MANSOUR REZK ABDELRAZEK before the hearing.
To the international community, to human rights defenders, to everyone who believes in freedom of religion and human dignity—please do not look away.
@UNHumanRights@Article18@amnesty@volker_turk@CSW_UK@ADFIntl@OpenDoors@IRFSecretariat
Pray. Share. Speak out.
Follow @SaidAbuMustafa as we enter this hearing together.
#FreeSaidAbdelrazek #PrayerForSaid #ChristianPersecution #HumanRights #ReligiousFreedom #FreedomOfBelief
In America, a warehouse store. A fully roasted chicken costs five dollars, the raw chicken beside it costs seven, and I stood between them like a man between two truths.
Golden. Hot. Seasoned. Spinning in glory under the lights, in a line of its brothers. Four dollars and ninety-nine cents.
I checked the raw birds. Seven dollars. Pale. Cold. You must do everything yourself.
This is not commerce. Commerce does not move backward. Somewhere in this building, mathematics lies defeated.
I asked the man at the counter. "How is the cooked bird cheaper than the raw bird?"
"Been five bucks forever. They keep it that way."
"But the store loses."
"Yep. On purpose."
On purpose. I held my receipt with both hands.
In my land, a lord who lowered the price of rice in a hard winter was remembered for generations. They built him a small shrine. This store does it every day, with chicken, and tells no one.
A woman behind me grew tired of my reverence. "It's just a chicken, sir."
It is not just a chicken. It is a wound the merchant takes on purpose, so that anyone, on any day, with five dollars, eats like a lord. The bird is the message. The price is the vow.
I will confess: I bought two. I did not need two. The second was not hunger. It was gratitude, and it was delicious.
Some prices are not prices. They are promises.
I return every week now. I take one bird. I bow toward the deli, briefly, so as not to alarm the staff. They have begun nodding back.
The vow holds. The bird turns. Five dollars.
Long may it spin.
Stateside, a gas station. I drank a frozen blue beverage too quickly, and was struck down by a punishment this entire nation knows, and accepts, and has named.
The drink is called a slush. Ice, sweetness, and a blue that does not occur in nature. The day was hot. I was thirsty. I drank like a soldier at a river.
The pain arrived in my skull like a war horn.
Behind the eyes. Above everything. Total. I gripped the roof of my car. I may have made a sound.
"Brain freeze," said the cashier through the door, with no urgency whatsoever.
It has a NAME. The affliction is so common it has a household name, like a cousin.
"Tongue on the roof of your mouth," called a man at the pumps. He did not look over. He prescribed the remedy mid-pump, casually, the way one mentions weather.
I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth. The war horn faded. The healer nodded at his pump, finished, and was gone in a Chevrolet.
In my land, punishment follows crime by way of courts and seasons. Here, the sentence is instant. Drink with greed, and the ice strikes the mind directly. No trial. No appeal. Perfectly fair.
And here is what moves me. EVERYONE has felt it. The cashier. The healer. Children. Elders. An entire nation united by the same small lightning, all taught the same cure, all passing it on to strangers at gas stations, free of charge.
You cannot fully distrust a country once you know it shares one pain.
The freeze does not punish thirst. It punishes haste.
I finished the slush slowly, like a scholar. Blue tongue. Clear mind.
Then at the door I forgot everything, drank deeply, and was struck down again.
"Tongue, hon," said the cashier, without looking up.
Discipline is a journey.
Me driving home knowing there won’t be a second date, but at least she knows that her evidence-based mediterranean diet was what peasants were forced to eat to keep them weak and compliant.