The Flaw In Circular 213-6 The ANC Doesn’t Want You To Know

CIRCULAR 213-6

“The greatest fear of the white settler is to lose his job, his farm or his house and all the luxuries! This will enable the new DEMOCRATIC GOVERNMENT to tax them to the utmost while our comrades in MK and APLA continue with their part of the struggle.”

The ANC, with the help of the EFF, and a few other clusters around the world have systematically made it their business, their life’s work and their ultimate goal to cripple, and destroy our Boer/Afrikaner men. Their war against our men was an attempt to weaken them by taking their culture and history away from them. They have worked non-stop and around the clock to dehumanize and demoralize our men by torturing their wives and children. They have stolen their ability to provide for their families, and they will inevitably, steal their lands or homes under the guise of reparation. They continue to label our men as thieves, settlers, and racists. Their target for the past 27 years, has been our men.

What they didn’t count on, and what has left them disoriented to such an extent that they have placed little cluster groups around the world to attack and silence us, is the women. They didn’t count on the Boer/Afrikaner women to join forces with women from around the world, to fight against the propaganda that government-funded institutions are determined to send out into the world, by attacking these women in the hopes that they surrender, curl up in a corner, fall apart emotionally, and hide from the world.

When each woman targeted gathers her wolves, and moves into position so as to defend their pack, and defend the attack, these institutions grow increasingly desperate and disparaged, even feeling the shame of being ridiculed. They did not count on the women to stand up with their men, and engage in a kind of warfare, the world is yet to understand, and one that has only just begun. By the increase of attacks against these women, we know that this war is one we can and will win. The escalation of attacks exposes their fear of the threat they are finding in these women. Each attack, each blow they hand us, and each time they take a payout to fight harder against us, we stand up stronger, and our circle grows bigger.

What these clusters are doing, is only making room for our growth. With each wolf added to our circle, a new howl can be heard. With each setback we face, two or more wolves take their place in our circle. These women, who have proudly adopted the title, “Boer” women, can now be found around the world, across the oceans, high on mountains, and they are taking no prisoners. They are everywhere, and they have come together to stand with our Boer men, our Afrikaner soldiers, and are fighting the fight not behind them, but beside them.

What we have learned from the women who have moved into this circle, is that they will never give up. They will never let us go, and they will never leave one man, woman, or child behind. They will never surrender to the attacks, to the pressure or to the fear these terrorists are desperate to instill in our circle. These women fear no-one, only their God. The will not surrender, only to their men, and their God. They will arm themselves each day, and take their places beside the men they believe in. The men whose strength they know is still within them. The men whose spirit can never die. The men whose faith lets them fight from their knees. These are the men they would give their lives for.

To the women in this circle, when you found us, we never knew we were looking for you. You are the adopted Boer women that came from all around the world, and have added to our fight and our voices. This is a call to other women who still believe in our men, and who know their strength, to come to our circle, and take our hands. Gone are the days of envy and judgements that women were known for in the past. Gone is competing with other women. We have found ourselves in a circle where we uplift, fight for, become voices for, protect, love and care for other women who believe like we do. This is what Circular 213-6 did for us. This is the road these terrorists have led us on. This is how we found ourselves in this pack, stronger and braver than we ever thought we were. We call on other women who are ready to join our fight, and our voice.

To the men we are standing with, we salute you. We see you. We still see you. We know that the warrior in you is there. It is in your blood. It is who you are. It is what you will become again, and it is what we are learning from. It is you who gives us strength, hope and courage. It is your history and culture that gives us a purpose. It is where we begin, and it is where we will end. With you. It is the roads you have traveled, the strength you have displayed and your loyalty to our God, that gets us up each day. It is your heart. It is your spirit. It is you. It is within you. You have paved the way for us, and we will walk the roads it takes us on. We will never let you go. We will be there to soften the blows, and take over when you think you can no longer lift your head. We will never let you go.

We are who we are. There isn’t a circular, a government, a terrorist, or an evil in this world that can kill that which is within us.

We are the women they fear.

With love,

Alice VL

The Haunting Of South Africa

We dream of taking just one more walk through our lands, cross over our deserts and stroll carelessly along our shorelines. We hunger to climb our hills, saunter below our mountains and barefoot, we are desperate to feel the beaches underneath our feet. We want to rush in underneath a waterfall, paddle through a river, and wade our toes in our oceans. We long to watch the sun set and the sun rise again over our valleys and oceans, and step in under the rain that comes crashing enthusiastically down from our South African skies.

Instead, we emerge from our nights of hiding, reminded that we have reached just one more day to fight, and one more night to survive. Our respite is short-lived when we hear of another farmer dead, another mother lost, another child fighting for his life and another home destroyed. Another family wrecked. Another heart lost. Another soul broken.

We are faced with homes in ruins, some riddled with bullet holes, each telling a story of fear, brutality, anguish, and death. History that has been preserved in buildings for centuries are burnt to the ground, expunging a little more from our heritage and our past. What has stood agelessly now lies ruined at our feet. Our hearts try to bravely recover by telling our minds that it was only a building and that no matter how hard they tried, they could never erase our history from our hearts or from our minds.

Sometimes, we are numb; we don’t cry. Sometimes, we see and we hear, but still, we don’t cry. We simply bend our knees, lower our heads, and thank God that our family was sheltered and are safe, for now. We breathe a little easier and when we hear that another home was brutally invaded, we hold each other a little tighter. We are beleaguered by guilt because it was someone else, and not us. We hate ourselves for the temporary relief of surviving another night, when someone else didn’t. We hate that in the darkness, the ghastliest of nights for someone else, their terrified voices echoed out into the distance, praying and begging their attackers for mercy. In silence, we live their last night. We don’t say it, but we live their anguish, and we feel their suffering. We step carefully into their lives as details of their cruelest night reaches us. We know one thing; we are not as brave as they were. Another family wrecked. Another heart lost. Another soul broken.

Death reaches us all, but how we are reaching our end is grueling. How we end up praying for death to show up, is excruciating. How the pain, torture and barbarism inflicted upon us, is dispiriting, leaving us with no other option or wish other than to invite the mercy of death into our homes. In that moment of torment and despair, we are no longer attached to our lives, our homes, our possessions, our friends, our sanity, our heritage, our culture, our family or the lands in which we have invested our hearts in a country our souls used to dwell in. A thousand different ways before that night, we have tried to count the ways in which we have remained devoted to our country, yet, the magnitude of our adoration for our homelands will never matter again.

For those who have stood at, and walked through death’s door; for those hiding in the night, South Africa will always be our greatest love story; our greatest sadness and our greatest consecration. Our commitment to our God is that which built a bridge between our souls and our country; one that will always be home to us, to our hearts and to what is the very core of us.

We sit and think. Sometimes, too much. Sometimes, too wildly. Sometimes, too overwhelmingly. Sometimes, we are crushed. Sometimes, we want to hurt back; we want to punish those who don’t walk like we do, who don’t believe as we do, who don’t feel as we do, and who would never pray as we do. Sometimes, we just sit and think, and sometimes, we just cry. Sometimes, we are enraged and we want to discard the banner used to conceal the hurt and harm they have caused us and our tribe. We want to fly high our flag again; a cloak once worn by South Africa to remind us of who we are and how God called upon us to be courageous and to love all. One where we could stand stripped and naked under our stormy skies and still be covered and clothed by our flag.

And, as it flutters in the wind, we come alive again. As we stand fascinated by the vision before us, we once again see the symbol of our country’s love and devotion to us; where our nightmares are over, and where our dreams can breathe again. A place where we are asked only to worship our God before our nation, and then, to stand together under our homeland’s cape as it nudges us towards its promises and allows us to take another walk through our lands, across our deserts and along our shorelines.

We don’t know how to ask for help anymore, or where to turn to any longer. Nobody wants to know. Nobody wants to hear. Nobody wants to see. But us. Nobody wants to.

We can’t stand to watch the pain and destruction around us, so, like the strangers we have become, we leave. We walk slowly beneath unfamiliar skies and down city streets that we know, carry no evidence of the lives we had once lived. As deep into the soils as we could dig, the grounds in a strange land would never find the preservation of our footprints we left behind in the grounds when we were only children.

It would never know of us, even if after a while, it gets to know us. We could never love with our soul, for the pieces we have left are barely enough to allow us to breath the air of a country that didn’t raise us.

We hear the way others speak around us, and it leaves us feeling conquered. We listen for the language of our kind, but no matter how desperate we are to hear sounds like ours in a crowd, it remains silent. We search the masses for the faces we love, and the souls that we have left behind. Sometimes, when we find ourselves wandering around aimlessly; we are so sure we hear a voice that we once knew, only to discover that it was no-one at all. It was nothing more than a hankering; a whisper from the soul.

We once used to lay awake at night, waiting for the voices and the shadows of the night to come for us; now we lay awake, haunted by the mutters of our oceans, rains and winds back home. Nothing is the same anymore. The sounds of the rain crashing down on our streets, sidewalks and lands has a rhythm and a song of its own, and the way our skies darkens during our thunderstorms is something we have not yet seen since. Our backdrops, our mountains, our hilltops, our bush, our forests, our thunder and lightning, our sunsets and our sunrises, will always be like nothing we have ever seen, or will again.

These are all the pieces of us left behind in a country we never wanted to leave. The power and beauty; the glory that rests on the strength of our flag and our heritage is not ready to welcome us home yet, back to our homelands. We pray each night that our beloved South Africa keeps our hearts intact until we can come home again.

My beloved South Africa, with love.

Alice VL

You, The Darkness

SOUTH AFRICA

It wasn’t in a single, defining moment; it wasn’t on a ghostly morning or an eerie evening; there isn’t a date or a time to isolate the precise instant I found myself standing in the midst of infinite darkness with only as much as a dull spotlight shining weakly out in front of me. Me. Us. We.

It seems pitch black all around me. My eyes sometimes struggle to penetrate the darkness, no matter which way I turn. It is as though I am lingering in an absolute shutdown of light, but for a diffused glow around me.

It weighs heavily on my shoulders; it feels as though the darkness broods and rotates around us all. As I listen to loud and demoralizing threats, the sheer depth of our seclusion and isolation takes me to levels of fear I had never known before.

As much as I try to run away from it all, I am relentlessly slammed into indistinguishable barriers by those unholy voices and the piercing laughter the darkness presses upon me.

The gateway to hell isn’t supposed to be a place. It’s supposed to be somewhere in an alternate reality each of us lives in; our minds. Yet, here we are. South Africa. Here, where fires continue to ravage lands, buildings, roads, highways, cars and people fuelled by greed and the addictive lust for power. I can’t turn my back on it; none of us can; so here we are, in the gateway of hell.

You, the darkness of South Africa, waging this battle against us, are trapped in fear of us as you build walls of indifference and seeking status to hide your vulnerable self – striking out at us with every ounce of aggression you and your people can muster up.

You speak lies as if you are convinced it will turn into the truth; desperate to remove years of culture and history. I hear you speak and imagine writing another book, before I burn it to cinders because either it burns, or we do; I choose us.

Through the fear of your people and like venomous broth for the masses, you began a process many years ago to condition the children of your kind to hate an entire nation of the human race; us.

Families burying their children and grand-children are left with hatred; their own kind of abhorrence. Laying them down with their own hands while lowering their tiny bodies with their eyes closed into the soil of the lands you are fighting, and killing us for. Through tiny, heartbreaking tears that escape the corners of their eyes, they kiss their babies one last time before dirt covers them to signify the end. They will never come back. They will never have one more last chance to do it all over again. These children will never get to say goodbye and they will never, ever place their arms around those they’ve left behind. At that very moment, love leaves the bodies of those still here, forever. That’s where they cease to function. That’s where their worlds have come crashing down on them. That’s where the tears end and bitterness and revulsion is born.

Hatred becomes a repugnance, a rebellion of all that was once good. Never would you see such hatred in our kind, except where love is betrayed, destroyed and murdered.

But the hatred of you and your people disguises itself as a balm to a wound when in truth, it is fuel for already-burning flames. It guarantees more hostility, more pain and more death while decreasing your humanity, not ours; any civilization that you and your tribe may still have left.

It passes from you, to your people and their children – from one generation to the next and it waits in the shadows of racism, hatred, senses of superiority and reverberation of tribalism making your kind more primal than human.

I must ask; if all our homes are abandoned; some by those desperate to keep their lives, or some by those buried in the soils of these lands, will our history books talk of how you commanded the enemy and how you failed your nation; all of your nation? Will it tell the stories of the homes of ordinary people living ordinary lives, serving under one God and how dearly they paid simply because of their love and loyalty to their homelands?

When all the schools are attacked and destroyed, would you try to reason with your people lacking intellect since there is nowhere to teach them?

As the last of the coffins are moved down the streets carried by mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters, sons or daughters, will you still hold us culpable of being apartheid supporters, for no other reason than for the fact that we are white?

When our country; the country that has stood for centuries lies in ruins at your feet, will you consider that your day of reckoning has just escalated to a whole new and treacherous intensity?

Do you hear the piercing screams as your people tear through us like razor sharp shards of glass; desperate, terrified, heartbroken and hopeless?

I must ask; when you hear of a child viciously murdered, do your eyes widen or does your pulse quicken only a little? Do you consider the day their hearts pounded to a pulse that was no longer to the rhythm of their souls and how every turbulent beat from within echoed the breaths they were gasping to take?

I must ask; how many white crosses must there be and how many more names must be printed on them? How many more bodies must be lowered into the ground before your hatred of us; your desire for money, greed and power begins to subside? How can you be so unresponsive to brutality, cruelty and savagery?

I must ask; do you know that your reckoning will ultimately defeat you and your people?  

We know that your deception, dishonesty and corruption is used as ammunition against us, making us and keeping us as opposites.

We know that you and your people have been infected with the deadly poisons of greed, power, vanity and self-interest. We are aware that you have contaminated our nation and that you cannot love God, and therefore, you cannot love our country.

Do you know that no matter how powerful or severe; how brutal or cruel or how influential you are, we still choose God. We choose love. We choose compassion, kindness and empathy. We choose life and we choose our lands, our people and our culture. We choose God over power, and, we choose us.

We are not afraid of death. We know where we are heading. It’s only another chapter in our story; one where we get onto the next path and keep walking with no stains or tainted souls; with not even a memory of you.

When its all over; when there is nothing left and when your line has been drawn, what will you face when you meet death and walk down that foggy path leading you to darkness? Will it engulf and overwhelm you, suffocating you from all sides? Do you know that there will be no moonlight to cast light on the road ahead for you? There is no safe passage for you; there is no coming back from your mortal sins. Will you grow tired and rest on the damp ground below you, with the tears of those you have failed gushing from your eyes? What will you see when the furnace door opens for you before you are sucked into the flames, to burn for all of your eternity? Will you hear the cries of the mothers, the fathers’ desperate to negotiate the lives of his family or the child screaming in the darkness for mercy? Will you see the faces of those that have been tortured under your immoral reign and will you live the fear they had to face, only moments away from death? Will you live through the anguish of each soul lost because of you, and your people?

I know that you will.

Alice VL