The gang of four are down to two. I want to look at one of the two survivors: the playwright Alan Bennett (born 1934). In the 1960s, with Peter Cook, Dudley Moore and Jonathan Miller, he enjoyed enormous success with the satirical show Beyond the Fringe on both sides of the Atlantic. One of their targets was the stale pale male Britain of their childhoods. Here’s an entry from Bennett’s diary in 1982:

7 September. Douglas Bader dies. I used to imitate him in Beyond the Fringe as part of the Aftermyth of War sketch, coming downstairs with a pipe and exaggeratedly straight legs (though I never quite dared make them as stiff as they should have been). One night I was hissed and was very pleased with myself. (Writing Home, Faber & Faber, 1994)

Douglas Bader was a fighter-pilot who lost both legs in a flying accident before World War II. Wearing artificial legs, he became a hero during the war and then a fixture of the British establishment. He was a symbol of courage, perseverance against the odds and bluff, stoical manhood. But it did Bennett no harm to mock him. Quite the reverse. The success of Beyond the Fringe was a sure sign of shifting power: a new liberal establishment was taking over. It now rules cultural life in Britain, and Bennett is one of its fixtures.

This is an irony that he has never explored in his writing. Probably he doesn’t even recognize it. Like Woody Allen in America, Bennett carefully cultivates an image of himself as a gauche, neurotic outsider. In both cases, the image is highly misleading. The enormous success of Bennett and Allen demonstrates this paradox: in the modern West, outsiders are insiders. The key to the paradox is Jewish power and its hostility to the majority. By identifying himself as an outsider, Bennett signals to powerful Jews in the media that he will not defend the majority. He practises oligolatry, or the worship of minorities I discussed in “Power and Perversion.”

But piety about minorities is useless to an ambitious playwright if it is not well-publicized. Every year, Bennett publishes extracts from his diaries in the highly liberal London Review of Books (LRB), which is the British equivalent of the New York Review of Books. Bennett’s direct and uncomplicated prose is refreshing amid the usual posturing gasbags who write for the LRB, but that’s part of his shtick: he’s playing the down-to-earth Yorkshireman. He’s also playing the decent and caring liberal. Here’s an entry from his diary in 1980:

6 March, London. I come through Heathrow [airport] and in the queue parallel to mine an Indian family is held up at Immigration, the father thin, dark, with burning eyes, being questioned by a woman so stone-faced she could be at the East German border rather than at Heathrow. There are several sons, looking languid and beautiful, and the mother with a small child in her arms. (Writing Home, 1994)

You see? Bennett is on the side of oppressed minorities. He thinks that immigration control has a nasty whiff of totalitarianism. And his comments on the languid beauty of the sons are another signal to his liberal readership. Bennett is homosexual, but not in the mould of a conservative writer like H.H. Munro (1870–1916), who wrote under the pen-name of Saki. Munro identified with the White British majority, not with the Jewish minority here. He criticized Jewish power in stories like “The Unrest Cure” and “A Touch of Realism,” which joke about antisemitism rather than deplore it. He even described the British Empire as a “suburb of Jerusalem” in “Reginald at the Theatre.” Bennett, by complete contrast, wants Jews to know that he feels their pain. Here’s a diary entry in 1984:

16 April, Yorkshire. A bank clerk counts me out some notes and scarcely pausing in his counting, puts aside the more dog-eared ones as he does so. With about as much thought, and for exactly the same reason (the practical use of this object is almost over), the SS officer on the platform at Auschwitz separated out the sick for immediate extermination. (Op. cit.)

Is Bennett Holocaust-aware? You bet he is. He does not criticize Jewish power or even acknowledge its existence. Instead, he mourns for Jewish victimhood. He was at it again in 1999:

28 January. I switch on the Antiques Roadshow [a programme in which members of the public bring antiques for free valuation] where someone is showing the expert a drawing by E.H. Shepard, the illustrator of Winnie the Pooh. It’s a cartoon or an illustration dated 1942, entitled ‘Gobbling Market’ and meant as a satire on black marketeers. It was for [the humorous magazine] Punch but it could have easily have been for [the Nazi propaganda newspaper] Der Stürmer, as all the black marketeers are strongly Semitic in features, some as demonic as the worst Nazi propaganda. The expert makes no reference to this, except to say: ‘It’s very strong.’ When the owner bought the drawing he’d had the chance of getting a Winnie the Pooh cartoon instead: that would have appreciated in value a great deal but ‘Gobbling Market’ not at all, which is encouraging. (Untold Stories, Faber & Faber, 2005 — “Gobbling Market” is a pun on Christina Rossetti’s poem “Goblin Market”)

Again, Bennett is almost parodically pro-Jewish. His comments are a perfect example of “Point-and-splutter,” in which no attempt is made to refute a claim about reality. Instead, the claim is held up as self-evidently wicked, with its truth or falsehood dismissed as irrelevant. But was Shepard right to suggest that black marketeers were predominantly Jewish? Bennett writes as though the question cannot even be considered: under oligolatry, minorities are exemplars of virtue, never of vice.

In his diaries and elsewhere, Bennett’s constant message is that he is not on the majority’s side. He has genuflected to Jewish power throughout his career, advertising his pro-Jewish, pro-minority piety in venues like the London Review of Books. And he’s been well-rewarded for it. He’s now a very rich man by the standards of his working-class boyhood in the Yorkshire city of Leeds. Unlike many Whites of his generation, he can easily afford an encounter with vibrancy like this:

Alan Bennett: how I was conned out of £1,500 Alan Bennett has described for the first time how he was targeted by pickpockets who conned him out of £1,500. The celebrated playwright described how he had just withdrawn the money from the bank when two women approached him, supposedly to help him clean ice cream which had been spilt down the back of his coat. But far from being the thoughtful action of a pair of kindly strangers, the offer of help was an act designed to give the thieves the opportunity to remove the money from Bennett’s coat pocket. Bennett said he had just withdrawn the money to pay his builders and walked into Marks & Spencer when the two women … tried to help him wipe the ice cream off his coat. … “The ice cream (coffee-flavoured) seems to have got everywhere and they keep finding fresh smears of it so that I take my jacket off too to clean it up. No more being found, I put my jacket on again, thanking the women profusely, though they brush off my gratitude and abruptly disappear. I go back to the car, thinking how good it is that there are still people who, though total strangers, can be so selflessly helpful, and it’s only when I’m about to get into the car that I remember the money, look in my inside pocket to find, of course, that the envelope has gone.” After reporting the loss to the police Bennett was told the pickpockets were most likely Romanian and that the con is common enough to have been given the name “Mustard Squirter”. It was thought he was spotted at the bank and followed into the shop. Bennett recognised they were “very good at their job” but said: “Quite hard to bear is that I have to go back to the bank to draw out another £1,500 or the builders will go unpaid.” He added: “The casualty, though, is trust, so that I am now less ready to believe in the kindness of strangers.” (Alan Bennett: how I was conned out of £1,500, The Daily Telegraph, 13rd December 2010)

By “Romanian” the police almost certainly meant “gypsies.” After a lifetime extolling the virtue of oppressed minorities, Bennett discovered in 2010 that they’re fully capable of vice too. Indeed, of predation. Thanks to mass immigration, millions of British Whites have suffered crimes by people who would never have been here if Britain were a genuine democracy. It isn’t: as Gerald Warner pointed out at Breitbart, “in 1968 the political class abandoned representation of the majority” that opposed mass immigration, and “identified itself exclusively with the elitist 11 per cent minority” that supported it.

Bennett has always been part of the elitist minority. In 2010, like Tony Blair’s daughter Kathryn in 2013, he discovered that elitism does not guarantee immunity. Luckily for him, his encounter with vibrancy wasn’t violent, but some old people don’t long survive non-violent robberies. The shock and upset can prove fatal, particularly if the lost money is irreplaceable. Bennett is rich and can easily afford the loss, so he identifies the “casualty” as “trust,” because he is “now less ready to believe in the kindness of strangers.”

But why should gypsies be “kind” to a non-gypsy like Bennett? He suffers from the typical liberal delusion that his own narcissistic individualism is somehow natural to human beings. After all, there’s only one race: the Human Race. We’re all the same under the skin. Except that we aren’t. Gypsies are an in-bred, collectivist group (see here, p. ixff) who see an elderly White Briton like Bennett as prey, not as a fellow human being who is owed respect and consideration. Similar in-breeding and collectivism are at work in Bennett’s home county of Yorkshire, where large networks of Pakistani Muslims have preyed on White schoolgirls for decades.

As an out-bred, individualist group, the White British have tended to rely on public institutions like the police to protect them from crime. In cities like Rotherham and Oxford, the police have betrayed them, corrupted by the same pro-minority liberalism displayed by Alan Bennett. Homosexuals like Bennett are not automatically indifferent to the majority and its welfare, but narcissism and indifference do seem to come more easily to them. Bennett has no children and no stake in the future. His interests have always centred on himself and on the historical Britain that created him but which he sees through a lens of opportunistic hostility and resentment.

The future survival of Britain plainly doesn’t concern him. He is rich enough to insulate himself from non-White immigration and he divides his time between a big house in London and a big house in Yorkshire, with frequent trips to hotels and big houses elsewhere. He is not interested in the welfare of White schoolgirls in Yorkshire. He didn’t go to school with girls there and he didn’t have any sexual interest in them.

We are all familiar with the idea that many Whites suffer from pathological altruism, but there are other pathologies as well. A great many of our politicians are quite the opposite of pathological altruists. They are sociopaths who care for nothing but their own career — Bill Clinton and Tony Blair come to mind. And closely related, if not identical, is the pathology of narcissistic self-absorption exemplified by Alan Bennett.

While caring not at all for the exploited girls of Rotherham, his boys-only grammar school in Leeds has continued to inspire his work. He wrote a play called The History Boys (2004) based on his experiences there, which was turned into a film in 2006. This is how Bennett’s work came to the attention of the Jewish-American commentator Larry Auster, who described the film thus:

The History Boys and Britain’s path to national suicide If you don’t believe that the British elites despise their country, their culture, their history, and secretly or openly wish to have done with it all, see The History Boys. Not that I’m recommending it. It is an unpleasant experience, among other things the most explicit attempt by a movie to normalize homosexuality that I’ve seen. And the homosexuality it normalizes is far from the “nice,” “wholesome” homosexuality — presented as a model of moral uprightness and psychological health in comparison with the desperate neuroses of the heterosexual main characters —that has been the standard, pro-gay fare of Hollywood over the last decade or so. It is a homosexuality that is by turns depressing and nasty, even evil. Yet the movie approves of all of it, as do all the characters. Even the ostensible subject of the film — how eight boys in an undistinguished high school in northern England receive special preparation for their entrance exams to Oxford and Cambridge — is imbued with a homosexualist ethos, turning intellectual life and the experience of learning into either a hollow cynical game or a vampy theatrical exercise. As I said, by the time the movie ended, the realization hit me that the British elites that created a movie like this, that praised and recommended a movie like this, seek with cold and deliberate malice the destruction of their country. (The History Boys and Britain’s path to national suicide, View from the Right, 2nd December 2006)

I haven’t seen the film, but I trust what Larry Auster says about it. Bennett may not consciously seek the destruction of Britain, but he is a willing tool of those who do. Mass immigration and minority worship will also destroy the audience for his own work, but why should he care about what happens after he is dead? When he visited Leeds Grammar School in the 1980s, he found that “the only encouraging feature was the number of clever Asian boys, who obviously now rival the Jewish boys as the intellectual elite” (Untold Stories, diary for 14 April 1998). Bennett has no attachment to his own race, whose history and culture he is happy to benefit from and be inspired by, but not to defend and preserve. For all his carefully cultivated image of diffidence and shyness, Bennett is in fact a typical liberal: he’s an intensely self-centred and egotistical man.

His interest in schoolboys is one sign of that, but so is his interest in old women, about whom he has written sympathetic plays like Talking Heads (1987) and The Lady in the Van (1999). Despite his sympathy, Bennett is again writing about his own life: his experiences with his mother and aunts in northern England and with the eccentric bag-lady who camped in the garden of his large house in London. He observes and writes about the loneliness and mental illness old women often suffer. That’s why so many old women are dedicated fans of his. His sympathy may well be genuine, but, like his Holocaust-awareness, it’s also good for his career.

What would not be good for his career would be a play about how old women have suffered from mass immigration. How many thousands have experienced vibrant crime as Bennett himself did? How many have died or had their lives destroyed as a result? That’s not a subject that powerful media Jews would find acceptable, because it’s about majority suffering and minority crime. And while Bennett was happy to write about paederasty in The History Boys, he will never explore the exotic sexual behaviour found in this case:

Delroy Easton Grant is a convicted rapist accused of carrying out a series of offences of burglary, rape and sexual assault dating between October 1992 and May 2009 in the South East London area of England. Grant, also known as the Minstead Rapist and latterly the Night Stalker, is thought to have been active since 1990, and had a distinctive modus operandi, preying on elderly women who lived alone. He is suspected of over 100 offences from 1990 to the present. In 1998, the Metropolitan Police launched the dedicated Operation Minstead team to investigate the crimes, based out of Lewisham police station. … As of 2009, the operation was the largest and most complex rape investigation ever undertaken by the Metropolitan Police. On 24 March 2011, the Jamaican-born Grant, a Jehovah’s Witness and father of eight from Brockley who was a carer for his disabled wife, was found guilty on all counts. The following day he was given four life sentences and ordered to serve a minimum of 27 years in prison. (Delroy Easton Grant, Wikipedia)

The Minstead Rapist would be a fascinating subject for a play, but if Alan Bennett ever noticed the case, he almost certainly forgot about it soon afterwards. The vast majority of White Britons will be in the same position. Like the brutal murders of the White schoolchildren Kriss Donald, Charlene Downes and Mary-Ann Leneghan, the mass rape of elderly White women is a story that appears briefly in the headlines and then vanishes. Unlike the murder of Stephen Lawrence, it isn’t kept in the public consciousness and no respectable mainstream writer seeks to explore the implications of anti-White crime.

Instead, mainstream writers bend it like Bennett: they genuflect to Jewish power, kneeling at the altar of oligolatry, worshipping Britain’s vibrant minorities and disdaining Britain’s White majority. That’s certainly the route to personal success, but the consequences for Britain’s future are disastrous. When Alan Bennett was robbed by Romanian gypsies, he had a chance to see the truth about his own liberal narcissism. As one would expect, he didn’t take it. He’s central to the liberal establishment, and he doesn’t care about the future of Britain as a White nation.

But what rose to power will also fall. In the 1960s, Bennett represented liberalism, the wave of the future. Today that wave is receding. The interesting question is what will replace it.