Without Victory, There is No Survival! By Charles Taylor (Florida)

There is a peculiar ritual unfolding across the Western world. Elections are held. The public votes for immigration control. Politicians campaign on promises of enforcement. And then — nothing happens. Or rather, something does happen: the enforcement never quite materialises, and the public is instructed, once again, that its concerns are illegitimate, immoral, or imaginary.

This cycle has now repeated so often that it has acquired the quality of political gaslighting. The people are told to vote. They vote. They are told their vote matters. And then they are told, in effect, that their vote cannot be allowed to matter, because the moral conclusions it implies are unacceptable.

At the centre of this ritual is a peculiar inversion of sovereignty. Immigration law exists. Borders exist. Enforcement agencies exist. And yet the act of enforcement itself is increasingly treated as the true crime, stopping the endless flow of non-white people. Even thinking the unthinkable.

The emotional vocabulary deployed is always the same. Enforcement is described not as the execution of law, but as cruelty. The focus is never on the abstract principle that a nation has the right to determine its membership. Instead, the focus is relentlessly shifted to individual emotional tableaux — domestic scenes of ordinary life interrupted by the intrusion of the state.

The implication is clear: if enforcement causes distress, enforcement itself is illegitimate.

But this argument proves too much. All law enforcement causes distress. Every arrest disrupts a life. Every exercise of sovereignty imposes itself upon someone who would prefer otherwise. The question is not whether enforcement causes emotional discomfort. The question is whether a political community retains the authority to enforce its own rules.

Increasingly, the answer offered by cultural elites appears to be no.

What makes this moment volatile is not merely the policy disagreement, but the sense among many citizens that something more fundamental is being denied: their right to act collectively in their own perceived interest. They are told that their concerns are rooted in ignorance, prejudice, or insufficient compassion. They are told that demographic transformation is inevitable, and that resistance to it is both futile and morally suspect. That the white race must be replaced, because of "too much whiteness."

This produces not compliance, but fury.

Because beneath the technical debates about visas, quotas, and enforcement mechanisms lies a deeper question: does a nation remain a self-governing entity, or has it become merely a geographic expression — lines on a map across which people move, while the existing population is instructed to adapt without protest?

No society can endure indefinitely if its citizens come to believe that their consent is irrelevant. Legitimacy rests not on abstract ideals, but on the lived reality that political decisions reflect the will of the governed. When that connection breaks, the system begins to lose its moral authority, even if its formal structures remain intact.

History offers many examples of political orders that appeared stable, right up until the moment they weren't.

What we are witnessing now is not simply a policy dispute. It is a test of whether democratic sovereignty remains real, or whether it has become a ceremonial fiction — honoured in rhetoric, but quietly abandoned in practice.

Because in the end, sovereignty is not defined by speeches, or courts, or editorials.

It is defined by whether the expressed will of a people is actually carried out.

Without that, there is no victory.

And without victory, there is no survival.

If Australian readers wish to see this argument expressed without apology, dilution, or bureaucratic supervision, they should read Ann Coulter's remarkable essay, Without Victory, There Is No Survival, here:

https://anncoulter.substack.com/p/without-victory-there-is-no-survival

It is the kind of writing that emerges only in a society that still permits its citizens to speak in the language of existential stakes, rather than the anaesthetised managerial euphemisms that increasingly dominate public discourse elsewhere. It is what political speech sounds like when it still believes survival is at stake.