Celtainian Chronicles

In 1900 the world population was only about 1.6 billion, and Europeans were roughly 560–600 million of that.

This video is Part Two of Why White People Conquered the World — focusing on the creation of America, and the brutal challenges our European ancestors fought their way through to build it. I made this so people can understand why America must not be allowed to die, and to show just how hard your forefathers worked, bled, and sacrificed to create this civilisation.

There will be many more parts to this story. I’m even considering a Part Two of this American creation arc itself most of that will be based in the Wild West. I’ve already gathered a huge amount of material, so those episodes should come out much quicker than the last ones.

If you want me to continue this story, let me know below. Or, if you’d prefer I move on to the next chapter of the larger series, I’m open to that as well.

As always, thank you for watching, genuinely. Your support makes all the difference.

Sources

1. Of Plymouth Plantation

Author: William Bradford Date: written 1620–1647 (first published 1856)

2. Letters from an American Farmer

Author: J. Hector St. John de Crèvecœur Date: 1782

3. The Vigilantes of Montana

Author: Thomas J. Dimsdale Date: 1865

4. The Log of a Cowboy

Author: Andy Adams Date: 1903

5. The Autobiography of Buffalo Bill

(Also published as The Life of Hon. William F. Cody) Author: William F. "Buffalo Bill" Cody Date: 1879 (various editions)

6. How We Built the Union Pacific Railway

Author: General Grenville M. Dodge Date: 1903

7. The Scotch-Irish in America

Author: Henry Jones Ford Date: 1915

8. History of the Pequot War

Author: John Mason Date: written 1637–1670, published 1736

9. A Brief History of the Pequot War

Author: Increase Mather Date: 1670s (various printings later)

10. The History of King Philip’s War

Here’s an article taken straight from my video White People vs. Evil. If you prefer to watch it with the full music, visuals, and narration, I’ve included the link below. Otherwise, you can read it here in article form. Enjoy.

https://youtu.be/sJs07ZNIh_Q?si=Ce89BQoYNuIqrTJM

White People vs. Evil

The Tophet of Kronos: Europe’s First Battle Against Pure Evil

Tophet, the charming little shrine of Kronos. When war, famine, or plague rolled in, the Phoenicians would apparently look at their children and think: “Aha! Firewood with legs!” Nothing says civilization like roasting toddlers to keep the gods happy. What lovely neighbours to have. Picture it: a giant bronze statue, arms outstretched like some benevolent uncle, except the hands were tilted conveniently downward into a blazing pit. Place your darling child in its palms, give it a shove, and, whoosh! down junior goes into the barbecue. Efficient, really. The first slide-and-grill combo.

Plutarch explains the cruelty: "With full knowledge and understanding they themselves offered up their own children, and those who had no children would buy children from poor people and cut their throats as if they were so many lambs or young birds; meanwhile the mother stood by without a tear or moan, but if she wept or wailed, she had to forfeit the money, and her child was sacrificed nonetheless." Phoenicians, great traders and apparently, connoisseurs of roasting their own offspring. A great Civilisation, they called it. Pure evil.

The Romans took one look at this Phoenician hobby of roasting children and said, “Absolutely not. Someone get me a legion.” And what a machine Rome was. They trained farmers and shopkeepers into human battering rams, then threw them at Hannibal, who promptly smashed them to bits, at the Trebia, at Lake Trasimene, at Cannae. Whole armies gone. Any other people would’ve said, “Well, that’s that then, time to surrender.” Not the Romans. They just shrugged, raised a few more legions, and marched straight back out again. Losing armies, to them, was like losing a pair of sandals: annoying, but hardly worth mentioning.

And after a decade of Hannibal running circles around Italy like a Carthaginian fox in a Roman henhouse, they finally cornered him at Zama in 202 BC. Scipio took one look, said “Right, let’s stop faffing about,” and sent the cavalry smashing into the Carthaginian flanks. Roman infantry ploughed through the centre like it was a badly made garden fence. Hannibal, the so-called genius, bolted.

In 146 BC the Romans under Scipio Aemilianus stormed Carthage at the end of the Third Punic War. For three years the legions had besieged the city, until at last they broke through the walls and fought street by street. Ancient writers like Diodorus and Plutarch record that in Carthage’s darkest hours, the priests of Kronos still demanded the old Phoenician rites.

Either way, Rome would have none of it. The Senate had already sent Cato thundering through the Forum with his demand: ‘Carthage must be destroyed.’ And so it was. Seventeen days, that’s all it took. Seventeen days of steel and fire, and a city that had stood for centuries was reduced to ash. The Tophet of Kronos, the so-called holy furnace, gone. Snuffed out by men who thought civilization meant roads, aqueducts, and laws, not roasting children like a side dish.

One can almost imagine a Roman centurion, brushing soot from his armour, addressing the Carthaginian priests in perfect dry politeness: “Yes, terribly sorry, chaps, but you can’t barbecue your children anymore. Regulations.” The Phoenician cult was gone. The altars were eradicated. Evil silenced by Roman steel. That was the end of Moloch.

At Carthage, it was not abstract forces or nameless armies, it was white men, the white Europeans of Rome, who destroyed the evil. The Romans were not some foreign race, they were Europeans, the blood ancestors of today’s Italians and kin to all the peoples of Europe. And in that war, it was Europe that stood victorious, Europe that put an end to Moloch…. Or did they.. (laughing Hilary Clinton)

The Cannibal Cabaret: Spain Cancels Taco Tuesday.

When the Spaniards marched into New Spain, the land of the Aztecs, Bernal Díaz del Castillo noted it all with the casual horror of a man describing a new stew recipe: “Every day we saw sacrificed before us three, four or five Indians whose hearts were offered to the idols and their blood plastered on the walls, and the feet, arms and legs of the victims were cut off and eaten, just as in our country we eat beef brought from the butchers. I even believe that they sell it by retail in the tianguez, as they call their markets.

In the Aztec world, war captives and tributes from conquered tribes weren’t just unlucky — they were basically takeaway orders for Huitzilopochtli, Tezcatlipoca, Tlaloc, and Xipe Totec. Yes, the gods needed their regular protein fix to keep the sun up, the rain falling, and the empire thoroughly drenched in terror. The Mexica of Tenochtitlán made sure of it: prisoners hauled in from endless wars or demanded as tribute were marched up the steps, slit open, and offered to the idols. Then came the pièce de résistance the flesh, elaborately dressed and paraded as the banquet’s centrepiece. Cannibalism, but with table manners. Prescott drily observed that it “becomes even the more revolting.” Bon appétit, gentlemen. The Maya took this to a new level. Diego de Landa watched as the executioner nacón “arrived with a stone knife… reached for the heart like a rabid tiger, tearing it out alive, and placed it on a dish for the priest.” Sometimes they flayed the body whole, and the priest, naked, pulled the skin over himself. A fashion statement? Perhaps, if one’s idea of fashion is last season’s jacket made from the neighbour. Shocking stuff.

Nor did knives always enter into it. At Chichén Itzá, victims were tossed alive into the sacred well, “believing they would come out on the third day although they never appeared again.” The Spaniards saw this and drew the line. Cortés didn’t come out swinging from the first moment; he told them, clearly, again and again. The sacrifices must end. The idols must fall. One day he warned them, and still the smoke rose from the temples. Another time he threatened, and still the hearts were torn out. They nodded, then carried on as before. Patience thinned.

What made it intolerable to the Spaniards was the sheer parody of it all. They grew up believing sacrifice meant Christ on the Cross, one man’s suffering to redeem everyone. Not this Aztec version: conveyor-belt butchery to bribe the weather forecast. To the conquistadors, this was not religion but diabolism, cruelty masquerading as piety. Their Christian faith taught them that all men were made in the image of God, not fodder for a priest’s knife.

So Díaz recalls Cortés roaring like a man who’s had enough of amateur hour: “How can we ever accomplish anything worth doing if for the honour of God we do not first abolish these sacrifices made to idols… the idols must come to the ground that very day.” Lovely pep talk. The locals, of course, nodded politely, then went straight back to slicing hearts out like it was Taco Tuesday. Finally Cortés lost his patience, no more gentle sermons, time for the hammer: “either they… must remove the idols at once, or we should throw them out and roll them down the steps… we were no longer their friends but their mortal enemies.” Translation: playtime’s over, the statues are going flying, and yes, you’re about to find out what “mortal enemies” actually means. Cortés made an example. “He scolded them badly… and ordered one Mexican Indian to be burnt as punishment for the death of the Indians they had eaten… so that he should appear to be doing justice.” Harsh, but one suspects the message was received. An eye for an eye and all that.

At Cholula, the moment came with the crack of an arquebus, the signal to strike. The Spaniards fell on their foes, cutting them down “with as much ease as the reaper mows down the ripe corn in harvest time,” as Prescott put it. One imagines the Aztec allies staring at the harvest of corpses and thinking this was, at last, a season with better returns than maize. Brutal, yes, but against men who measured civilization in hearts torn out and bodies roasted, the reaper was the more honest craftsman.

Looking back, Díaz summed it up with soldierly pride: “we, the true Conquistadores… have freed them, and led them into cleanly ways and taught them holy doctrine… the Franciscan Friars… and [the order of] Señor Santo Domingo… have extirpated it from the very roots.” And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you shut down a civilisation whose idea of fine dining was sautéed neighbour with a side of maize. Spain didn’t just conquer Mexico, oh no, they put an end to one of history’s longest running horror shows. A standing ovation, please: the curtain finally drops on the Cannibal Cabaret. Chalk up one morality point for the white chaps. Civilization saved, satanic menu cancelled. You’re welcome.

The Great Turkish Tent Sale. Everything Must Go!

In 1683, the armies of the Ottoman Empire marched deep into Central Europe under the command of Kara Mustafa Pasha, because clearly two centuries of nicking the Balkans, Hungary, and half of Austria still wasn’t quite enough. Their methods? Oh, charming. As Andrew Wheatcroft records, “the first living prisoners and sacks of severed heads from Hainburg were brought in triumph to the Grand Vizier and laid out before him. After the town was sacked, all the leading citizens who had resisted the summons to surrender … ‘came under the blade’. The remainder of the population were enslaved. On the following day … Kara Mustafa received a fresh offering of two hundred severed heads from Hainburg, plus ten prisoners.” Lovely. Just what every man wants delivered to his tent: a few sacks of heads. Elsewhere, “some eight hundred of the townsfolk were captured in this attack, and most of them were either beheaded or enslaved at the whim of their captors.” A nice reminder that under Ottoman hospitality, your choices were basically slavery or sudden head-detachment. The brutality was systematic: terrorize, butcher, enslave, repeat. And as Vienna braced for siege, Kara Mustafa even “ordered the execution of 30,000 Christian hostages.” As Vienna braced for siege, Kara Mustafa even “ordered the execution of 30,000 Christian hostages.” This was not simply another border raid, it was the knife-edge moment when Europe itself, from the Danube to the Rhine, hung in the balance.

On 12 September 1683, the fate of Europe was decided on the hills above Vienna. Against an enemy that had brought fire, slaughter, and chains, the defenders stood their ground. Starhemberg and his garrison had already endured more shells than a French oyster market, yet still refused to hand over the keys. When Ottoman miners blew breaches in the walls, “the officers and sergeants quickly rallied their men… ‘three files of men standing shoulder to shoulder, who fired down, then turned off to each side to reload and then enter the firing line again’… ‘several Turks were impaled on the spear points as they tried to scramble over them.’” Inside the bastions, blood and brains were spattered across the defenders as cannonballs tore men apart, yet still they held.

Then came the hammerblow. Sobieski himself led the charge: “Eighteen thousand horsemen charged down the hills, the largest cavalry charge in history… Jan III Sobieski led the charge… at the head of 3,000 Polish heavy lancers, the famed ‘Winged Hussars’.… The charge easily broke the lines of the Ottomans.” Eighteen thousand thundering Poles against a camp full of Ottomans suddenly realising they’d forgotten to invent a Plan B. The result? Pure comedy. The vast encampment that had terrorised Christendom for months dissolved faster than French courage in 1940. Sobieski’s own words rang with triumph: “Veni, vidi, Deus vicit, I came, I saw, God conquered.” Meanwhile, the enemy fled, abandoning their camp like students after a fire alarm, except in this case, they butchered their prisoners on the way out, just to prove what bad sports they were. Vienna was saved, and with it Europe. The greatest Islamic power of the age had been broken on the walls of a Christian city, turned back at last by courage, steel, and the wings of Poland’s horsemen.

If Vienna had fallen in 1683, the heart of Europe would have been split open. The Ottoman armies came to annihilate a Christian capital and then march onward. The walls of Vienna were the last shield before the German states, and beyond them lay the trade, cities, and kingdoms of the West. For two long months, from the 15th of July to the 12th of September, “the most devoted heroism was displayed by both the garrison and the inhabitants,” which is polite historian-speak for starving people fighting off lunatics with explosives. And when help finally arrived, the change was instant. And when it did, the tide turned with breath-taking speed. “Less than three hours after the cavalry attack, the Christian forces had won the battle and saved Vienna.” The Polish and their allies did not just rescue a city; they preserved a civilization. As the chroniclers later said, “Never was there a victory more complete… The great destruction of the Turks before Vienna was rapturously hailed throughout Christendom as the announcement of the approaching downfall of the Mahometan Empire in Europe.” From that day forward, “the battle marked the historic end of the expansion of the Ottoman Empire into Europe.” Too often on my channel, Poles and Eastern Europeans are dismissed or mocked, as if they were outsiders to Europe’s story. That could not be more wrong. Without them, there may have been no Europe at all. Vienna proved that when evil wanted to destroy Europe, it was our Eastern brothers who saved us. White people versus evil, and this time, white people won. Thank you my Polish brothers.

Modern Ideological Evils.

Communism. Ah yes, the grand idea that if you just murder enough people, utopia will arrive on schedule. Lenin, the patron saint of terror, didn’t bother with niceties. “In principle we have never renounced terror and cannot renounce it.” That’s not a slip of the tongue. That’s the mission statement. Imagine if Coca-Cola advertised itself as “Now with extra arsenic.” Paul Johnson was an English historian, journalist, and public intellectual, he explained: Lenin thought violence was “an essential element in the Revolution.” Essential, like oxygen, or like a knife to the throat. Meanwhile, Communism was never for people who abominated murder; it was for people who abominated everything else. So what did this dazzling workers’ paradise actually produce? A death toll that makes the Black Death look like a bout of hay fever.” The Black Book of Communism tallies: six million dead in the famine of 1932–33, 720,000 shot in the Great Purge, seven million dumped into the Gulag, nearly three million still there at Stalin’s death. All that, and they called it “progress.” Progress towards what? A world without Russians. For comparison, tsarist Russia managed just 6,321 political executions over a century. The Bolsheviks did 15,000 in two months. Bravo! A new record. Lenin wanted civil war, and he got it. So much for the fable of “good Lenin, bad Stalin.” There never was a good Lenin. There was just Lenin, and then the people he taught to murder more efficiently. Ukraine, of course, was starved on purpose. Genocide? Oh, darling, we’re doing Picasso tonight instead. We build Holocaust memorials, but Holodomor? Barely a post-it note. And yet, people fought back. Ukrainians refused to stop being Christians, even as Stalin’s boys tried to club it out of them. Churches boarded up, priests shot, others shoved onto trains east, and still people prayed in barns, in cellars, anywhere they could whisper the Lord’s Prayer without an NKVD eavesdropper. But yes, comrades, history will thank you for modernisation. And in the West? Oh, we had Jean-Paul Sartre, the intellectual’s intellectual declaring it was “not our duty” to write about the Soviet camps. Of course not. His duty was to chain-smoke and seduce philosophy students. Meanwhile Albert Camus, a man with an actual spine, said simply: “The truth is the truth, and denying it mocks the causes both of humanity and morality.” Which is exactly why Sartre got the café girls, and Camus got ignored.

Then there was Solzhenitsyn, who didn’t so much write a book as drop a literary sledgehammer on communism’s skull. The Gulag Archipelago removed the mask off the regime and paraded its rotten teeth for all to see. And of course the applause. Endless, thunderous applause at Party congresses, because NKVD men stood in the aisles waiting to see who dared stop clapping first. Imagine that: a society where sitting down could kill you. Solzhenitsyn smuggled it all out, page by page, and when the West finally read it, no one could claim ignorance ever again. And through it all, Western nations actually held the line. Berlin, 1948: America and Britain kept an entire city alive for nearly a year with nothing but planes and willpower. And when Reagan said, “Mr Gorbachev, tear down this wall,” it wasn’t just rhetorical theatre. It was the punctuation mark at the end of seventy years of carnage. Communism didn’t collapse because it “ran out of corpses.” It collapsed because it ran out of food, money, and believers. The economies were wrecked, the shelves were empty, people were sick of queuing five hours for a loaf of bread while their leaders drove imported cars. And the only reason it didn’t stagger on longer was because the West kept up the pressure on Berlin airlifts, NATO armies, Reagan’s missiles, and dissidents smuggling out the truth. That’s why it fell: not because it stopped killing, but because it stopped working. White men, white nations, standing between civilization and the abyss. It was evil from the start, baked in like arsenic in the cake mix. And it took the courage, sacrifice, and blood of our people to hold it back and, finally, bring the whole rotten thing crashing down.

This is one of the scripts for my video on the real history of the slave trade. A lot of the quotes and information come straight from historical records and eyewitness accounts, going right back to the earliest days of the transatlantic slave trade and even earlier, to the period of Arab slave trading. You can read the script here in text format, or click the link to watch the full YouTube version with music, video, and visuals. Hope you enjoy it.

youtu.be/YI1kZa3D8Io

CHAPTER I -  Slavery Before the White Man Got the Blame

Before Nuno Tristão’s majestic Portuguese caravel graced West Africa in 1441, first of the brilliant European explorers to be cast as history’s scapegoat, Africa was already a thriving slave emporium. Long before our glorious European sails dazzled the horizon, Arab traders were busy peddling humans like knockoff rugs, storming the Sudan post-Islam, running East Coast markets before the Prophet’s first sermon, and later strutting as sultans in coastal palaces, counting their human loot. Entrepreneurial! Meanwhile, locals were pawning their neighbours for a bad debt. As Sir William Claridge noted in A History of the Gold Coast and Ashanti (1915), “domestic slavery was still recognized as a regular and legal institution by the British Courts throughout the country,” and “practically all those slaves who were worth holding remained as they were… a very numerous and contented class.” Contented! Charming! So, before The white world got smeared as the sole villains, slavery was Africa’s daily hustle. Yet we’re the monsters? Ridiculous and manipulative! Time to celebrate our brilliance, not grovel under this guilt-tripping nonsense!

CHAPTER II - African Kings: The Real Slave Trade Tycoons

When the magnificent Portuguese navigators, Nuno Tristão, Antão Gonçalves, heroes of exploration sailed into the Gulf of Guinea in the 1440s, just so you know..they didn’t invent slavery; they stumbled into Africa’s thriving misery market. Kings like Nzinga a Nkuwu of Kongo, the Oba of Benin, and later Tegbesu of Dahomey were already flogging captives and turning taxes and torture into bloody profit.  Their Mafouk and Yevogan goons ran every deal, proving this was their slave kingdom, and certainly not some European plot. At Whydah, one traveller gasped, “the King is absolute as a Boar,” with forty or fifty ships, French, English, Portuguese, Dutch loading up yearly, 10,000–12,000 souls from Whydah, 6,000–7,000 from Angola to Bahia, Rio, Pernambuco. Ah Profits!

These African monarchs weren’t victims, come on, what are we, idiots here? They were the goddamn Sopranos of the slave trade. “We attended his majesty the king of Whydah with samples of our goods,” a merchant groveled, “and made our agreement about the prices… he and his cappasheirs exacted very high… we had to buy the king’s slaves first.” “African political figures, not European merchants, dominated the scene.” Whydah’s king taxed every transaction, pocketing gold while we’re told to sob for whitey’s sins. Your race card has been declined.

Agaja of Dahomey, in 1708, conquered Whydah, turning ports into his personal slave mint. “Agaja, needing exports to exchange for European goods, resumed the trade. He clamped upon it a firm royal control, requiring that it be carried on only through his officers and agents.” Cross him? “He executed the Dahomian traders at Whydah and replaced them with new appointees who sold only for the king.” Ruthless!

His son, Tegbesu (1740–1774), made it an art, inventing the Yevogan “Chief of the White Men,” oh, the irony! to keep foreigners on a leash. He executed rogue dealers, sold slaves at £24–£32 a head, with French and Portuguese hauling off 9,000 yearly. The Dutch West India Company, with Jewish investors tossing in a paltry 36,000 of 3,000,000 florins 1.2%, a footnote, shipped 526,163 souls from 1625–1803, thanks to Dahomey’s supply. “For nearly a score of years Dahomey prospered through the slave trade. Tegbesu derived large profits. His people found their livelihoods in the trade.” Prosperous! Heartwarming! So, while great European explorers get vilified, African kings were raking it in.

CHAPTER III - The Human Trafficking Olympics: Africa Takes Gold

North of Dahomey, the Oyo Empire stormed Yoruba lands like a mounted tax inspector from hell. As Governor Archibald Dalzel recorded from Whydah, King Agaja of Dahomey spent the late 1720s battering Whydah and Allada into submission, turning them into tributary provinces to control the coast’s slave ports. Oyo didn’t clap politely, it invaded, crushed Dahomey, and demanded yearly tribute in slaves, cowries, and goods. A system as efficient as it was barbaric!  As Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton put it, “the principal and almost the only cause of war in the interior of Africa is the desire to procure slaves for traffic.” War as import-export? A stroke of savage genius, courtesy of Africa’s own tycoons. Meanwhile, the brilliant Portuguese and French? They just signed the receipts, marvelling at the locals’ knack for turning bloodshed into profit.

Across the Sahara, Arab traders ran their own conveyor belt of misery, hauling men, women, and children from Jenne, Timbuktu, Kano, and Sackatoo north toward Barbary, Egypt, and the Nile, feeding markets from Turkey to Persia. In 1805, traveller Jackson described a single caravan: two thousand captives and 1,800 camels. Logistics at its most horrifying! From the Sudan, household slaves and eunuchs streamed into Arabia and Ottoman courts, while the Sultan of Morocco fortified his power with imported Nigerian warriors. A grand African alliance, selling their own for profit, what a brotherhood! Enterprising Europeans, those paragons of navigation, merely tapped into this ancient racket, their ships a modest upgrade to the camel’s plodding pace.

Congo and Loango? A slaughterhouse run by clerks who’d sell their own mothers for a profit.

“In the conduct of the trade,” one report noted, “African authority over Europeans was no less strong than in Dahomey.” Local monarchs appointed the Mafouk, ministers of commerce, who made Europeans beg for a deal. The Vili traders ran caravans deep into the interior, first carrying ivory, palm cloth, and copper, then slaves. By the early 1800s, Congo and Angola pumped out tens of thousands yearly, with mortality rates ranging from three to seventeen percent depending on the port, abolition did little to improve the odds. Up in the Congo, Arabized vultures like Tippoo Tib turned provinces into hunting grounds, dragging captives to Zanzibar or sneaking them in dhows past British patrols at night.

On Africa’s eastern shores, the Maskat Arabs built the Zanzibar Sultanate atop the bones of Kilwa’s older empire. “The Arabs of Zanzibar,” Sir Harry Hamilton Johnston wrote, “had acquired an evil fame for their gigantic slave raids in East-Central Africa.” Fifty thousand souls passed through its markets each year, with another four thousand handled by Muscat. From there, the human cargo flowed to Egypt, Arabia, Persia, India, and beyond. Captives from Sudan and Abyssinia served as palace guards, naval crews, and domestic slaves across the Islamic world, living proof that slavery was truly a global institution, long before Europe’s sails graced the horizon.

Farther west, the Ashanti Empire rose by crushing Akan rivals - Denkyira, Akyem, Fante and raiding Gonja and Dagomba for slaves. Buxton recorded the horror: victims tortured before sacrifice, knives through cheeks, cords through noses, the condemned bled for ritual and profit alike. Britain’s self-righteous ship ban? A laughable gesture, like scolding a tidal wave. As Robert Brown, in The Story of Africa and Its Explorers observed, “the stronger tribes make war on the weaker in order to sell to the Zanzibar and Muscat merchants.” The Ashanti weren’t victims; they were profiteers, laughing all the way to the rum barrel.

CHAPTER IV -  Ships of Shame: Profiteers Steer the Trade

Ownership of the slave fleets wasn’t a white man’s solo gig, it was a global cesspool of greed, with Africans, Arabs, and Jews running the show long before a single pale face showed up. In the Indian Ocean and Red Sea, the trade sailed under Arab colours. As Buxton noted, “the maritime trade is principally conducted by the subjects of the Imaum of Muskat… the River Lindy and the Island of Zanzebar being the principal marts for the supply of the Christian market.” There it is—Muslims peddling slaves to Christians, Christians tossing coins back, and everyone grinning like they’ve cracked the code to paradise. Muslim merchants owned the routes from Mozambique to the Persian Gulf, a network older than Europe’s so-called crimes. And who else piled in? The British and their Indian pals, naturally. Browne scoffed, “A great many British subjects, in the shape of the Banians or Hindoo merchants from Bombay, were also secret partners with the Arabs, advancing money or goods to finance them.” Secret partners! Pious as priests, rich as thieves.

And the investors? Every creed under the sun had a hand in it. In the Caribbean and Amsterdam, Jewish women owned slaves. Harry Johnston, in The Negro in the New World (1910), explains: “In Surinam the men were described… as especially indifferent to the sufferings of their female slaves; and one notorious Jewess at Paramaribo was known in the early nineteenth century to be in the habit of thrusting a red-hot poker into the rear of any of her quadroon or octoroon negresses who was condemned by her to a life of shame.” In seventeenth-century Amsterdam, Portuguese-Jewish merchants bought, sold, Africans  in their households, per the Jewish Women’s Archive. Hypocrisy was the real global empire   Arabs, Africans, Jews, Indians, all complicit. But white people British, Dutch, Americans get the blame? They joined a blood-soaked party already in full swing, their navigational savvy turning a local horror show into a worldwide enterprise. So let’s toast the white man’s ingenuity and laugh at the myth that they alone wrote this grim tale.

CHAPTER V - Black and Non-White Slave Owners

In the world of slavery, many who started as slaves turned into slave owners themselves. Across West Africa, Brazil, Saint-Domingue, Virginia, and the Caribbean, freed Africans and mixed-race folk bought their freedom, then bought other people. It’s a fact that shatters the sanctimonious tale spun by Ibram X. Kendi, Kamala Harris, Lenny Henry, and David Lammy, the self-righteous Foreign Secretary with Guyanese roots, who in 2018 bellowed to Parliament, "As Caribbean people we are not going to forget our history, we don’t just want to hear an apology, we want reparations," only to backpedal in 2024 like a politician caught with his hand in the till, claiming it's "not about the transfer of cash" amid Britain's cost-of-living crisis. These modern-day Robin Hoods, robbing history's nuance to fund their pity parties, make you wonder: if slavery's so one-sidedly white, why do the loudest complainers dodge the mirror?

In Portuguese Brazil, Catholic manumission and ambition formed a tidy alliance. As Sir Harry H. Johnston recorded, many freedmen, once industrious enough to buy their liberty, “set up as slave-owners on their own account,” investing their savings in voyages that hauled fresh captives from West Africa. Freedom? Just a deposit on more chains, how saintly!

Across the French Caribbean, the same grim farce. “In Saint-Domingue alone, freed Africans and the mixed-race sons and daughters of French planters, the gens de couleur libres rose to power, controlling a third of the plantations and more than a quarter of the slaves by the eve of the Haitian Revolution.” They even commanded “Coloured battalions.” Hierarchy was about who could afford the most misery, not about being white. By 1800, Barbados observers gawked at freed blacks owning land, estates, and slaves. Registers from Jamaica, Barbados, and Dominica list hundreds of free black and mixed-race proprietors—proof the ladder of cruelty had no color bar. Some bought slaves to ape white planters, others to “protect” their kin. Either way: better to own than be owned. In North America, the irony is even crazier. Anthony Johnson, a 1620s Virginia freedman, got a court in 1655 to grant him permanent ownership of John Casor, birthing lifetime servitude in the English colonies. By the 1860s, South Carolina’s William Ellison, a free black cotton-gin maker, died owning over sixty slaves, propping up the Confederacy’s wallet. Equality? Pure capitalism! Across Africa, the game was older still - Aro Confederacy, Kongo chiefs, Gold Coast rulers traded debtors and prisoners, while “pawns” slaved for debt and kings kept armies of domestics to till fields, mine gold, and polish their egos. From African courts to Caribbean estates, Creole traders to freed planters, the rule was: ownership, not colour, crowned the master. Freedom bought power; power bought people. Black, brown, white—greed didn’t discriminate. So shove your white-guilt nonsense, Kendi, Coates, Harris, Booker, Henry, Ribeiro-Addy, and Lammy, with your whining about “white supremacy” while ignoring African kings and freedmen raking in profits. Slavery wasn’t a white invention, it was a global hustle, Profit ruled, not race, and your sanctimonious drivel can choke on it.

CHAPTER VII — The Global Grift Keeps Spinning

Britain’s abolition movement lit up by 1807, and by 1833, as Johnston recorded, “Slavery ceased to be a legal status throughout the British Dominions in America, Africa, and Asia.” To seal the deal, Parliament coughed up £20 million to slave owners, not the enslaved—practical, logical, not pretty. “About £16 million of this went to the British West Indies, Guiana, and Honduras; the rest to the Cape and Mauritius,” with Bermudan masters snagging £12 per head. Pay the planters or watch them riot—white pragmatism got it done, joining a vile game African kings started long ago. Meanwhile, the United States dragged its feet until 1863, Brazil until 1888, as smugglers flipped off British patrols, ferrying “cargo” to Cuba and beyond. Moral progress? It staggered in, but white folks took the blame while Arab and African profiteers smirked.

Across the ocean, African and Islamic rulers weren’t exactly rushing to repent. Johnston sneered, “the Muhammadan world in the East continued to make greater demands than ever on the Central African slave preserves.” Britain banned; Arabia ramped up. The Sultan of Zanzibar, bullied by British diplomacy in 1873, “banned” the trade, yet Bagamoyo’s custom-house still pocketed a $2 duty per slave. Why let virtue ruin a good hustle? An 1822 treaty with Captain Moresby, as Buxton noted, “does not in any way touch upon the Slave Trade carried on by the Imaum’s subjects with those of their own faith.” Stop selling to Christians, keep flogging to Muslims, problem solved! Turkey’s harems kept slavery ticking post-Crimean War, and Arabia and Persia just kept raking in the gold. White folks the only villains? Absolute rot, African and Arab tycoons ran this bloody show for centuries.

Meanwhile, Britain’s West Indies “freedom” hit a wall, nobody wanted to work! Johnston sighed, “white and coloured planters found themselves with no certain labour force at their disposal, for many of the ex-slaves declined to do any work when they had provided for their immediate sustenance.” Who’d have thought: freed folks didn’t fancy toiling for their old tormentors! Planters slapped “apprenticeship” on seven years of dressed-up bondage, cut to four when it stank too much of chains. When that tanked, they shipped in “free labourers”. West Africa was too dicey, so India’s coolies arrived in 1845, paused, then back by 1868. Slavery out, indenture in, same old con, new name. African kings and Arab sultans kept the slave pipeline flowing, while white ingenuity British, French, Dutch kept the ships sailing.

CHAPTER VIII - Myths, Morality, and Manipulation: The Guilt-Mongers’ Lie

Oh, spare me the sanctimonious tripe, you history-twisting twits who paint white folks as slavery’s sole masterminds! The truth is that African kings, Arab sultans, Jewish brokers, and black slave owners raking in gold alongside Europeans, gets buried under a steaming pile of selective hogwash. Growing up, I swallowed the lie: the transatlantic trade was all white villainy, stripped of its global filth. But reality? Dahomey’s Yevogan taxing every sale, Zanzibar’s markets flogging 50,000 souls a year, free blacks like William Ellison owning dozens of slaves, capital, not colour, ran this bloody show! So why the cover-up? It’s a vile agenda to pin the blame on Western nations, particularly white ones, while ignoring African and Arab empires that grew fat on the same trade. Reparations? A shameless cash grab, deceptively hidden away as justice, meant to bleed white societies dry and shame their children into grovelling for sins they didn’t commit. I’m sick of it, sick of the myth that one race invented evil when the British burned millions to end slavery, their ships chasing slavers from Cuba to Zanzibar. Propaganda, pure and vile! Slavery wasn’t a white brainchild, it was a global cesspool, from Ottoman harems to Ashanti’s blood-drenched rituals, ancient China to Mesoamerica’s grim altars. Every civilization traded lives, yet only white folks get flogged, while Zanzibar’s sultans and Dahomey’s butchers skate free. Guilt’s a bludgeon, it divides, weakens, and hides the truth: slavery was humanity’s shared crime, but white genius, British abolitionists smashing the trade, sparking the Industrial Revolution, inventing the telegraph, advancing medicine, building the God damn modern world. So, white folks, ditch the shame your ancestors created the modern world and you have that same potential