Why I don’t support Muslim immigration

Americans tend to overvalue the power of personal autonomy, easily buying into the assumption that everyone is a profoundly unique snowflake. Traveling abroad and immersing yourself in foreign cultures easily dispels that belief.

Worldviews matter, and cultures socialize and shape people’s worldviews. These worldview paradigms aren’t superficial; they’re deeply internalized, a fundamental basis people use to navigate the world with.

One fundamental aspect I see over and over in Muslims, regardless of the nation, race, or continental allocation of the individual is an inability to understand the concept of cultural relevance. Islam systematically embeds the assumption that the Islamic worldview is objectively correct.

Many cuckservatives and indoctrinated liberal types will keep trying to push the notion that most Muslims don’t practice violence. In doing so, they’re missing the point:

You’re importing people who have a rigid and unyielding worldview that will not let them assimilate into the countries they are migrating to. Their self-righteousness and absolute belief in the objective validity of their speech and behavior is incompatible with the Western values of free speech, freedom of action and an acceptance for differing worldviews. Compounded with bringing in massive numbers of them at once, where they can form niche communities within a welcoming nation, and you’ve created a cancer within a nation: niche communities that feed off the host without become normalized, beneficially functioning cells in the organism.

So, as they continue to grow, how long until they transform their new host nations into reflections of the nations they left behind?

An old Buddhist man’s views on Islam

I was walking through glimmering Thai Wat, amazed by my surroundings. It wasn’t just the aesthetics; it was the fact that the temples in Thailand are displays of extravagance and utter opulence, yet the people are so humble and accepting, in both their everyday behavior and their faith. Despite the overwhelming glamor of their temples, they approach discussions of belief with a reserved sense of gentle positivity, never trying to force their world view on anyone. I had come to love Buddhists.

I paused to sit on a bunch next to a small waterfall, with birds around me pecking at dropped food and people strolling peacefully. I was admiring the intricate, flowing Naga statues surrounding a staircase when an old man sat next to me and struck up a conversation. It began aimlessly enough, yet it quickly drifted towards religion and, more specifically, Islam.

I’m not sure why he brought it up. Maybe he thought it would be relevant for the right wing looking white man. And his thoughts were profoundly hard-hitting:

[mildly paraphrased and condensed] “Buddhism is a true religion of peace. No one God, just a philosophy of obtaining inner peace and betterment. We accept things, we accept people. Islam is.. a religion that is spiritually sick.”

“How so”, I asked.

“It’s sick with arrogance. Their one God seems sick- Sick with pride. Look at ISIS, the every day people. It’s in all of them.”

There was a severity in his eyes. It was the first time I’d seen it in a Buddhist, come to think about it..

I just smiled.

There was a peaceful sanity to this place.

A Stranger in my own Nation

After returning to the US for the first time in a month, the contrast to my time abroad was stark. The warmth and respect I had become accustomed to was replaced with an icy cold air of contempt. Everyone seemed guarded, keeping others at a distance.

The first employee I interacted to was an abrasive African, who struggled to articulate a response to my request for directions. After that, it was the Muslim girl with the headscarf at security, followed by the accented Asian kid directing the human horde into its correct in-processing lane.

Then, my encounter with a CBP Agent; some short-haired white woman with a scowl. She walked right past the sith-lord looking Muslim bitch, dressed from head to toe in her sinister burka costume, to confront me, the clean-cut conservative looking white guy with no visible tattoos, piercings or other bodily mutilations.

“So, you’ve been in [redacted] for a month. Why did you go there?” she asked, her eyes narrowed.

“Tourism.”

“What do you do for a living?”

[Profession given]

“Interesting. That’s a lot of time to take off work.” She said, again her voice accusatory.

“Yup.”

She asked a few more probing questions before finally ending her interrogation, moving on to the next all-American looking suspect she could find.

I arrived at the final counter.

“Why don’t you put your phone away so we can do this.” Said the plumb shitlib looking turd behind the counter. My phone was off, held under my passport. It (I couldn’t tell the gender. Either a fat white man or a butch lesbian) asked me some more loaded questions before it completed wasting my time.

Before my most recent trip, I don’t think I would have noticed any of this. Like so many, I would have just continued walking, building up that cold protective demeanor. But that’s what travel does: it outlines all the nuances and minute details you would otherwise take for granted as normative.

I walked out into the crisp winter air, heavy with a numb sense of disgust.

Welcome home.