Why Chaos Doesn’t Awaken a Nation (And What Actually Does)

Many on the right still believe that once things get worse, people will “wake up.” But decline doesn’t awaken nations — it sedates them. Real change begins when we stop waiting for collapse and start

Every nationalist in Europe has heard it, or perhaps said it himself: “Once things get worse, people will finally wake up.”
It’s the comforting mantra of the powerless. The belief that mass immigration, cultural decay, or the next economic crash will somehow shock our people into awareness. That when the multicultural experiment touches their quiet suburb or their children’s school, they will rise, unite, and demand change.

It’s a tempting story because it removes responsibility. You don’t have to build, lead, or persuade. You just have to wait. Wait for the suffering to reach a point where reality itself will do the work for you. But that point never comes — and history shows it.

The Cult of the Coming Collapse

I’ve heard this fantasy in every corner of Europe.
In Germany, where people tell themselves that “once the welfare system collapses, everything will reset.”
In France, where some believe the next round of urban riots will finally make the middle class rebel.
And yes, even in Poland — a country often described as Europe’s last bastion of traditionalism — I once sat across from a well-known figure on the nationalist right who told me, over dinner, that he hoped liberal Poles would suffer at the hands of the very migrants they welcomed.
“Then,” he said, “they’ll finally understand.”

When I asked if that was how he had come to his own convictions — through violence, loss, and humiliation — he hesitated.
“No,” he said finally, “but they are slower to learn.”

That exchange stayed with me because it revealed something deeper than cynicism. It was resignation disguised as strategy.
He wasn’t preparing for renewal. He was waiting for revenge.

The Myth of the “Inevitable Awakening”

Last weekend in England, I heard the same logic again. We were in a small town — brick houses, pubs, white families walking dogs. A friend pointed around and said, “It’s nice here, but hopeless. These people don’t get it. They haven’t seen what London or Birmingham has become.”

I understood what he meant. There’s a gap between those who have lived the consequences of multiculturalism and those who haven’t. But wishing for one’s own people to suffer so that they might see the truth is not a strategy — it’s a spiritual sickness.

Because here’s the uncomfortable truth: the worse it gets, the less people resist.
You can see it in South Africa, where whites went from being rulers to hunted prey without organizing a serious national revival.
You can see it in the United States, in cities where whites have long been minorities.
You can see it in Western Europe, where every new wave of chaos only strengthens the system’s control — through fear, surveillance, and dependence.

The decline does not create awakening. It creates exhaustion.
People adapt. They rationalize. They convince themselves that survival is enough.

The Comfort of Collapse

Waiting for collapse to fix things is the political equivalent of refusing to quit smoking because you believe a heart attack will finally motivate you.
You might be right, but you’ll probably be dead before it helps.

There’s also an unspoken arrogance behind this mindset — the belief that we have seen the truth because we are smarter, more awake, more moral. And that the others will only join us once they’ve suffered enough. It’s the old revolutionary fantasy in reverse: not that the masses will rise when offered hope, but when they are beaten into despair.

That is not nationalism. That is nihilism.

The nationalist does not wait for the storm. He builds shelter before it comes. He does not wish for chaos; he prepares for it — and builds a world worth surviving in.

Building the Alternative Now

If there’s one thing the last two decades of my life has taught me, it’s that renewal doesn’t begin with slogans. It begins with places, with faces, with names.
It begins when a handful of people decide to stop waiting for the world to change and start creating small versions of the world they want to live in.

That’s what we did in Sweden. We didn’t wait for “the people” to wake up. We bought a house.
We called it Svenskarnas hus — The House of the Swedes.
A physical space for meetings, culture, education, and community. A place not controlled by the state, not dependent on its funding or approval.
From there, we built networks, businesses, and new friendships. We made ourselves visible — not as hermits or separatists, but as an example of what normality could look like if we reclaimed it.

That’s what every serious movement must do.
Not just oppose, but propose.
Not only critique, but create.

You can’t convince your people of anything if the only thing you offer them is despair.

Miniatures of the Future

Think of it this way: every project we build — a school, a gym, a magazine, a neighborhood, even a podcast — is a miniature of the civilization we want to restore.
It’s a small but tangible proof that our ideals can function in the real world.
These spaces radiate stability. They attract the disoriented and the lost. They make nationalism less about rage and more about belonging.

That is leadership by example, not agitation.
It’s what the left once understood before it captured the institutions. They built their own first — co-ops, unions, press, schools. They didn’t just talk about a new society. They rehearsed it.

We can do the same, but better.
Not hidden behind gates, not whispering behind closed doors, but standing upright, visible, and confident in what we are building.

Because if we only build for defense, we become a bunker movement.
If we build for life, we become the seed of a civilization.

Stop Waiting for Permission

I don’t know if the West can be “saved” in the political sense. Maybe the system must exhaust itself before anything truly new can grow. But that’s not our concern. Our concern is what we do while it collapses.

And the truth is, we don’t need permission.
We don’t need mass awakening, or majority approval, or perfect conditions.
We need courage and initiative — the two things no regime can give or take from us.

Every family that becomes self-sufficient, every network that bypasses the system, every school that teaches real history, every local business that hires our own — these are acts of defiance and creation. They are the foundation stones of the parallel society that will replace the old one.

So when someone tells you, “It has to get worse before it gets better,” tell them they’re half right.
It will get worse. But it will only get better if we make it so.

Field Notes for Builders

1. Don’t wish for collapse — prepare for it.
   Stockpile skills, not just supplies. The worst thing that can happen is not that the system fails, but that you’re unready when it does.

2. Build visibly.
   Secrecy may feel safe, but visibility inspires others. Make your projects known. Let them see that it’s possible to live differently.

3. Reject the savior myth.
   There is no mass awakening coming, no hero on the horizon. Leadership begins with the one who acts.

4. Lead with beauty.
   Build places people want to be part of. Clean, ordered, human-scale, rooted in tradition. Aesthetic order is moral order.

Decline is not destiny. It’s just the default when the strong grow passive.
If you’re waiting for the people to wake up, you’re already asleep.
Wake up yourself — and start building.

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