The Great Replacement

THE British artist Ford Madox Brown was born in 1821 in Calais. The Madox Brown family moved back and forth between the Continent and Kent several times.

Ford Madox Brown finally settled in London in 1844. The Last of England was completed in 1855. It depicts an imagined scene in which a husband and wife gaze aft from a boat. The coast behind them is Kent, as denoted by the white cliffs. The faces are those of Madox Brown and his second wife, Emma Hill.

The boat on which the couple sail is named the Eldorado. El Dorado is a mythical city of gold situated somewhere in South America.

Two journalists have just embarked on the exercise of writing a ‘biography,’ or rather a damning pamphlet, against the writer Renaud Camus, on whom they intend to heap all the ignominy of having invented and popularised the phrase ‘the great replacement.’”

But what crime is this when the expression is now swallowed and spat out by everyone, including and especially on the Left, by certain MPs and politicians who today make it a point of pride and a programme?

To feed its fundamental need to feel useful, the Left needs scapegoats. As Le Figaro editorialist Eugénie Bastié points out, Jean-Marie Le Pen is dead, so a ‘replacement’ must be found. Renaud Camus is the ideal candidate for the role.

The leaders of the far-left Spanish Podemos party celebrated on Saturday the “victory” of the mass amnesty for around half a million illegals and hailed the achievement as a step toward the “replacement” of right-wing Spaniards.

🇪🇸 Irene Montero, Spain's former Minister of Equality and leader of Podemos, celebrates replacing native Spaniards:

"Of course I hope for replacement theory, I hope we can sweep this country of fascists and racists with immigrants."

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— Europa.com (@europa) January 31, 2026

The raising of national flags in a quiet English village shows just how serious things are.

Not much tends to happen down my way. A rural community, with pubs older than the United States, we have traditionally slept the deep, deep sleep of England. Aside from the ubiquitous war memorial—currently dusted with snow—it bears little mark of the wider world, save for the names of those who left here and never returned.

The solutions proposed are dramatic, but not compared to possible alternatives: social collapse, ethnic strife, or, if Professor David Betz’s warnings prove true, civil war.

Reading The Betrayal of Britain, a collection of essays just published by the New Culture Forum (NCF), a line from Machiavelli kept coming to mind: “Men sooner forget the death of their father than the loss of their patrimony.” The twelve essays by different authors crackle with anger and frustration at what a once-great Britain has become. This book has the power to red pill readers—if it doesn’t black pill them first.

In an earlier appearance in the pages of the Daily Sceptic, I suggested that Britain and much of Western Europe were adopting the pathologies of late-stage East European communism: systems drained of ideological vitality and surviving chiefly through performative pieties, bureaucratic coercion and the policing of thought. Not the brutalities of Stalinism, but a post-totalitarian order in which censorship is outsourced to HR departments and social exclusion takes the place of secret police. Somewhat uncharitably, I even suggested European leaders – Keir Starmer in Britain, Friedrich Merz in Germany – were beginning to acquire the physiognomy of those grey party functionaries once photographed beside malfunctioning hydroelectric dams.

The only reason I reached for the East European analogy was that dissent as an act of mental resistance has long been an intellectual preoccupation of mine. It drew me to the work of those like the Czech playwright Václav Havel whose essay The Power of the Powerless (1978) presented a remarkable evocation of a society exhausted by its own untruths, which struck me as increasingly resonant with our own times. Without that prior interest, the parallel would never have occurred to me.

Most of the population has been replaced within a couple of generations

As a grizzled travel writer, I’ve picked up a few tips over the years. And one of them is this: if you want to understand a country quickly, take an urban food tour. You get to sample delicious scran, you learn how locals eat, drink and socialise and – crucially – as the chat flows, you hear the sort of throwaway facts that make you sit back in surprise.

So it was last night, for me, in Phnom Penh, the increasingly seductive, hedonistic capital of Cambodia. I was eating buffalo beef jerky with a spry fifty-something guy called Vannak, right outside the monastery where the young Pol Pot, the future communist tyrant then known as Saloth Sar, was a trainee monk.

The GTA is our London a 3rd World dumpster that will never recover.