Friendship and slavery

I am not good at making friends.  The main reason for this is that I do not like many other people and I find I have little in common with the rest of the human race.  Those friends I do have tend to be quite eccentric, tolerant people. The average person cannot put up with me for long, and I am also impatient with others.

It’s difficult to be friends with locals here.  Their main topic of conversation is how awful everything is and how they want to get out.  While understandable, this gets dull after a while.  We don’t really have anything else to talk about.  I’m limited in how much I can commiserate as I might be informed upon and get PNGed.

As for foreigners, the ones here are mostly goodwhites.  I get along with them fine, but if I spoke frankly with them I would probably lose my job or at the very least be ostracized and become even more isolated than I already am.

Some examples will help to illustrate:  I was talking with a colleague and she suddenly said, “I really want to see Blank Panther.”  If I were honest I would have said, “Why?  It’s just politically correct nonsense to make people believe that Africans once had wonderful civilizations, but they didn’t.  Africa was always kinda like this.  [Gesture to our surroundings.]  You of all people should know that.”  But I just grunted.

We were talking about our new boss and another colleague, a young white man, said “I hope he’s not just another old white man”.  In other words, he probably just got the job because he’s an old white man, because old white men can walk into any job they like.  When I get a bit older I might become the CEO of BHP-Billiton if I feel like it.  Because I could.  Because I’ll be an old white man.  And our new boss’s hiring obviously had nothing to do with his extensive African experience.

But I said nothing.

The ancients considered truth the first virtue, even the beginning of virtue.  Honesty was for nobles.  Only slaves lied. Fifteen hundred years later Montaigne suggested that even failing to speak your mind was a weakness, demonstrating that you feared your fellow man.  He might have a point.

The reason I am so reserved, and thereby have few real friends, is because I am indeed a slave.  I cannot say what I think because I still need to earn money.  Previously I could have friends outside work, but this place is so small and isolated that everyone knows everyone, and everyone gossips.

Perhaps true friendship is impossible among slaves.

In fifteen months I will be free.  Perhaps then I will be a little more forthcoming.  Time will tell.


  1. redpillgirlnotes · September 14, 2018

    I say way too much, way too honestly. I will remember your approach!


  2. Alpha Beta · September 16, 2018

    May your next job not be in Tasmania (paragraph 2)


    • Nikolai Vladivostok · October 14, 2018

      I like Tasmania. Beautiful place. But yeah, I’d go mad if I actually had to live there.


  3. L. Beau Macaroni · September 20, 2018

    “The reason I am so reserved, and thereby have few real friends, is because I am indeed a slave. I cannot say what I think because I still need to earn money.”

    A lot of us could say the same thing. I hope to hang on until I am free.


  4. Pingback: The Final Countdowwwwnnnn! | SovietMen

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