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Salient. An Organ of Student Opinion at Victoria College, Wellington, N.Z. Vol. 8, No. 9. July 11, 1945

[untitled poem by Whim Wham published in Salient Vol. 8, No. 9. July 11, 1945]

Let's put the Alien in his Place.
Let's show him Who's the Master Race.
Hitler, alas, is dead and gone;
But (Heill) his Soul goes marching on.
He wrecked their Homes, He bade them pack,
He chased them here.—Let's chase them back!
On with the Dance! It's none too soon:
They know the Steps, They know the Tune!

An Alien's Skill or Industry
May earn his Keep! Don't talk to me!
Each Case he treats, each Lathe he turns,
It is My Money that he earns,
Exhausting by his useless Toil
Our over-populated Soil.
The Air he breathes is so much less
For Me and Mine, and his Success
(Disgusting thought) is barefaced Theft.
Lord knows. New Zealand isn't left
Much Butter for the meagre Bread
That keeps its teeming Millions Fed!

The Answer's plain, the Logic's clear:
Reduce the Population here.
The More we send or drive away,
The More there'll be for those who stay.

Let's start at once, at the Expense
Of those who have the least Defence
("Mein Kampf tells how); and after Them
It will be easier to condemn
Some other Section of this Reich
Whose Race or Face we do not like,
And have Them summarily evicted,
Until New Zealand is restricted
To Those self-guaranteed as fit
To govern and inhabit It.
(Though to this End, so much desired
Expulsions may not be required;
And we may build the Perfect Nation
By voluntary Evecuation).

Dear Spokesmen of the R.S.A.,
Will not your Members feel Dismay
To hear you ignorantly shame
The Cause they fought for, in their Name!
Were Those who died no more concerned
Than You, who speak for Those returned,
With righting Other's Wrongs? Did They,
The Unreturned, not choose that Way
Not for their Own, with Hearts more great
That knew no Aliens in their State!

(By Whim Wham, in "The Press," Christchurch. With the author's permission.)