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June 10, 2010 - Radio Free Nortwest - H.A. Covington
55:01
20100610_rfn
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Oh, then tell me, Sean O 'Farrell, tell me why you hurry so.
Push your vocal, push and listen, and his cheeks were all aglow.
I bear orders from the captain, get you ready quick and soon, for the pikes must be together by the rising of the moon.
By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon, for the pikes must be together by Thank you.
For your bike upon your shoulder by the rising of the moon By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon With your bike upon your shoulder by the rising of the moon Out from many a mud wall cabin eyes were watching through the night Many a manly chest was throbbing for the blessed warming light Warmers passed along the valleys like the man she's lonely crew And a
thousand flames were flashing at the rising of the moon Greetings from the Northwest Homeland, comrades.
It's June 10, 2010.
I'm Harold Covington, and this is Radio Free Northwest.
The uprising of the world There beside the singing river That dark mass of men were seen Far above their shining weapons Among their own beloved green Death to every foe And straighter forward Strike the marching tune And hurrah my voice for freedom Is the rising of the moon Okay, I noticed the number of email questions I'm getting is dropping, as well as a slight drop in the number of hits on Thursdays and Fridays.
This means that after six months, the novelty of Radio 3 Northwest is finally beginning to wear off, and people are starting to wander away looking for other entertainment.
Well, that's us.
That's our movement.
We either learn to apply our minds and learn to concentrate on ideas and information for more than 15 minutes, or else we perish from the face of the earth.
What else can I tell you?
First email comes from Wilson in North Carolina.
Dear HAC, what makes the Northwest Front different from all the other groups out there?
A legitimate question in view of the fact that, as yet, our listenership consists mostly of people who have some movement experience.
And who have been burned by previous fearless leaders.
Don't worry, I won't name names.
That seems to be the rule here.
I can speak in general terms about character issues, but if I name names or cite specific examples, I am then fighting a feud, whatever the hell that means, and quote-unquote undermining white unity, which is an absolutely ridiculous allegation, since there has never been any white unity to undermine.
And if there was, there are a hell of a lot of so-called white nationalists out there that no one in his right mind would want to be unified with.
Sorry, sorry, babbling and struggling.
Wilson, there's actually a lot of things that makes the NF different from all the others.
I'll do my best to hit the high points.
First and foremost, the Northwest Front has a plan.
It's called the Butler Plan, and it's in the party manual, the white book.
The others don't have a plan.
None of them, at all.
Northwest Front, plan.
All of the others, no plan.
It's that damn simple.
Are we clear on this now?
Good.
That's the first thing that makes us different.
The second thing that makes the Northwest Front different from all the others is that our group is deed-based rather than word-based.
All the other group's central purpose or litmus test or reason for being is based on something you say.
The Northwest Front is based on something you do, specifically homecoming.
Coming here to the Pacific Northwest to make your life here and join in the struggle for a sovereign and independent white nation.
These other groups, those that are left anyway, demand that you fill out a form and or pay so much money per month and you're in like Flint.
We demand of our people that they commit a completely legal physical act, specifically that they come here to the Northwest and live here and make their lives here.
Other organizations have membership cards, but the Northwest Front, your membership card is your zip code.
Okay, granted, so far that demand for you to pack that moving van and come home has been more honored in the breach than anything else.
Because of our weak character, Most people on our list have not come home.
They just sit on the list and they yank my chain.
Right now I've got dozens of people telling me all the time, uh, next year for sure, Harold, for sure, for sure, for sure.
I'll be right up there in the Northwest next year or maybe the year after.
You see, I gots to save money or I gots to get educated and there's this one college course I just can't possibly find anywhere else but here, which by strange coincidence is also where my computer and my six-pack of beer and my bag of nachos is located.
You get the idea.
And so long as people contribute something besides words to the cause of Northwest Independence, I let them get away with yanking my chain shamelessly.
What can I tell you?
I'm trying to get a job done, and I have to be practical about how to do it.
If you're willing to kick in something besides words, I'll let you hang around for now.
But just because things aren't all the way they should be in the Northwest Front, and I admit that, doesn't mean that we don't have the plan.
Like so many white people, our Northwest front list consists largely of what the Irish call whiskey priests.
We know what's right.
We just don't do it.
We all know that we should be coming home to the Pacific Northwest.
We just don't do it.
The rest of the movement, again, I'm not supposed to name names because that's quote-unquote fighting a feud, again, whatever the hell that means, but by and large, they respond to this existential crisis of civilization our race is facing by tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tapping on a computer keyboard and maybe once in a blue moon having a little meeting in a rented motel banquet room where they eat rubber chicken served by Mexican and nigger waiters where they can stand up and whine about how bad things are and pass around a few books and pamphlets describing the Jewish world conspiracy, so forth and so on.
The same information that was available 50 years ago, the same thing we were doing 50 years ago, except not nearly so many people at the rubber chicken dinner.
Eat, meet, and retreat, and then shuffle out into the darkness while the third world waiters clear away the debris and set the table for the Rotary Club luncheon tomorrow.
That's it.
That's all the existing movement is doing about our impending racial extinction.
Unless you want to count posting a lot of deranged and childish rubbish on V-bulletin internet forums, which I don't.
Now, there is something else that makes the Northwest Front different from the rest, a mindset I've discussed before, but I'll give it another whack.
Throughout, the so-called movement, deeply embedded therein, runs a streak of profound and overpowering defeatism.
The terrible fact is that most of us have accepted in our own mind that our race is completely doomed, that there is nothing that can actually be done to save our people or Western civilization, and that any attempt to try is foredoomed and very dangerous.
The Northwest Front rejects that absolutely.
I say again that our whole strategy is based on one primary actual physical act.
A deed, which although perfectly legal, will eventually lead to revolution because in addition to its strategic and tactical value, homecoming produces a profound moral and psychological victory.
It breaks the pattern of passive acceptance and gets white people back into the habit of doing rather than saying, and puts an end to the interminable tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.
At least it will do if we can ever fix our character problem.
There's something else.
Growing out of this sense of Hopeless defeatism.
There is also, they think, some kind of tacit agreement we have with Zog.
The so-called leaders in the existing movement, such as they are, and such as it is, know in their hearts that they don't really mean it.
And they think Zog knows and accepts that as well, and so will refrain from crushing us so long as we don't rock the boat.
Well, they're half right.
Let's be honest, guys.
Collectively speaking, we don't really mean any of this racial stuff we babble about on the internet.
I mean, come on.
For once, let's tell it like it is.
If we meant any of this, we wouldn't be babbling about it on the internet.
We'd be out there in the real world doing real things.
Barefoot Iraqis and Afghans with nothing but an AK-47 and a couple of magazines can fight against the same tyrant who oppresses us and do so with at least partial success now, and eventually, I believe, with complete success.
We can't, apparently.
These people we despise and whom we call ragheads and sand niggers will fight.
We won't.
The difference is simple.
They believe.
We don't.
Oh, I have no doubt that all of us would sincerely love to see social, racial, and political change, so long as we could sit back and watch it happen on TV without undergoing any personal risk or inconvenience, but with that attitude and a dollar, we could buy a small cup of coffee at McDonald's.
It's time we looked a brutal fact in the face.
None of us feels sufficiently strongly about our so-called racial ideals to place our physical bodies at risk of death, prison, pain, or even moderately uncomfortable physical exercise.
We know that life for our children and our grandchildren is going to be a hell we cannot even imagine, and we do nothing about it because it's too hard and too dangerous.
The armchair is too soft, the beer is too cold, and the nachos too salty and tasty.
We're going to do just like our own grandfathers and fathers did.
We're going to sit back, enjoy the ride as much as we can, and let our own children and grandchildren fend for themselves.
That has been the unspoken movement attitude for 50 years.
Then along comes Northwest Migration.
For the first time, we have a chance to change ourselves inside by adopting a simple program, the Butler Plan, and just acting upon it.
Really doing it and not just talking about it.
It's safe and it's legal.
The only danger is economic, and that can be avoided as well with a little effort in advanced planning.
Now, laying the merits of the idea itself aside for the moment, what is Northwest Migration?
It is first and foremost an act.
It involves physical motion, doing physical things with the body and with material objects, like packing one's possessions into a van, driving up an interstate highway to the Northwest homeland, not sitting behind a computer screen and playing in the artificial virtual movement that exists on the V-bulletin boards and the internet forums.
These acts are not of themselves illegal.
The Northwest novels are fiction.
There is no NVA yet.
In real life, no one is asking you to shoot anybody or detonate a bomb or break a single law that will get you in trouble.
Northwest migration is completely lawful and once the preliminary hurdles are overcome, it is actually in your self-interest since the Northwest is one of the very few remaining decent places to live on this continent.
As an aside, I have yet to hear of anyone leaving here once they get properly settled in and established.
I've heard of people turning down six-figure salaries rather than relocate from the Northwest back to California or Chicago.
But at the risk of repeating myself to the point of boring you, I cannot emphasize enough that the precedent of doing rather than talking is what makes us different.
Okay, in the real world, it's not working out as well as it might, so far, due to our poor character.
I can give you information, I can give you ideas, I can give you knowledge, I can give you encouragement, but I cannot make you brave and I cannot make you strong.
That you have to do for yourself.
And yes, you can, because it's in your genetic makeup.
You just have to find it.
Somehow, down through the years, we have bought into this false idea that knowledge alone is enough.
How many times have we heard this business about, well, we have to educate our own people and when this and this or that happens, it'll wake white people up.
Okay, but once you get white people all awake, what then?
You folks may or may not know who Corneliu Codrianu was.
That's another one of those names that everyone who called himself a white nationalist ought to know, but almost no one does.
He was the head of the Iron Guard in Romania in the 1930s, and he was eventually murdered by the communists.
Some liberal type was once nattering at him about the Iron Guard's program, and Codrianu told him, Romania doesn't need programs, Romania needs men.
So does the Northwest.
The one thing that distinguishes the American racial right above all things is that it is almost completely devoid of action of any kind.
We've spent the past 60 years trying to...
fight against this terrible evil with nothing but words, and it clearly isn't working.
We have to somehow break out of this paralyzed mindset that prevents us from acting.
The Northwest Front is the beginning of that process, and that's what makes us different.
Okay, first music break.
In last week's podcast, I dropped in some of my older short audio files, including my tribute to comrade Jeff Hughes, who was murdered by the Royal Canadian Mounted Police on October 23rd of last year.
There was a musical background to that eulogy for Jeff, and I've had several requests from listeners to play the whole thing so they can hear it and understand the words.
The song is called Roddy McCorley, and like the opening and closing theme to this program, which is called The Rising of the Moon, it's a song from the Irish Rebellion of 1798.
Roddy McCorley was one of the leaders of that revolt.
He was captured by the British and executed at Tombbridge in County Antrim.
But he left behind one of the most magnificent epitaphs in history in the form of the song, which is still known and sung in Ireland today.
This is the Kingston Trio.
*music*
Oh, see the three-foot hosts of men Who come with faces won From Fonstead and from Fisher's Cut Along the banks of land They come with vengeance in their eyes Too late,
too late are they For young Roddy McCoy, he goes to dive on the bridge of doom today.
Up the narrow stream he stepped, smiling proud and young.
About the hemp grow upon his neck, the golden ringless clung.
There was never a tear in his blood.
Both glad and bright were they, as young Roddy McCormley goes to die on the bridge of doom today.
When he last stepped up that street, shining pipes in hand, around him bought in grimoire, a star-eyed bird We're
Who greatly fell in prey Then he who marches to his death On the bridge of doom today Due to the
last, due to the last He rests the awkward way As young Roddy Macauley goes to die On the bridge of doom today As young Roddy Macauley goes to die On the bridge of doom today On the
bridge of doom today Dear HAC, I agree that face-to-face meetings are essential and endless typing on a computer keyboard isn't going to win a revolution.
But I think you should consider advising activists to meet via Skype face-to-face video contact.
It's free, relatively safe, private, and you get to see who you're talking to.
For those Northwest Front activists, new people who may live...
We haven't talked since we met by the Chicago River train station.
I have some ideas I would like to share with you.
Take care, Jack.
Yes, Jack, I have Skype, although I do not have a video cam attachment.
And for the record, my Skype address is harold.covington.
I do make all my outgoing calls on Skype in order to save money on a landline and the phone bills associated with the landline.
And also, so I don't have to buy an incredibly expensive cell phone and deal with weird, complex, and incomprehensible.
Thank you.
Skype is a good way to go financially because once you get the software downloaded, you can go to Walmart and a few other places and buy a Skype credit card for phone minutes and load it onto your system.
I'm down to about $12 now on mine, I think, and I'm going to have to buy another card soon.
By the way, those of you who are reluctant to donate cash because you're afraid I might be blowing it in casinos or whatever, a Skype minutes card would be a good in-kind substitute.
Now, at the time I first got Skype, which was about a year ago, I was told by many of the people who were using it very enthusiastically that this was it.
This was the one internet program that is going to turn it all around and save us all.
Greatest thing since sliced bread.
Skype, Skype, Skype, Skype, Skype, blah, blah, blah, ish kabibble.
You may remember people once said the same thing about the internet itself.
They said the same thing about email.
They said the same thing about Yahoo groups and YouTube and all other kinds of cyber stuff.
Now, we haven't found the magic bullet yet.
No, in fact, Skype is not the greatest thing since sliced bread, and it will not save us.
No internet program will, specifically because our salvation does not lie anywhere on the internet.
Our salvation lies in physical acts done in the real world, done with our bodies, and not with a keyboard.
Yes, I know that sounds obscene, but I think you all know what I mean.
Skype is a very handy substitute for a regular telephone, and that's all.
We need to use it to make short calls, to discuss actual racial business, and then hang up and get on with something else.
Not sit there, hour after hour, bullshitting and gabbing like teenage girls.
If, as I suspect, the FBI is indeed monitoring our Skype chats, then they sure must have a lowered opinion of us, if that's possible, based on some of the childishness I see on there.
Never mind whether or not Skype is secure, although opinion seems to be very much divided on that.
I personally don't worry about I just don't believe the secret police would allow anything that they were incapable of monitoring, and they are quite capable of planting gossip and buzz on the internet, implying that PCP is unbreakable and Skype is uninterceptible, so people will use it.
I am familiar with a number of regularly scheduled movement Skype chats because I was signed on to some of them, sometimes without my knowledge, and when I'm sitting here working on the computer, as I am entirely too often, I can follow the chatroom aspect of it at least.
I don't want to say anything too unkind about the people in these chats.
I know their hearts are in the right place, and they really do think that somehow they are accomplishing something by going on and on and on for several hours every night, rapping with one another about nothing in particular, and griping and moaning.
These chats are valuable to me in a negative kind of way because I've been able to learn about some people that I do not want participating in any Northwest Front related activity, but that's about it.
Always remember what Colin Jordan once said about our movement.
We have a very big heart and a very small head.
It's not the level of the conversation that's the problem.
It's the fact that they're sitting behind a computer wasting time that could be used in a standing position out of doors and interacting with real white people in the real world face to face.
That's the problem.
Even in a bar, for God's sake.
Although I think some of you will realize just how desperate I'm getting to get you standing up on your feet and out from behind that keyboard when you realize, I actually think a real bar with real human beings in it might be preferable to endless internet chats.
And yeah, I know I'm sitting behind the same computer myself right now, or I wouldn't know what they're saying.
Don't worry.
I'm aware of the irony of using the internet itself to knock the internet and its bad effects on us.
Beyond that, all Skype seems to do within the movement is to replace tap-tap-tap-tap-tap with yak-yak-yak-yak-yak.
And yak-yak-yak-yak-yak is just as sterile and useless as tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.
It is political empty calories.
It is internet producing nothing but more internet.
Our hope lies in getting our pale, trembling asses off the internet, standing up, and outside our homes out in the weather as much as possible.
Now let's take another crack at one of the criticisms that's constantly leveled against me.
I don't even have to get an email to run it down for you.
I can tell you right now that after this podcast, I will get some feedback to the effect of, Harold, why do you always talk so negative about everything?
You always make our people feel bad about themselves, and you're always blowing people off and everything.
We need to hear you upbeat.
I'm cheerful, telling us how we're marching from strength to strength.
We need you to be a happy warrior.
Okay, yeah, I admit there are a few things I could probably do to make the show a little bit more upbeat.
For starters, you know the beginning where I say, greetings, comrade, the date is such and such, welcome to Radio Free Northwest.
I could replace that with...
Hello, boys and girls.
This is your old pal, Stinky Whizzleteats.
This is a song about a whale.
No!
This is a song about being happy.
That's right.
It's the happy, happy, joy, joy song.
You know, one of my standard responses to this business about, oh, Harold, we need you to be upbeat.
We need you to be positive and put a positive spin on things.
We need you to uplift our spirits and not make us all confused and depressed is, fine, show me something to be upbeat about.
The history of our movement in this country consists of 70 years of virtually complete failure.
When I was 10 years old, there were 20,000 robed Ku Klux Klansmen marching down Fayetteville Street in Raleigh.
Now a so-called Klan rally is lucky to get 20 people wearing...
We have lost everything to the point where there is no longer any hope of recovering America at all,
and we're forced to fall back on a plan like the Northwest Migration to simply try and snatch back a small patch of land on a continent that was once all ours, from sea to shining sea, and to make sure that a tiny fraction Oh, I'm sorry.
I'm being negative and depressing again.
I'll try to put a positive spin on it all.
Happy, happy, joy, joy.
Now, in view of my apparent duty to be positive and upbeat and inspire you guys to strength through joy and so on, I would imagine there's a lot of stuff I'm not allowed to talk about.
Should I mention the hundreds of thousands of white people, men, women, and children, who have been murdered by niggers and illegal aliens and other non-whites over the past 56 years since integration came in with Brown v.
Board of Education and whose deaths remain completely unavenged?
No, better not.
Should I bring up the unknown millions of white women who have been raped and terrorized and otherwise sexually violated by niggers and Mexicans in that time?
Oh, no, no, no, no, no.
Way too depressing, that.
Should I mention the thousands of dead and maimed white boys from Vietnam and Desert Storm and Big Iraq Attack in Afghanistan who died and had their limbs blown off and ended up in wheelchairs for the sake of oil in Israel?
No, I don't think that's very upbeat.
Do you?
How about the 20% unemployment rate right now during the Obama Depression, a figure of which consists almost entirely of white males to the point where even the media is calling it the men's session?
Should I mention the fact that a recent survey showed that interracial marriage is at an all-time high and that our racial existence is literally being strangled in the cradle?
Should I mention the fact that there's a nigger in the White House?
And although he got there by vote fraud, the fact remains that millions of self-hating whites voted for him to show they weren't racist.
Goddammit, Harold, you're doing it again.
You're being all negative and depressing.
Come on, Harold, snap out of it!
I don't think you're happy enough.
That's right.
I'll teach you to be happy.
I'll teach your grandmother to suck eggs.
Now, boys and girls, let's try it again.
But where I have to admit I find it really, really hard to be upbeat is when I look at our so-called resistance movement and I see that everybody in it is either in it with some kind of ulterior agenda like ego or money, or else they're just going through the motions because they don't really believe victory is possible, or else they're petty criminals, or else they're just downright insane.
The end result is that for the past two generations, essentially, nothing has been done.
The result is that right now, here in the Northwest, I am desperately, frantically trying to lay out the kind of infrastructure that we will need to create a new society and a new nation on the face of the earth.
Preliminary foundation work that should have been started 50 years ago when we still had some decent people other than Beavis and Butthead, and we still had some real capital on our side of the political spectrum.
I am finding it downright impossible to make up for those lost 50 years.
Years which were lost because of our self-proclaimed leaders of the time, who were thieves, liars, traitors, perverts, or some combination of all of the above.
And yet somehow I have to find a way, because failure is not an option here.
The demographic clock is ticking away and it will strike midnight for the white race a lot sooner than anyone thinks, at the point where the age factor will kick in and the white man will no longer be able to reproduce himself in sufficient numbers to survive.
I'm not sure exactly how I'm supposed to put a positive spin on that, but I guess I have to try.
Look, people, let me lay this out again for about the hundredth time.
We don't have much going for us.
They have all the guns and all the money and all the media of communication and all the infrastructure, and we have nothing but a powerful and indestructible idea, and the fact that we're right and they're wrong.
And like I've said before, with that and a dollar, we can buy a cup of coffee at Mickey D's.
We have one other weapon that we can bring to bear against these Jew motherfuckers if we have the courage to use it.
We can deploy the weapon of truth by using it to change our own character away from what the Jews have made it with their money and their lies and their television.
By admitting the truth about ourselves to ourselves and by confronting that truth, by ceasing to make excuses for ourselves, we can strip away a lot of the crap that the Jews have piled on top of our souls and we can start building anew from the ground up.
The truth boiled down is this.
Every single one of us listening to this podcast knows what we should have been doing about all of this long ago.
Every single one of us listening now knows perfectly well what we should be doing now.
And we all know why we aren't doing it.
We're not doing it for three reasons.
Because we are physical cowards, because we are bone-idle lazy, and because we don't really believe that any change is possible.
Basically, we all know what has to be done and we just can't be bothered.
The Jews and the niggers and the United States government have done nothing to us.
We have done it all to ourselves because we have allowed the Jews and the niggers and the United States government to continue to exist.
Until we face up to that truth, confront it, and change it, then every white man and woman and child alive today is as dead as if they lay in their coffin already.
100 years from now, there will be none of us left.
We have to face the truth about ourselves, and being who we are, that means that truth must be jammed down our throats by force.
I will not sugarcoat this truth, at least any more than I do now.
I'm already failing in my duty by going along with this horseshit about how naming the names of known thieves and liars and conmen and perverts among us is somehow, quote-unquote, fighting a feud.
I will not conceal or gloss over the essential and life-giving...
We need to quit whining, open our mouths, and swallow our medicine every last bitter drop.
I told you I'd shoot, but you didn't believe me.
Why didn't you believe me?
Happy, happy, joy, joy.
Okay, don't worry.
I won't try to claim that silliness I was playing just now as a legitimate music break.
A few podcasts back, I played a song called The Bonnie Swans by Lorena McKennett.
It was a version of one of the oldest known ballads in English.
if memory serves, there are references to it as far back as the 12th century.
I have no idea how many variations there are on this ballad going down to the centuries, probably hundreds.
The basic plot is always the same, though.
Two sisters fall in love with the same man.
One of them murders the other and throws her into a river or a lake, and her corpse is fished out of the water by somebody.
And then a minstrel or a musician comes along and makes a stringed instrument out of her assorted body parts, a harp or a fiddle or a lute or something, with her hair as the strings and her finger bones as the...
Of course, such an instrument, made from a murdered maiden, is bound to have magical powers, and so when the minstrel goes to perform at the castle or house where the surviving sister and her new husband are living, the instrument begins playing and singing by itself and reveals the secret of the girl's murder with everybody sitting there listening in horror.
Sometimes there's a closing verse where the husband chops off his wife's head and sometimes not.
You have to bear in mind that a lot of those old ballads kind of serve the same purpose that the National Enquirer and Nancy Grace fulfill today, full of sex and violence and scandal and all that stuff.
The song was brought over to America by the early settlers, most of whom, lest we forget, were of British stock, a fact that now seems totally lost in what little we're allowed to know of this country's official history.
Many of these old ballads survived in the Appalachian Mountain region of the South and were eventually recorded or written down in the early part of the 20th century.
This is an Appalachian-style version played and sung by none other than Jerry Garcia of the Grateful Dead, who was a bluegrass and folk musician as well as a rock and roller.
Garcia once said that rock music was what he played when he wanted to make money, and bluegrass was what he played when he wanted to make music.
This version of the Cruel Sister ballad is called Oh, the Wind and Rain.
I thought it was my fault.
No, I think it's my fault.
Okay.
There were two sisters came walking down the street, Oh, the wind didn't rain.
One behind pushed the other one in, Oh, the dreadful wind didn't rain.
Johnny gave me in just a gaggle ring Oh, the wind and rain Didn't give the oldest one anything Crying, oh, the dreadful wind and rain They pushed her into the river to drown Oh, the wind and rain Watched her as she floated down Crying, oh, the dreadful wind and
rain I thought
that she came to a miller's pond for the wind and rain.
Mom, old father asked him to swallow, crying, oh, the dreadful wind and rain.
Bill, I pushed her out with a fishing hook on the wind and rain.
Through that fair made from the brook, cried, oh, the dreadful wind and rain.
He left her on the page to dry, crying, oh, the wind and rain.
And a fiddling fool come passing by, crying, oh, the dreadful wind and rain.
Out in the woods came a fiddler fair, oh, the wind and rain.
Took thirty strands of her long yellow hair, crying, oh, the dreadful wind and rain.
And he made a fiddle bow of her long yellow hair, oh, the wind and rain.
He made a fiddle bow of her long yellow hair, crying, oh, the dreadful wind and rain.
And eight little pegs of her long finger bones, oh, the wind and rain.
And eight little pegs of her long finger bones, crying, oh, the dreadful wind and rain.
And he made a little fiddle of her breastbone, oh, the wind and rain.
And the sound could melt the heart of a stone, crying, oh, the dreadful wind and rain.
And the only tune that fiddled with clay was all the wind and rain.
And all the time Only tune that fiddle would play was o'er the dreadful wind and rain Thank
you.
Thank you.
Oh Okay, we're back to the email inbox.
This is Amy from Illinois again.
By the way, I'm noticing this is getting to be kind of like Yahoo groups where you've got 200 members and only three or four ever actually post.
I'm still getting a goodly number of email questions and comments, but it's always from the same people.
While the bulk of the listenership, which now seems to be up around 700 people per podcast, just sort of sit there like lumps and passive and waiting to hear the words come out of their computer speakers like their computer was a television.
That's our movement.
Anyway, the question is, Hello HAC, how are you?
We have a question for you.
How can a true Aryan society survive while the Jews prevail throughout the rest of the country and the rest of the world?
Even once the republic is set up, there will still be such things as liberalism, Christianity, and kosher conservative right-wing Americans.
Okay, I interpret that question as having to do with how the Northwest Republic will survive surrounded by a sea of hostile non-whites and Zionist regimes, not the least the non-white and Zionist regimes of Aslan, Canada, and whatever's left of the United States.
Well, that is essentially the issue I would deal with if ever I write that fifth Northwest novel, the one dealing with the first 50 years or so of the Republic's existence.
And no, I'm not trying to tantalize you folks by constantly dropping hints about that.
I'm not trying to build up to anything by saying such things, but I'm dead serious, people.
I very much doubt that I will ever write that novel number five.
I just plain don't have the time, and nor am I likely to get it.
I'm simply too busy right now trying to bring the vision into reality.
Or, as I like to put it, I'm too busy trying to drive a nail with a marshmallow.
In an ideal world, an asset to the movement like me would be kept in some ivory tower someplace with a massive amount of books and computer equipment, and all of my basic needs taken care of, and no organizational responsibilities to distract me.
I'd be fed through a hole in the wall, and I would be able to spend all my time doing nothing but writing, writing, writing, and occasionally ranting and raving into this microphone.
But that ain't happening, and it ain't gonna happen.
One single, full-time assistant, and the money to give that assistant the rough equivalent of a minimum wage salary would free up at least 30 hours of my time per week, the very time I would need to write that fifth novel.
The problem is that even if the kind of person with the very special skill set I require were to materialize, the money would not.
I ask people to donate $10 per month to the party by way of dues, the price of a 12-pack of cheap domestic beer, and the simple fact is that basically we seem to prefer the beer.
Boy, that would be a hell of an epitaph of the greatest race and civilization in human history, wouldn't it?
I imagine a big cosmic tombstone saying, here lies the white race, and chiseled on at these immortal words, they preferred the beer.
I'm sorry, I'm rambling again.
Anyway, there's going to be no Northwest Novel No. 5. Well, on the same subject, I was always disappointed that the Northwest novel of the Quartet that always gets the least notice and the least fan mail is The Hill of the Ravens, because it deals with some of these very issues that Amy brought up in her email.
I describe the Northwest American Republic as it might be something like 40 years after the War of Independence.
Now, in that book, I describe something called the WPB, the War Prevention Bureau.
And once again, we meet our old friend Charlie Randall, the Australian from the Brigade, although briefly.
For example, the Fuhrer...
Adolf Hitler was unfortunately played in September of 1939 when he attempted to seize back Danzig, or the Danzig-Carter specifically.
It was the last remaining bit of traditional German territory left in foreign hands from the Versailles Treaty of 1919.
He was entrapped into a situation where the rest of the world had declared war on Germany.
The Japanese were also skillfully provoked and manipulated into attacking the United States at Pearl Harbor.
They both could have benefited from some kind of war prevention bureau.
In my unwritten and mostly as yet unimagined fifth novel, I would probably create a fictional version of such a War Prevention Bureau, the sole purpose of which would be to prevent a military attack on the Republic by any means necessary.
The Northwest Republic will need to have some kind of organization like that, the purpose of which is just what it says, not a central intelligence agency or a military intelligence 5 or 6 or a spy or assassination bureau per se of any kind, but an organization the sole purpose of which is to prevent war.
Nothing more, nothing less.
There are all kinds of ways that such a mission could be accomplished, and not always through bumping off American politicians.
The trick would be to identify who in the enemy government social Okay, in the nature of things, sometimes the only way to do that might be with a silenced pistol or 6-6 of dynamite wired to their ignition, but I think more subtle alternatives should be explored first so that these people can be neutralized with a minimum of fuss, muss, and bother and as little blowback as possible.
For example, the police aren't the only ones who can plant drugs in someone's car, and the FBI Aren't the only people who can plant kiddie porn on someone's computer?
The secret police and private detectives aren't the only ones who can take compromising photographs of politicians or media stars buggering goats or getting buggered by goats.
Such a WPB might hack into bank records and find out who's getting large sums of money in foreign accounts from suspect sources and burn them to the media.
You get the idea.
The object wouldn't be simply to kill those who represent a danger to the republic.
The idea is to neutralize the threat that they represented.
more often than not, that will require a much lighter and more deft touch than a mere sandbagging job.
Now, you know, I sometimes surprise people who ask me what they should be reading in order to prepare for the struggle to come, besides my own novels, of course, and they expect me to recommend army field manuals on explosives or something like that, and they're quite surprised when I recommend that they read John the Care spy novels instead for an insight into what a Now, maybe this isn't fully answering Amy's question, so let me...
Take a run at it from another angle.
The very best defense that the Northwest American Republic will have against those who wish to do us harm will be to create a new country, a homeland, where white people can live in peace and freedom, at least.
An adequate degree of prosperity as well to raise families and know that those families have some kind of future, a future worth fighting for.
Our first and strongest line of defense, Amy, will be our own people who, once they've tasted freedom in an all-white world, free of Jewish filth and poisonous consumer crap and general madness, will willingly stand and defend what we've achieved.
Our enemies won't just be dealing with the Northwest government or with the party or with our military.
They will be facing an entire nation who collect...
And that they can never defeat.
Third music break time.
I had a request a while back from one of our female listeners for some more medieval and other really old historical music, and I'll try to find some suitable examples.
In an earlier podcast, I played the speech from Shakespeare's play Henry V that I use in a couple of my Northwest novels.
That speech was supposedly given just before the Battle of Agincourt on October 25, 1415, when an army of between 8,000 and 9,000 Englishmen, mostly archers, defeated a vastly superior force of 30,000 or so French, mostly By the standards of the time, this was a stunning, upset victory, about on a par with winning World War II in the English mind.
And of course, the minstrels and the troubadours composed and sang all kinds of poems and songs about it.
The most famous of these is known as the Agincourt Hymn or the Agincourt Carol.
I found several versions on the net, but they were orchestrated and a bit too modern-sounding for a song that's from a time when there were no orchestras.
This is probably about as close as we can get today to the song as you might actually have heard it in a tavern or a marketplace back when it was top of the pops in the early 15th century.
This is Maddie Pryor and June Tabor.
Our King went forth to
Normandy with grace and might of chivalry The God for him wrought marvelously where for England make all and
cry Deo gratias Deo gratias Anglia Prede pro Victoria Now gracious God
He saved our King His people and His well within Grant Him good life and good ending that we on earth may safely sing Deo
gratias Deo gratias ambia, fede pro victoria.
Música
Música Our King went forth to
Normandy With grace and might of chivalry The God for him wrought marvellously Wherefore England may call and cry Deo
gratias, Deo gratias Anglia, fede pro victoria.
you I'd like now to address an issue that I run across frequently in many different forms, and that's the issue of what exactly we are offering here in the Northwest and what you may expect to find when you get here.
Somehow or other, there seems to have arisen an impression that I am claiming or offering some kind of all-white paradise here in the Northwest, already existing and already to just move in.
I'm not sure how I could have conveyed that idea, but apparently I have.
Or rather, there are those who claim that's what I'm saying for motives of their own.
Then when someone comes up here and they walk down the street their first morning and they see Mexicans, they get all upset and start whining, oh, her...
Harold is a con man.
You lied to us, Harold.
I see beaners, etc., etc., etc.
There are also some people, believe it or not, who are so enthralled with my novels that they think the kind of situation I describe in those books already exists up here.
It reminds me of how J.K.R.
Rowling, the author of the Harry Potter books, gets thousands of letters every year from children who want to go to Hogwarts and learn magic, except that the emails I get are from adults, sort of.
This phenomenon is a variation on the constant movement theme of our unwillingness to confront and resist the system and our desire to have everything handed to us on a silver plate.
Another aspect of this phenomenon is the people who refuse to seriously consider coming home to the Northwest until the Northwest Front is in a position to give them things, housing and jobs and money.
Apparently, the idea is that somehow or other, I'm supposed to single-handedly convert and energize hundreds of local people who already live here in the Northwest and get them all organized to provide All kinds of ready-made housing and employment and assisted passage and even our own moving vans and crews of comrades to show up on your doorstep in Florida or Texas or Ohio and wherever you are and move your furniture for you.
Now...
I suppose I should make it clear here that many of the people who give me this rep are not necessarily bad or even lazy.
From their viewpoint, they're just being sensible.
What can I tell you?
These are Americans of the 20th and 21st century.
I cannot count the number of times down through the years I've had somebody tell me quite sincerely, Harold, I think this Northwest thing is a great idea.
Let me know when you get it going and I'll come up and take a look and I'll give it serious consideration.
Might even move up there.
Or words to that effect.
And they don't even realize what they're saying.
To them, taking that attitude is just common sense.
It probably sounds like that some of you listening to me now.
Or, as one comrade once told me, I'm willing to help, but I'm not going to get stuck.
Trouble is, if we're ever going to do anything to create change in this world, somebody's got to risk getting stuck.
You see, for the hundredth time, I have to say it, nobody really believes that it is possible for us to change anything.
There are many of us out there who really do help with money and computer work and leaflets and stickers and contacts and even with small amounts of personal risk by meeting people and passing out the leaflets and business cards and they do it for all the right reasons.
Because they understand it's their duty, because they know it's right, or simply because they like me and my work.
The Northwest Front could not exist without these people.
Thank you.
Thank you all.
Don't ever, ever believe that I don't appreciate what you do.
But I can count on my...
The number of people we have who really, truly believe.
So I can understand it when people come to me and demand a ready-made, all-white paradise before they pack the moving van.
When I was young, we actually had a couple of supposed white paradises, Rhodesia and South Africa.
And when I became disgusted with the movement in this country, I went there.
In many ways, it wasn't what I expected, but I'll always be glad I did.
Today, there is no white paradise, not anywhere.
There is no part of the world and no part of this country left where you will We'll not hear the gabble of Spanish and see the brown monkey faces, although huge parts of the Northwest are still refreshingly free of actual niggers.
In Astoria, I saw maybe one black face per week during the winter and five or six per day during the summer when the gambling boat junkets and cruise ships from Portland would dock for the day.
How does that daily nigger count contrast with wherever you're living?
Even as many Mexicans as we have here, it's very common for me to hear visitors to the Northwest speak in awe of how they walked into a burger joint or other fast food restaurant and found nothing but white kids and a white manager behind the counter.
They're flabbergasted.
Or how they saw a road repair crew with nothing but white men leaning on the shovels happens all the time here.
How does that contrast to where you live?
I'm not offering you, nor am I claiming that there is some kind of great white paradise here in the Northwest.
We have all the same problems that exist everywhere else in the country, just fewer of them, and more chance for us to turn things around if ever the white man can screw his courage to the sticking point and take action.
I'm not claiming that establishing our new nation and winning our freedom in this land is already a done deal.
It is not.
My novels are not.
We still have a revolution to win, and it is going to be terrible.
What I need from all of you is to quit trying to sneak in under the tent.
You have to pay your admission fee if you want to see the circus.
If you want...
To play the game, you've got to put something on the table.
I want all of you to quit trying to evade paying the price for what we have to gain in order to survive as a race.
I need for you to lose the American sense of entitlement.
We Americans of this century have been taught that we are automatically entitled to the best of everything and the best of everything now, without effort, without toil, without blood and dirt cheap.
After all, doesn't Rush Limbaugh say so with all his yak about American exceptionalism?
With the things in life that really matter, that's not how it works.
Our racial future is here in the Northwest largely by default because things throughout the rest of the country have gotten so foul and contaminated that this is the only place left where the white race can make a new start.
There can indeed be a great white paradise here in the Northwest someday, but there is a price to be paid.
The first installment on that price comes when you get your ass off this computer and start loading all your shit into a moving van.
Quit whining and complaining to me by email.
This program is brought to you by the Northwest Front Post Office Box 4856, Seattle, Washington 98194, or you can go to the party's website at www.northwestfront.org.
This is Harold Covington, and I'll see you next week.
Until then, Sasha on the bond.
Freedom.
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