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Nov. 11, 2010 - Radio Free Nortwest - H.A. Covington
01:10:27
20101111_rfn
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Oh, then tell me, Sean O 'Farrell, tell me why you hurry so.
Hush your vocal, hush 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 the rising of the moon.
Oh, then tell me, Sean O 'Farrell, where the gathering is to be?
In the old spot, by the river, right the north to you and me.
One more roar for signal, token, whistle of the marching tune.
Warrior pike 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.
Warpers passed along the valleys like the man she's lonely crew.
And a thousand blades were flashing at the rising of the moon.
At the rising of the moon, at the rising of the moon.
And a thousand flames were fleshing out, rising all the way.
Greetings from the Northwest Homeland, comrades.
It's November the 11th, 2010.
I'm Harold Covington, and this is Radio Free Northwest.
Well, there's no Edgar Steele update this week.
No news, really.
The trial's been postponed until March the 7th.
Cindy Steele is doing a speaking tour to try and raise some money for illegal expenses, and that's about it.
That's one bad thing about these cases.
The federal government has the capacity to simply sit and wait the rest of us out.
Postponing and postponing the trial until the short American attention span kicks in and everyone loses interest and wanders away.
We need to make sure that this doesn't happen with Ed Steele.
They learned their lesson back in the days of Seiko and Vanzetti.
Courtrooms are for disposing of people the regime finds inconvenient, not for making martyrs out of dissidents.
It would help, of course, if Ed had an energetic, completely dedicated, and privately hired attorney who would give him what the legal code of ethics from the Bar Association supposedly requires, i.e.
that he would defend his client fully and zealously.
Their words, not mine.
But apparently the cost these days of a real defense and a court of law begins somewhere in the neighborhood of $250,000.
And all the Steele family's assets...
Have been deliberately seized and frozen by the federal government, specifically to prevent the retention of a defense lawyer who might give the prosecution problems or ask embarrassing questions.
So much for equality under the law.
Just like our American healthcare system, our American judicial system is tied to a cash register.
Justice in this country is for sale, and I mean that literally.
It has a cash price tag attached.
Cindy's only been able to raise about 10% of that so far, if my information's correct.
I believe she's now concentrating on an attempt to raise enough money to try and pay an independent electronics and audio expert to review the so-called tapes recorded by Larry Fairfax, wherein Edgar Steele allegedly tries to hire Larry Fairfax as a hitman.
My understanding is that Cindy has, in fact, been allowed to listen to a few of the tapes, most likely when the FBI was trying to convince her to be quiet and disappear and not embarrass them by coming out in public in support of her husband.
And one of the things that's prompted her to stand up and speak out is the fact that those tapes sounded fuzzy and jerky and jumpy, as if certain key words and phrases had been added.
By the way, in case you folks are wondering and thinking that all this speculation about the FBI tampering with the tapes is just paranoid conspiracy theory, I can tell you, just from doing this Radio Free Northwest broadcast every week, that tampering with audio files is not just possible, it's done all the time.
I do it all the time.
I use an audio editing program called WavePad, and to spare my voice, I usually record this show in segments, which I then string together in WavePad to make more or less a full hour.
I drop in the music last of all.
Now, sometimes on this show, I will miss or slur a word or accidentally delete part of a sentence when I'm editing, and I have to go back and speak the word or phrase into the microphone again, record it in WavePad, and then drop it into the podcast.
Sometimes you guys notice this, I'm sure, when there's a little skip or a jump in the cast, but I've gotten sufficiently good at it over the past year to where I can usually slip a word or a phrase in smooth as silk and you don't notice it.
And the government of the United States has far better and more sophisticated resources for doing this than I do here on my PC, not to mention much more skilled audio techs to commit forgery.
So there is no question at all that Edgar Steele could have been framed.
The technology definitely exists, I know because I use it myself.
The question is, was Edgar Steele framed?
And here is where we have to look at the character of the United States government and the law enforcement agencies involved.
Once the moral and political character of the FBI is taken into account, I think we all know the answer to what's going on here.
The next event in this dog and pony show should be Larry Fairfax's sentencing on December the 16th, but we don't know yet whether that will be postponed as well.
They'll want to have a handle on Larry to make sure his testimony goes according to plan and make sure he doesn't mess up, and I think they may lose some of that leverage if Fairfax has already been sentenced.
We'll see how that plays out.
Now, some people have asked me why I think Edgar Steele is being framed, especially at this point in time when he was just out of the hospital and he wasn't actually doing much of anything.
Steele was planning on running for governor of Idaho, but his health problems pretty much put the kibosh on that, and he had already announced his intention to withdraw.
Some people think it was because Steele was about to publish another book, this one on the Israeli involvement in international human trafficking for sexual purposes.
And it's true that the Jews can be hypersensitive and very vindictive about such things, but let's face it, any such book wouldn't really have told us anything we didn't already know, would it?
The Israeli mob is known to world law enforcement as the biggest pimps and white slavers around.
Jews are to prostitution what the Colombians and Mexicans are to cocaine, the niggers are to heroin, the Russian mob is to Medicare fraud, and poor whites are to methamphetamine.
So, no, I don't think it's that.
As to why the regime has gone after Edgar Steele now, it could well be that there's a very simple explanation.
They've done it because they can.
They know that no one will dare to stand up for a so-called white supremacist, whatever the hell that is, and they know all they have to do is to get him in front of a jury full of drooling morons up there in North Idaho and find some way to emphasize that Steele was the lawyer who defended Richard Butler and Aryan Nations, and Bob's your uncle.
Easy win for the lady prosecutor, and the FBI's clearance stats go way up.
You have to bear in mind that the FBI especially considers white nationalists to be easy pickings.
A quick shot in the arm for their case and clearance stats.
And convicting a so-called white racist is a shot in the arm for any FBI man's career prospects back in D.C. Convicting a wicked racist looks really great in an FBI agent's personnel file.
And they're right.
We are easy pickings.
We're like dodos back on those South Pacific islands in the 19th century.
We're fat and slow and stupid.
We're not dangerous because, unlike Muslims, we never fight back or retaliate.
So arresting and framing white nationalists is completely risk-free, and we're good-eaten in the legal and political and public relations sense.
I won't state the obvious, lest I incite.
But so long as we continue to be easy pickings and good eating, the FBI are going to help themselves to us anytime they get the munchies, so to speak.
Like going out to KFC and picking up a bucket of extra crispy.
The Edgar Steele case might be something a little bit more subtle, though.
It might be the regime's way of letting us know that they never forgive and never forget.
Ed Steele defended Richard Butler ten years ago, and the Christine family eight years ago, but our lords and masters have long memories, and so this could be purely vindictive, or it could be a simple lifestyle bust.
Somebody in authority just plain does not like Edgar Steele.
He or she has the power to fuck with Steele using the system, and so they're doing it, just because they can.
When the late author and gonzo journalist, Dr. Hunter S. Thompson, was having his home in Aspen, Colorado, turned over for 12 hours by the local cops on a he-touched-my-titties complaint from a ditzy female journalist, who later turned out to be bogus, by the way, Thompson knew one of the sheriff's deputies who was tossing his place, and he asked him what the hell was really going on.
And the cop replied, Hunter, this is a lifestyle bust.
The decision has been made.
We are going to bring you into the system.
This is the purpose of more of these cases than I think we suspect.
To bring someone into the system.
To pull them into the mincing, mangling machine, which is the law in this country, and thus prevent them from doing anything for a long time other than struggling and screaming to get out.
It's kind of hard to make speeches and write blogs when your legs are trapped in a whirling steel machine and you're being dragged down the conveyor belt towards the blades.
This may well be one reason that the Steele family's assets were seized and frozen, not just to make it impossible for Ed to hire a bona fide defense attorney, but simply to inflict hardship on the Steele's, as witness the fact that Cindy is now having to go on a speaking tour to raise desperately needed funds.
A fabricated legal case turns the victim's life into one long nightmare, wherein all time, effort, and above all funds of the targeted person or group must henceforth go towards the case.
Rather than the political, social, or internet activity which our lords and masters find annoying or inconvenient.
And if and when the targeted victims do finally escape from the net, with or without having served a prison sentence, they're usually so destitute and just plain terrified of being forced back into the machine that they bow down to our lords and masters and do what is required of them, i.e.
they shut up.
I have known a lot of men who stood up magnificently in prison itself.
And yet, when they were finally released, they disappeared so quick you'd have thought Scotty'd bring them up to the Enterprise.
They never formally broke or surrendered, but after many years, they lacked the strength necessary to commit the one final act of defiance, to return to political activism even after the system had done their worst.
Even if Edgar Steele does finally come to trial in March, and even if he does escape from the jury of pale, drooling morons anxious to please the government and show what good non-racist liberals they are, if and when they finally do open the prison doors and let him come tottering out into the sunlight, what kind of shape is he going to be in?
Mentally?
Morally?
Emotionally?
Financially?
Even in the event of an acquittal, will the court unfreeze Ed's gold and silver that they confiscated and his bank accounts?
Will he be strong enough to continue to write and publish on the internet?
I hope so, but at his age and in his state of health, the body and the mind don't stand up very well to endless months of prison without trial.
Right now, they're trying to break him.
One way or the other, we're going to see what this man is made of.
Now, a quick personal note.
Normally, I save the heavy stuff until the end of the show, but this won't take very long.
As I've mentioned in the past couple of shows, I'm now beginning to work on the 5th Northwest Independence novel.
I've got all of about 5,000 words and 15 pages on the hard drive so far.
That's single-spaced pages, of course.
I'm starting where the Brigade left off with the Battle of Portland 10 days after the Longview Treaty.
This will actually be probably the hardest of the six sections I've planned to write, because this section is still more or less anchored in the present, or...
Recognizably near future at any rate.
And I have to get all the research down, Pat, about artillery and tanks and small arms and about what's located where in Portland, what streets run where, all the physical details, so it'll be realistic, like something that could happen tomorrow.
Well, of course, it could happen tomorrow if we ever stiffen our spines and summon up some moral fiber and some simple physical courage, but we won't get into that.
Anyway, after I get this Battle of Portland thing done, we get into the future of the Northwest American Republic, and at that point, I can just start making things up, which will be the fun part.
So it'll probably go a lot faster.
With any luck, I might have a first draft of Section 1 to pass on to the Proofing and Review Committee by the end of the month.
Maybe.
Now, the reason I brought this up is that I want to let you guys know from the get-go that although I will be giving you occasional progress reports, this new book is not going to be an overnight thing.
How long will the book be, and how long is it going to take me to finish it?
Right now, I have no idea.
How long is a piece of string?
Some famous literary type once said that any novel that doesn't take at least two years of the author's life to create isn't worth reading.
Well, the Brigade took me almost exactly two years, from the day I first typed out Chapter 1 until the day I got the first printed copy in my hand.
But at that time, I was living in Astoria, and I had a lot less on my plate than I do now, and accordingly, a lot more time to write every day.
Now today, I have three major time-consuming projects that I have to keep on some kind of schedule.
I've got to write, print, and mail Northwest Observer every month.
I have to put out Radio Free Northwest once a week, and I really am going to try for an extra short podcast every week as well from now on.
Frankly, that's a cheater to get the site's hit numbers up.
And now I've taken on this novel number five writing assignment, and I have to visit the manuscript at least once per day and put out a minimum of 1,000 words per day, or else it's never going anywhere.
I've also got all of the other 101 things that I have to do that take up hours of my time every day.
All of which keeps me away from the computer, keyboard, and actual writing.
And, of course, I'm also supposed to find time for long health walks every day.
Guess what ends up getting the short end of the stick?
Now, let me explain what I'm driving at here.
I'm going to say this as carefully and as clearly and diplomatically as I can.
Until such time as there is a major change in my personal situation, specifically until such time as I receive serious...
And concrete assistance from others by way of money and personal assistance from people who are physically here at my side, not behind computers, hundreds and thousands of miles away.
From now on, I'm going to be operating pretty much at the peak of what one man can do.
Realistically speaking, this means that for the foreseeable future, at least while this new book's being written, I've hit the wall.
I will be doing pretty much all I can be doing on my own here.
Now, here's an example of that audio editing I mentioned earlier in this podcast.
In an earlier version, I was ad-libbing and I ended up going off on a long rave on this whole subject of a personal assistant, but after listening to it being played back, I've cut that out.
Because those of you who need to hear it have heard it before, and because those of you who haven't heard it before don't need to hear it just yet.
I will just make one last comment when I say that I'm aware that a large part of my lack of personal hands-on assistance is, in fact, down to me.
It's at least somewhat my fault, and I admit that, because my job requirements are simply too stringent, especially as regards track record and time and grade.
I've been hunting for a unicorn.
The creature that I seek just plain doesn't exist.
He or she may exist in the future, I have hopes, but that all-important...
Time in grade is going to be what counts.
Before I can even think of making anyone an assistant or a secretary, I have to know that they're going to stick with this as a lifetime commitment to the Northwest Republic and not just get bored or scared or sulky because somebody said something on the internet they didn't like and then they flake and disappear like that guy from Pennsylvania I talked about last week.
With money, I could do more, certainly.
If I had enough money, we could buy what we can't persuade our people to give voluntarily.
Remember, white Americans will do anything for money or free goodies of some kind.
It's how we've been engineered from birth to react.
If we could offer any kind of salary or free accommodation, I'd have 20 guys here next week and 50 the week after that.
But again, we have to be realistic.
The chances of the Northwest Front obtaining that kind of financing anytime soon is non-existent.
Of course, I suppose it's always possible that our 3,000 or so weekly listeners to Radio Free Northwest could all begin supporting the NF with $10 a month voluntary dues, like I've repeatedly begged them to do for more years than I can count.
Let's see, that would be $30,000 a month, $360,000 a year.
Yeah, we could run a revolution on that.
Who knows, maybe all of you guys out there will start paying dues.
Pigs may fly, too.
Anyway, just to let you know, until something changes, either for better or for worse, I'm pretty much running at peak now, and there won't be any dramatic new developments.
No rabbits being pulled out of Harold's hat anytime soon.
If you want to change that, you know what to do.
First music break.
Some months ago, I played a series of Civil War songs on here, and it was very popular, especially a song by Kathy Barton and Dave Parra, two local folk singers from Missouri, and that was entitled Gorilla Man.
This song got so many favorable comments that I actually replayed it a couple of months ago, and I've had several inquiries from listeners wanting to know if I have any more stuff like that.
Well, these songs come off a home-produced CD album called Johnny Whistle Trigger, and most of the songs on there are a little hokey to my taste, but there is one rather haunting piece that has to do with Catherine Quantrill, the wife of the famous Missouri guerrilla leader, William Clark Quantrill.
Catherine married Quantrill at the beginning of the war when he was 23 years old and she was 13. Okay, that was a bit young, even by the standards of the day, but it wasn't completely unknown out on the frontier.
Katie shared her husband's life on the move and became an accepted part of his partisan unit until he was killed in Kentucky in one of the last actions of the Civil War, leaving her a widow at the tender age of 17. This is Kathy Barton and Dave Perra.
Oh
Yes, I will recall the time in my thirteenth year When he first rode up into our farm to bend my papa's ear Though I cannot recall many words a stranger said It was clear his thoughts weren't long ago
They were on Pa's girl instead His blue eyes, they made you think of ice Chilling winter's day And they followed me so closely Watching every move I made My cop had told me ice Were like a window to the zone But not so
with this handsome man Who kept the shutters closed guitar solo guitar solo Those hands that hold me close at night and gunned down scores a man.
And those blue eyes that are watching me in the flickering candlelight are the eyes that gaze right down to death and rob men's sleep at night.
But this man they call the devil, he's my husband and my friend And I would lie by will on earth, though he'd kill a thousand men Well, he came to see me more and more, together we would ride Across the hills and through tanglewoods and the endless countryside
Sometimes we race until all I knew were proud he was and went And he made him smile to see me ride my horse just like a rat So the home we made together was wherever we could ride And
beds, floors and hard, cold, rough, wherever we could hide And I come to know my lover, he was the leader of Montsmen His commands are large and growing, and they all looked up to him guitar solo
And he looked so calm and peaceful there with all the hay he raised.
He wasn't hearing dying groans or hearing women cry.
He wasn't seeing bloody ground or the flames that lift the sky.
He'd sleep in peace and it was me Who'd wonder how and why Well he's gone off to Kentucky now And left me here alone But he said don't worry Kate You know I'll soon be coming home And it seems like only yesterday I heard Wilco and her cry As you sing out Katie oh
dear Katie Will you be my home dear God You sing out Katie oh dear Katie Will you ride my hauntless side The
End
there's no other subject which creates more confusion, distrust, and suspicion, and no other subject about which there is more misinformation circulating.
That's the subject of spies and infiltrators into white nationalist activity groups, internet boards, etc.
Entirely too many of us have a very greatly exaggerated idea of how much this goes on and just what's real and what isn't.
I'm sure we're all familiar with white comrades on the internet and elsewhere who are paralyzed with fear and suspicion all the time and who think that there are FBI microphones hidden in the sugar bowl.
The threat is very real, and I don't deny that, but many of us are so raving paranoid on the subject that it's one of the biggest reasons why we're so completely ineffective.
It's very bad psychology attributing to the enemy this omnipotent all-seeing power, and I say that as someone who's periodically gone off on long rants on this program at the government agents whom I'm sure are listening.
A lot of what we think we know, what we do and say about alleged infiltrators and spies and police agents, is indeed nothing more than paranoia, or else it's just plain wrong.
Movement people have a lot of ideas about infiltrators that are, in reality, nothing more than old wives' tales.
For example, actual badge-carrying undercover agents among us are, in fact, pretty rare birds.
Informers these days are mostly either professional freelance snitches who literally make a living off it, moving from state to state and infiltrating everybody from the Klan and the skinheads to meth labs to hot car rings and biker gangs, or else there's someone in your group who has been flipped by the FBI or the police out of fear because they've found some way to threaten him or his family.
The only badge-carrying agent I ever personally encountered in all my time in the movement was the infamous Bernard Butkovich, and he wasn't really that good.
Now, I know this sounds like 2020 hindsight and like I'm trying to put a good spin on things, but yes, in actual fact, we really did spot Butkovich after a very short time.
It was the way he was acting.
Of course, it was kind of a dead giveaway when he showed up at my office one day and asked for a copy of the mailing list.
We were, in fact, going to do something about it when, to our surprise, he showed up at the October 29, 1979 press conference in Winston-Salem.
I'd already told him to stay away.
When I saw him in the back, I pulled aside Wayne Wood and Milano Collins and said, okay, once the media people leave, we need to have a quiet word of prayer with that boy.
But he slunk out when they did, and we never saw him again.
Five days later, Greensboro happened, and then we knew for sure.
I've already said that most of us are paranoid to the point of irrationality about FBI and other infiltrators.
Yet, on the other hand, these people most certainly do exist, as anyone who's been around long enough can attest, or else the occasional headlines remind us.
The latest version of this, of course, is Cass Sunstein's cognitive dissonance operatives who disrupt internet boards like Stormfront and VNN and who swarm around the comment sections of certain blogs.
I have to bat away a few of these blowflies every week from ours.
We need to understand the practicalities of this whole undercover agent phenomenon so that we can learn to deal with this kind of enemy activity realistically and stop this constant parade of our people into prison.
So many of us have done so many years inside that could have been avoided if we'd just exercised a few simple, common-sense precautions.
One of the reasons that they victimize us so often, like they do, is precisely because we make it so easy for them.
And for all our paranoia, the first time that we're confronted with a genuine infiltrator, most of us miss it.
We walk right into whatever trap they're laying, and we have no idea at all what to do.
Right.
Infiltrators into the ranks of white nationalism come basically from three sources.
The police, and that includes federal agencies like the FBI and the BATFE.
Secondly, the private monitoring groups, as they like to call themselves, like the ADL and the SPLC.
And third, very occasionally you will get a brief infiltration into a group or specific event by an undercover reporter for the media.
Someone preparing or researching for a big expose on what wicked horrible people we are and who's looking for some way to portray us as being crazy or homicidal maniacs or whatever.
This also includes movie producers.
One of the nastiest infiltrations I ever heard of was some Jew woman producer who put on a blonde wig and ended up spending nearly a week in the old Aryan Nations compound at Hayden Lake while she did research on us for the anti-racist movie Evil in Clear River.
The actual police agents are, of course, the most dangerous because they're looking to fabricate evidence on which to base a criminal prosecution and they're trying to entice or trick us into committing crimes so that they can arrest us and send us to prison and get a commendation in their files and a big gold star on their forehead from Obama or Janet Napolitano.
However, this also means that actual police or federal agents are the easiest to spot because they're trying to build a court case for the future.
And in order to do that, they have to act in certain ways.
Because if they don't do so, then they potentially blow the conspiracy case in court, and they also blow the budget expended and all the accommodations that the boys and girls expect to get in their personnel files.
Now, police agents themselves are divided into several subcategories, i.e.
local cops and feds.
Most infiltrators from local police agencies are looking for specific people that they want on specific prior charges.
Or else evidence of specific alleged crimes that the cops may or may not actually believe you're involved in.
Usually, the locals won't send in an undercover unless you've actually been doing something stupid with guns or drugs or money, or unless they genuinely think you've been doing something.
This is because in most cases, unlike federal spooks, local police and district attorneys have more than enough real crime to deal with, and they don't need or want to go manufacturing work for themselves.
One exception to that is when you've been engaging in some kind of constitutionally protected activity which is viewed as bad for business.
Demonstrating or otherwise making noise and getting your name on the 6 o 'clock news is a wicked and evil racist, frightening the tourists.
Or you've otherwise managed to piss off the local chamber of commerce or some other rich people.
In most cities and towns too small to have a really big Jewish or minority population, the chamber of commerce and a small clique of rich men and sometimes rich women actually run the town or county.
Local cops usually pretty much do what the local rich people tell them to do.
So the chamber of commerce or the city council or whoever may order them to get rid of you.
But usually when that's the case, you'll know because they'll try open threats and harassment first.
Petty busts, beatings, that kind of thing.
In real life, undercover operations are expensive and time-consuming, and most local police departments don't have the budget for it.
Ah yes, budget.
That's a word you need to bear in mind about police spies, either local or federal.
Now in real life, as opposed to television and the movies, Every law enforcement agency, state, local, or federal, is riddled with accountants, auditors, bookkeepers, and bean counters.
Every police department or federal agency has a budget for the fiscal year, and undercover operations fall within that budget and are poured over with a fine-tooth comb by the aforementioned auditors and bean counters.
A police undercover operative is working on a timetable related to a budget.
He's been given X number of days, weeks or months by his handlers to come up with a prosecutable case that can be taken to court, either because you're really doing something stupid, or if not, then he needs to fabricate something.
He's allowed to spend so much money, and if he wants to spend more, it calls for all kinds of conferences and special approval.
If he breaks his budget and he still has no results, they pull the plug.
And instead of a commendation in his file, the undercover gets a reprimand for failing to get results.
This is why so many police undercovers seem, in retrospect, to be so rushed.
Remember, they're on a schedule and they're on a budget.
They very seldom can take the time to build up their cover and build up trust properly.
Now, there are some exceptions to this.
There's the famous Donnie Brasco case.
Where FBI agent Joe Pistone infiltrated the Bonanno and Colombo-Cosinostra families in New York and Florida for over six years.
But that was rare.
In fact, I don't know of any other American undercover infiltration, either of us or of criminal groups, that's lasted anywhere near that law.
Unless you believe the James Finchley story, which I don't.
But the Donnie Brasco incident took place back in the 1970s, and these days I can't see today's FBI having the patience to conduct an undercover operation that long.
The whole American system now thinks 10 minutes ahead on a good day, and that includes the organs, as Solzhenitsyn referred to the secret police.
Judging from recent examples that they pulled against Muslims and against hapless people like those Huttery militia, who still haven't come to trial, by the way, It would seem that most federal undercover infiltrations these days are pretty hurried affairs, short-term efforts for short-term gain, so that the SAIC can get his picture on CNN.
Not like the old days when real pros were around.
Very few American police or FBI infiltrators, for example, have the incredible patience and stamina of Roman Mercader, the communist agent that Stalin sent to assassinate his arch-rival Leon Trotsky back in the 1940s.
Stalin had tried everything, including a full-blown attack on Trotsky's compound by over 20 men with automatic weapons and grenades, but they all missed.
The old kike seemed to have nine lives.
Mercader took almost two years, slowly worming his way into Trotsky's headquarters and exile in Mexico, including befriending Trotsky's son and seducing one of Trotsky's secretaries, this horrible, dumpy-looking New York Jewess named Sylvia Agilov.
I've seen a picture of her, and that was definitely going above and beyond the call.
Two years for Trotsky to lower his guard enough, finally, to allow Mercado to be alone with him in his office just once.
And when he did, Mercado drove an ice pick into his brain.
Now that's undercover artistry for you.
Sorry, I'm babbling again.
Where was I?
Oh yes, police infiltrators.
Okay, how do they get inside?
Usually, like vampires, they have to be invited.
The way they commonly angle an invitation is the Bureau watches and digs into your friends and associates, and they find somebody they can get a handle on, usually through a parole violation or some kind of petty beef they can use as leverage.
Sometimes a single mother or a family with a child custody situation so that the feds can threaten to take their children away from them.
I've heard of that happening more than once.
Sometimes the hole the feds get over someone may be indirect.
The guy himself could be straight, but he's got a son or a daughter or a brother with drug or legal problems.
And the secret police will use that for leverage.
Then they threaten or bribe your associate into introducing the undercover into the group and vouching for him.
This is my friend Joe.
He's a good old boy like us.
You can trust him.
Blah, blah, blah.
That's how the ATF got that long-term undercover whose name escapes me into the Hell's Angels.
This is one of the reasons that I so emphasize that when I do a one-on-one with some internet contact, we meet in a public place and he or she is to show up alone.
There is nothing that should set off our alarm bells ringing faster than the unexpected appearance of two people when there should be only one.
One thing that any white nationalist should make a habit of, at least insofar as is possible, whether in person or on the internet, always know who you are talking to.
This is one of the worst aspects of the internet.
You never really know who's on the other end of that email address or that chatroom handle, as sexual predators who walk into that ambush TV show find out.
And just remember, Matt Hale is now doing 40 years in federal prison under the Patriot Act, not for any conspiracy to kill somebody or blow things up, but because he typed a single sentence into an AOL chatroom.
So all of this does apply to the internet as well as to personal contacts.
First step, you need to learn how to use people tracking internet search engines and other simple public records and databases whenever you have a new contact who seems to want to get close.
Check them out.
If you can access the NCIC, that's great, and there are legal ways for civilians to do that.
Find out who your contacts are and where they've been.
One of the things you're looking for is inconsistencies, lies, and deception in their story.
If someone's public record doesn't match what they themselves have told you about their past, then you've got a problem.
Most likely not Agent O'Malley from the FBI, just somebody's trying to get close to you who isn't who he says he is.
So something is wrong there.
You would be amazed at what a few basic background checks using publicly available resources can find out about someone.
I won't get into the various tricks that the NF uses to vet new contacts, and they're certainly not comprehensive or foolproof.
But already we've caught some people trying to snuggle up to us who shouldn't be anywhere near a revolutionary group, and we did it before they got close enough to do any damage.
That's another reason why our group up here is so small.
We don't let any Tom, Dick, and Harry with a pale skin just walk in the door and join, and neither should you.
Second music break.
Believe it or not, my Northwest novels have developed a small group of actual fans, especially after the Brigade, and I've never been quite sure how to handle them.
There are not many fans compared to Miley Cyrus or Stephen King, obviously, but some.
It's kind of reverse paranoia.
I'm so used to Goat Dancers and Willard and the Gooboo crew as a whole abusing me and insulting me and making up lies about me on the internet that I have difficulty dealing with well-wishers.
I'm suspicious of them and I don't really believe them.
What's always been even more fascinating to me is that certain of my characters from the novels seem to get actual groupies, mostly middle-aged male groupies from my female characters, like the gentleman who said he was in love with Kiki McGee.
Plus, as I mentioned before, my most popular gorilla girl from the novel seems to be Rooney Wingfield from A Distant Thunder.
A while back, here on Radio Free Northwest, I mentioned that I occasionally used to produce mixtapes of songs I tended to play for certain characters while I was writing the books.
These songs are a kind of mood music, and no, I'm not going to devote a whole show to them or anything like that.
That's a little too narcissistic for my taste.
I've played a couple so far, like Rooney's theme music and Shane Ryan's theme music, so forth and so on.
Believe it or not, I actually had a couple of pieces of nigger music that I played while I was writing the books purely to get me into the mood to write about the mommy and the monkey and other negroid and degenerate topics, and I'm damn sure not playing that on here.
But one of our new comrades, a woman, just finished reading The Brigade, and she's just gushing with enthusiasm, and she heard on the old RFNs that some of my characters have musical themes.
And she emailed me and asked me if there was any theme music for Eric Sellers and Annette Ridgeway, a.k.a.
Comrades Tom and Becky.
Well, yes, actually there was.
And this lady has pressured me to play Tom and Becky's theme.
So here it is.
This is Barenaked Ladies.
Thank you.
Thank you.
The hours go shorter as the days go by We never get to stop and open our eyes One minute you're waiting for the sky to fall And next you're dazzled by the beauty of an eye These
fragile bodies of touch and taste.
This fragrant skin, this hair like lace.
Spirits open to Lovers in a dangerous time Lovers in a dangerous time The
Dangerous time Satsang with
Mooji Satsang with Mooji
I feel as if your love's a crime Nothing worth having comes without some kind of fight Got a kick in the darkness 'til it bleeds daylight Okay,
we're talking for the moment about actual police agents infiltrating your organization or group or cell or whatever.
Either actual badged cops or feds, or more likely a civilian snitch or agent provocateur who's actually attempting either to catch you doing something illegal, or if you're not doing anything illegal, then he or she will arrange it.
I say again, in order for these individuals to perform their function for the people who are paying them, they must act in certain ways.
It isn't just probing for information, although, of course, they'll try to pick up every tidbit of information they can, so they'll have something to report back to their handlers with, which will prove that they're doing something to earn their money.
By the way, just because somebody asks a lot of questions doesn't mean they're automatically a spy.
There's such a thing as natural human curiosity, and like I said a while back, Americans aren't very good yet at what Lenin referred to as the conspiratorial method.
We've never had to do anything like this before in our history, and so we've kind of got to learn as we go.
But the best way to handle this is simply to make clear to a new prospect at the beginning of his recruitment and initiation that, as a matter of protocol, don't be excessively curious about others in the group.
Don't try to find out where they work.
Don't try to find out about their homes or their cars or their guns, so forth and so on.
The new prospect needs to be made aware that it's nothing personal.
It's just a rule that has to be followed.
He needs to understand that there are certain rules to being involved with a group like ours, and one of those is that excessive curiosity looks funny, and it's in bad taste, if nothing else.
Here are some things that need to send up red flags when you observe this kind of behavior.
If you're in a group that has meetings, either in people's homes or more likely in rented motel banquet rooms or rented rooms at the public library, which are about the only places our kind of groups have to meet these days, your infiltrator will probably be a regular.
Remember, he has to report back to his handlers and show them that he's doing something to earn his pay, and he has to give them something which they, in turn, can report to their own superiors, and showing up at all the meetings looks good on his report.
One thing you'll notice is that when anybody new shows up at a meeting, this guy will always find some excuse to walk up and introduce himself, try to insinuate himself in the conversation, and try to find out who the new people are.
Again, so he can report back, kind of like a cat laying a mouse at the feet of its owner.
I'm not saying that this is necessarily suspicious behavior.
Like I said, normal people are curious and a lot of guys do get involved with groups like ours because they're looking for friends or social networking, but if you notice this kind of behavior as a regular pattern, you might want to pay attention.
If he's even halfway good at his job, he should be able to memorize makes and license numbers on the cars the new people are driving, but if you see somebody surreptitiously writing down license numbers or anything else on a pad or a piece of paper, that should be a tip-off.
If somebody seems...
Pushy in trying to get close to your group or cell leader or whoever's in charge, the prime shaker and mover, the organizer, whoever, your primary person or whatever nature that person might be.
And if someone always has to monopolize the time of the headman himself, well, that can be just ego and an extroverted personality, or it might mean something else.
If the infiltrator is from a law enforcement agency and he's in your group to cause arrests and prosecutions, the group leader or head person is probably the one he's been instructed specifically to target by whoever's running him.
And so he's always going to want to be as close personally and physically to the leader as he can get.
At some point, possibly even all the time, your infiltrator will be wearing a wire.
Although technology these days has advanced way beyond the old method of some guy having to shave his chest and tape a microphone and a recorder onto his body with surgical tape.
Today, a good quality cell phone has the capability to record both audio and visual events.
Conversations, so forth and so on, and all the guy has to do to report back to whoever sent him is to hit send.
Plus, there's all kinds of fiber optic devices and whatnot that are so small they can be placed in jewelry, made to look like buttons on a shirt or a jacket, you name it.
Now, often an infiltrator's home or car will be wired for sound, and sometimes for video as well, especially if he's working for the FBI or the Department of Homeland Security or someone like that who has all kinds of money and budget for expensive electronic toys.
Now, we don't know exactly what kind of monitoring or transmitting device Larry Fairfax was supposedly wearing when he was recording his conversations with Edgar Steele, but I suspect it was something a lot smaller and more high-tech than some mini-recorder taped to his body.
Also bear in mind that a lot of infiltrators are wired with actual transmitters, especially if the organs are about ready to pounce on somebody or if they believe their informant might be in danger if he's discovered.
So look for any strange vehicles or vans parked around your house or near a meeting site that might be a listening post.
I don't know if I should mention this, since I hold a lot of one-on-one meet-and-greets and hotel rooms myself, but the Fed's favorite bugging ground of all is a hotel or motel room that they can wire in advance and use an adjoining room as their listening post.
And maybe fill it up with a SWAT team as well.
If someone, for some reason, gives you a mysterious invitation to meet him in a hotel room, and you get the impression that he wants to talk about something serious or possibly illegal, then that should make your antennae twitch.
Now, one of the things that I tell people to watch out for is when you meet somebody from the internet for the first time, and he immediately starts babbling about illegal activity.
People like that are most likely not spies or infiltrators.
They're just kooks.
They're dangerous to be around and you need to break contact with them, but more because such people are likely to already be targets of an infiltrator or secret police sting operation, not because they may be informers themselves.
Real spies who are trying to entrap you into saying things that you shouldn't into a microphone are usually a little more subtle about it.
And they'll take some time to try and win your trust so you'll let your guard down.
The main thing you need to know about wires and electronic surveillance with an informant or infiltrator present is that his objective is not to sit there and rabbit on and on about illegal activity, but to get you to sit there and rabbit on and on about illegal activity, either in person or on the phone.
He wants to have his voice on the recording as little as possible and your voice as much as possible.
What he wants you to do is sit there and talk your way into a long prison sentence.
And since both he and his handlers know that when it gets to court, if you can get even a second-year law student for your public defender, he's going to claim entrapment.
The informer himself will always avoid making any overt commitment.
Or appearing to incite or plot with you to commit whatever the crime is.
Or at least the FBI will make sure that part of it never appears on the tapes.
Now, we get into the question at this point of what if the FBI, the DHS, whoever, simply fake the tapes as they seem to have done in the Edgar Steele case.
Well, let's be honest.
There's just not really...
Too much we can do about that except hope to God that somehow they'll screw up and you'll get a judge or a jury with a bit of common sense and they can tell that the tapes have been tampered with.
I'll never forget when Special Agent Richard Goldberg once told me, he said, Harold, we can get you anytime we want.
All we gotta do is get an anonymous call telling us that you've got something illegal in your apartment here, and we'll come and break in when you're not there, and we'll find whatever we're looking for, a case of hand grenades under your bed, you know, whatever it might be, and we'll drag you away to the federal holding facility in Columbia, and that night you'll get stabbed to death in the shower with a sharpened toothbrush.
Now, Goldberg was basically laying it out straight for me.
Let's be honest, guys.
If the government wants to get you, or me, or anybody, They're going to do it.
This, I think, is what happened with Edgar Steele.
Somebody in the corridors of power simply made the decision that they were going to get Edgar Steele, and they didn't particularly care how it was done.
We have to steel ourselves for this possibility and just simply accept it as a fact of life, just like skydivers accept the possibility of their chute failing to open, or race drivers accept the possibility of a crash.
We're playing a pretty extreme sport here, and there's going to be times when we come short, but we just can't let it stop us from functioning as revolutionaries.
A large part of the purpose of what the FBI and these agencies do is to try and make us afraid constantly, keep us looking over our shoulder.
And they want to literally intimidate us into giving up our constitutional rights, including our right to a racial existence.
And we just have to make the decision from the get-go, in our own minds and in our own hearts, that we're not going to let them buffalo us, and we're not going to be frightened off by the possibilities of what they could or might do to us.
Yeah, they could or they might do pretty much anything they want to do with us.
And there's nothing we can do about it.
Now that we've got that cleared up, let's just drive on.
One thing the informer and the provocateur will do, if he thinks he can get away with it without tipping you off, or if you're drunk so you won't notice, is to ask confirming questions, trying to get you to spell it all out, such as, well, what exactly are you going to do?
Or, are you sure about this?
That kind of thing.
It's very important that the jury of niggers and drooling morons hears your voice on the tape using words like shoot and bomb and kill and blow up things, not his.
Also, he will try to get as many other people in the group on tape as well, preferably all in one room and all drunk and babbling, so the government can make a conspiracy case out of it.
Now, for those of you who think, ah, this is just old Harold being pompous and rambling on like Grandpa Simpson and acting like he's the big expert on all this stuff and old Harold doesn't know what he's talking about.
Well, in point of fact, idiot child, yes, I do know what I'm talking about.
That little scenario I just described for you actually happened in 1981 in North Carolina.
It was known as the Asheville 6 case, when a man named Frank Braswell was recorded by two informers, one from the ATF and one from the North Carolina SBI, babbling on and on like a demented fool about planting bombs in shopping centers in Greensboro.
No bombs were ever planted anywhere.
No explosives were ever made.
It was all just Frank blathering on and on into the microphone.
And he took five other people with him, including his own wife and some very good friends of mine.
whose only crime was to be in the same room with a half-insane King Lear type who simply would not shut up, while a funny little man with a funny little tape recorder under his shirt sat over in a corner.
Now that same informer came around to my office first, and he tried to get me talking about some stuff, pretending he'd been some kind of mercenary.
I spotted him as a phony in about twenty minutes, and I told him to hit the road.
So then he went up to Mitchell County and battened onto Frank like a leech, and Frank fell for it, hook, line, and sinker.
Now I told Frank flat out, this guy is a spy of some kind.
Stay the hell away from him.
And I was ignored.
And five men and one woman paid with about seven or eight years of their lives apiece for ignoring me.
Now let's hope some of you people listening to me now don't ignore me and pay the same price, eh?
Third music break.
How often does modern country music these days produce a good old-fashioned folk song about lynching Mexicans?
This is Tom Russell.
*Music*
Two men rode in from the south, one rainy autumn night, the sky above and the mud below.
They walked into the Deacon's Bar, they was Mexican by sight, the sky above and the mud below.
They threw a horsehair bridle down.
We trade this for whiskey rounds.
The deacon slams a bottle down.
The two men start drinking.
Their hair was long and black, tied up behind.
There is the sky above and the mud below.
Their faces were identical like a man beside a mirror, the sky above, and the mud below.
Someone whispered, that beats all, they're wanted posters on the wall, twin brothers, name a Sandoval, horse thieves from Boquius.
Now the bridle and the belts they wore were braided gray and black the sky above and the mud below.
The color of our own horse once belonged to Deacon, black the sky above and the mud below.
Fastest horse for miles around He'd been stolen from the old fairgrounds A month ago outside of town They tracked but never found him Now the deacon was a preacher Who had fallen hard From grace the sky above And the mud below He owned the bar and a string of quarter horses that he'd race the sky above and
the mud below.
Deacon, he could drink and curse, though he still quoted sacred verse.
He was Sheriff Judge, he owned the hearse, a man you did not anger.
The sky above, the mud below, the wind and rain, the sleet and snow.
Two horse thieves from Mexico, drinking hard and singing.
One brother, he spoke English, Deak inquires as to their work, the sky above and the mud below.
The man says, mister, we braid horsehair, bridles, ropes, and quirts the sky above and the mud below.
This fine bridle I did make, a roan horse killed by a lake bone break.
He's horsehair rope, now horse meat steak.
We cleaned him to the bone.
Now these brothers, they were ignorant or didn't know just where they were.
The sky above and the mud below.
The deacon's face grew darker as he measured every word.
The sky above and the mud below.
You horsehair-braiding sons of bitches stole my claimed earthly riches.
Someone go and dig a ditch.
We'll be a-hanging.
One brother reached inside his shirt, a-searching for his gun, the sky above and the mud below.
Too late for Dickhead whipped around, a sawed-off Remington, the sky above.
The twins, they raised their hands and sneered.
Deke was grinning ear to ear.
He says, court's in session to hear you hear.
Yours truly is presiding.
The trial commenced and ended quick.
They didn't have a hope.
The sky above and the mud below.
Deke says we'll cut your hair now, boys, and you can braid yourselves.
The rope the sky above and the mud below.
The Old Testament, it says somewhere, eye for eye and hair for hair.
Covet not thy neighbor's mare.
I believe it's revelation.
Now the fancy horsehair bride.
It hangs on Deacon's wall, the sky above, and the mud below.
Next to the wanted poster of the Brothers Sandoval, the sky above, and the mud below.
And the twisted rope so shiny black, the artifact that broke their necks, the craftsmanship he did respect, they should have stuck to Braden.
The sky above, the mud below, the wind and rain, the sleet and snow The deacon's hearse are rolling slow In the first blue light of morning Amen.
A few other things you guys need to be on the lookout for.
In addition to getting targeted individuals to talk indiscreetly into a recording device, another favorite ploy of police and federal infiltrators and informers is to arrange for people to be caught with compromising material or objects in their possession, including some things that are neither compromising nor illegal in themselves, but which might constitute evidence in a fabricated court case.
Never ever allow someone you don't really know to persuade you to hold or store anything for them, especially odd or ambiguous items like household chemicals or substances of any kind.
Tell them to rent a storage space under their own names.
Virtually every kind of household detergent or painting or automotive supplies from simple ammonia to fertilizer can be converted into explosives by somebody who knows what they're doing For example, liquid soap and gasoline in the right proportions mix up into a mighty fine homemade napalm for Molotov cocktails,
and if the secret police kick in your door in the dawn with a search warrant and find a couple of drums of industrial-strength liquid soap of the kind used in garages and factories that some so-called comrade persuaded you to keep in your garage, they'll arrest you and charge you with possession of quote-unquote bomb-making materials.
They've already done that to a few of these wretched Apu from the Quickie Mart types that they've framed as Al-Qaeda members or something of the kind.
Another case I heard of involved four guys in a car, one of whom was an informant and agent provocateur.
The informer persuaded the driver of the car to make an unscheduled stop at a place he claimed was his house and allow him to pick up a couple of suitcases and put them in the trunk of the car.
A few blocks later, all of a sudden, there's a 50-man FBI and SWAT team pulling this car over and yelling and screaming and waving their full autos in the air like they're Rambo.
They open the trunk and guess what?
The informant was whisked away by the FBI, nobody ever saw him again, and the poor bastard driving a car and his friends had 20 long years to try to persuade anybody that he even existed at all.
I won't say that the judge and the prosecutor didn't believe him because, frankly, I believe they knew the whole story.
These are the people who rule us, my friends.
They're evil.
In addition to those old favorites, illegal automatic weapons or sawed-off shotguns and quote-unquote bomb-making materials, another thing the secret police like to plant on us wicked extremists is counterfeit money.
If memory serves, that's how they got Pastor James Wickstrom.
That was many years ago, and I don't remember all the details, but Pastor Wickstrom somehow found himself sitting in a wired and videoed hotel room along with a shady character in a suitcase full of counterfeit money.
The shady character stepped out to get some candy from the vending machine or something of the kind.
The Secret Service kicks in the door and arrests Wickstrom, but somehow they just can't seem to find the shady character anywhere.
I actually think somebody might have been trying to set me up on something like that back in 1998, but I won't tell that story because I didn't go for it, and so I never found out for sure what was going on.
The guy may have been just a nut for all I know.
That's part of the trouble with being involved in the movement.
Once you get in, you notice strange things happening, but you can never quite be sure whether it's some kind of covert enemy activity or just our usual gubu character issues.
Another mark of an agent or provocateur is that he or she is always promising to get you things, usually illegal things like automatic weapons or explosives, but sometimes it might be something perfectly legal that you need badly, like computers or office equipment, or more and more these days, stuff like software.
I know we can very seldom afford to look a gift horse in the mouth, but we need to.
Anytime anyone comes up with a nice gift of some kind for your white nationalist group or party cell or whatever, make sure you thank them, but also make sure you know where the stuff came from so you don't get arrested for receiving stolen goods.
And never mind possible agent provocateurs, that's always a good idea on general principles.
We have some overly enthusiastic comrades who tend to, how shall I put it, Liberate stuff from their workplaces and elsewhere to help the movement.
Now, if it's just pens or paperclips, that's one thing.
But anything bigger or more expensive than that needs some kind of reliable providence.
I once had a whole office fitted out with stolen furniture.
Chairs, desks, filing cabinet lamps, you name it, and I didn't find out about it until later.
You don't want some dumbass colleague fitting you up for a criminal conspiracy rap any more than you want a police spy doing it.
Another sign to look out for.
An infiltrator will talk really big about money.
Oh yeah, he can put your unit onto a small fortune and he may even kick in the odd hundred dollar bill to give you a taste and maintain his credibility.
But when it comes right down to it, you'll find that either he's trying to get you involved in some kind of something-for-nothing pyramid scheme, Buying and selling gold doubloons or something of the kind, or else these big donors he claims to know just somehow never seem to come up with any actual cash.
Now, the reason for this is simple, if you think about it.
Remember, an actual law enforcement officer or a snitch working for law enforcement is looking for arrests and convictions in a courtroom, and it looks very bad, especially to a jury full of liberals and niggers, when it comes out in the testimony that taxpayer money was funding a white racist group to the tune of...
10 or 20 grand or more.
That very thing happened in Canada when it turned out that a CSIS agent named Grant Bristow was virtually funding the entire heritage front with government funds for a period of years.
Now, one other thing, and I've been really debating on whether to mention this at all because it's a very strange and dodgy angle, but I'm trying to impart knowledge and experience here and quite possibly save some lives, so I think I'm duty-bound to talk about this.
Female agents.
If they are actual cops, there is always a dead giveaway, and that is that they either appear in the group with a ready-made boyfriend who will also be a cop or snitch of some kind, or else they find some way to avoid dating, socializing, and especially sleeping with the men in the group.
This is hard to do, since, as I've mentioned before, single and accessible, racially aware white females of childbearing age are as rare as hen's teeth.
And anyone like that who comes into a movement group of any kind is going to have all the single men, of whom there are always too many, lining up for a shot at her.
And by the way, there's nothing wrong with that.
Most of our guys want very badly to try and enter into a good relationship and start a family with a racially conscious white woman.
We just can't find any.
And yet, despite what you see in stupid TV shows and movies like Betrayed, A female cop or fed can't take that aspect of things too far, because remember, she's trying to build a case for court, and no U.S. attorney in his right mind is going to put her up on a witness stand and have her try to swear away the life of a man she's been sleeping with and deceiving for a year.
That really does not impress a jury, even a jury of the kind we're likely to get.
It's almost as bad when the woman in question isn't an actual badge-carrying cop but only a civilian snitch.
If the defense can prove that she was taking money to spy on people from the very beginning, that still just doesn't sit right with even the most morally denatured Americans of any race.
I suspect that's because, given the dysfunctional way in which all Americans live these days, just about everybody has some kind of experience of sexual betrayal.
And my experience has been that when something like that's the case, the U.S. attorney will move heaven and earth to keep her off the stand.
Good case in point was the wretched Carol Howe back in the Oklahoma City bombing days.
Now, like everything else, there are exceptions.
I know of two occasions, and possibly three, where single female cops or law enforcement operatives tried to work one of our groups.
And in both cases, while they'd flirt and tease for information and to get closer to the person they were targeting, their reluctance to get physical when it got down to the nitty-gritty was noticed, and it tipped off the people involved.
Remember, this is a matter of your safety and possibly your life.
My careful and qualified recommendation, sexist as this may sound, is that if you have a single female under 45 or so in your group who either isn't attached or who has a vague and uncheckable boyfriend or significant other in the background that no one's ever seen as her excuse not to get too comradely with a comrade, so to speak, you need to take a good close look at her, especially if her behavior in other matters is a bit too inquisitive.
Remember, in order to frame people for crimes they didn't commit, one way or another, an infiltrator has to be there, hands-on.
And if a relatively new female associate avoids getting hands-on in that particular sense of the term without a very good and verifiable reason, that's a red flag.
Don't ignore it.
Finally, once again, I need to say something I've said before, often.
We cannot become so paranoid that we can't function.
If we do, then there's no real need for the regime to frame us for crimes we didn't commit.
We're doing Obama's work for him by taking our own selves out of the game.
There is a balance to be struck here.
Remember the difference between security consciousness and paranoia.
Security consciousness helps you carry out your racial mission.
Paranoia prevents you from doing so.
Well, our time's up, and so that's it for this week's edition of Radio Free Northwest.
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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