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Dec. 23, 2010 - Radio Free Nortwest - H.A. Covington
01:06:27
20101223_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, rightful known to you and me.
One word more for signal, token whistle, up an arching tune, for your pike upon your shoulder by the rising of the moon.
By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon, with your pike upon your shoulder by the rising of the moon.
Out from many a mud-walled cabin eyes were watching through the night, many a manly chest was throbbing for the blessed warning light.
passed along the valleys like the man she's lonely crew, and a thousand plays were flashing at the rising of the moon.
Greetings from the Northwest Homeland, comrades.
It's December the 23rd, 2010.
I'm Harold Covington, and this is Radio Free Northwest.
The rising of the moon, there beside the singing river, that dark mass of men were seen.
Far above their shining weapons, hung their own beloved green.
Dead to every foe, and straighter forward, strike the marching tune.
And hurrah, my voice for freedom, is the rising of the moon.
As always, we begin with Edgar Steel News.
I mentioned last week that there was a rumor going around that the second assassin, the man who took the road trip from Idaho to Oregon with Larry Fairfax to make sure the bomb was still on Cindy Steel's car, has been identified.
I said last week that I wanted to hold off on making any comment until I can get this name confirmed.
I'm sorry to say that I still haven't been able to get this name verified to my satisfaction, and so I'm still not going to comment on it.
Yeah, I know, this may sound ridiculous when the name is now all over the alternative internet and various blogs, but I'm sorry, I'm going to err on the side of caution here, and I'm not going to say anything until I see that name in a so-called reputable source like CNN or whatever.
This may take a while, because so far the only news organ that's covering the Edgar Steele story at all seems to be the local newspaper in Idaho, the Bonner County Bee.
People may ask why I'm twitchy about saying something that everyone else in the alternate white internet is already saying.
Well, there's several reasons.
First off, let's be flat out honest here.
Quote, unquote, our alternative media has a tendency to...
How can I put this kindly?
Some of them tend to tell it like it should be, rather than necessarily tell it like it is.
Every now and then, sure, the alternative media gets a real live scoop.
Remember, it was Matt Drudge and the National Enquirer who first blew the whistle on Billy Boy and Monica Lewinsky back in the 90s.
I very much hope that we do have a real live scoop in this case, because if this tentative identification of this person who is allegedly involved in the murder plot is correct, it's a game changer.
Also, if it's true, I don't think the system will be able to protect this man from exposure by anything short of dropping all the charges against both Edgar Steele and Mary Fairfax in exchange for their silence, and I rather doubt that's going to happen.
But precisely because this name would be so recognizable and would initiate a major media feeding frenzy, I'd like to wait until that happens.
I want to see if this man's name leaks out into the establishment news media, in which case we'll definitely see some coverage of the Edgar Steele case from someone besides the Bonner Daily Bee.
Now those who want to know who I'm talking about, Google around and I'm sure you'll eventually find one of the alternative sites that's naming this man.
We tend to have some incorrect notions about the news media.
They know that their credibility is really all they have to do their mischief with, and they understand what it takes to protect their credibility.
And one of those things is that they never, or almost never, just plain outright lie, as in stating something that isn't true.
They will distort the facts.
They will quote selectively.
They'll publish the worst photos they can find of people that they don't like.
They'll so arrange the wording of their articles and their reporting so that they imply things that are not true, and above all, they will lie by omission, by simply not reporting things that they should report.
But they will almost never flat-out lie, because in this day and age of information technology and the Internet, it's simply too easy to catch them out if they lie.
I think this is one of the reasons why the establishment is so dead-set on finding some way to control the Internet.
In fact, the FCC is taking another run at that this week.
Now, if this tyranny in this country is to survive, then they have to find some way to control the flow of information and make sure that everything comes from the top down and not from all over.
Anyway, I'm waiting until I see this guy's name in one of the system media, and if that makes me last off the mark, then so be it.
I have a feeling that if it is true, once this name does get out, then the dam on this whole Edgar Steele fiasco will be broken.
Speaking of media, I mentioned that about the only media organ covering the Steele case at all is the Bonner Daily Bee.
This is a letter that Edgar Steele's wife, Cindy, wrote to that newspaper on December the 17th.
To the editor of the Bonner County Daily Bee, I am Cindy Steele, the wife of Edgar Steele, and I'm responding to and commenting on the December 17th, 2010 article which mentions that the sentencing hearing for Mr. Fairfax has been moved to February 2011.
This article does not mention that my mother and I, the supposed victims, believe in my husband's innocence, which is highly unusual in that the supposed victims are on the side of the accused.
The article mentions that Fairfax came forward to authorities, but says nothing about the fact that he lied to the FBI by promising that he would disclose all of his criminal activities, and then kept secret the most important part, that there was a bomb on my car that if exploded could have hurt a lot of people.
The article does not mention the fact that I believe Larry Fairfax is not a hitman because I know that my husband did not mastermind the killing of any person.
Let me be absolutely clear.
My husband, Edgar Steele, is innocent and did not hire Larry Fairfax or anyone to kill me or anybody else.
As anyone who is acquainted with Larry Fairfax knows from his business dealings for the past 20 years in our community, he is a thief and a liar.
Now he's an attempted murderer.
As he tried to murder me and my mom by placing a bomb on my car and let me drive a thousand plus miles for almost three weeks without saying anything to the authorities before I discovered it.
The article did not mention the fact that in May and early June 2010, my husband and I began discovering the theft of our property by Fairfax, who worked for us as a handyman.
The article also failed to mention the fact that Fairfax began framing my husband and attempted to murder me to cover up his own criminal activities.
Instead of coming forth with information that there was a bomb on my car on June the 8th, neither Fairfax nor his accomplices, nor Judge James Michaud, his attorney, came forward to make disclosure of the bomb, even though they had pledged to disclose all criminal activity to the authorities.
In fact, the FBI has done nothing to protect me from Fairfax and his accomplices, but ironically, the government has carefully protected Fairfax, whose lies are now protecting the government from its own misconduct.
The government made sure that Fairfax did not have to face a grand jury simply by filing charges against him that didn't deal with his crimes of violence against me.
The government has now given Fairfax a soft plea deal that will ensure that he will not spend more than a year in prison, while they've charged my husband with other offenses that could mean a sentence of upwards of 70 years.
The record shows that the FBI even attempted to tamper with my testimony by trying to make me believe false information about my husband.
There is strong evidence that the FBI knew a bomb was involved at least five days before I and an oil change mechanic discovered it attached to the undercarriage of my car on June the 15th.
It appears that the FBI deliberately didn't investigate the existence of a bomb because apparently they wanted the bomb to stay on my car for reasons yet to be explained.
On that same day, my son and I went to court to support my husband and we were told that the government would not offer us any protection.
And that was just after I discovered the bomb and I was so scared I was shaking.
If Larry Fairfax truly had turned away from his criminal enterprise and was honestly cooperating with authority on June 8th, then he would have told the FBI about the lethal bomb he attached to my car, which would have saved me and lots of people in Oregon, Washington, and Idaho from the risk of an explosion.
Since the government has made this case very complicated, there's too much to write about here, but if you visit www.freeedgarsteel.com, you will learn some of the details about how Larry Fairfax and his accomplices...
who are the criminals in this case, are being allowed to get away with their crimes while my husband, Edgar Steele, who is innocent, is being punished even before he goes to trial by being kept in solitary confinement since June the 11th.
It is as if the government has completely forgotten about the presumption of innocence.
Let's see if you truly believe in freedom of speech by publishing this response to your article, which obviously was written as a press release by the government.
Signed, Cindy Steele.
I think that pretty much speaks for itself.
Since we're coming up to Christmas, it's time for our one Christmas story for this week's podcast.
World War I was one of the most horrific experiences that Western man and Western civilization has ever undergone.
In many respects, it was worse, I think, than World War II because it came at the end of almost a century of virtually unbroken peace and prosperity and economic and cultural growth in Europe.
Sure, there were a few hiccups, like the Franco-Prussian War I mentioned last week, but basically for almost a hundred years, everything was on an even keel, and the white man was free to be all that he can be, especially in such places as Germany, Great Britain and her colonies, and here in America.
One of the saddest stories in history, I believe, is the story of the Christmas Truce of 1914, five months into the war, when men on both sides of the trenches stopped fighting and held spontaneous Christmas celebrations instead.
No official ceasefire was declared, but more than 100,000 British, French, and German troops participated along the length of the Western Front.
The truce began with Christmas carols.
The German troops had put candlelit Christmas trees on the trench parapets in many places along the front, and at 11 o 'clock, which was midnight in Berlin, many of them began to sing Stille Nacht, Silent Night.
The British soldiers listened and then responded with carols of their own.
Then the soldiers started shouting Christmas greetings to each other across the barbed wire, and from there it went on to general comments and conversations, which was possible because in some cases those damn trenches were so close that it was actually possible to communicate over the distance.
Gradually, men on both sides of the trenches put down their weapons and started spontaneous Christmas celebrations.
Their officers ordered the men to keep shooting, but the truce spread all up and down the front lines.
Men climbed out of the trenches to shake hands in no man's land.
They shared food packages from home, traded gifts and souvenirs such as buttons and hats, and they ate and they drank together.
On Christmas morning, soldiers again sang Christmas carols, and signboards dotted the trenches.
Since more German soldiers spoke English than English soldiers spoke German, the signboards were written mostly in English.
Sometimes the English was simple, like, You no fight, we no fight.
Men exchanged cigarettes, chocolates, cakes, sausages.
And the Germans in one sector even rolled out a barrel of beer into the middle of no man's land to share with the French and the British.
The soldiers played football and enjoyed the freedom to move around without danger.
The truce also allowed burial parties to safely retrieve recently fallen soldiers and bring them back behind their lines.
Both sides hilt joint services for their fallen comrades.
In many sectors, the Christmas 1914 truce lasted through Christmas night, and in others it lasted until New Year's Day.
Thank you.
huge artillery bombardments all along the Western Front, beginning on Christmas Eve and lasting through Christmas Day.
This episode has always haunted me because it was probably the last time in history that Germans and Englishmen met as equals and as friends.
From then on, the curtain of Jewish propaganda descended, and the poison of it still Hangs in the air between Germany and the rest of the world like a gas attack in the trenches.
Anyway, in memory of that night and day, 96 years ago, when our two peoples last exchanged the hand of friendship without a wall of filthy Jewish lies to climb over, this is Arnie Dormsgard.
Oh Tannenbaum, oh Tannenbaum, Wie treu sind deine Blätter.
Oh, Tannenbaum, oh, Tannenbaum, wie treu sind deine Blätter.
Du grinst nicht nur zur Sommerzeit, Oh, Tannenbaum!
O Tannenbaum, wie treu sind deine Blätter.
O Tannenbaum, wie treu sind deine Blätter.
O Mächtlein, wie falsch ist dein Gemüde.
Oh, Mekdlein, oh, Mekdlein, oh, Mekdlein, wie falsch ist dein Gemüte?
You said me, "Try in my happiness, now I am, you go back home." Mektelein, oh Mektelein, wie falsch ist dein Gemüte?
O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum, wie treu sind deine Blätter.
Musik Damn, that was depressing.
I tell you what, since Christmas shouldn't be a depressing time of year, let's go from the sublime to the ridiculous.
Here's another one.
This is the Royal Guardsman.
The news had come out in the First World War.
The bloody Red Baron was flying once more.
The Allied Command ignored all of its men and called on Snoopy to do it again.
Was the night before Christmas, forty below, when Snoopy went up in search of his foe.
He spied the Red Baron.
Fiercely they fought with ice on his wings.
Snoopy knew it was tough.
Christmas bells, those Christmas bells rang up from the land asking peace of all the world and the thrill to match.
The Baroness.
He reached for the trigger to pull it up tight.
Why he didn't shoot well, we'll never know.
Or was it the bells from the village below?
Christmas bells, those Christmas bells Ringing through the land Bringing peace to all the world And goodwill to land The baron made Snoopy fly to the Rhine And forced him to land behind the enemy lines Snoopy was certain
that this was the end When the baron cried Merry Christmas, my friend.
The Baron then offered a holiday toast And Snoopy, our hero, saluted his host And then with a
roar, they were both on their way Each knowing they'd meet on some other day Christmas bells, those Christmas bells Ringing through the land Bringing peace to all the world And goodwill to man Christmas
bells, those Christmas bells Ringing through the land Bringing peace to all the land And goodwill to man Christmas bells, those Christmas bells Thank you.
Here's an email I got this week.
Dear HAC, you've mentioned Pastor Bob Miles on your radio shows and books a few times.
I know he was involved in the Klan, but information on him and anything he wrote is hard to find.
Can you tell us a little more about him and the importance he has in the white nationalist movement?
Thank you, Lewis from New York.
Sure, Lewis.
Pastor Bob Miles was a Christian identity minister of what they call the dual seed line variety from Howell, Michigan.
He was active for most of his life in various racial causes.
He got his 15 minutes, so to speak, back in 1971, when he was the grand dragon of one of the Klan groups.
Possibly the U.K.A., although I have to admit I can't recall, since that was before my time.
He led the campaign against court-ordered forced busing in Michigan, which pretty much started Detroit on its final decline in the third world status.
And Bob was charged with conspiracy to blow up school buses.
If memory serves, this was one of the few times when anything actually did go boom, so this differs from the usual FBI frame-up, in that a few buses actually were torched by somebody.
Bob served about six years in the federal penitentiary at Marion, Illinois, which at that time was the ultimate in federal supermax.
Even in those days, anyone who resisted was treated as a worse felon than a bank robber or murderer.
I never asked Bob if he was actually guilty, although he did tell me once.
He said, if you're ever going to take the pledge, which is a slang term we had back in those days for direct action.
Anyway, Bob said, if you're ever going to take the pledge, Harold, don't limit yourself to symbolic targets.
Americans don't do symbolism.
As most of you know from reading my novels, I take that advice to heart.
And by the time Bob got out of prison, I had come back from Rhodesia, and I was down in North Carolina working with the NSPA.
We first met by correspondence, and our friendship developed from there.
Bob was one of these leaders who believed in a broad tent, but he also understood that our primary obstacle is our own character, the piss-poor quality thereof.
He understood that, given the kind of human material our movement has to work with, Any actual organizational unity between all the tiny little grouplets is probably impossible due to the immense egos that we're dealing with.
You know, I complain a lot about the internet, but the internet basically just accentuates the same personnel problems and the character issues that we've always had.
Bob Miles' motto was, March separately, but strike together.
And that was basically the essential message that he taught and advocated for the rest of his career.
When Bob got out of prison, he didn't go back to the Klan.
He formed a front group that he called the Mountain Church that was based out of his farm in Michigan, and he did pretty much what the Aryan Nations and Glenn Miller did later on.
He had rallies on his farm, to which everyone was invited, and that included National Socialists.
Which was rare in those days, since we had even more paleocon types in the movement back then who remembered the war and who couldn't get over the swastika.
I'm sure I have a few old-timers listening to these podcasts who remember those days and those meetings out at Bob Miles' place, the cross-lightings and the speeches and so on.
I'd love for us to get someplace like that here in the Northwest, although, as most of you know, I now believe that the time for big public meetings, come one, come all, is past.
Still, it's just nice to have a place out in the country where you can get together and speak your mind without having to look over your shoulder all the time like people do in Obama's police state.
Liberated territory, so to speak.
You guys may have heard me claim that one day we're going to lose the internet, and so we need to make sure that we hang on to those mimeograph machines in our garages.
Well, Bob put out a publication which was the ultimate mimeographed racist sheet.
It was called From the Mountain, and for many years, From the Mountain was kind of the unofficial movement house organ, because it had news from everyone and everywhere, what they were doing, what was going on.
Officially, he was operating as a church, remember, and this was supposed to be his church newsletter, which let him deduct the postage off his income tax, and that was a good thing because he had thousands of subscribers all around the world, and his postage bill was his biggest expense.
Not really subscribers, though he just mailed it to anyone who was even remotely connected to the movement, and he covered news from every group around the country, including our NSPA efforts with Operation Skokie, which was, again, unusual for the period.
We were getting national-level publicity at the time, and all the other little groups and minifurars around the country were green with jealousy.
We're already starting to get a little bit of this with the Northwest Front as more and more people in the movement become aware of us, and anyway, I won't get into that.
I'd love to have some of those old From the Mountain newsletters, though.
They were the quintessential right-wing racist publication of the old days.
They were mimeographed on legal-sized paper, hand-typed, no justified margins, and they weren't bound or even fold-over.
They were stapled sheets.
They're collector's items now, and I don't have any left, but I would imagine that you could probably get something for any old copies you have on eBay.
Bob had a very dry and sometimes strange sense of humor.
He would invite everyone to his get-togethers on his farm, like I said.
And that included a crazy nigger from Detroit named Joe Fields, I think his name was, who for a time in the 1970s was running something called the National Socialist Black People's Party.
I guess it catered to niggers who like to dress up in stormtrooper outfits.
I can't remember exactly what this coon's wrap was, since I never bothered to get into something that silly, but Bob liked him, and he'd invite him out sometimes as a kind of a mascot, I guess you'd call him.
Now, one day, Bob and this feels nigger were walking along out on his property, and Bob was discussing various federal surveillance techniques, and they came up to a pile of dog droppings, and Bob held his finger to his lip and said, Shh!
That might be one of the new FBI dog-do bugs.
And the nigger says, say what?
And Bob says, that's their latest technique for picking up outdoor conversations.
They use it on the mob a lot.
They make an artificial pile of dog-do out of plastic that looks really authentic, like that one there, and they put a microphone in it with a tiny little radio transmitter, and they can pick up the conversation of anybody nearby.
I mean, that's pretty slick when you think about it.
Who would suspect a pile of dog crap being bugged?
Anyway, Bob managed to convince this primate.
That the FBI were putting eavesdropping devices in piles of plastic dog dookie.
And I had this vision of Fields walking around on the streets of Detroit and poking at any pile of dog turds he saw on the street with a stick.
And one of his fellow coons coming by and saying, What's happening, homie?
What you doing with that dog shit, brother?
And Fields answering back, Shh!
I was looking for bugs, nigga.
The FBI be bugging this dog shit to try and entrap my black ass.
Anyway, that's the result Bob told me he was aiming for.
I'll give you another example.
One day in the 1980s, I got a big manila envelope from Bob in the mail, and I found a printed or mimeographed form letter from him inside advocating a plan whereby we would secretly undermine the world Jewish conspiracy and make up for our movement's lack of available white females of childbearing age, which was apparent even then, by marrying Jewish women.
He enclosed a couple of photocopied sheets with pictures of Jewises, some of them actresses like Jane Seymour in her Bond girl days.
Some of them, I don't know who the hell they were.
I forget!
Exactly how this was supposed to help us defeat the world Jewish conspiracy, never mind how we were supposed to persuade these yentas to marry us.
Something about appealing to their sense of masochism, since Jewish women are all nuts, something like that.
I can't remember what all Bob said in this spritz, but he sent this long, detailed letter on Mountain Church Stationery, and he sounded serious.
I read this thing over, and I say to myself, what the hell?
So I called him up and started talking to him, and I was trying to figure out if he was coming down with Alzheimer's or something, and finally I said, uh, Bob, I've got your prospectus here about us marrying Jews and all, and are you really sure that this is such a good idea?
I mean, my God, we'd all be kvetched to death.
Now, I was honestly fishing around to see if he'd flipped.
You know, that happens.
And then Bob started laughing his full head off.
Turned out the whole thing was a joke he'd played on me.
Back in the day, I wasn't the mellow fellow I am today.
I was serious to the point of being grim, and Bob was pulling my leg.
He once told me, I'm a minister, and I can tell you that the eleventh commandment is, Thou shalt not take thyself too damn seriously.
There's something else a lot of people don't know.
Back in the 1980s, Pastor Richard Butler was one of the main advocates of the Northwest migration, true, but in point of fact, he was not the first.
Originally, Richard Butler bought the compound up in Hayden Lake, not for Northwest migration purposes, but because at that time, land in the area was cheap.
The Northwest or some kind of new Western migration has been floating around for many years in Christian identity circles, and I honestly don't know who first thought it up, but it was Robert Miles who first came up with the Northwest Imperative in its present-day formulation, and he was at one stage making plans to sell his farm and move to Coos Bay, Oregon.
But that was put on hold, at first by the Fort Smith Sedition Trial, at which he was a defendant in 1988, along with Lewis Beam and Richard Butler and a number of others, and they were acquitted.
But then came his wife's death, and then Bob had a series of strokes, and he was pretty much out of it after that, so he never made it out to the Northwest on a permanent basis, although I can tell you that he was making serious plans to do so.
I remember the last letter that I ever got from him, and although it was clear that he could barely write, and I could barely read what he'd written because he had a stroke and he was pretty much paralyzed, his mind was still clear.
Bob died of a final stroke in 1992.
Oddly enough, a few weeks ago, I had a request from somebody in the audience who remembers Bob to dig up and send them a copy of Bob's funeral eulogy that I wrote, and it's called The Mountain Has Fallen.
It's been a long time since I've delivered this orally, but I'll give it a shot.
On August the 16th, 1992, a giant departed from among us when Robert Miles died at the age of 67. Three months to the day after the death of his beloved wife, Dorothy.
The gap which he has left in our ranks will not easily be filled.
For over 40 years, Bob Miles played a leading role in the white resistance movement in North America, his courage and his vision earning him worldwide renown among every friend and foe alike of Aryan man.
Bob endured repeated assault, a life of grim poverty and unremitting hardship.
Six years of false imprisonment on perjured testimony in the worst hellhole of America's prison system, as well as a disgraceful attempt in 1987 to imprison him yet again on bogus sedition charges.
He endured decades of spying and harassment, the imprisonment and murder of friends and family members, and an avalanche of media abuse and defamation without parallel in the annals of gutter journalism.
They never broke him.
Bob Miles met and overcame every attack, every ordeal which this evil regime inflicted on him.
And he did so with a calm courage, a quiet dignity, and an irrepressible charm and humor, which, more than anything else, Bob did or said or wrote, drove the Jews and their lick-spittle lackeys in the United States government to enraged distraction.
Bob Miles clearly understood something which many in our movement have lost sight of, which is that death is no big deal.
It is an inevitable fact of existence, to be accepted philosophically and met with dignity when the time comes.
What matters is how one lives, what one leaves behind in the way of accumulated knowledge and experience and moral example.
For all of us today, and for comrades of the future, role models don't come any stronger or more admirable than Bob Miles.
More than any white racial nationalist patriot in contemporary times, Bob lived his simple, powerful philosophy, which he sometimes referred to by the Irish Gaelic name of Sinn Féin, ourselves alone.
To Bob, it was all very straightforward.
Aryan man is the pinnacle of God's creation.
We don't need anything which any other race or culture can offer us in exchange for admixture.
All that is necessary to preserve our race and ensure a future for our seed among the stars is a simple recognition of who we are and the spiritual willpower to just say no to every poisoned chalice, every rotten sweet meat of which the Jew urges us to partake.
Bob understood the one basic principle which holds the key to our entire struggle, yet which seems so incredibly difficult for many of us to grasp, which indeed some of us never succeed in grasping.
Jews are not the problem, nor are the blacks or the Hispanics or the politicians or the international bankers or the communists or any other grouping of our racial adversaries.
We are the problem.
Our weakness, our laziness, our profound moral cowardice, our craven unwillingness to place our physical bodies and our creature comforts at risk, as Bob himself did without fear or hesitation.
When we look in a mirror, there we see our enemy.
But if we look hard enough, we can see Bob Miles standing behind us, a smile on his face and his hand on our shoulder, to guide and uplift and strengthen us, as ever he did when he was with us here in life.
In ancient Celtic times, when a High King of Tara died, messengers were dispatched in swift chariots riding the length and breadth of all Ireland, from Antrim in the north to Cary in the southwest.
At each village and crossroads and castle they came to, these couriers cried out, The mountain has fallen.
Our mountain has fallen.
But his spirit lives on, and it is strong.
This is the Chieftains.
Thank you.
I got a postal letter from Steve in St. Louis.
Dear HAC, I have a friend who likes the Radio Free Northwest podcasts and who likes the idea of a free and sovereign Northwest Republic, but he says he can't follow you because you look Jewish.
Okay.
Now, believe it or not, I get this in a lot of various forms I have ever since I got into the movement.
Anytime any personality in the movement gets a certain high profile, there are three standard accusations.
He's either a fed and an informant, or he's a homo, or he's a Jew.
Now, I'm none of these things, but I admit at times I'm kind of at a loss as to exactly how to prove this with chapter and verse.
Nonetheless, okay, the question's been asked, and I'll give a shot at the Jew thing.
No, I'm not Jewish, and I have no Jewish ancestry, as far as anyone can trace back.
Which is about 300 years on my father's side, and prior to the Civil War, on my mother's side.
Now, it's true that my mother's maiden name was Ann Glass, the daughter of a man named A.B. Glass, who was the founder of the Dixie Betting Company in Greensboro, North Carolina.
If you've ever slept on a Serta mattress in your life, you've probably slept on one of Papa's mattresses.
He had the franchise for Serta for a long time.
Now, Glass is one of those names that can be Jewish under certain circumstances, yes.
Like Hoffman, although I don't hear these accusations being leveled against Michael Hoffman II.
Like Metzger, which is the name of the former Ashkenazi chief rabbi of Israel.
Now, in my case, Glass is most assuredly not Jewish.
It's about as Scotch-Irish as you can get.
Now, the word Glass means water in Gaelic, hence names like Douglas.
Duvglas, which means black water, or Strathglass in Scotland, the valley of the water, basically the river valley, or the Dublin suburb of Finglas, which means white water, or then there's the ancient heavy armored infantry of Ulster in the Isles, the Galloglass, which in Gaelic means foreigners from over the water, which applied to these armored axe guys from the Isles and from Scotland who marauded around Ireland for a number of centuries.
My maternal grandfather was born in the Appalachian Mountains of Virginia, near Lynchburg, in 1894, to a family of small farmers.
And that's a time and a place and an occupation not generally noted for its high Jewish population.
He was born a shouting Baptist.
I thought Presbyterian until a couple years ago, when I accidentally found out different.
But after he attended Lenore Ryan College, he was the first of his family ever to go to college, if memory serves.
He became a rather lukewarm Lutheran in support of his alma mater, because little Nora Ryan is a Lutheran school down in North Carolina.
Ironically, it was Papa, Mr. Glass, who first taught me about the Jews when I was a young child, although it was nothing formal, just casual remarks I'd pick up on.
I knew that he absolutely hated and despised the Cone brothers, the mill owners in Greensboro, because of the appalling way they treated both their black and their white workers.
And I remember when he retired to Florida, he went to Fort Pierce, and he refused ever even to visit Miami Beach, because, as he said, there were too many people with long noses.
His wife, my maternal grandmother, was a lady named Lillian Rasko, of combined Anglo and German ancestry, and she was a church-going lady up until her death.
That actually is kind of a funny story.
When my grandfather, A.B., was about 15, 16 years old, he and his father didn't get along.
This was back when he was living up in Lynchburg.
And one Sunday afternoon, A.B.'s father says, A.B., would you like to go out and hitch up your Aunt Frances' mule so she can go home?
Because the family had been visiting for Sunday, you know.
And A.B. says, well, I ain't no wise pot gutted about it.
And the old man walks up and knocks A.B. halfway across the room.
Wham!
For being an insolent young cur, and A.B. gets up, and he was a pretty husky young lad at the time, and he goes, bam!
Knocks his own father back across the room, and then he walks out the door and doesn't come back for about 21 years.
Anyway, what he did was he went down to Lynchburg, and he got a job in the cigarette factory down there, and he worked his way up, and eventually he became a sales rep, and he ended up as a sales rep for British American Tobacco going to China just before World War I to sell cigarettes to the Chinese.
Who were absolute smoking fiends from that day to this.
And so he spent World War I in China having all kinds of adventures.
And before he left, though, he'd been courting, you know, Miss Lillian from down in Reidsville.
And everyone figured, well, he was gone.
You know, that useless wastrel Armstead Glass had just run off to China and left poor Miss Lillian all alone.
And she was going to be on the shelf.
She was going to be an old maid.
And I think my grandmother was about 27 years old.
And they were already starting to call her Miss Lillian.
Which, in the South, is a very bad sign.
But anyway, I figured she was going to be the town old maid.
And then one day, about 1920, they hear this bing, bing, bang, bang.
Anyway, down the street in Raidsville comes the first horseless carriage or automobile that anybody had ever seen.
And it's A.B. Glass come to claim his bride, so to speak.
And so they got married and lived more or less happily every after, blah, blah, blah.
Anyway, I'm rambling like Grandpa Simpson now.
But guys, what can I tell you?
My grandfather wasn't a Jew.
During the 1967 war in the Middle East, there was some Syrian Arab who was living in Greensboro, and he apparently just must have pulled Papa's name out of a phone book or something, and they started giving him threatening calls.
You know, we're going to kill you Jews or whatnot, and Papa called the cops and had the phone company trace the call.
And when the cops found, you know, where the call was coming from, my grandfather said, no, don't arrest him or anything.
Just give me a dress.
I just want to go talk to this guy.
And so, one day, this Arab has this knock on the door, and it's my grandfather outside, and it says, well, Mr. Ahmed, or whoever you are, my name's A.B. Glass.
You've been making some abusive and annoying phone calls from my house, and I'd like you to stop it.
But before you do, I want you to know that we are not Jews.
I always thought it was really ironic that these assholes in the movement were picking on Papa as supposedly the Jew in my woodpile, when in point of fact, he was the anti-Semite in my woodpile.
Sort of.
I mean, nothing overt.
You know, my grandfather was a good old southern gentleman, and one was never rude about these things.
The only time I ever saw him really light in To one of us, one of his grandchildren, was when my two brothers were having a squabble.
They were very young children, about six and seven years old.
And one of them, I can't remember which, called the other one a nigger.
And Papa heard this from up on the porch, and he ran down and just proceeded to whip the hell out of, I can't remember if it was Mac or Ben, whoever said the word nigger.
Not because Papa was a liberal, not by any means, it's just that that was a word you didn't say.
It was impolite.
It indicated low breeding.
Anyway, that's my mother's side of the family.
The Covingtons came from Robeson County, North Carolina.
And before that, they came from a place called Coleraine in County Derry in Ireland, Northern Ireland.
They were Protestant Scots weavers who came over in the 18th century during an economic depression there, like a lot of the Scotch-Irish immigrants did.
And the very idea of there being Jews is so ridiculous that I won't even get into it.
My Uncle Worth once showed me a family Bible that traced our presence in the Carolinas back to 1727.
Now, my maternal grandmother, the one who eventually disappeared, but we won't get into that.
Anyway, she was named Louise Miller, and her father was a German immigrant who worked at the naval yards in Charleston.
His name was Henry Miller, which he changed from Heinrich Müller in 1917 for obvious reasons, like a lot of German immigrants did at that time.
And no, the Mullers were not Jews.
In fact, they were Roman Catholics from Bavaria.
And when Louise married my grandfather, Grady Covington, around 1922, I think, Grady either converted himself or else, like me in Ireland, he allowed his children to be baptized as Catholics.
Now, my father was actually born a Catholic, but by the time I came along, we'd ended up as Episcopalians.
Now, that's about the best thing I can do on the Jew thing, folks.
Guys, you can either believe it or not as you choose.
I know it's silly and childish and ridiculous for me to have to even address these things, but you would be amazed at how these things just start dripping like a little poison IV into the system.
Just to run this down for you, my policy when these stupid rumors are circulated about me is to come right out and address it and state the truth once.
And from then on, when anyone brings it up, refer back to that one statement, and other than that, just leave it alone.
So this is my official commentary on that, and from now on, when somebody accuses me of being a Jew or looking Jewish, I'll just refer you to the Radio Free Northwest of December 23rd, and the rest of you guys should do that too.
Another email, which I won't attribute by name, because this person appears to be an idiot.
Hey, Northwest Front, I just found your website and I've read it over, and I have listened to six or eight of your podcasts, which are really good.
What's it all about?
Well, if you've read the whole website and you've listened to some of these podcasts, I would presume that you have at least some inkling already as to what it's about, but apparently not, so let me spell it out for you.
The white Aryan race faces physical extinction worldwide in about 150 years' time.
We will be a minority in North America and Europe long before that.
The demographic point of no return is now visible within the lifetime of most of you who are hearing this.
It will occur around the year 2020 to 2025, when the age factor kicks in.
After that, the majority of all whites worldwide will be over 50 years of age.
And barring some kind of scientific genetic advance, we'll be incapable of reproducing enough Aryans to reverse the slide towards extinction.
I believe that this is not a good thing, and that something should be done to prevent it.
According to the chase, our race and our nation are being destroyed by the Jews and the Jews' allies.
The only way that the racial death of our people can be prevented is through military means, through violent and bloody revolutionary warfare, to remove the present government from power.
Now, for those of you who are getting nervous and ready to sprint for the bed and hide under it, I don't think that's quite over the line.
I'm simply stating my personal opinion, not inciting.
Now, as I understand it, if I say everybody needs to get together next Tuesday and start killing government officials, that's inciting.
If I say that, in my opinion, it would be a good thing if government officials in general were killed, that's safe, although, of course, the parameters of the First Amendment get more narrow every year.
Yeah, I know Bill White, but Bill White was stupid enough to actually publish that faggot's address and phone number on the net, and so he ran afoul of some obscure little federal statute he probably had no idea even existed.
Anyway, as to all this talk of revolution, it's not a case of me advocating violence or inciting anyone to anything.
It's simply an observation based on 5,000 years of human history and human behavior, and it is an accurate one.
It's not as if we have any choice in the matter.
White people will either fight physically with weapons in our hands and kill our enemies, or they will kill us.
It's that simple.
It's always been that way.
There is no other alternative.
None.
None at all.
That's the way it's going to play out.
And some guy in a black robe can bang his silly gavel all he wants.
That's still the way it's going to play out.
Now, the entire racially aware white community, which I and we sometimes refer to as the movement, sometimes as the racially conscious community, is aware of the fact that this is true, although very few of us are willing to say so openly.
Now, me, I'm willing to undergo personal risk, privation, and inconvenience in order to prevent the extinction of the Aryan peoples of the earth and restore us to our rightful position of dominance over the world and all its contents.
I believe that my life since 1968 has demonstrated this fact to those who care to examine and understand it.
Almost no one else in the racially aware community is willing to incur personal risk, undergo privation and inconvenience, or...
To a certain, very limited extent, our people will support someone whom they believe is working towards this goal with words and with intermittent small amounts of money, which are usually significantly less than they spend on beer or cable TV or other luxuries, but that's all.
Now, the reason for the situation, which I just described, has to do with a number of factors that vary among individuals, but it's primarily the result of Personal physical cowardice, followed very closely by extreme personal laziness.
Both of those are followed a close third by greed and cheapness among white males of our racially aware community, that is.
Thus our problem, it's not external or material, it's not the Jews, it's not the government, it's not the enemy, but it's an internal spiritual crisis with white people.
I believe that with commitment and with effort and courage and dedication on all our parts, It's possible to change all these things that I've enumerated just now.
I believe that it is within our power to undergo a spiritual transformation, to make ourselves the kind of men that our ancestors were, and I think that will be within our power almost right up to the final dissolution.
All it requires is for the elements of the white race that are already racially conscious to exert a collective act of will.
To sit down and say to ourselves, we're going to change.
These creatures that we have been all our lives, we're not going to be them anymore.
We are going to be men that our great-grandfathers would have recognized.
I see no sign so far that anyone involved is really willing to attempt such an act of will or even consider it.
If you guys never understand anything else I say, please understand this.
It is not and has never been a question of whether we white men of the West can save ourselves.
It is a question of whether we will save ourselves.
The choice is ours.
It always has been, and it will be right up until the end.
Everything I do is devoted towards causing such an act of will, such a transformation, a spiritual transmutation to take place at some time in the future in order to secure the existence of our people and the future for white children.
The only weapon I presently have is a personal computer.
I'm therefore limited in what I can do to bring about this act of will.
I'm limited specifically to words, written and spoken.
All the words that you receive from me, either written or spoken, lead towards one central goal.
I'm trying to cause you to exert the necessary effort of will to secure the existence of our people and the future for white children.
Now, the basis of will can only be truth.
Small t.
Will that tries to incorporate or base itself on falsehood, on something that's not true, will be brittle and weak, and it'll shatter when the time comes for the test.
And I'm starting to babble now again.
Anyway, I understand that you, I mean the collective generic you, no individuals, man.
I understand that you are, by this point, pretty much beyond any possibility of being persuaded to change your behavior through words.
And that it's extremely unlikely that I will ever have any medium other than words with which to make the attempt.
But nonetheless, somebody has got to do this.
To give up in the face of this incredible threat to our very racial existence is to dishonor the dead and dishonor God.
God didn't give us this world so that we could get tired of playing with it and then give it to the niggers while we go off and watch TV.
Alright, that's enough of that.
Anyway, you wanted to know...
What it's all about, well, that's what it's all about.
I finally found a piece of decent classical music which is short enough to be included in this show.
This is the Overture from The Marriage of Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.
The Marriage of Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus
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Wolfgang Amadeus The Marriage of Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus The Marriage of Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus The Marriage of Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus The Marriage of Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus The Marriage of Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus The Marriage of Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus The Marriage of Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus The Marriage of Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus The Marriage of Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus The Marriage of Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus The Marriage of Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus The Marriage of Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus The Marriage of Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus The Marriage of Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus The
Marriage of Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus The Marriage of Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus The Marriage of Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus The Marriage of Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus The Marriage of Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus The Marriage of Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus The Marriage of Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus The Marriage of Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus The Marriage of Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus The Marriage of Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus The Marriage of Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus The
Marriage of Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus The Marriage of Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus The Marriage of Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus The Marriage of Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus The Marriage of Figaro by Wolfgang Amadeus So, why Why do we do it?
We must be nuts.
This idea of defeating the United States and taking back part of the land as a home for ourselves and our descendants is like Don Quixote tilting at windmills.
Why would any sane person knowingly and willingly embrace a way of life that entails poverty, pain, pitiless persecution, and total alienation from what's loosely called normal society?
Well, I'll tell you why.
We do it because we are better men than they are.
We do it because unlike the morally denatured rodents and reptiles who control so-called normal society, we're capable of making moral decisions and living moral lives.
That is a character trait which has all but vanished among white Americans today.
There's a natural instinct of decency, along with a natural instinct of survival in the Aryan.
And in us, among all the pale-faced crowd, these instincts are the least atrophied.
We resist because there's something in us that simply will not accept the fact that we're being forced to live in a moral and racial sewer, some atavistic strain in our makeup which will not allow us to accept the filthy, liberal, politically correct world around us as inevitable and unavoidable.
We resist because we alone still have some dim racial memory of what it's like to live in a clean and sane world, what it's like to be free men.
In a shipwreck, we're the ones who never give up treading water and who grab on to anything that floats, no matter how freezing the water or how tired we become.
So while the others give up and drown, we're eventually rescued.
We do what we do, not because we expect any reward, not because we expect to see the day of victory, although I believe now that some of us might.
I didn't always.
We don't do what we do because we seek power for its own sake.
If we wanted power, there's infinitely easier ways to obtain it by working through the established system.
We do what we do because it is right.
No other reason.
Because it's our duty to live as moral men and to fulfill our obligations to ourselves, our people, and our Creator.
And that's why we will win, and the dogs who now slobber and howl in triumph over us will eventually squeal and bleed and die.
Because they do what they do only to feed their own greed and ego and hatred.
They have no higher purpose than their own wretched existences.
We have the highest purpose of all.
Are we the last of a dying breed?
No.
We're the seed from which a whole new world shall spring forth in coming generations.
Yes, I know how hard that seems to believe right now, when I have to beg and plead for a few of you to pack a moving van, to do for your race and for an unseen future what you'd do in a heartbeat for money.
But trust me.
Tomorrow really does belong to us.
Of course, merely being better than they are is only the beginning of the battle.
The hardest part is yet to come when you must prove yourselves better through your behavior, and that's where all too many of us fall down.
Now, despite our good intentions, we're white American males.
We're not Germans or Afrikaners or even Russians.
We are still products of the materialistic, spiritually empty, sleazy and putrid Middle American ethos.
Our energy levels are low and our attention spans are short.
Entirely too often, we decide that a gesture in the general direction of doing right is enough, and having done our bit, now we can get back to the TV and the cold brewski.
It's not enough only to believe.
You must act.
And yet that's what white men have been conditioned from birth not to do.
We've been carefully taught to avoid taking any real action that would injure the enemy, cause him disruption or damage, or in any way destabilize the status quo.
We've been offered by our masters a wide range of role-playing pseudo-acts which really just serve as pressure valves to let off steam.
For instance, we're told to write our congressman.
What on earth good will that do?
The congressman is the problem in the first place, or part of it.
We call radio talk shows and bitch at the hosts.
What earthly good does that do?
We stuck up on canned goods, wear camouflage fatigues, and move way out in the piney woods, and if we're especially daring, we stuck up on 200 firearms and 85,000 rounds of ammunition, which we then bury or hide away in barns, where it sits rusting away, not one bullet ever fired at the enemy, until the BATFE gets around to arresting us, confiscating our toys, and carting us off to federal prison to be sodomized by niggers.
This is why we need a party like the Northwest Front.
Because the white man no longer has the organic natural will within him to resist, at least not in sufficient numbers and not in the right way.
All his instincts are for resistance, but he doesn't know how to express them.
He understands instinctively that things aren't right, but he lacks the knowledge of why, especially the knowledge of the all-important Jewish question.
Now, we have to not so much lead the white man as we have to teach him.
To help him remember things he knows instinctively but has been forced by liberal life to suppress.
We have to build from the ground up a whole new racial leadership of the kind which, up until about a century ago, occurred naturally and organically within white society.
We have to reinvent ourselves as men and also as political men.
We must recover what our ancestors called civitas, the concept of civic duty which led men of substance and personal stature to assume what was, for them, literally the burden of unpaid public office.
We have to recover a sense of community as expressed in the political and the civic ideal.
One of the worst things that ever happened to us was that we allowed ourselves to be convinced that politics and government has nothing to do with us, especially since, quote-unquote, they're all a bunch of crooks anyway.
The political process and government has become something to be avoided and evaded.
We must start thinking of it as something to be seized and purged with fire and sword.
How did we ever get the idea that anything that doesn't harm or hurt the people who are harming and hurting us could ever solve the problem?
When did we become befogged with the notion that somehow there can be justice and correction without the punishment of those who have done evil?
How can we possibly be so foolish as to think that there is some way to solve all this that involves no risk, not even any real inconvenience to ourselves?
Lazy, cowardly, stupid beyond belief, it's incomprehensible.
I'm sorry, I'm wandering again.
The Northwest Imperative is the answer, nothing else.
We have to stand up and proclaim this, loudly and clearly, telling our own people to accept no imitations and to get with the program.
You've heard the old cliche about how a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step?
Like most cliches, it is in fact quite correct.
You all know in what direction you need to take that first step.
Now I want you to act on what you know perfectly well to be right.
Stop worrying.
Stop cavilling.
Stop equivocating.
Stop yes-butting.
Stop belly-aching and do it.
Well, our time is 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, Sarsha Andaban.
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