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April 7, 2011 - Radio Free Nortwest - H.A. Covington

01:05:37

20110407_rfn

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	Oh, then tell me, Sean O 'Farrell, tell me why you hurry so.
	Push your vocal, push and listen, and his cheeks were all aglow.
	I bear orders from the captain, get you ready quick and soon, for the pikes must be together by the rising of the moon.
	By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon, For the pikes must be together by 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 more roar for signal, token whistle, up the marching 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, For 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.
	Warmers passed along the valleys like the man she's lonely crew, And a thousand blades were flashing at the rising moon.
	It's April 7th, 2011.
	I'm Harold Covington, and this is Radio Free Northwest.
	Radio Free Northwest In preparation for the April 26th trial date in Boise, Edgar J. Steele has been moved from the Bonner County Jail to the Ada County Jail in Idaho.
	Unlike when he was in detention more or less incommunicado for all those months in Spokane after his arrest last summer, Mr. Steele is apparently allowed to receive letters, but the Ada County Jail does not accept commissary donations in any form through the mail.
	Donations must be made in person or via the internet or telephone.
	I guess you can call him up and give him your credit card number if you want to help Ed on the commissary.
	The mailing address is Edgar J. Steele, care of the Ada County Jail, that's A-D-A County Jail, 7210 Barrister Drive, B-A-R-R-I-S-T-E-R, Barrister Drive.
	Ironic.
	Boise, Idaho, 83704.
	That's 7210 Barrister Drive, Boise, Idaho, 83704.
	I hope that during the trial, every time Ed Steele comes back from that courtroom after a long day of listening to America trying to crush and destroy him, he will find a stack of letters from all you people bolstering his spirits and letting him know that he's not alone, and helping prepare him for the next day's horror.
	Last week I mentioned that I think we need to start a kind of an Aryan racial political history class on this show to let you folks know that our movement does indeed have a history, and a proud one.
	And that we are, in fact, part of the fabric of America and have been since the very beginning.
	Last week, I played you some excerpts from speeches by Sir Oswald Mosley, the founder of the British Union of Fascists.
	This week, once again, we'll be going back to the 1930s, to another great historical figure in the white racial resistance movement, and hearing him speak to us down through the ages.
	A lot of what he says, as you'll hear, is just as relevant today as it was back then.
	The closest we've ever gotten to a genuine folkish revolutionary leader in this country was Huey Pierce Long, who was born in 1894 and who was murdered by a Jew in 1935.
	He was governor of Louisiana and later a United States senator.
	Long is a problematic but nonetheless a fascinating figure to all who study his life and career.
	He was known as the Kingfish.
	Long was unquestionably an egotist and a power-hungry personality, and he ruthlessly trampled over everyone who got in his way.
	He was one of the most skillful machine politicians in American history.
	He was a master manipulator, and he became one of the greatest practitioners of the corrupt democratic system of patronage, bribery, corruption, extortion, and deception.
	On several occasions, he called out the Louisiana National Guard to intimidate his political opponents, who, frankly, were rather in need of being intimidated, if the truth be known.
	And when he left for the United States Senate in 1932, Huey handpicked his own successor as governor of Louisiana, a flunky named O.K. Allen.
	And this guy was such a notorious idiot that a legend arose that he once signed a leaf that blew in through the window and landed on his desk in the statehouse.
	But even Huey Long's worst enemies have never denied that the kingfish manifested throughout his whole life a profound love, respect, and concern for the white Southern working class, the class he himself came from.
	The factory workers, the sharecroppers, the manual laborers, who in that day, as in this, bore the brunt of taxation.
	They were drafted in time of war.
	They were cynically exploited by politicians.
	They were the victims of black crime.
	And they suffered arrogant, patronizing discrimination by the wealthier classes in the South, who from the time of slavery had used the black presence as a source of cheap labor to keep the white workers' wages low, and also as a potential threat to keep the poor whites in line.
	Now, for the poor whites to rock the boat, to break with the Bourbons, as they were known, of the planter class, always risked weakening or damaging the social and legal mechanisms of control.
	And there was always the ever-present danger that if they didn't have the poor whites to back them up, the blacks might be turned loose to rob and rape and kill the people with money, as indeed did occur from the 1950s on, and that situation prevails to this day in the South and the rest of the country.
	But in the person of Huey Long, the white workers no longer had a boss, but a true friend in a position of power.
	Now, even Huey's best friends admitted that he was a crook, and even his worst enemies admitted that he was sincere.
	Here was a politician who was a genuine man of the people and a friend of the people.
	The wealthy liberal elite, the new world order of the era, never forgave Long for it, and eventually they murdered him.
	Long began his battle for white rights in the 1920s when he was elected to the relatively minor position of state railroad commissioner.
	By raising carriage rates for large corporations, notably the all-powerful Standard Oil Company, and also through improving pay benefits and conditions for the railroad workers, Long incurred the anger of the power structure.
	Twice, the power elite tried unsuccessfully to indict Long and remove him from office, but being a skilled courtroom attorney as well as a politician, Huey beat them back.
	Elected governor in 1928, Long provided widespread employment through road building and swamp drainage projects.
	He further enraged the rich and powerful by providing free textbooks and lunches for all Louisiana school children, which in those days was a positively revolutionary concept, since many white working-class children couldn't go to school because their parents couldn't afford to buy the books.
	In the little bayou town of St. Martinsville, Louisiana, Long made one of the most famous addresses in American political history, the Evangeline Speech, one of the most searing indictments of liberal democracy ever delivered by an American political leader.
	Long was speaking to a crowd of French Cajuns, the despised white minority of Louisiana.
	Whom the liberal journalists of that day, as well as this, patronized, mocked, and abused, and whom the wealthy upper class of that day, as well as this, generally considered to be, quote-unquote, lower than niggers.
	Long said, Here beneath this oak, Evangeline waited for her lover who never came.
	It is a spot made immortal by Longfellow's poem.
	But Evangeline is not the only one who has waited here in disappointment.
	Where are the schools you have waited for your children to have, which have never come?
	Where are the roads and highways that you send your money to build, which are now no nearer than before?
	Where are the institutions to care for the sick and the disabled?
	Evangeline wept bitter tears in her disappointment, but they lasted only through a single lifetime.
	Your tears in this country around this oak have lasted for generations.
	Give me the chance at last to dry the tears of those who still weep here.
	Needless to say, Long won the election by a landslide.
	As a U.S. Senator, Long began to widen his appeal onto a nationwide level in preparation for a presidential bid against Franklin Delano Roosevelt in 1936.
	Huey built his own national organization through his books Every Man a King and My First Hundred Days in the White House, and also through his Share the Wealth Clubs, whose slogan was Every Man a King But No One Wears the Crown.
	Long advocated a highly revolutionary and populist program involving not just the restriction of capitalist excesses and better individual conditions for working people, but the actual redistribution of existing wealth, something only Adolf Hitler has ever been able to achieve without mass slaughter.
	Long's breathtakingly simple plan was to place a legal limit of $1 million on annual income for individuals, as well as a cap of $10 million on the individual net worth of any one American citizen.
	By 1930s standards, and even today, this is more than enough money to maintain an individual and his family in the most magnificent luxury, nor is there really any valid reason why any one person needs more income or wealth than this.
	But by advocating this idea, Long signed his own death warrant.
	On the night of September 8, 1935, Huey Long was shot dead in the corridors of the Louisiana State House by a Jewish doctor named Carl Austin Weiss.
	The assassin was himself immediately gunned down by a Louisiana State police detective who was assigned to guard the senator.
	Despite several half-hearted attempts by subsequent politically correct authors to prove that Weiss was innocent, an exhumation and autopsy on Long's body back in 1993 proved that the fatal bullet which killed Long did indeed come from Weiss's.32 automatic, and not as has been alleged from the weapon of one of Long's bodyguards.
	No credible motive has ever been unearthed as to why Carl Austin Weiss sat down, ate his Sunday dinner, played with a family dog, and then stuck a pistol in his pocket and went over to the state capitol to kill a United States senator.
	Now, Weiss was definitely born a Jew.
	Some writers have claimed that he converted to Catholicism in order to marry some judge's daughter.
	All I can say about that is Google Carl Austin Weiss.
	Take a look at that face and you decide what his so-called ethnic heritage is.
	If this guy's not a Jew, he's sure missing a good bet.
	It's been lamely suggested that Vice was upset at an insult to his father-in-law, who was, like I said, a prominent judge.
	Long allegedly spread a rumor that the judge and hence Vice's wife had nigger blood in him, but no one's ever been able to come up with any documentary proof that any such allegation was ever made by Long or anybody else.
	The most likely explanation is that the established power structure had decided that Huey Long had to die, and Carl Weiss drew the short straw.
	It was common knowledge in Louisiana's elite circles that Standard Oil was plotting to kill Long, and that they'd allocated a large sum of money for that purpose.
	In Huey Long, white working people lost a leader who was arguably the only real friend they've had in any position of power during the past hundred years.
	To this day, the whites of Louisiana have exhibited a stubborn rebellious streak, such as when they cast huge vote totals for David Duke in recent years.
	And to this day, any mention of Huey Long's name will still bring thunderous cheers from any gathering of Louisiana working people.
	Now I'm going to play some audio sound bits from various speeches that Huey made back in the 1930s.
	As always, with this kind of material, I have to make the caveat that this is...
	Very old audio.
	It's almost 80 years old, in fact.
	Originally recorded on wax and celluloid, and so it may be hard for you to understand, but give it a listen, because this is the sound of a real leader.
	A white man who won his battles.
	A man who, for all his many faults, really did care about us, and who almost certainly, had he been in the White House in 1939, would have kept America out of that hideous war.
	And so he shares that much in common with the much more articulate Sir Oswald Mosley, whom we heard last week.
	That wouldn't have been a trip, wouldn't it?
	Sir Oswald Mosley, Prime Minister of Britain, getting together with Huey Long, President of the United States in the White House.
	Boy, I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall during that little meeting.
	Also bear in mind that in these audio clips, you will hear something you also hear today, which is a politician talking about economic matters as opposed to race.
	Now, make no mistake, Huey was racial.
	In those days, a politician had to be in the South.
	But already in the mid-1930s, the liberal chill was setting in as the Jews and the Communists became more and more influential in the American media and in American culture.
	Back in the 1890s, real populists like Tom Watson in Georgia and Ben Tillman in South Carolina and Theodore Bilbo in Mississippi would orate directly and forcefully on the racial issue right on the floor of the legislature.
	But by Long's time, it was no longer considered a couth to say nigger out loud in public.
	Not total social and political excommunication like it is today, but not nice.
	Not polite.
	It was rude to talk about colored people in a bad way.
	It was a sign of bad breeding, so forth and so on.
	Basically the same attitude my grandfather and my grandmother had.
	Now, my grandfather was the most racially inclined man I knew growing up.
	He knew the racial truth about blacks having lived around him all his life, and he knew about the Jews, but he never said nigger out loud, because to him it was a sign of poverty and ignorance, and that was what he was trying to escape by making all that money manufacturing furniture and mattresses.
	I think that's one reason why Southerners, some of them, went to the liberal left in the 50s and 60s.
	They didn't want to be reminded of just how close they themselves were to the cotton patch and the creek mud.
	Oh, Southern politicians in Huey's time would still say nigger all right.
	They pretty much had to if they were going to get the poor white vote, which in those days was critical to getting elected.
	But they said it at night, out on the stump, and out of hearing in sight of the press and the cameras, and when they attended and spoke at Klan rallies like Huey and Herman Talmadge and Strom Thurmond and Robert Byrd did, they snuck in by the back way.
	And again, they made sure no newspaper reporters were around, because even back in those days, it was known that reporters were in cahoots with the enemy.
	Anyway, this is largely why Huey sounds like a modern-day Tea Partier to some degree, and he talks only about economics, or at least in those speeches of his that were recorded at the time, he talks pretty much only about economics.
	Bear in mind, this was the Great Depression, so there was obviously a lot of economic issues, and it was even worse than the Obama Depression of today.
	Now, the first two Huey Long speeches I'm going to play for you come from newsreels from 1934 and 1935, and the last is a newsreel from 1935.
	It's kind of a comment on his life and death, and I'm sorry I can't show you the video on that.
	Anyway, this is one of history's great might-have-beens.
	A white man who might have changed so much for the better if the Jews had let us keep him.
	Ladies and gentlemen, the Kingfish Huey Long.
	The Republican Party was just like the old patent medicine drummer that used to come around our country.
	He had two bottles of medicine.
	He'd play a banjo and he'd sell two bottles of medicine.
	One of those bottles of medicine was called Hippopalora.
	And another one of those bottles of medicine was called Lopapahara.
	Finally, somebody around that said, "Is there any difference in these medicines?" Oh, he said, "Considerable." They're both good, but they're different.
	He said that high poplarum is made from the bark off the tree that we take from the top down.
	And that low poplarum is made from the bark that we take from the root up.
	And the only difference that I found between the Democratic leadership and the Republican leadership According to the tables which we have assembled,
	it is our estimate that 4% of the American people own 85% of the wealth of America.
	Over 70% of the people of America don't own enough to pay the debts that they own.
	How many men ever went to a barbecue and would let one man take off the table what's intended for nine-tenths of the people to eat?
	The only way you'll ever be able to feed the balance to the people is to make that man come back and bring back some of that grub.
	ain't got no blessing.
	How are you going to feed the balance of the people?
	What's Morgan and Baruch and Rockefeller and Mellon going to do with all that grub?
	They can't eat it.
	They can't wear the clothes.
	They can't live in the house.
	Give them a yacht.
	Give them a pilot.
	Send them to Reno and give them a new wife when they want it.
	That's what they want.
	But when they've got everything on the God's living earth that they can eat and they can wear and they can live in, and all that their children can live in and wear and eat and all that their children can use, then we've got to call Mr. Morgan and Mr. Mellon and Mr. Rockefeller back and say, come back here.
	Put that stuff back on this table here that you took away from here that you don't need.
	Leave something else for the American people to consume.
	And that's the problem.
	We're not going to destroy the Gulf Refining Company.
	We're not going to destroy the Standard Oil Company.
	But we're going to say that the limit of any one-man stock ownership in the Standard Oil Company is from $3 to $5 million to that individual and that the balance of the people of America owned the balance of what the Standard Oil Company was worth.
	All right.
	Then.
	We start from the bottom, that the 25 or more million American families shall have a homestead, a home, and the comforts of a home, including an automobile and a radio, the things it takes in that house to live on.
	We say to America, 125 million?
	None shall be too big.
	None shall be too poor.
	None shall work too much.
	None shall be idle.
	No luxurious mansions empty.
	None walking the street.
	None in poverty.
	None in pestle.
	None in warmth.
	But in the land blessed by the smile of the Creator.
	Everything to be consumed, to be eaten, warned that America will become a land sharing the fruits of the land, not for the favored few, not to satisfy greed, but that all may live in a land in which the Lord has provided an abundance sufficient for the luxury and convenience of the people in jail.
	I bet.
	Starting in life in this ramshackle house, Long ranted and raved his way into the chief executive's chair of the sovereign state of Louisiana.
	His career was a stormy, violent journey through the sometimes puzzling maze of political life.
	He was never without his bodyguards, confessing to friends that he fully expected to die at the hands of an assassin when his time was up.
	His feuds were monumental, like the time that the mayor of New Orleans crossed swords with the fiery governor.
	Voters at the city election had to be protected by the militia as a result of that one.
	But as far as the man on the street was concerned, Huey Long could do no wrong.
	And the Kingfish loved a parade, like this one on the way to an LSU football game.
	Huey had built the famous university and it was his pride and joy, particularly its football teams.
	The End.
	We've opened up night schools to educate the adult illiterate.
	We've paved the highway.
	We've built free bridges.
	We have built a new capital.
	We've taken the insane out of the jail cells and placed them in modern institutions.
	We have eliminated barbarism.
	We have shut down the lotteries.
	We've closed up the gambling diet.
	We've abolished the vice area.
	And now, the corporate element of this state.
	That were cheap for Joe, hand in hand with them, who profited by, who ransacked this state for the element of their allies, are being told what they can do and what they can't do, what they will pay, what they can't keep from paying for the welfare of the people of Louisiana.
	And we expect to have this state rule by the people and not by the Lord and the interest of high finance.
	He was a vital man who had the common touch of a backwoods politician.
	His flaming oratory plummeted him up the political ladder at an alarming rate.
	In 1933, there was even talk of a long-for-president movement in the next election.
	His theme song, Every Man a King, became Louisiana's unofficial state anthem.
	Huey himself had a hand in writing it.
	But his meritorious rise to fame and power that carried him as far as the United States Senate ended in the state capitol building in Baton Rouge, just as he himself had prophesied.
	This was his assassin, Dr. Carl A. Weiss Jr., a prominent Baton Rouge eye specialist.
	Weiss, shown here in an earlier pleasure cruise, was reputed to have met Long in the capitol and fired a fatal Luger bullet into his side.
	Two days later, on September 10, 1935, Huey Long was dead.
	His widow was appointed to fill out his term as United States Senator.
	She accepted the commission from the governor as Louisiana joined her in mourning the passing of its champion, the kingfish Huey Long.
	The End.
	As a completely irrelevant aside, I don't know how many of you ever saw the movie Blaze starring Paul Newman.
	But that had to do with Huey's brother Earl Long, who became governor of Louisiana in turn after Huey's death.
	Now, Earl wasn't really either a racialist or a populist.
	He was just your basic standard-issue crooked politician.
	But he was a real trip.
	Earl was a raven drunk, and towards the end, he was pretty much cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs as well.
	At one stage in the 1950s, his political opponents, including his wife, had Earl forcibly committed to the state mental hospital.
	This was while he was governor.
	But they discovered that there was nothing in the law that required a governor to resign if he was committed.
	And so for a while there, the state was quite literally being run by the governor from a padded cell.
	And then Earl remembered that he'd actually appointed the director of the asylum in the first place.
	And under the law, he had the right to fire him as well.
	And so he did.
	And he appointed one of his flunkies, who promptly discharged him, and that was how he got out of the loony bin.
	I'm not making this up.
	Anyway, I think it's fitting that we close out this first section of the podcast with some Louisiana Cajun music called Zydeco.
	Now, I've never been really that much into Zydeco.
	To my ear, it's kind of a case of you've heard one, you've heard them all, but I do like Doug Kershaw, so here he is.
	Yes.
	Thank you.
	We'll be right back.
	you You know, I've been thinking lately, I was reading an excerpt from Carol's book about that poor old man who lived in an apartment and he was eating dog food as a source of protein.
	And I was thinking, you know, maybe I should do an MP3 where I talk a little bit about...
	Nutritional issues and hopefully suggest some better choices even if you are having money problems.
	One book that I really like or really series of books that talk about nutrition is a series of books written by Dr. Peter J. D 'Adamo and he writes a series of books on the blood type diet and it's really something I believe in and some people that know me well know and Sometimes in my life, there have been times when I've overstressed this, but I would say that most of us are either O's or A's.
	But of course, you have to be tested to find out if you don't know.
	And he writes a series of books.
	One is Eat Right for Your Type, one is Live Right, and there's one that deals with pregnancy.
	Especially for type As, there are a lot of options, particularly in terms of things like beans, for example, and also seeds and nuts.
	Type As do really well on a vegetarian diet, or primarily so, but you can also eat chicken or fish if you're a type A. And then type Os, they also have a few vegetarian options for them, but...
	Type Os really do best on meats, so I worry that it might be a little harder for Type Os on a budget.
	I guess they'd have to find some meats that maybe would be less expensive.
	But I really suggest these books because it can give you suggestions that you may not have thought of.
	It goes through all different nutrient types.
	It gives portions, suggestions, recipes.
	Okay, now the author is a Type A himself, but in his first book he gives a little section on personality, which...
	I think it's kind of hit or miss.
	I'm not really sure that it has anything to do with personality, because I've met people where it seems sometimes it fits and sometimes it doesn't, so I'm not really sure.
	In his little personality section, he really doesn't have anything good to say about Type A's, even though he's a Type A himself.
	Everybody else is wonderful, apparently, so I guess it's great to be someone else, but it's not, in his opinion, thinks Type A's have a lot of problems.
	Nevertheless, there's a lot of helpful information.
	Certainly, I'll give you many examples, so hopefully no one is in that situation.
	Even if you're poor, you can find something better, hopefully, than what was going on in that case that Harold talks about in his book, which is really just too awful to mention.
	And you can also find this on the Internet now, too.
	It's all over the net.
	You can find information about that.
	So thank you for listening, Comrade.
	Okay, some of you may wonder why the hell I included that, and what diet and blood types have to do with establishing a white nation in the Pacific Northwest.
	Well, there's a couple of reasons I threw that in there.
	First off, I've noticed down through the years that a lot of our people are in fact interested in issues like health and diet and vitamin supplements and so forth and so on, especially as we get older.
	Like all you folks out there who send me big boxes of vitamins, which I deeply appreciate, by the way.
	I can't remember the last time I actually had to pay for any vitamins.
	Now, this is not a new development.
	One of the first things I ever picked up on when I got involved back in the 1970s is that if you move into a new town and you want to find out where all the right-wing and libertarian eccentrics and extremists hang out, go to the local health food store.
	Okay, health food is no longer an exclusively right-wing phenomenon, and it's been co-opted by lefty loons and yuppies and whatnot, but we were there first.
	No, really, we were.
	Health, food, and vitamins used to be very much associated with little old ladies in tennis shoes and the John Burt Society and that kind of thing.
	The second reason I let Gretchen have her say is, like I've said before, I need for people to hear other voices than mine on here, if for no other reason than to show that the Northwest Front is not, in fact, a one-man band, as the goat dancers claim.
	That's not true, of course, since I couldn't survive a week without help from other white nationalists.
	But the trick has always been to get you guys out from behind your computers, or back in the day, out from behind your post office boxes.
	A very few of our past great white leader types have ever had too much more success at that than I'm having, in getting some group participation here.
	Making an MP3 file for Radio Free Northwest is one way of getting the kind of visible group participation that will eventually make a real-world movement of real people, as opposed to a computer game.
	Now, I don't, as yet, have the technical expertise, or the time, or the co-host, or the equipment to run Radio Free Northwest as a proper radio talk show and call-in show.
	I want to do that, and I hope that's coming.
	Who knows, maybe as soon as this year, if the gods are kind.
	But until I do get what I need to do a proper call-in show, I need you guys to chip in, and not just by sending in things that you want me to read out on the air.
	We need to hear your voice.
	And I'm not just talking about the Radio Free Northwest audience.
	I'm speaking in a larger sense here.
	We need to hear your voice.
	On March the 30th, I had the honor of having my four Northwest novels reviewed on what is probably the foremost racial website in the world, the Occidental Observer site run by Professor Kevin MacDonald.
	I reprinted that review on my personal blog, which is called Thought Crime, and which can be found at downwithjugears.blogspot.com.
	That's downwithjugears.blogspot.com.
	I also reprinted the review in the April 2011 issue of the Northwest Front's magazine, Northwest Observer.
	Which, by the way, is to the best of my knowledge one of the only two remaining regularly published paper periodicals in the whole movement, the other being Willis Cardo's American Free Press.
	The book review of my Northwest Independence novels was by one of Professor McDonald's associates, Mr. Edmund Connolly, and it was by and large favorable.
	Mr. Connolly decided not to get into the whole issue of Northwest Independence as such, but just to treat the books as works of fiction, which is fine.
	I mean, that's probably why they call these things book reviews.
	I'm not going to sit here and break my arm patting myself on the back by reading out the whole review on the air, but I will quote one section.
	Frankly speaking, I'm tired of losing, losing on a daily basis.
	It is demoralizing and worse.
	Time and again I've thought quote-unquote real white men would finally wake up or a courageous leader would appear, but all such hopes have been consistently dashed.
	We white nationalists are a maddeningly small group, and we are, I am amazed and frustrated to say, powerless.
	It is under such circumstances that I can retreat to the fictional comforts of Harold Covington's Northwest Quartet, and for once enjoy, if only vicariously, the sweet satisfaction of hitting back, of smiting our racial enemies in a most just way.
	I wish I didn't have to resort to fiction to experience this adrenaline rush, this sense of wrongs being righted, but that's all I've found in years of searching.
	And, of course, Mr. Connolly is spot on.
	I have no problems at all with anyone reading the novels purely for entertainment and enjoyment, because I'm confident that the important parts of every book will stick with the reader.
	The plot and the characters and the shootings and the explosions are intended to be the icing on the cake.
	Now, as a result of that review in the Occidental Observer, the idea has come up of a proper, no-holds-barred, yet civil and lunacy-free debate within the white racialist movement on the subject of the Northwest Imperative, between myself and serious adult critics and supporters both of the Northwest idea.
	Now, what I first envisioned was something like a vBulletin thread or even a blog's comment section.
	But unlike VNN or some of the pseudo-intellectual blogs, a productive one where Jews, lunatics, and obvious trolls are denied admittance and posts that violate the TOD, the terms of discussion, Or which wander off topic are stopped before they appear so that they can't clutter up the thread with rambling,
	digressive bullshit and accusations of all kinds of depravity and moral turpitude and long, half-senile tirades about things that happened 30 years ago, only they didn't really happen, and Harold square dances in a roundhouse, and Harold stole Dr. Pierce's ice cream bar, and in short, all the internet crap.
	Posted by people with mental and emotional problems that have nothing to do with the existential threat facing white civilization.
	In other words, for once, we'll actually use the internet to its full potential.
	And this to me is a fascinating concept, because as much as I excoriate the internet, I've always believed that if we could only use it properly, the internet could become one of our greatest weapons.
	It's all these damn kooks running around that...
	But in order to do this, we have to do what the movement has never been able to do up until now.
	We have to acknowledge the issue of our own character and actually deal with it by refusing entry to those who have nothing to say and nothing to contribute, even if it's only refusing them entry to a website.
	Over the past 15 years, we have learned, or we should have learned, that there can in fact be too much free speech, and that while speech should be free, it should also have a purpose.
	Everyone should be free to write and say what they believe in, but they should also have something to say.
	A wino mumbling to himself in an alley or a lunatic in a straitjacket talking to himself in his padded cell is engaging in free speech, but is it important speech?
	We in the white nationalist movement are going to have to learn to differentiate between free speech and important speech.
	And when time and place demands not only free speech but important speech, the wino mumbling to himself in the alley and the lunatic in the padded cell have to be excluded because they have no place in a serious discussion between serious adult people.
	It's deeply unfortunate that a situation like this exists within the movement or whatever you want to call this thing of ours, where some of us simply aren't mature enough to handle genuine free speech.
	But what can I tell you?
	Anyone who is at all familiar with the reality of the way we are can tell you that there are a lot of kooks out there.
	And it's not just niggers and lefties and Jews.
	A lot of those kooks are ours.
	Or at least they claim to be ours.
	If the internet is ever going to be anything other than a toy or a place where weird people go to vomit, then the fact is that certain people who have nothing to say have to be kept out.
	For the first time, Northwest Migration and the Northwest Imperative are going to be the subject of a serious adult discussion, and the children, the winos, and the lunatics are going to be gently but firmly excluded from the parlor and told to go out and play in the sandbox while the adults are talking.
	Now, the significance of this debate is that at long last, I will finally be able to take on the Northwest Migration's serious and compostmentous critics and deal with their objections.
	And this is why I hope I can get some of them to participate in the discussion directly, but I can't do that if they're just going to be surrounded by a bunch of cackling loons.
	That, in turn, is one of the reasons that I'm giving this projected debate a lot of advanced publicity.
	I'm trying to gin up support for the idea.
	It looks like Dr. Greg Johnson of Countercurrents will be the moderator, and the debate will take place on his website.
	I'll let interested parties know the exact where and when on the Homeland blog on the northwestfront.org website, and also on my personal blog at ThoughtCrime, and I'll blast it all over Facebook and everywhere else I can.
	Okay, second music break, although it's not really a music break.
	Now, I understand from the beginning that I'm going to get in a lot of trouble for this one.
	I'm going to get all kinds of nasty emails about how dare I play this, but what the hell.
	Every now and then, I still run across some kind of nostalgia in somebody I know or in some movie for the 60s.
	Well, I remember the 60s, and I can tell you that basically the 60s was when life in this country really started to suck.
	I'm going to play something for you folks now from the 60s, and you're going to think it's comedy.
	You're going to think it's satire or parody, and technically speaking, it is.
	Yeah, but really, it's not.
	Because, believe it or not, this is what life was like, and what many, many white people were like back then.
	At least people and kids in a liberal college town where I was compelled to grow up.
	There's no saying that there's many a true word said in jest, and that definitely applies here.
	No kidding, folks.
	A lot of people really were just like this, and if you guys don't know who this is, then shame on you.
	And now it's time for America's favorite daytime fun show, Let's Make a Dope Deal!
	Yes, Let's Make a Dope Deal, where young pushers try to parlay their stash into that really big connection and jump up into dealerhood.
	And our first contestant today on Let's Make a Dope Deal is former head of the philosophy department at Harvard University.
	He is the holder of a PhD, an MA, a BA, and is a BMF besides.
	Would you please give a big warm welcome for Bob Bitchen!
	Come on, let's have a hand for Bob Bitchen!
	Here he is all the way from Harvard, Bob Bitchen!
	Well, it's really great to have you on the show tonight.
	Bob, how you doing?
	Bitchin'.
	Bitchin'.
	Don't listen that far out and solid and right on, Bob.
	Tell us, Bob, here's the question I ask of all our contestants.
	What made you drop out?
	Well, a lot of people think it was the 400 acid chips they took, you know.
	Uh-huh, but what was it really, Bob?
	One day I played Black Sabbath at 78 speed, man.
	And then what happened?
	I saw God.
	You saw God.
	Well, that sounds like true enlightenment to me, Bob.
	Tell us, Bob, what have you been doing with all those degrees?
	I noticed you had a Ph.D., an M.A., and a B.A. What have you been doing with all that knowledge?
	Making candles, man.
	Making candles.
	Well, that sounds creative.
	Bob, what kind of candles are they?
	Oh, they're really neat table candles, you know.
	Table candles?
	Yeah, you pour wax on a table.
	Uh-huh.
	And you set it on fire, man.
	Well, that sounds like a hot item, Bob.
	Okay, you ready to play our game?
	Yeah.
	Okay, here we go.
	Now, you know the rules.
	You get fronted with a stash of 50 keys, and you can wait for part of them or just some of them on any one of our tests.
	50 keys?
	50 keys.
	Can I quit now?
	No, not yet, Bob.
	You have to play our game.
	Okay, Bob.
	How many want to wager on the first test?
	All of them.
	All of them is going to shoot the work, so a main line, as we call it here on Let's Make a Dope Deal.
	Okay, Bop, for 50 keys, what is your name?
	You have 60 seconds.
	Hey, I know that one.
	Starts with a B. What is it, man?
	I knew it when I came in here, man.
	M's with a B. Oh, don't tell me.
	10 seconds, Bop.
	Bop!
	Oh boy, Bob, now you have 100 keys.
	Almost did.
	Okay, here we go.
	For the second plateau, how many keys do you want to wager this time?
	All of them.
	All of them is going to shoot the worst again, huh?
	What balls he has.
	Okay, here we go, Bob.
	For another 100 keys.
	How many joints are in a lid?
	30 seconds.
	Oh, I know that one.
	Two.
	I wrote big joints.
	Our judges say, that's okay, they wrote big joints too, and you win another.
	Okay, now we're going for the big and final test.
	Okay, in front of you, you see three doors marked door number one, door number two, and door number three.
	Behind one of those doors, Bob, is 50 pounds of Lebanese blonde hash.
	Makes your eyes red just thinking about them, huh?
	Okay, Bob, I'm gonna make you do it.
	I'll give you $50.
	And fifty reds for your keys right now.
	Take the reds!
	No, I'll give you a thousand dollars in fifty reds.
	I want the hats.
	He wants the hats!
	Okay, Bob, here we go.
	Now I must remind you that behind the other two doors are narcs.
	Okay, Bob, here we go.
	What'll it be?
	Will it be door number one?
	Door number two or...
	Our what?
	Narcs.
	There's two narcs behind the other...
	I'll take the bread, man.
	I'm sorry, Bob, it's too late.
	You have to choose.
	What'll it be?
	One, two, or three?
	Number three.
	Four!
	No, no, Bob.
	There's only three here.
	I know.
	You're nervous.
	Okay.
	One, two, or three?
	Two, one.
	Number three, man.
	Number three.
	One, two.
	Three, two, one.
	One, one, one.
	Blacklight, no tap backs.
	Okay.
	You chose door number one.
	Let's see who's behind that door.
	It's Officer O'Malley, the FBI.
	You're busted.
	Join us next week.
	Let's make a dope deal.
	Once more, we need to get into a subject which I first brought up a couple of weeks ago, and that was when I asked all of you to tell me in simple terms exactly what it will take to bring you here.
	What do I need to do that I'm not doing, or saying?
	Or alternatively, what do I need to stop doing that I'm doing now in order to find the necessary magic beans or whatever it's going to take to convince you to start packing the moving van and get your asses up here so we can get this show on the road?
	Most of the objections and excuses I get are economic in nature, and for all I know, they may be perfectly valid.
	I say for all I know, because I don't actually know for a fact what kind of economic shape these people are in, and also my experience has always been that where there is truly a will, then a way will be found.
	Maybe that's just me being a curmudgeon, but I do know that very few of the comrades who have come here to the Northwest homeland have in fact done so under absolutely optimum conditions.
	And like most things in life, if you wait until everything is 100% perfect, you're going to be waiting an awful long time.
	Another thing I've noticed is that there's almost never any opposition to the Northwest migration concept as a whole that's been based on actual political reasoning or any real motive other than personal hardship, amounting to little more than the massive inconvenience of it all.
	No one has yet advanced any kind of clearly disinterested and logical argument against it, never mind any alternative.
	This, of course, is why we need the great debate that I referred to earlier in the podcast.
	We need to finally demolish the idea that there is or can be any genuine alternative.
	That ship sailed long ago.
	The only real alternative that the naysayers have to Northwest migration is the endless perpetuation of the status quo, which is the whole movement as a computer game.
	Like I said, virtually all of the naysayers are really personal.
	And some do, however, have a bit more rationale than others.
	For example, in the responses I've been getting from some people, I sense a genuine fear that the Northwest idea will anger the authorities to the point where if they come here, they may be harassed or threatened or blacklisted from employment by the local chamber of commerce, that kind of thing.
	I won't deny that possibility exists, but if you'll refrain from dressing oddly or behaving in loud and aggressive ways, If you keep quiet on the job, do your work, and pay your bills, and generally don't comport yourself in the manner of a loon, it shouldn't be a problem for long.
	Your neighbors and the local police need to see that you're a normal guy.
	And if you're not, you really don't need to be coming here.
	There are, however, some excuses, naysays, as I call them, that have been used down through the years.
	I've gotten some emails complaining that the Pacific Northwest isn't really white at all, but that it's full of Asians and Hispanics.
	Well, leaving aside for the moment the exact definition of what the term full of means, so is everywhere else in North America.
	And why is this the case?
	It's our fault.
	We've let this happen because we refused to act, and now that we no longer have any realistic hope of taking back all of America, the naysayers want to respond with more of the same, complete inaction and the endless generation of nothing but words on a computer screen.
	But in point of fact, the Northwest is by no means, quote-unquote, full of non-whites.
	Actually, it's not full of many of any kind of people.
	The overall population density of the three and a half homeland states is among the lowest on the continent, with only a couple of huge prairie and desert states like Wyoming and Utah and Nevada being more thinly populated.
	Outside of a few major urban areas, and a few towns like Yakima, Washington, which have attracted a lot of Hispanics for various reasons, having to do with labor-intensive industries in those areas, In Yakima's case, the apples.
	The truth is that statistically and demographically, the Pacific Northwest is the whitest area remaining in North America outside of a small section of New England, which is basically the preserve of the super-rich elite and where normal white people couldn't afford to move anyway.
	As lovely as New England is, it's not anywhere near as economically and geographically suitable for a white homeland as is the Northwest.
	It's true that there are hordes of third-worlders in Seattle and Portland, and to a lesser extent they're in Eugene and Spokane and Boise, but blacks are still very thin on the ground everywhere except a few ghetto areas in Seattle and Portland, which are pretty small by New York or Los Angeles or Atlanta standards.
	As with everywhere else, third-world immigrants congregate in the cities.
	The farther you move out into the countryside, the whiter it gets.
	In Astoria, we had some fairly visible Mexicans, true, but not really all that many population percentage-wise, and I would see maybe one or two black faces per week, as nearly as I could tell, always off the gambling riverboats down from Portland.
	They didn't even seem to have any black Coast Guard sailors at the Columbia River pilot and rescue station there, just a few Asians.
	In any case, we're trying to do here what the system has been doing for years, i.e.
	carry out a deliberate alteration of the racial and political demographics.
	The solution is not to crumple and crawl away like we usually do, but to resist through a massive influx of racially conscious whites.
	We must make the three and a half homeland states quote-unquote full of racially conscious white people.
	Another complaint is that the Northwest is full of liberal assholes.
	Well, that's what we're trying to change, isn't it?
	Okay, there is a certain amount of truth in this.
	Especially in the large cities like Seattle and Portland that tend to outweigh the rest of the state politically because of their size and their minority populations and the way the legislature's district did and so forth and so on.
	The local political and economic establishments in the Northwest are extremely leftist, yes, and the media, for example, are concentrated in these large, liberal, minority-heavy cities.
	But the local political establishment everywhere is hostile to us.
	Are tub-thumping Christian fundamentalist ruling elites in places like Texarkana or corrupt multi-ethnic city machines in New Jersey any more sympathetic to us?
	No, they're not.
	I can tell you from personal experience.
	We are hated everywhere by those with power.
	Again, this is something that we're trying to change and which will begin to change once we begin arriving in the homeland in sufficient numbers to make a difference.
	When we have a small number of highly active people in any given locality, it won't be long before we're able to match the system parties activist for activist, if not dollar for dollar.
	The idea is to build our own communities in the homeland, which are not full of liberal assholes, and eventually force the local establishments to surrender bits and pieces at first of their power and influence.
	Yes, it'll take time, and sorry, there are no quick fixes.
	And, of course, the minute I say that, I know we're losing most Americans right there.
	Another objection that I hear fairly regularly is, why bother to come here when, quote-unquote, the government and the police won't let us do it anyway?
	Well, if that's the case, I guess it's good we have no intention of asking their permission, isn't it?
	If we wait for Zogg to, quote-unquote, let us do something, then we'll end up doing nothing.
	Nothing, of course, being precisely what certain people on the Internet who claim to be part of white nationalism want us to do.
	I don't necessarily mean actual cognitive dissonance operatives, although I know we have a number of those floating around us all over the internet like blowflies.
	The idea of direct action of any kind sends a lot of movement types into a cold sweat of fear, lest the hobby all of a sudden turn serious and they somehow become involved.
	A lot of people who are involved in the movement, insofar as anyone's involved these days beyond the internet, have a very strong sense of self-preservation and warning bells go off in their minds anytime they get too close to any kind of genuine action, anything that might really get the government and the system mad at them.
	I think a lot of the more obviously lame excuses I get from some people as to why they're not on their way right now is due to the fact that their survival instinct is kicked in.
	White Americans are conditioned from birth to avoid doing anything that will get them into actual, for real, trouble.
	Anything that identifies them as being different, not of the herd, not of the body, like the old Star Trek episode said.
	You know the story about the green monkey.
	If you catch a monkey, paint him green, and turn him loose back into the forest, the other monkeys will kill him for being different.
	A lot of the reluctance to commit any physical off-internet act at all, especially Northwest migration, springs from this now almost instinctive reluctance to become a green monkey.
	Another argument I hear in favor of sitting tight and doing nothing is that if we concentrate in one place, it'll make it that much easier for Zog to destroy us all.
	Of course, if, on the other hand, we remain scattered and isolated and alone, then it will be impossible for us to do anything at all.
	Sometimes people say, but Harold, if we just remain isolated and we hide long enough, we can survive.
	We don't want to survive.
	We want our race to survive.
	There is a difference.
	Every successful political, social, or revolutionary movement throughout history, and I refer here to real movements, has always been built on a base or constituency among the population.
	A tiny number of people scattered across a huge continent tapping on computer keyboards does not constitute political or social base.
	A small group of sad, aging old men sending one another newspaper clippings by post and by email doesn't constitute a political or demographic base.
	A website does not constitute a political or demographic base, much less a movement.
	I'll tell you how we'll know when we have a real base.
	And that is that when young men from our racially conscious community can meet and find wives from within the Northwest settler families and begin the second generation of Northwest Americans, anything political or military that we do when the time comes will arise from this base.
	That time is not yet, but we have to begin building it now.
	It is entirely possible that Soviet-style work permits and internal passports may be up Janet Napolitano's sleeve.
	Okay, we're running long here, and I need to get on to my wind-up rave.
	So, third music break.
	A lot of you have probably seen the late Robert Mitchum in a lot of old movies, but it's not generally known that he once cut a record in which he sang, after which he never sang in public again, and you're about to find out why.
	This is actually the theme song from a pretty good movie Mitchum did in his younger days called Thunder Road.
	Let me tell the story.
	I can tell it all.
	About the mountain boy who ran a league of alcohol.
	His daddy made the whiskey.
	Son, he drove the load.
	When his engine roared, they called the highway Thunder Road.
	Sometimes into Asheville, sometimes Memphis town.
	The revenueers chased him, but they couldn't run him down.
	Each time they thought they had him, his engine would explode.
	He'd go by like they were standing still on Thunder Road.
	And there was thunder, thunder over Thunder Road.
	Thunder was his engine and white lightning was his load.
	And there was moonshine, moonshine, crash the devil's thirst.
	The law they swore they'd get him, but the devil got him first.
	On the 1st of April, 1954.
	A federal man said word he'd better make his run no more.
	He said two hundred agents were covering the state.
	Whichever road he tried to take, they'd get him sure his fate.
	Son, his daddy told him, make this run your last.
	Your tank is filled with hundred proof.
	You're all tuned up in gas.
	Now don't take any chances.
	If you can't get through, I'd rather have you back again than pull that mountain dew.
	And there was thunder, thunder, over a thunder roll.
	Thunder was his engine and white lightning was his load.
	Moonshine, moonshine, it quacks the devil's thirst.
	Oh, Lord, they swore they'd get him, but the devil got him first.
	Gorin' out of Harlan, revvin' up his mill.
	He shot the gap at Cumberland and screamed by Maynardville.
	With T-Man on his taillight, roadblocks up ahead.
	The mountain boy took roads as the demon angels feared to tread.
	Blazing right through Knoxville, out on Kingston Pike, then right outside of Beard, there they made the fatal strike.
	He left the road at nighty, that's all there is to say.
	The devil got the moonshine and the mountain boy that day.
	And there was thunder, thunder, over thunder road.
	Thunder was his engine and white light then was his load.
	Moonshine, moonshine, pranks the devil's first The law they never got him cause the devil got him first Law they never got him cause the devil got him Thunder, thunder, thunder Thunder, thunder, thunder, thunder Two weeks ago, when I asked you what it would take to bring you here, I didn't really get much in the way of specific answers.
	What I got was a lot of long, Would not or could not come home.
	Not why they would.
	That wasn't unexpected.
	Remember, I've been doing this for a while.
	What these reasons mostly boiled down to was this.
	It's too much trouble to move to the Northwest, especially for something that most people, let's be honest, just consider to be a hobby.
	There's too much chance that we might lose some of what we have by way of money and material things.
	And a lot of people are, frankly, satisfied in their conscience that they're doing their duty to the white race by playing around on their computers at night after work.
	All I can say to that is that some people's consciences must be pretty damned easy to satisfy.
	This whole subject falls into the category of, do we really deserve to survive?
	The answer should be self-evident, but like so much in this thing of ours that should be self-evident, I guess it isn't.
	Everything I've ever written or said is based on several fundamental principles, foremost among these being the idea that what we're all about is doing something about the unspeakably evil situation in which we find ourselves.
	Now, I've become aware over the past few years that this is, in fact, kind of a minority view within the movement.
	The overwhelming majority of our so-called movement has neither the desire nor the intention of doing anything whatsoever about the impending extinction of our race and civilization.
	The overwhelming majority of quote-unquote our people intend to continue to generate endless amounts of words in a few cases, and in many more cases they intend simply to sit and read the endless amounts of words generated by others.
	Okay, I get that.
	I hate it, but I accept it.
	I have to.
	I have no choice.
	The purpose of these podcasts is to attempt to reach and persuade the tiny minority within the racially conscious community who are capable of understanding the need for action and who are morally capable of responding to the crisis with deeds instead of words.
	We don't need all of you here, like I told some idiot heckler the other day on the internet.
	He said, People won't work with you, Harold, and I responded, I don't want most of them to work with me.
	I say again, we don't need all of you here, we just need a thousand of the best.
	That's what we can get started on.
	Now, to be fair, I do get some excuses that aren't excuses, but legitimate explanations and doubts.
	I know that there are those, for example, who have drawn the short straw and are stuck caring for elderly and infirm parents, and that nothing can be done until they pass on.
	I know that there are those who genuinely consider their present place of habitation to be their true homeland, and who genuinely love New England or the South or Texas or even New York.
	Now, I myself despise anything and everything to do with New York, but I've known a lot of New Yorkers born and bred who swear by the place and who have never considered living anywhere else.
	Home is where the heart is, but sometimes the heart has to be ruled by the head in order to survive.
	Never believe that I don't understand what it's like to lose a beloved homeland.
	Remember, I myself have lost three.
	I lost the land of hope and glory that was Rhodesia.
	I lost the old Ireland of saints and scholars as I saw it before it turned into a colony of Nigeria and MTV.
	And the last fragment of the Old South into which I was born and in which I spent my childhood now no longer exists, a land and a way of life that is truly gone with the wind.
	Never think I don't understand how hard it will be for you to do what I'm asking of you for your people's sake.
	But you must respond.
	You have to decide right now whether you're going to fight, and sometimes fighting doesn't entail anything you do with a gun or a bomb, or whether you're going to...
	Cower beneath whatever shelter you can find and do your best to hang on to your own wretched life, your own wretched money, and your own misery.
	Now, if you decide to fight, then you have to understand that there will be risk and that you may be hurt in more ways than one.
	That's simply part of revolutionary struggle or the plain struggle to survive.
	It is what it is.
	I understand that there are a few of you who genuinely can't come home.
	I understand that there are some of you, especially the elderly, who are simply too committed to your present locales in the form of land and roots and ties.
	You know who you are, and you know you've paid your dues.
	But, if you're reasonably young, say under 50, if you are still capable of doing a day's work in both the racial and economic sense, If you have children that you want to raise in something at least approximating a clean and racially homogenous environment, and especially if you're young and just beginning to build your life, then it is absolutely essential that you begin making your plans to come home now.
	Try, try, try to understand that the bulk of the North American continent is now lost to us.
	At the beginning of World War I, Sir Edward Gray said, The lamps are going out all across Europe.
	We shall not see them lit again in our lifetime.
	For anyone with a white skin, the lamps went out all across America a long time ago, and no amount of wishful thinking can ever light them again.
	We must gather what little strength we have remaining, concentrate it, and build a genuine movement for survival and freedom.
	These are warning bells I'm sounding.
	Our race is running out of time.
	And we're also out of time for this program.
	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 Underbond.

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